Work Text:
Bill sat at his desk working on paperwork while Fredbear employees enjoyed themselves in the dining area. It was December 22nd, 197X. Fredbear’s Family Diner was having its annual employees’ Christmas party. Even though Bill wasn't fond of parties, he felt obligated to come as one of the co-owners. Each year, he would spend a few minutes talking with employees before slipping away to his office.
There was a knock. “Come in,” Bill said, not looking up from his work. “Guess what? Somebody thought that it would be a ‘great idea’ to bring alcohol to a party where they know damn well that, like, one-third of their coworkers can’t legally drink.” Bill looked up to see his business partner leaning against the door frame holding up a bottle of whiskey; Bill noted that the bottle wasn’t full.
“How long did it take you to realize that there was alcohol?”
“When the karaoke singers started slurring their words.”
“Well, were they enjoying themselves?” Bill asked. Henry gave him a look of ‘I am not amused.’
“I don’t want to get a phone call from an angry parent because their kid came home drunk.”
“Henry, as you said, only about one-third of our employees can’t legally drink. Also, I would assume that most of our high school employees are at home or out with their friends, anyway,” Bill said, trying to put Henry’s anxiety at ease.
“Still.”
“You worry too much, Emily; I’m fairly certain that you won’t receive any angry phone calls.”
Henry sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right… Anyway, I should be getting back to the party before any other shenanigans happen.”
“...”
“You could take a break and join me,” Henry suggested.
“I have work that needs to be done,” Bill said, picking up his pencil.
“You could work on that at home, you know,”
“I prefer to work on paperwork in my office,” Bill responded, seemingly without giving what Henry said much thought. His apathetic, gray-blue eyes didn’t even glance up from the rims of his glasses, as if he knew this conversation would happen at some point.
Henry sighed, “Bill, why do you come to this party every year knowing that you don’t enjoy being at the actual party itself?” For a moment, Bill didn’t respond, then he sighed, "Listen, I’ll be out soon. Just give me a few minutes to finish up what I'm currently working on.”
“Fine,” Henry said, not really believing him.
—
30 minutes later, Henry came back to check on Bill, a mug in each hand.
“What happened to ‘I’ll be out soon’?”
“What do you mean?" Bill asked as he looked up, confused.
“I didn’t know that you considered 30 minutes to be 'just a few minutes.'”
“Oh… Henry, please know that it wasn’t my intention to-”
“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Henry said, not letting Bill finish, “If you really wanted to come, you would have. Anyway, here,” he said as he placed one of the mugs on his desk, “It’s eggnog.”
Bill picked up the mug and took a sip. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“...”
“Listen, Henry, I’m not a big fan of parties in general. The reason that I come to this one every year is because I feel like I should show my face for at least a few minutes as one of their bosses.”
“All right.” Henry said before taking a sip of his drink, “Why stay then? I mean, you could always just go home after you feel like you’ve talked to enough people.” Instead of responding, Bill took a sip of his eggnog.
“Way to avoid the question there, Bill.”
“You always talk to me...”
“What?” Henry said, confused by the response.
“Every year, periodically, you come in to check on me, we chat for a bit, and then, at some point, you ask if I want to join you at the party. If you know that I always say no, why do you continue to ask?”
Henry playfully rolled his eyes, “Bill, I swear to whatever you believe in that half of the time you forget that we’re friends; it’s normal for friends to want to talk to each other.”
“...”
“I don't mind taking a break from the party to talk to you,” Henry said earnestly.
“Sure,” Bill said, then took another sip of his eggnog.
Henry sighed, starting to get frustrated. “Look, I’ll be the first to admit it, you’re not the most festive guy alive, but I still enjoy talking to you.”
“You should go check on our… well, your guests. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Why can’t your stubborn ass just accept that I care about you, Bill? Henry thought to himself. “Fine.” With that, Henry left without another word.
—
About an hour or so later, Henry stumbled into Bill’s office. Bill looked up, surprised. "Are you okay?" Instead of answering Bill's question, Henry said, "The party's over. How much paperwork do you have left?"
"Not much."
"All right," Henry said, then yawned.
"Tired?"
"Just… relaxed, you could say. Can I sit with you until you're done?"
"Sure, I don't mind." Bill had expected Henry to grab a chair, but he didn't. He just walked over to Bill's desk. "Could you move your chair back a bit?"
"Why?"
"As I said, I want to sit with you." After considering what to do, hesitantly, he moved back, not knowing what Henry had in mind. What happened next caught him off guard: Henry sat down on his thigh and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. Henry leaned his head on Bill's shoulder, looking down at the desk, waiting for Bill to continue. Still caught off guard, Bill stiffened and felt his face heat up. Bill didn't want to admit how nice it felt to have Henry be this affectionate with him.
"What's wrong?" Henry asked. "N-nothing," Bill said, then took a deep breath before continuing his paperwork. After a few minutes, he relaxed into the touch.
—
"Hey, Bill?" Henry asked.
"Yes?"
"You remember that eggnog I brought you?"
"Yes?" Bill said, unsure of why he was bringing it up.
"Funny thing, somebody spiked it."
Once again, Bill stiffened, "How many cups did you have until you realized that it was spiked?"
"More than I'd like to admit." He replied, chuckling a bit.
"Heh, of course, it wouldn't be a sober Henry Emily who would want to sit like this with me."
"What?"
Bill looked away, embarrassed; he closed his eyes, refusing to look at Henry. "I didn't mean to say that out loud. Please forget that I said that."
"Bill," Henry said as he adjusted his position so that they were now face to face (well, they would have been if Bill hadn't turned his head away) with each of his arms draped over Bill’s shoulders. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing this sober. Just because I have a little bit of spiked eggnog in my system doesn't mean that this isn't genuine." Bill turned to look at Henry. Henry could now see that he was profusely blushing.
With a smile, Henry shook his head fondly. He grabbed Bill's glasses by the arms. "Can I?" Bill nodded. He gently took Bill's glasses off and sat them on the desk. He then started running his fingers through Bill's hair in an attempt to relax him, which it did. Henry then took a strand of Bill's hair and twirled it around his finger.
"Your hair's getting longer."
"I know. I've been meaning to get it cut."
"Why? Don't you like it long?"
"I do, I just... I don't have the best memories associated with it being long, so I like to grow it out just a bit before getting it cut."
Henry gave Bill a sad look and then tucked some of Bill’s hair behind his ear. For a few minutes, Henry continued to play with Bill’s hair. Henry then brought his hand to Bill's cheek.
"Your hand is cold."
"Oh, sorry." Henry removed his hand from Bill's cheek.
"Hey!"
"What? You said it was cold."
Despite himself, Bill grabbed Henry’s hand and brought it back to his cheek, leaning into the touch, closing his eyes. When Bill opened his eyes, he saw hazel eyes gazing at him lovingly. Henry looked down at Bill's lips, and then, without thinking about the consequences, he leaned forward and kissed him. Bill froze, which made Henry pull back. It looked like Henry was going to say something but remained quiet upon seeing the conflicted look on Bill's flushed face.
Neither of them said anything; they just sat there in silence, Henry's hand still on Bill's cheek. Then, Bill broke the silence, "Henry, there's a good chance that you're drunk, so I don’t want to take advantage of you when your judgment is clouded-"
Before Bill could finish, Henry kissed him again. One part of Bill wanted to pull back while another just wanted to enjoy the affection, as he didn't know if Henry would ever want to be this affectionate with him again. Not knowing what to do, he started to panic. Not hiding his panic very well, his breathing started to speed up. Henry pulled back, looking at Bill with concern, "Are you okay?"
"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" Bill answered quickly... too quickly like he hadn't thought about the answer, which rubbed Henry the wrong way. "Bill, I'm not going to make you do anything that you don’t want to."
"Henry, did you enjoy kissing me?" Henry hadn't expected Bill to ask such a blunt question. "Isn't the answer obvious?” He answered; now it was his turn to start blushing.
"If you're okay with what we're doing, then I'm okay with it." Even though the sentiment should have been reassuring, something in Bill's tone didn't sit right with Henry.
“Are you sure that you’re all right, Bill?” Henry said in a serious tone. “I’m not going to make you do anything that you don’t want to.”
Bill took a moment before responding. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you… I’ve wanted to kiss you before, even,” Bill said, his face turning red at the confession, “I just wouldn’t have imagined that the feelings would have been… and, as I said earlier, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re drunk; you’re not thinking clearly. What if you wake up tomorrow and regret kissing me?”
“Bill-”
“Besides, we’ve already kissed! What are you going to tell Violet? She hates me as it is! And what do I tell Michelle?”
Henry didn’t know how to respond.
After a few moments, Bill spoke: “I’m… I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to be sorry. That’s a lot to have on your mind over a simple kiss.”
“Yes, a ‘simple kiss’ between two married men.” Bill said, rolling his eyes, “I bet that in the morning you won’t be so calm about this.”
“Bill, are you upset that I kissed you?”
“No… Do you regret kissing me?”
“Nope,” Henry said with a fond smile, then yawned.
“It’s getting late. You should be heading home; I’ll clean up. Where’d you put that whiskey bottle? While locking up, I’m going to put it in my office so no employee can get their hands on it.”
“I’ll go get it for you,” Henry said while slowly getting up. Bill stayed seated.
Once Henry was out of the room, Bill tried his best to keep it together. “Control your damn breathing, William.” He whispered harshly to himself. He reached over and picked up his glasses and put them on as Henry entered the office with the bottle.
“You can just set it on the desk, thanks.”
“No problem, and hey, I wouldn’t blame you for not cleaning up tonight. We could worry about that tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow's Saturday. Do you really want to be here on the weekend? Also, I wanted some time to think some things over by myself, so why not have my alone time while simultaneously doing something productive?”
“All right. Don’t be here all night, though.”
“I won’t try. Good night, Henry.”
“Good night, Bill.” Henry flashed him a smile before leaving.
After a few minutes, Bill stood up. He picked up the bottle, looked at it, contemplated his next move, and then opened it. He took a swig of the bottle before putting it back on the desk. “What a night. I’m so fucking stupid. That was my chance. After tonight, he’s never going to want to kiss me again, not once he sobers up and realizes what he did.” He picked up the bottle again, taking another drink from it.
“Fuck me for trying to be a decent person! Would I have really been taking advantage of him? He’d seemed like his normal self. Damn it! I’ve wanted him to kiss me for literal years at this point, and when he finally did, I didn’t let him!” With tears in his eyes, he grabbed the whiskey bottle and threw it at the floor; it shattered into pieces. He looked down at the floor. There were shards of glass and alcohol on the ground. His eyes were drawn to a particularly sharp piece of glass. Before his intrusive thoughts could linger any longer, he shook his head, “No… no, I’m better than that; I shouldn’t be this upset over a kiss. I’m such an idiot, but that’s no real surprise, is it? Damn, I wish I hadn’t wasted the bottle- wait…”
He walked over to his desk knelt on his knee and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. He rummaged through the contents of the drawer until he found what he was looking for: a flask. Even though he had bad memories associated with flasks, he eventually got one for its convenience. It was about halfway full. Against his better judgment, he drank the rest of the alcohol that the flask contained. He then stood up and sat in his chair again putting his head on the desk; he wanted the alcohol to either relax him or make him feel numb, he wasn’t picky about which. He felt… tired. Literally and emotionally. He ended up falling asleep.