Work Text:
With filming all wrapped up, Mothman had somehow found his way back into Will’s arms, cradled in his lap like a real baby. James wasn’t sure when Will had retrieved the plush from the floor after Ieuan told him to put it down—but here he was again like he’d never left.
“What are you going to do with him? Put him on a shelf in the office?” James asked, nodding toward the Mothman plush.
“What? No!” Will replied, looking absolutely horrified as if James had just suggested he commit a war crime.
“Woah, sorry,” James said, raising his hands in surrender, not realising that Mothman had now joined the ranks of Will’s most prized possessions—somewhere between his rare Pokémon cards and his favourite mug.
“He’s coming home, idiot,” Will muttered under his breath, just loud enough for James to hear.
James laughed and rolled his eyes. Usually, he was the one sneaking stuffed animals home—or Orla, never Will. This was new. “He your son now?”
Will hummed something that might’ve been agreement or might’ve just been a noise to tell James to shut up.
“That’s me done for today lads, I’m heading off,” Ieuan said with a wave. “Bye, Mothman,” he added with a smirk, nodding at the plush. In response, just like in the video, Will made Mothman’s raspy voice croak out:
“Bye-bye.”
After Ieuan left, people began to trickle out—Aby next, then a few others from the office. James stood up.
“Fancy grabbing a coffee before I catch my train?”
Will nodded, and they both started packing up their things—Mothman still firmly in Will’s grasp.
“You gonna put him in your bag?” James asked.
“No, mate. Leave him alone. Why are you being mean to our child?” Will shot back, exasperated.
“Our child?” James echoed, raising an eyebrow. But one look from Will—that look—and James knew better than to say another word about the golden boy.
So Will, James, and Mothman set off for coffee. Everything felt normal—the usual chatter on the walk, the post-video breakdown, guessing if the episode would do well. But there he was, the little fella, squashed under Will’s arm the whole time.
At the café, Will claimed their usual booth while James went to order. It was tucked away at the back, surrounded by mirrored glass and more plants than necessary—every surface taken up by a pot of something green.
Mothman sat beside Will in the booth like a small child sitting next to his dad—and although Will would never admit it out loud, that’s exactly what it felt like.
When the coffees were ready, James returned to the table. “Ah, man, I forgot your drink—sorry,” he said, causing Will to frown in confusion.
“You’ve got my drink in your hand, you buffoon,” Will said, snatching it before James could tease him with his drink.
“Not you, idiot—the little fella. D’you reckon he wanted milk or something?” James replied, deadpan, his eyes fixed on Mothman.
Will’s cheeks flushed pink as he leaned in, speaking in Mothman’s familiar raspy tone:
“I only drink the blood of children.”
Both of them cracked up—but after that, Mothman wasn’t mentioned again.
Later that night, Will had taken his bath, slipped into bed, and was scrolling through TikTok with the lights off, Mothman tucked under one arm beneath the covers. A couple of hours passed like that, but eventually sleep called.
Phone off. Lamp off. The flat was quiet.
And just before his eyes closed, Will pressed a small kiss to the top of Mothman’s fuzzy head and whispered,
“Goodnight, Mothman.”