Sleep to Dream

It's been a week, and Will hasn't called back. Marcus refuses to admit he's disappointed. It's just, he doesn't get interesting callers a lot-- and Will is in a band and he writes music and that's the closest that Marcus has gotten to talking to another author who's not a complete asshole in ages.

But, it's fine. The less work Marcus has, the better, because it's the more time he can spend on his novel. He's being very mature about it all, of course, because he's an adult, and what not.

Except, then, when Ella holds up the phone the next night. "Someone's asking for you? Sounds British. He's saying, 'I'll only talk to Mahcus,'" she says, in a truly horrible imitation of a British accent.

Marcus grabs his phone off the hook a little too quickly to not be embarrassing.

"Hello?"

"Marcus?" asks a familiar voice, and Marcus feels himself relax. "It's Will, again."

"Hi," Marcus says. "Problems sleeping again?"

"This is a sleep hotline," Will agrees, but he sounds much less annoyed than he did the last time he called. Mostly, he just sounds tired. It's four AM.

"Any specific problems?"

"Just feeling wired, I guess."

"Is it cool in your bedroom? I mean, do you have the air on?"

Will snorts. "It's a hundred bloody degrees out, of course I have the air on."

"Is it the city noises? Sometimes that's distracting--"

"It's cool, it's quiet, it's dark, I've done all of the regular imbecile things and yet I can't sleep. I haven't had a drink in three weeks. I need some pills or something," sighs Will.

"Um," says Marcus, rather intelligently. Sometimes he doubts he really graduated from one of the top universities in the United States. Maybe the whole thing was just a dream. "I'm not about to prescribe alternate drugs to a recovering alcoholic. Even if I actually could prescribe drugs. I can't, by the way. I can give you a referral to a doctor, though."

"I'll just use OTC stuff," Will says, dismissing the idea of a doctor easily. "Unisom, Melatonin. I don't need a 'sleep professional'." The way he says 'sleep professional' makes Marcus think that if he was there with Will in person, he'd be making air quotes.

There's silence for a moment, and then Will says, "What's your job description? Just, specifically."

"Um, talk to people who can't sleep? Give advice, I guess."

"Talk?"

"Yes, it helps sometimes, other than just swallowing it all down with pills."

Will tsks. "Awfully judgmental for a sleep hotline operator, aren't you? Those aren't habit-forming."

"I wasn't trying to be--" Marcus starts, defensive, before he decides, no, he's not going to bite. "Actually, you know what? Look, why don't you try it. Tell me what's on your mind."

"Am I going to die?"

"What?"

"Like, how long does it take to die from sleep deprivation? That seems like something you should know."

"Jesus Christ," Marcus swears. "You're not going to die." Unless I reach through the phone and strangle you, he thinks, although he's not sure if he really wants to do that, as contrary as Will is. "How long's it been since you last slept?"

"Four days."

"You're probably dozing off without realizing it," Marcus tells him. "You're probably getting a little bit of sleep. Definitely not going to die, I promise."

Will sighs again, and then says, "Can you just do whatever you did last time?"

"Talk to you?"

"Yeah. Just, you know, tell me about your day."

Marcus woke up at three PM, made himself a grilled cheese sandwich and sat on the couch watching America's Next Top Model for three hours before calling his mother and sleeping more before going into work. "Um," he stalls. "How about you tell me about your day, instead."

"It was shit," says Will. "Trying not to think about it, actually."

"Then just tell me one thing that annoyed you," Marcus pries.

"I'm blocked."

"Blocked?"

"Creatively," Will adds, and Marcus adds in "writer" to his file. He's surprised at himself for forgetting to put it in before.

"That's a lot like sleeping, isn't it?" Marcus sympathizes. "The harder you try, the farther away it gets."

"That's exactly it!" Will exclaims. "I knew you were an artist."

"What?" says Marcus. The strange part is, he kind of wants to tell Will about his writing. But he's not supposed to, it's one of the rules of the office. He's not allowed to share any personal information about himself apart from his first name. It's for security reasons, but he thinks, somehow, that telling Will about his writing would improve their relationship. Two struggling writers, commiserating in the night... It's almost poetic.

"It's just obvious," Will tells him. "This job isn't your passion, so I figured there had to be something else, and you know a lot about books, and then, the writing process, so-- I just guessed."

"Very perceptive," Marcus says, which is about as close as he can get to admitting Will is right without breaking his boss's rules.

Will starts to say something, but Marcus cuts him off before he can inquire any more about Marcus's life. "What happens when you try to write?"

"Nothing happens," Will tells him. "I just stare at the paper, or the wall, and nothing happens. What if I can't write anything ever again?"

"So, what? You're not going to die if you never write again."

"It's entirely possible," Will says. Marcus adds in "melodramatic" to his file.

"Let's just... experiment with the idea that you won't."

"Experiment?"

"I'm telling you that you won't." He's mostly just running on instinct at this point, and he has no idea if his dumb idea will actually work, but maybe it will. That's enough of a motivation for him to try it out.

"Wow, fantastic!" Will says sarcastically. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"It's not supposed to be a pep talk," says Marcus. "I'm telling you that it's fine if you never write anything again, so stop worrying about it and go to sleep."

"Um," says Will, obviously confused.

"Goodnight, Will," Marcus says, and disconnects the call.