I know nothing about fishing, so please do bear with me!! I’m having to guess about most of this :))
Fishing was a big part in Will’s life—it always had been.
For years, it had been this lifeline for him. When he fell into these pits where he may struggle with his mental health, he’d go fishing. Even when he just needed to reset his thoughts or take a little breather from his life.
He’d take his dogs, sometimes bringing some lunch, and treck down to the river near his house to go fly fishing. He wore waterproofs and stood in the river. He let the quiet—the only sounds being the rushing of water and birds in the trees around—wash over him. The quiet let him reset his mind, sort through his thoughts and focus his entire being on a single thing.
After he married you, you became something of an equal sort of comfort. After a difficult or disturbing day at work, he’d come him and bury his face against the curve of your throat. Maybe he just spent too much time around his dogs, maybe he was getting these dog-like instincts, but breathing in your scent and wrapping himself around you grounded him. Even when he was just sad about something or other, he would press close to you and relax against your body and all his problems would disappear, would be dissolved in your presence.
Both you and fishing were comfort mechanisms.
So, the obvious idea was to combine the two.
Usually, he would go fishing alone, a personal tradition, one he knew you never wanted to step in between, as he knew that you knew how much of a lifeline it was for him. But he asked you to come with him today.
“Ha—No, love—”
Will laughed quietly as you whipped the rod, the fly at the end landing barely a meter away from the two of you in the water. He stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you so he could carefully adjust the way you were holding it. Then, he softly guide the way you moved it, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Here, like this, baby.”
He whispered in your ear, smiling and moving back as you tried again. It was better—not perfect—but he was more than happy with the improvement.
“Well done, that’s it. You got it. You’re so good, my love. Can I show you again?”
He lovingly reassured, holding out a gloved hand. You passed the rod over and he showed you specifically how he held it. He demonstrated the flicking motion he used, glancing over his shoulder to make you were watching.
“Can you see how I position my arms? Here, have another go, baby.”
He said, passing it back over and moving close to help you position your hands on the rod. You were in his waterproofs, which didn’t fit, but he couldn’t help finding it sweet. Maybe if this became a regular thing you could get some of your own—but he couldn’t help hoping you’d just keep wearing his stuff.