jay ❀

“Y/n, you’re here!” Chris cheers as he pulls her into a hug. “You alright?”

“I’m good.” She replies, and they exchange further pleasantries as he ushers her in. She peers around at the wrapping paper and George’s birthday gifts strewn across the lounge area, placing her head in her hands and chuckling. “You guys didn’t wrap anything?”

“Yeah… well, we thought you’d be better at that.” Chris grins, handing her tape.

“When you said you wanted me here before everyone else, I assumed it was to help you decorate, not wrap.” She jokingly scolds.

He swings his head back as he laughs before making a start on the balloons. Panting after the third balloon, he takes a moment to admire her work, then it dawns on him. “You know,” he starts hesitantly, “he’s going to be here tonight.”

“Who, George? I’d hope so.” She quips, folding two corners of the wrapping paper over the edge of a gift and taping it.

Chris rolls his eyes. “You know who I mean y/n.” She exhales harshly, her smirk fading. “It’s been a while now and feel like I should know… what happened with all that?” The question she’s been dreading for almost a month, with Chris being the bravest, or dumbest, to ask first.

“It’s… a long story. Complicated.” Y/n sighs. She and Arthur weren’t together long, but seemed content together enough for the group to call her ‘Y/n Frederick’ whenever he talked about her. It kind of just happened, they had a mutual crush on each other, rumours spread and boom. Next thing everyone in the group knew, they’d started dating, in private from the public of course.

"I like long, complicated stories." Chris smirks, holding eye contact with her before starting on a new balloon. She also takes a deep breath and then starts explaining.

——————————

The catalyst:

There were talks of ‘y/n x Arthur’, ships and a couple of edits, but the biggest issue in their relationship started with the shippers of y/n and WillNE.

She had featured on a couple of A Bit More WillNE videos, they’d been on a Platform Roulette together and a couple of Pub Golfs, where they’d teased each other relentlessly. The audience was divided, with half assuming they hated each other and the other half assuming they were sleeping together. This bothered Arthur a lot.

“I wish more people thought you and I were a thing.” He’d mumbled here and there.

“Some do. But it works out better for us that people don’t assume, all the while we haven’t launched our relationship anyway.” Y/n would always explain, in one way or another. It would always suffice, just enough.

The thing was, y/n and Will were actually not flirting, they genuinely were just trying to annoy each other. In fact, sometimes it wasn’t even just fun and games, sometimes they actually were butting heads. Either way, it entertained the group, and the viewers even more so.

—————————————

The first mention:

At yet another Pub Golf, Will’s team won - with him, George, and Arthur Hill. On the losing team were Arthur, y/n, and Chris, and god were they made to really feel like losers. The typical chants and roasts were shouted, after a video full of light hearted fight talk.

Y/n and Will had exchanged a lot of it, having been head to head on a few challenges. Arthur had watched but remained stoic, for the cameras. It built and boiled over after filming had wrapped up. Y/n was stood behind Will in a queue for the bar, trying to see past him to look at what other drinks the pub served, aside from Chris's round of beers.

“Can you duck or something Will? I can’t see past your fat head!” She shouted, Arthur’s attention snapping her way upon hearing her say Will’s name.

He turned and smirked down at her. “I’d move, but your fat arse is in the way.” He was kidding, even y/n knew that, but it rubbed Arthur the wrong way.

“What the hell? Mate...” Arthur stated point blank, though it sounded like velvet in his voice, showing his disgust while also trying to stay calm and friendly.

Will immediately held his hand up. “You’re right, too far.” His head was bowed and his eyes closed, he seemed truthful in his apology. “Sorry y/n.”

“It’s OK guys honestly, just a little post competition smack-talk.” She chuckled awkwardly, looking between the two boys.

“Fine, fair enough.” Arthur accepted, seemingly. The exchange was so minuscule that the others didn’t even notice it, but after that, Arthur was quieter than usual. Everyone assumed he’d hit that point of drinking where he disassociated, even y/n.

It wasn’t until everyone had said their good byes and headed their separate ways, with y/n and Arthur walking hand in hand back to her place.

“So…” Arthur began hesitantly, “You and Will.”

Y/n waited, expecting Arthur to finish his sentence.

“Y/n?” He questioned.

“What— carry on.” She giggled, not catching on.

“Carry on what?” He repeated, also confused.

“With what you were saying, I mean.”

“I’m waiting for you to explain, like… should I be worried?” He reiterated, but she still didn’t get it.

“I don’t think so, I think he was just reusing my insult.” She shrugged, genuinely thinking that was the issue.

“I meant the flirting.” He reiterated, firmer.

“Oh, well, there wasn't any flirting.” She replied, reflecting his tone.

The thin line between teasing each other and flirting was debated further, ending up with them agreeing to disagree and eventually chalking it up to a tipsy misunderstanding.

————————

Strike one:

The second time Arthur was truly bothered by the 'flirting' was when she appeared in Will’s second channel again, alongside James this time.

That first incident at the pub, he’d convinced himself that he was being too protective due to the alcohol, whereas this time he was sober. This time, it hit him harder.

He promised himself he’d watch the video as soon as it came out, just to check how things were between the pair and hopefully find nothing to worry about. Due to a pod recording however, he missed the exact moment the video went live and instead saw tweets and mentions of y/n and Will first. At his flat alone with his thoughts, he made himself a cuppa and prepared himself for the worst. He found the video to be OK in the end, nothing out of the ordinary, a couple of digs between the pair, but no different to what Will and James do to each other.

But then he read the comments, or more specifically, the time stamps. Moments where Will looked at y/n, moments where she glanced at him, moments where James looked between the two and acted like a third wheel. Arthur couldn’t stop himself, taking to TikTok and searching for edits of y/n and Will. He was truly torturing himself until he scrolled away from the relevance. Wound up, he snatched his phone from the coffee table and text y/n, asking if she was free to hang out.

They met later that day for a walk and a coffee. “Look, I want to just say it: I’m not comfortable with you and Will being this close.” He blurted out in one.

“We're not that close— is that why you’ve been quiet today?” Y/n asked immediately, followed by: “What have I done wrong?” Her voice was heavy, full of innocence and concern.

“Everyone outside of our group thinks you’re together.” Arthur moaned, his brows furrowed in frustration. “It’s not nice to see.”

“So many people think you and Flo are together, but I’ve never complained. Rumours happen.” She hit back, keeping her voice down. Arthur rolled his eyes, he hates being shipped with others. “And besides, Will and James are still the biggest shipping victims of all.”

“I feel like you play into it, with you and Will though.” Arthur murmured, drumming his fingers on his coffee cup to self soothe.

She was shocked. “What?”

“Well you’re either doing it deliberately or it’s accidental, which is even worse.”

“Or neither.” Y/n mumbled. Another instance of agreeing to disagree, except y/n said she’d take a step back from collaborations with Will.

She also personally thought the shipping and edits with him were too much. She’d come up with excuses every time Will invited her to work together, even if it wasn’t just her, mostly pretending to be busy.

————————

Strike two:

James’s performance in Brighton was a popular meeting choice for the group, or for those who were free to attend anyway. Y/n for one was excited, both from being proud of her friend and enjoying his music. She had spent a lot of time attending and supporting Arthur Hill on his tour, so she figured it was time to do the same for James.

Arthur wasn’t feeling up for it, for no particular reason other than being a little tired, so y/n agreed she’d go with some of the others. She went with George, Chris, and Will. The show was a hit, everything was fine. The only potential problem was Arthur not asking who was attending, mostly because he didn't want to know if Will would be there, but y/n also didn’t feel the need to tell him either. By this point, a couple weeks had passed and the shipping died down a little, so she figured Arthur's concerns were buried with it.

It was the hours after that gig which wound Arthur up. He didn’t even bother asking y/n to meet this time, just sent her over a video he saw on TikTok in a text message and asked:

Arthur: what’s this about y/n?

The video itself was taken by a UKYT fan and uploaded to TikTok, filmed during ‘It’s Only Love’, arguably one of James’s most romantic songs. It depicted only y/n and Will side by side swaying, with Will’s arm around her and hand on her shoulder. The caption read: ‘Will and y/n embracing at a James Marriott’s concert’. Y/n could see why it looked bad, but she could also explain the situation just as easily. As she typed her reply, Arthur sent another text through:

Arthur: did you just go with Will?

A text conversation wouldn’t suffice so she called him instead. “I went with George and Chris too." She explained, "I think during that song was when Chris went to the toilet and George went to get us drinks.” Arthur seemingly understood enough.

“OK, that makes sense.” He replied, followed by silence. “But why were you ‘embracing’?” She could tell by his voice that he was air quoting.

“I started crying during this song, I’m not even sure why. It just made me emotional. We were already swaying but when he saw me crying he comforted me.” She went onto relay that he had his arm around her for about 10 seconds before laughing and calling her a ‘sappy git’, to which she laughed too and enjoyed the rest of the show.

“Fair enough.” More dead air after that, followed by a sigh. “I don’t want to be a dick here but you need to understand how disrespected I felt, seeing that.”

“Arthur…”

“I know it was out of your control, this time, but with everything else…” he trailed off, “it’s just piling up on me.”

Ouch, this time.

———————————

The final straw:

A party at the boys’ flat, not for anyone’s birthday but just for fun, ended up full of YouTubers and podcasters alike from the UK circle. Y/n and Arthur turned up earlier than most others, so they helped set up a last-minute peer pong table.

George was arranging and rearranging the drinks on the kitchen counter, Chris was deciding on a playlist, and Hill was crashed out on the sofa for some unknown reason. “So, who else is coming?” Y/n asked, lining up the cups.

Chris listed off people one by one, Arthur’s ears pricking up when Will was mentioned. Y/n nodded, excited to see some of the girls.

One by one, creators filed in, soon filling up the living space. Isaac, George, and Arthur started a game of peer pong in the kitchen area, while y/n chatted with Liv, Yas, and Becky. Suddenly, Will bounded over.

“Oi y/n, got any more a’ these?” He held up his empty can, one of her favourite drinks. Becky half-jokingly glared at him for interrupting their conversation.

“I don’t know, I don’t live here.” Y/n quipped with a giggle.

“Yeah, but you’re always hoggin’ ‘em.” He smirked.

“Rude!” Becky shouted, her mouth hung open in fake shock, Liv shook her head with a knowing smile, Yas was watching gleefully for the drama.

She could feel Arthur’s eyes on them from across the room, so she figured shutting Will down was the best option. “No, I don’t know, sorry.” Y/n stated firmer.

“I need a piss, find one for me?” He asked, trying to pass her his can.

Y/n huffed, half jokingly. “Get it yourself you lazy bastard!” She got up and walked past him, deciding to watch the beer pong. She didn’t bother looking back to the girls giggling at her choice of words, or Will standing there slack jawed.

“You OK?” Arthur checked as she put her arm around him. She nodded, proceeding to watch George make a successful bounce.

Y/n later found herself back in the ‘girly corner’, with Eleanor and Becky this time, all sat at the sofa by the window. Will approached them, carefully this time, as if he was dealing with a wild animal. “Y/n, a word?” He asked quietly.

“Uh…” y/n peered over to see Arthur busy in another round of beer pong, with Chip and Chris this time, “Sure.”

He led her to the hallway, outside the flat. “What’s up?” She peaked over his shoulder at Arthur once more, who was still preoccupied.

“D’you have a problem with me or something?” Will tried saying it nicely, but the booze and confusion meddled with his tone.

She sighed. “What?”

“You’ve been blowin’ off hangin’ out, said you’re too busy for another collab when you weren’t, and tonight you’ve been a moody cow towards me.”

Not sure what to say, she looked down and her feet and just shrugged.

“So, explain.” He folded his arms and leant against the doorway, staring down at her. “‘Cause I don’t like bein’ disrespected for no good reason.”

She was not sober enough to handle the way he was talking. “Don’t talk to me like that, I’m not a child.”

“Well ya certainly act like one.”

Meanwhile in the kitchen area, the lads were talking about relationships. Chris told a story about a girl he’d been seeing who he had to call quits on because she was too argumentative.

“Don’t forget, arguing is a sign of passion and care my man.” Chip recited something he read somewhere as he squared up his throw. Chris nodded.

“Hm…” Arthur hummed, thinking out loud.

“You alright?” Chip asked, right after missing all the cups.

“Yeah, just that… y/n and I never really proper argue.” Just as he spoke, James leant past him to take another non-alcoholic beer from the fridge. Not knowing the full context, he threw his two pence in.

“Really? Will and y/n argue all the time.” He chimed in nonchalantly. Arthur opened his mouth to say something but was at a loss, before James continued. “They’re doing it right now.” He stepped out the way to show the lads that sure enough, y/n and Will were in the midst of a heated discussion.

“I don’t owe you a good attitude you know.” Y/n spat, gesturing towards him with a wavered hand almost in disgust.

“Bein’ respectful usually comes naturally to good people.” He bit back, with venom in his eyes.

“Oh, good one.” She clapped sarcastically. “So I’m a bad person because I don’t treat you like a king.”

Will rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

“Do you even hear yourself?” She added.

“Says you your highness, actin’ like you can only be polite to people who ‘deserve’ it.” He leant closer to her, basically air quoting in her face. She instinctively swatted his hand away. “Woah, the fuck?” He scoffed, stepping away in shock.

Seeing the hand slap, Arthur rushed over, trying to not draw attention to the confrontation. Luckily the music had drowned out their shouting, other party goers either didn’t see or just left them to it. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded. “What’s going on?” He asked, naturally leaning a little in front of y/n.

Will raised his hands in surrender. “It’s alright mate, your girlfriend’s just in a mood.”

Y/n shook her head as Arthur huffed through his nose. “Really? ‘Cause from the kitchen, it looked like you both were arguing.” He pressed.

“Nah. Just y/n bein’ y/n.” Will shrugged, trying to casually charm his way out of another clash.

“Actually it’s Will being a dick!” Y/n reubutted.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Actually, it’s both of you. Constantly. And I’m fucking tired of it.” Without hesitation, he reached behind the door for his coat and stormed past the two.

Y/n was in total shock, watching as Arthur disappeared to the stairwell. Will stepped up next to y/n.

“You… OK?” He asked gently. She ignored him and tried calling Arthur, after a couple of rings he answered.

“Arthur, where are you—”

“Y/n?” Chris’s voice was on the other end. “Everything alright?”

Realising he’d left his phone in the kitchen, she sighed in defeat. “Y-yeah…” She hung up without saying anything else and tucked herself further down the corridor, out of view from everyone inside so she could think. Without warning, she then started crying.

“Oh, y/n…” Will cooed before immediately going into panic mode. “Shit, y/n I’m sorry.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and rubbed it with his thumb, not knowing how else to calm her down. She let him and sobbed harder, still covered by the music in the flat. This crying was different to the one at James’s gig, it couldn’t be blamed on any song.

“I—” Her breath hitched harshly, “I think I’ve fucked this.” She mumbled into her hands.

“What? No, no surely not.” He soothed her softly. He peeped back inside and saw that no one else aware of her upset state. “Right, stay here. I’ll be back in a sec.” He popped back into the flat, pulling the door nearly shut behind him. She began typing a message to Arthur, only to remember again that it would be no use, and stressfully shoved her phone back in her pocket.

Will emerged with his jacket and phone in hand, and handed over her phone and keys. “Come on, no one deserves to be stood outside a party cryin’.” He ushered with his head for her to follow him down the hallway. She wiped her eyes and walked behind him, confused.

The cold fresh air hit her hard, her tears freezing against her cheeks. “What’re we doing?” She asked, her attitude from before completely washed away.

“Whatever you want. I’ll get us an uber if it’s far.” He replied steadily, his anger was also swept away. She hadn’t brought a jacket, so he handed her his.

“I… don’t know.” She took his jacket for a moment then tried giving it back. “I’m OK, thanks.”

“Don’t be stupid, put it on. It’s freezin’.” He gently pushed her hand towards her. She put on the damn jacket, which admittedly warmed her up immediately. Will shoved one hand in his pocket and scrolled on his phone with the other, slightly shivering in just a black T-shirt and joggers. “So, where to?” His breath visible from the cold as he asked.

She paused, then exhaled shakily as she calmed down. “Home. Please.” Will nodded, ordering them both an uber to her place.

The ride back to her flat was dead silent, aside from the occasional sniffle and her phone vibrating from the others checking up on her. She scrolled through her notifications and sighed, seemingly overwhelmed. “Don’t worry about all that, I’ll let them all know later.” Will whispered. “I’ll make sure you’re in and head back, I won’t say you fought with Arthur."

She shot him a smile, the first genuine smile she’d given him in ages that wasn't a smirk of some kind. In fact, she realised in that moment it may be the first genuine smile she had worn in a while. He gave her an equally real one back. “Lovely.” He spoke quietly to himself, but she heard.

As the uber pulled up outside her building, she tried awkwardly removing his jacket. He placed his hand on her forearm. “Tell ya what, wear it to your door and give it back to me then.” She nodded, getting out as Will asked the driver to wait a few minutes for him, passing him a tenner from his pocket as a generous tip.

He walked behind her to the entrance, his jagged breath audible from behind her as she let them both in. She didn’t really think, just continued to her door in silence. She walked into her dark flat as he followed, waiting for her to give him his jacket back but she began sobbing again, the safety of her home causing her emotions to flow. She’d half expected Arthur to be there waiting to talk, as he had a spare key. “Aw y/n, no.” Will sighed.

She shakily removed his jacket and handed it over. “Thank you… and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be daft.” He chuckled quietly, slinging the jacket over his arm before he grabbed a glass and filled it with water for her. “Y/n, never apologise for having feelings.”

“It’s not just that, I’m sorry for being grumpy towards you… and for being distant.”

“Oh.”

“I was just trying to save my relationship.” She whined, flopping on her sofa.

“What d’you mean?” He asked as he passed her the water. He messaged the uber driver, telling him to leave without him as she figured out where to start.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her at the time (but was later told by George), Arthur had returned to the party, having only left to get some fresh air and clear his head. “Mate, where have you been?” Chris asked as soon as he saw him come through the door, with George stood beside him.

“Just a walk around the block.” Arthur replied, his eyes darting around the room. “Where’s y/n?”

George double checked his phone. “Will said he’s taking her back home, he should be back any moment.”

“What?” Arthur bellowed. “Will took my girlfriend home?”

“Yeah he did, only because she was upset.” Chris interjected.

“Fuck, oh fuck, no…” Arthur muttered, his mind going to bad places as he scrambled around the flat for his phone.

Soon enough, y/n got the call in the middle of explaining everything to Will. “Is that him now?” He asked, pointing at her vibrating phone, in annoyance at the situation.

“Yeah…” she uttered, staring at her screen with anxiety. “I’m not sure I want to answer it.”

“Pass it here.” Will mumbled as he took it from beside her on the sofa, answering and putting it on speaker. “Arthur?”

“Y/n— Will?” They heard his desperate voice on the phone.

“She’s alright mate, just got her in the flat and I’m coming ba—”

“Fantastic.” Arthur snapped, hanging up.

Y/n leant against the back of her sofa. “Now it’s really messed up.” She groaned, her voice breaking. Will ran his hand down his face. She sighed and stood up. “Thanks for getting me home. Please, go back to the party.”

“I can’t leave you like this.” He insisted.

“I’m just gonna drink my water then sleep, I’m shattered.” She replied. She did look very tired.

“Fine, but let me know if ya need anything, OK? Anything.”

“I will.”

He’d text her about 15 minutes later to say that Arthur had gone home, she replied a thank you so he knew she was doing alright. A few minutes later, Arthur messaged her too.

Arthur: I’m home, hope you’re ok

Arthur: I’ll come by tomorrow morning

Y/n: OK

——————————

The next morning:

It was far too early, but she couldn’t sleep. Her anxiety drove her insane. She’d already awoken to separate texts from George, Liv, Becky, even Will - all asking if she was OK. She spent the first few minute of the day confirming she was fine with the same copy and pasted replies. Arthur knocked, instead of letting himself in. That was a bad sign.

Once he was settled on her sofa, he asked her what exactly happened the night before, and she explained the argument and Will taking her back to hers because she was crying. Arthur listened patiently, nodding here and there and holding his hand to his chin as he took it all in.

Once she was done, Arthur stared ahead and hummed pensively. “Right, that makes sense.” He muttered.

“And he only came in to get me a glass of water, but when I started crying again, I had no choice but to explain everything to him.” She added.

“No choice?” He sighed, looking at her with defeated eyes. “Y/n, you had lots of choices, you just made these ones. Ones that involved inviting Will back to your flat.”

“You say it like I invited him back to… do something awful. He only came to the building because I had his jacket, because it was cold and—”

“So you’re wearing his jacket now too?” Arthur interrupted, putting his head in his hands.

“Because it was cold.”

“Y/n, you don’t do that. You don’t let the guy who threatens our relationship treat you like a boyfriend would.” He complained, muffled against his palms.

“He… I…” she was lost for words, thinking about how Will treated her last night compared to how she’d been feeling for a while. “No. You know what? I didn’t let Will do anything, he just did it. He saw I was upset and instead of pissing off to god knows where, he took me home and made sure I had water.”

Arthur stayed still and silent, his hands still glued to his face.

“If anything, it’s you who wasn’t treating me the way a boyfriend should.” She stopped herself before she got too irate.

The room became so quiet that traffic could be heard through the closed windows. “Arthur, please. Please don’t let this Will stuff ruin what we have.”

It was like he didn’t hear her. “I’m so sick of hearing his name. Sick of dreading the next time he shows up. Or the next time I see an edit or theory of you two come up in my phone…”

“Edits? You know it’s your algorithm—”

“So fucking sick and tired of it.” He repeated with a tight jaw. He did look tired.

“And I’m sick of never being heard. Of… walking on eggshells around you.” She sighed, too mentally exhausted to cry.

More silence.

“You know,” Arthur sat up, wiping his nose and staring at the ground, “I came over here expecting an apology from you.”

She scoffed as he bitterly laughed at himself quietly.

“Stupid isn’t it? You were upset and I wanted an apology.” He shook his head.

“Arthur…”

“I’m clearly not cut out to have a mature relationship right now, especially the kind you need.” He looked up at her, his eyes glistening as a lump formed in her throat.

“Arthur?”

“I think we should break up.”

———————————

The aftermath:

She placed the last of Arthur’s things in her bag, double checked herself in the mirror to make sure she looked human, and headed out the door. Surprisingly, she was doing OK. It had only been 4 days since they broke up and already her mind felt less clouded.

After spending the last few days sulking and crying on the sofa, she realised a lot of her best memories with Arthur were very platonic coded. Maybe he was right, in time they could be back to friends.

As she entered the cafe, he immediately stood up, accidentally shoving the table with his thighs. Clearly he was nervous too. It’s the dreaded swap. “Hey.” He smiled sheepishly, unsure of the best way to greet her.

“Hey.”

For the first time in a long time, they were both able to look at each other without expecting some kind of passive aggression. He ordered them coffee, they split the bill upon her insistence. And in between, they talked.

He told her that right after the break up, he realised that Chip’s words were right, their lack of an arguments came from a lack of true passion. All of Arthur’s energy had gone onto his jealousy towards Will, at how Will knew exactly what buttons to push to get y/n’s attention. That clearly he wasn’t ready for a relationship until he worked on his own insecurities and then, and only then, would he find the right person.

It all made sense to y/n. After wallowing in heart break, she too realised she wasn’t getting what she truly needed from the relationship. She desired some form of flame. She also needed the attentiveness, that Arthur couldn’t provide while he dealt with his own emotional demons, and she didn't figure it out until she thought about how Will took care of her that night.

They mutually agreed that before their tension began, their relationship was short and sweet. While they had crushes on each other, they certainly weren’t in love with one another. And even y/n agreed that the Will issue may have stunted that chance.

“I definitely think we can be friends, we just need the break up to run its course first.” He stated, with a genuine smile. "And with that, we'll need a bit of space."

“Agreed.” It was the first time in along time she’d said that without ‘to disagree’ added. “We shouldn’t rush our friendship, we know rushing doesn’t work.” She giggled, he chuckled along too.

They stood up and hugged before handing each other their stuff. “And by the way, if you do decide to date Will, I’m OK with that.” He added as they headed to the door.

“Arthur, I don’t—”

“I know you don’t need me to be OK with anything anymore, but I’m saying as your future friend that I’d support it.” That wasn't what she was about to say at all.

That kind of acceptance was what she always wanted, and it came a little too late. Still, it was better late than never. They walked together down the pavement before they needed to head their separate ways to their flats, but they agreed that once they were proper friends again that they’d be the other’s wingman.

————————————

A few days later:

If she was honest with herself, Will was a grey area. She saw him as a pain in the ass and the reason she and Arthur didn’t work out. But she also viewed him as unbothered and caring, when he wanted to be, AKA the right kind of guy for her. In a scenario where she would discuss Will, for example with Liv or Flo or the other girls, she would probably say that she wanted a guy ‘like Will’ in the future.

He’d been so attentive since the break up too, since he took her back to her flat really. He was the first person to text her after Arthur walked out her door that morning. He was the first person she told before messaging the girls, and Chris, Hill and George. She thought about how every day Will asked her how she was doing until around day six, when she had playfully told him she wasn’t made of glass and didn’t need daily check ins. Since then, he made a point of specifically checking up on her every other day, almost out of spite.

Even when they went out for random drinks with Arthur Hill, Stephen, Chris, and Becky. Hill asked if she was getting back in the game, she rolled her eyes at his weird old man way of saying it, following up with “Way too soon.”

Chris chimed in, not drunk enough to have a filter. “No way are you still hung up on that strange man.”

The others were a mix of shocked and amused. “Chris!” Y/n and Becky bellowed at the same time, to which Chris just shrugged sassily.

“Give it a rest mate.” Will smirked, “You’re one to talk with how much you went on about your break up.” He punctuated the clapback with a light tap on y/n’s back before smugly taking a sip of his drink. The look on Chris’s face was priceless.

“What I was gonna say,” y/n paused to glare at Chris, “was that I’d never want someone to feel like a rebound.” The group all nodded, even Chris, before she continued. “I feel like a month’s a good time to consider exploring something new, as the relationship with Arthur itself was short.”

————————————————

A few more days after:

She decided to book herself a small holiday, on her own, a little trip to Italy to spoil herself. And she did just that, making posts on her socials and even vlogging it for YouTube.

The flattery and flanter from the UKYT girls in her comment sections were always fun. Even Arthur sent her a couple of Instagram DMs, replying to stories with random facts he knew about certain monuments and areas, which was nice. No flirting or passive aggression, just trivia. Just Arthur, being a friend.

Mostly, however, she got post likes and story replies from Will. It seemed he found any excuse to write something. It was always platonic, always respectful, and always private (because of the fans) but it was always him. And he was 10 times more interactive than he was even before she was with Arthur.

——————————

Back at home:

She realised that every time a notification from Will came up, that butterfly feeling would appear. She had a similar feeling with Arthur before they become a couple, which was confusing for her. But it was nice to hear from him, when he wasn’t rebutting something she’d said or, more recently, making sure she wasn’t upset.

He was present before, interacting with her posts, but now it hit different.

Y/n and Arthur were back to friends by this point too. Arthur even told her he started therapy to work on things, not for her but for him, and she was so glad to hear it. He even said he considered downloading dating apps soon and as weird as it was hearing it, she was fine with it.

In fact, people around her started side-eying her more when Will was mentioned rather than Arthur. There was an elephant in the room, everyone could tell they were getting closer but no one had the balls to address it, until now.

——————————————

“And that’s it really.”

With the last present fully wrapped, she places it on the coffee table with the others. During her tale, she had wrapped all the presents, while Chris had blown up one more balloon.

“So long story short… you don’t mind Will coming?” Chris confirms.

“Not at all.” And with that, the doorbell rings. Chris rushes to answer and it’s Hill, juggling bags of fresh snacks for the party. They both help him carry them to the kitchen area.

As food is getting prepared, more people arrive. Chip and Sabina turn up next, they’re greeted and asked to help with more balloons and banners as they wait for the others. Then Arthur turns up with Isaac and Liv. It’s the first time y/n sees him since they exchanged their stuff. They all greet each other one by one.

“Hey, you look nice.” Y/n grins as she and Arthur share a quick hug.

“Hey n/n, so do you.” He smiles back, and that’s that. No tension, no awkwardness, and no worried stares from the others in the room.

Will and James then turn up. Both circle around the room greeting everyone, including Arthur, before Will saves y/n for last. “C’m’ere you.” He pulls her in for a hug, getting engulfed in her perfume. It lingers for just a moment before he lets go. “When’s the birthday boy arrivin’?” He asks.

“I got a text from Yas, they’ll be about five minutes.” Arthur replies. They set their coats and bags down and all get into a hiding position and wait. Soon enough, the pair arrive and George gets the jump scare of a lifetime, but soon expresses how grateful he is, looking bashful as ever.

The party is a success; more beer pong, a dart board, even Mario Kart races. Y/n sits with the girls once again, where she talks more about her time in Italy before they get the gossip about the break up and…

“Y/n, sorry to interrupt.” Will starts, it all feeling a little too familiar. “Can I borrow you a sec?”

She feels the girls’ eyes all burning into her. “Y-yeah.” She pushes herself off the sofa, noticing he’s holding a can of her favourite drink. As she walks away with him, she points at it. “I think the boys just keep them in the fridge by the way.” She explains, assuming he’s holding an empty can again.

“Ah, this is for you actually.” He clicks it open and passes it to her as they wind up outside in the hallway.

“I’m getting deja vu here.” She giggles sheepishly, her voice fading as she closes the door and shuts the noise away. He grins at her, his eyes crinkling as she adds: “You’re not going to tell me off again are you?”

He chuckles lowly. “Nah, just wanted to see how you are.” His grey eyes peer down at her, a different look in them to what she's used to.

“Will, you promised me you’d stop checking in.” She takes a swig.

“I did, but I’m just askin’ in general.” He shrugs, “I know you’re proper alright, you’ve got a strong head on ya shoulders.”

She feels stupid for guessing, but she can blame it on the alcohol. “Oh, in that case I’m doing great. Arthur and I are even friends again.”

“Good, that’s really good.” His voice is so deep when he talks calmly and quietly, it’s so new to her. “I knew you’d both be fine. He’s a good guy and you’re… you.”

Now she’s intrigued. “I’m me?” She asks, taking another sip.

“Yeah, you know...” He plays with the back of his mullet, looking around while his brain scrambles for something, but he’s also quite tipsy.

“No, I don’t know.” She smirks, secretly enjoying his internal battle.

“You’re… actually one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. I’m embarrassed I never saw it before.” He starts, picking at his nails. “How can anyone not want to be around ya?”

Her face starts to burn from his kind words and she swears he’s leaning closer, but they’re interrupted by Hill. “Guys? We’re about to sing happy birthday to George.” He disappears from behind the door. Y/n and Will look at each other and just laugh before heading inside.

Chris counts them down as they sing the embarrassing song, with George pulling a dopey smile as he turns pink. During the song, y/n locks eyes with Arthur while he looks at her and Will and gives her a small nod. Towards the end of the singing, she feels Will’s hand tentatively move to her side and rest on her waist.

At every ‘hooray’ after ‘hip-hip’, he gives her a little squeeze, giggling as she flinches from the tickling sensation. This is the first time the pair are actually flirting, at least on purpose.

“I’m going to the toilet, but I’m not done with you.” Will grins down at her as everyone disperses. His deep voice vibrates through her as she watches him walk away in awe. She heads for the kitchen to grab another one of her drinks, her hand bumping Arthur’s as they both reach in.

“Oop!” She utters.

“Oh— sorry!” He chuckles awkwardly.

“It’s OK.” She smiles at him, immediately handing him his favourite cider. He lets out a mix of a gasp and an ‘aww’, surprised she remembers.

“So… you and Will huh?” He teased, elbowing her as they step away from the fridge.

“Arth, we don’t have to do this—”

“No, really. I’m ha-ppy for you!” His face drops and voice cracks as he insists. “Genuinely.”

“Well.. thanks Arthur.” She chirps.

“Actually, seeing you both today made me realise you never were flirting with him, you know, when you and I were together…” He peers down at his drink guiltily, “So, I’m really sorry.”

She pulls him into a hug. “It’s OK Arthur.” Only Arthur Frederick can genuinely want what’s best for someone, even his freshly new ex.

“Uh, am I interruptin’?” Will asks hesitantly as he grabs himself another drink.

Arthur immediately steps away from y/n. “No, not at all.” He passes Will the bottle opener and excuses himself.

“You two OK?” He checks, reading y/n’s body language and not being able to interpret it.

She nods but can’t help but internally grimace, a pang of anxiety hitting her hard. She fears the questions and light accusations she knew of from before, but they don’t come.

“Ah, good.” He drapes his arm over her shoulder, ironically causing a weight to lift off it. “Wanna play some Mario Kart?” Is that it? Not even a sulk?

It seems somewhere between the first and third race, y/n finally comes to the realisation that she maybe, just a tiny bit, has a crush on Will. It’s the occasional grunt he does as he concentrates that makes her heart thud; or the “fuck, you’re good y/n” when she screws someone over with a power-up that makes her blush.

But it’s when he beats her and his eyes crinkle as he grins across at her. “Whaaay, unlucky!” He jabs, poking her sides to wind her up. She wants to wipe the smirk off his face, or maybe kiss it.

Little did she know, Will was also distracted. He’d occasionally glance at her section of the screen to see if she’d use a move on someone or take a shortcut, knowing if she did that she’d don a cheeky grin. He secretly adored her giggle whenever he, Chris, or Isaac groaned in frustration. He risked losing to either of the three just to catch these little moments, though he’d never admit it.

After spending the rest of the party mingling with others, playing some beer pong herself, and dancing with the girls, it was time to head back. She wishes George a happy birthday again and hugs him and Yas good bye, before starting the hunt for her phone. She weaves between other party goers, half searching and half saying her good byes, before she sighs.

“Lookin’ for this?” Will teases, leaning against the wall by the bathroom door, holding her phone between his long finger and thumb.

“Will,” she cocks her head at him in that ‘oh you’ fashion, “why do you have my phone?”

“I was worried you’d forget to say bye to me.” He chuckles.

“Really? I thought you were getting me an uber home… again.” She smirks as she watches the cogs turn, before he realises and starts fumbling through his phone to order.

Will beams ear to ear as y/n talks the uber driver’s ear off, occasionally sharing glances with him through the rear view mirror. She’s had one too many again, except this time hers spirit’s high. Usually this behaviour embarrasses him, warranting awkward apologies to the driver, but not this time. The driver looks a little annoyed, though he remains professional, and Will wouldn’t let anyone dim y/n’s shine anyway.

He’s not sure what to expect when they get to her place, so he thanks the driver and lets him drive away. He opens the door to her flat for her and allows her to step inside first. She sloppily kicks off her shoes and drops her bag and jacket on the floor, causing him to chuckle as he picks up after her. “Make yourself at home Will.” She mumbles contently as she heads to her kitchen area.

“Hang on, I think you—”

“Don’t worry, I’m already on it.” She grins. She never ceases to amaze him as she watches her poor them both glasses of water. He realises she may be a little less drunk than he had assumed, before punctuating his thoughts with an obnoxious hiccup. Maybe he’s more drunk than he assumed.

“Cheers, love.” He smiles as she hands him the water. She plonks down beside him on the sofa, spilling a little on her hand. Unable to stop herself from giggling, she wipes it dry on her cushion.

“So,” he starts, licking his lips and placing his glass on the coffee table, “what was it really like seeing Arthur today?” He leans back, draping his arm along the back of the sofa as he turns his body to face her more.

“Weird.” She pauses as she takes a moment to consider the whole picture. “Like, I half expected to feel depressed or something when I saw him.”

“That’s understandable.” Will nods, really taking in not just her words, but her tone and body language too. He absentmindedly plays with the strands of her hair where his rested hand can reach.

“Yeah, but it was actually nice to see him. In a totally platonic way.” She takes a sip of her water as Will nods some more. “It’s like I never dated him, that we were always just friends.”

“That’s nice.” He takes another sip. It’s her time to nod. “Honestly half of me was heart broken for yous, ‘cause you’re both nice people who don’t deserve to go through that.” He continues.

“Yeah…” she soaks in his words, which take their time to travel to her brain. “Wait, only half of you?”

He nervously downs the rest of his water before thudding the glass down on the table.

“Will?” She insists, her eyes digging into him as her smile lessons. He wets his lips again and clears his throat, adjusting himself even more to face her as he rests his ankle across his other knee.

“Mm.” Is all he does, just a nonchalant grunt.

She laughs, only for a second. “Want to expand on that, Willy?” A nickname he hates.

He chuckles through his nose. “Fine.” He sighs. “You’re a pain in the arse you know.” She places her glass down, feeling the need to prepare for a deeper conversation.

“The other half of me was kinda glad you two split up.” He confesses, his voice mostly full of softness and other part with guilt.

She hesitates to speak, allowing let him to explain, but it seems he’s waiting for her to ask. “Why?”

He inhales so hard his shoulders rise. “Somewhere between always arguin’ with you and seeing you be so vulnerable at the last house party made me realise I care for you way more than I thought.” He watches for her reaction but she’s just listening, really hearing him, so he carries on. “Then… I was so sure you’d lay into me thick when you split up. Like, I was expectin’ all the blame and I felt like I deserved it, but you just opened up to me. And that did something to me.”

“Will…” she utters.

“You do something to me y/n.” He clarifies, his eyes so intense, and yet not filled with any venom at all. The pair sit in silence, as they then struggle to maintain eye contact, both absorbing the information they just shared to each other.

Y/n stares at her knees, noticing their closeness to Will’s leg. “So, what does that mean?” She asks, her gaze making its way back to his face. “For us?”

“Well it’s been over a month since the break up, right?” He questions in return.

“Yeah..?”

“Then you don’t need to wait to explore somethin’ new.” He smirks. She wonders how long he’s been waiting to say that.

“You’re such a dick head.” She complains softly, swatting his thigh before their faces edge closer together.

“Would a dick ‘ead do this?” He whispers, leaning in to close the gap between them, planting a gentle kiss to her lips. His hand finds its way to her cheek, his thumb tracing a sweet line just below her eye, before he pulls away.

It’s strange. She always pictured his lips being dry and cracked, but actually they were soft and warm, like a hug to her mouth. Her eyes flutter open as she pinches her lips between her teeth, and he mirrors her. “Woah…” he utters quietly. Clearly he was expecting something more mediocre than that. He was meant to be sweeping her off her feet, and his mission has failed.

She sees it truly for the first time; ‘Love Eyes Lenney’ as their shippers referred to in the comments of their collabs. They both slump back on their parts of the sofa, a more comfortable silence taking over. She’s so content, so safe in Will’s presence that she doesn’t mind the way her eyes get heavier and heavier, until they close completely.

But when she opens them again, they struggle against the morning sun. She sits up straighter to stretch her neck, only to notice she’s in her bedroom. She yawns out a “huh?” as she steps out of bed, quickly realising she’s not in her own clothes, but a baggy black T-shirt and underwear.

She drags herself to the bathroom to splash her face and decides to brush her teeth while she’s there. As she does so, she reflects on the night before to help piece together how she wound up in her own bed. She remembers the party and coming home with Will, she remembers the conversation… the kiss… wait. She finishes and rushes out.

“Hmm, you put it on in the end.” A sleepy Will greets her as she shuffles to the lounge area. She finds him on her sofa, shirtless and under a blanket. His voice is groggy and his hair’s a mess, but damn it, he looks good.

“Did you put me to bed?” She asks sleepily.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “though you were dead set on being ‘wide awake’.” He uses air quotes as she laughs along. “The fact you don’t even remember suggests otherwise.”

A shyness washes over her as she tugs on the bottom of the tee. “And… you got me dressed?”

“Nah, I gave you me shirt so you had something more comfortable to wear after I put you on your bed,” he stretches his arms as far as they can reach and she notices he’s chewing gum, no idea where he got it from. “But you said you didn’t need it ‘cause you apparently weren’t tired.”

She snorts, feeling the soft fabric with her hands. “Well, thanks Will.”

“And no, we didn’t shag.” He laughs, “I figured a kiss was enough explorin’ for now.” He springs to his feet and plays with the front of his hair. She throws a cushion at him as he giggles and squeals. “But when you’re ready, let me know.” He squeezes the cushion as he bounces his eyebrows at her, before dropping it on the sofa. He slowly pads his way up to her. “I do mean it though.” There’s that deep, serious voice again.

“I… will do.” She struggles to look anywhere but his eyes or bare torso, peering over to the window.

He hooks his finger under her chin, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

“Good.” He replies, barely above a whisper. His eyes dart to her lips and back up to her wide eyes. She finds herself short of breath, as she feels his fan her face. Bringing himself closer as he leans down, before he snaps up straight again.

"But no time soon, right?" He cheekily grins at her, knowing full well he just blue balled her, as he heads to the kitchen area to make them both a hot drink.

She stares at him, dumbfounded and turned on. “Will…”

A/n: This was difficult but fun to write, my angstiest angst. I hope it did well ♥ TAGS: @willnees @mrslenneyott @bambilenny @reidnweeptv @diorbymel @luisntok - Gabby xo

Will Lenney didn’t have time for distractions. 

That was the rule he lived by. The one that kept Side Table running the way it did. Precision, discipline, control. The kitchen was his domain, and every service was a performance that demanded everything he had. 

Which was why you were a problem. 

He heard you before he saw you. Laughter drifted through the pass, light and deliberate, pitched just right for the table you were working. Will’s jaw tightened as he plated, fingers moving automatically as his attention flicked toward the dining room. 

You were flirting again. 

Not recklessly. Never sloppy. You knew exactly what you were doing - the easy smile, the lean-in, the laugh at something that wasn’t that funny.

You played the role beautifully, and guests loved you for it. Tips reflected that fact. 

Will hated it. 

“Will.” 

He didn’t look up. “What?” 

Chris leaned against the pass, arms crossed, watching the floor like it was live theatre, but still keeping an eye on the running of things. “Your waitress is at it again.” 

“She’s not my waitress.” Will snapped, sharper than intended. 

But Chris wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part. 

You’d been here six months – long enough to become part of the rhythm of the place, long enough that Will could remember exactly when it started. The first time you’d argued over a table modification. The first time you’d rolled your eyes at him and still done it his way. The first time you’d smiled like you knew something and he didn’t. 

The cat-and-mouse game had been an accident at first. A clash of personalities. Control versus confidence. You’d pushed back when he snapped. He doubled down when you didn’t fold. Somewhere along the line, it stopped being about the food and started being about you. 

Will had noticed long before he’d admitted it to himself. The way you lingered at the pass. The way you always found a reason to be in the kitchen during the rush. The way you flirted just enough to make him think it was for him – and then made sure he saw you do it for everyone else, too. 

You’d noticed even earlier.

He knew that now. Knew it in the way you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking. In the way you smiled when he lost his patience with you. In the way you never once stopped pushing, no matter how sharp his tone got, no matter how often he told himself you were just another waitress who liked pushing buttons. 

This wasn’t new. 

This was delayed. 

Six months of glances held too long, of eyes catching at the pass and staying there half a second longer than they should. Of arguments that ended in silence, the kind that followed him for hours, replaying in his head while he chopped, stirred and plated. Of tension that lived in the space between your hands when plates were passed, close enough that he could feel your warmth, close enough that pulling away felt like losing. 

Six months of him wanting you and refusing to say it.

Six months of you knowing and waiting. 

So when Chris raised an eyebrow, smirked and said, “Could’ve fooled me,” Will had no defence. 

Instead, he ignored him, focusing on the dish in front of him. The kitchen hummed around him - pans sizzling, orders being called, the constant motion that grounded him. It was easier when he kept his eyes down. 

But then you laughed again. 

Something in his chest twisted, hot and unpleasant. He told himself it was embarrassment. That was the word he used. Professional concern. Image. A high-end restaurant didn’t need theatrics.  

You breezed through the swing doors, moments later, order pad in hand, still glowing from whatever charm you’d just deployed on an unsuspecting customer. 

“Table twelve needs another round,” you said brightly. “But they wanted to say the food is incredible.” 

Will didn’t look at you. “They would.” 

You lingered anyway. You always did. Leaned against the counter like you belonged there. 

“Everything alright, Chef?” you asked, voice innocent. 

He glanced up then, meeting your eyes. There was a glint there - knowing, amused - like you could see straight through him. 

“It’s embarrassing,” he said flatly. 

Your smile didn’t falter. “What is?” 

“The way you carry on out there,” he continued, plating with more force than necessary. “Practically whoring yourself out for a couple extra quid.” 

The kitchen went quiet. 

Even the pans seemed to stop sizzling. Someone dropped a spoon. Will became acutely aware of every pair of eyes in the kitchen, of the way his words hung in the air, ugly and impossible to take back – and still, embarrassingly, true. 

Arthur Hill let out a low “Jesus” before Arthur Frederick elbowed him hard. 

You didn’t react the way he expected. No anger. No defensiveness. No tears. Just a slow tilt of your head, eyes never leaving his.

“You don’t look very embarrassed.” 

Will’s jaw clenched. “I’m serious.” 

“So am I,” you replied. “And last time I checked, my job is to make customers happy.” 

You leaned closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear. 

“And anyway, you watch every time.” 

His hands stilled, fingers locking around the edge of the counter like if he let go, he’d reach for you instead. 

For a moment, the kitchen faded away in his mind. All he could see was you - confident, infuriating, entirely too aware of the effect you had on him. 

His hands were gripping the counter so hard that the edge was digging into his hands. “Get back on the floor,” he said tightly. 

You straightened, unbothered and said sweetly, “Yes, chef.”

And just like that, you were gone.

Service dragged after that. 

Will threw himself into the work, barking orders sharper than usual, correcting things that didn’t need correcting. He hated the way his focus fractured every time you passed the doors, the way his eyes followed you despite himself. 

He hated that Chris noticed when he was in the kitchen.

“Mate,” Chris said later, quieter now. “You’re glaring holes through the pass.”

Will wiped his hands aggressively. “She’s unprofessional.” 

“She’s good at her job,” Chris countered. “And you’re jealous.” 

Will shot him a look. “I’m not jealous.” 

Chris smirked. “Sure.”

By the time last orders were called, Will was wound tight. You hadn’t come back into the kitchen once since your argument, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit. 

When service finally slowed, he found you leaning against the bar, counting tips with a satisfied little smile. 

George caught his eye and wisely disappeared. 

Will approached, voice low. “We need to talk.” 

You glanced up. “About what?”

“About earlier.” 

You hummed. “Didn’t seem like you wanted a discussion.”

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “I wanted you to stop.” 

You stood, tucking your money away. “And I wanted you to be honest.” 

He scoffed. “I was.” 

“No,” you said calmly. “You were jealous.” 

The words landed between you, heavy.

Will stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You like winding me up.” 

“I like that you pretend you don’t like it,” you replied.

The bar was empty now. Chairs stacked. Lights dimmed. But he knew Chris and Harry were still hanging around somewhere before lock-up. 

“Come with me,” Will said abruptly.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Where?” 

“The walk-in,” he replied. “Now.” 

You didn’t hesitate. 

The door shut behind you with a solid, unmistakable click.

The sound was final. Private. The kind of noise that made Will’s spine straighten instinctively, every rule he lived by flaring like a warning in his head. 

Cold rushed in immediately, sharp and clean, biting through his jacket. The walk-in hummed around them, shelves stacked high, metal and plastic and the faint scent of herbs and citrus. It should have grounded him. 

It didn’t. 

You turned to face him, eyes adjusting to the low light, and suddenly, there was nowhere else to look. No pass to hide behind. No tickets to focus on. Just you, standing too close already, like you knew exactly how little space he had left.

“You think this is a game,” he said, and it came out rougher than he meant. 

You tilted your head, studying him. “I think you don’t like sharing my attention.” 

That hit somewhere low in his chest. Ugly. Honest.

He laughed once, breathless, the sound sharp in the cold air. “You flirt with half the restaurant.” 

“And you hate it,” you said softly.

“Yes,” he snapped. Then quieter, “because I want it.” 

The words hung between you, raw and undeniable. 

You stepped closer. 

Not touching. Not yet. 

Close enough that he could feel your heat against the chill, close enough that every inch of restraint he had left went tight and screaming. He didn’t move. He couldn’t trust himself to. 

“Then stop pretending you don’t.” 

His hand came up before he could stop himself, fingers brushing your waist like it was instinct. His thumb flexed, barely, as if it was testing whether this was real. 

“Say the word,” he murmured, voice low and uneven. “And I’ll walk away.” 

You didn’t say it.

Instead, you leaned in, lips brushing his ear, your breath warm against skin that was already on fire. “You’re not very good at letting go of control, are you, chef?” 

His grip tightened, the shelves digging into his back behind him like he needed something solid to keep him upright.

“Don’t,” he warned, but there was no weight to it. No authority. Just want.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “Or what?”

That was it. 

Will kissed you like he’s been holding his breath for six months and finally let himself exhale.

Controlled at first, but it broke almost instantly, turning desperate and messy and full of everything he hadn’t let himself say. His hands found you like they had been waiting, sliding to your waist, your back, pulling you closer until the cold disappeared entirely. 

You made a soft sound into his mouth, and he almost lost it right there. 

When he pulled back, it was only because he had to breathe. Foreheads touching. Breath uneven. Hands still gripping you like letting go might undo everything. 

“We shouldn’t,” he said, the lie weak even to his own ears. 

You smiled. “You don’t sound convinced.”

The door rattled faintly as someone passed outside. Reality crept in, unwelcome and sharp. 

Will closed his eyes for a second. Then he forced himself to step back. 

“Go home,” he said hoarsely. “Before I do something I can’t undo.” 

You nodded, eyes dark, lips swollen. “Tomorrow night?”

His smile was dangerous now. Unrestrained. 

“Tomorrow night.”

He watched you leave, heart pounding, already knowing that next time, he wouldn’t be able to stop. 

The next day is unbearable.

Will knows it the second you step onto the floor.

You’re already in character – smile bright, posture open, voice pitched just right as you greet your first table. You move like you’re performing, like you know you’re being watched. Like you want him to watch.

And he does. 

Every time you lean closer to a guest. 

Every time you laugh and touch someone’s arm. 

Every time you tilt your head and play sweet and charming, entirely too aware of the effect you have. 

It’s worse than before. 

Because now he knows exactly how you taste. His hands have memorised the shape of your waist, and he knows what you feel like pressed against him. 

“Will,” Arthur Frederick says, scrubbing furiously at a pot. “You good?” 

“Yes,” Will snaps, sharper than intended. 

Arthur Hill glances between Will and the pass, then toward the floor. “Really? Cause your eyes doing that twitchy thing again, and you look like you’re gonna crack your teeth with how hard you’re clenching your jaw.” 

Arthur looks away from his pot and stares at him like he’s crazy. “Dude!?”

“What?” He says incredulously, like he genuinely thought he was helping. 

Will exhales through his nose and focuses on the plates in front of him. He tells himself it’s fine. That this is exactly what he complained about before. That he practically asked for this. 

Then you appear in the kitchen. 

“You’re smashing it tonight, Chef,” you say brightly, eyes flicking over him in a way that is anything but innocent. “Table six wants to personally thank you.” 

“They can thank the food,” he replies.

You lean closer, lowering your voice. “They want to thank you.”

His grip tightens on the tongs. 

You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head straight back out, hips swaying just enough that it can’t be accidental.

Chris watches you go, then looks at Will. 

“She’s doing that on purpose,” he says. 

Will doesn’t deny it.

The rest of the shift becomes a test of endurance.

You flirt shamelessly. With regulars. With new guests. With people Will knows don’t stand a chance. You play it up, laugh louder, lean further, let your hand linger just a second longer than necessary when you take menus back. 

Every time you pass the kitchen doors, you look at him.

Not too obviously. Just enough. 

The looks say you see this?

They say you remember last night? 

They say you’re going to pay for that comment. 

By the time last orders are called, Will is wound so tight it’s almost painful. 

You float into the kitchen at the end of your shift to drop off your apron, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. 

“Good service,” you say airily. “You seemed… distracted.”

He glares at you. “You’re enjoying this.” 

You smile. Slow. Satisfied. “Maybe.” 

“Get changed,” he says, voice low. “Go home.”

You step closer instead. “Last I checked, you’re not my boss. I report to Chris, not you.”

The kitchen and restaurant begin to empty. George heads out first. The Arthurs trail behind, arguing about something stupid and trivial as they go. Chris follows not long after, calling a casual goodnight. 

Harry leaves the keys on his way out, trusting Will to finish closing. 

The restaurant exhales.

The last of the noise drains away – the hum of voices, the scrape of chairs, the clatter of glass – leaving behind a silence that feels heavy and charged. Will stands still, very aware of you in his space. 

Just the two of you.  

“You pushed all night,” he says quietly, finally turning to face you.

You untie your apron, unhurried, folding it with deliberate care. “You told me to stop before. You didn’t today.” 

“That’s because”, he says, stepping closer, “I was trying not to drag you into the walk-in halfway through service.”

Your eyes darken. “Trying?”

The words feel like a challenge.

He’s right in front of you now – close enough to see the faint flush on your cheeks, close enough that your perfume cuts through the lingering smell of disinfectant and metal in the kitchen. There’s no one left to pretend for. No one left to stop him. 

“You wanted to wind me up,” he says, voice low. “Congratulations. You did.” 

“And now?” you ask, soft but steady.

He reaches for you, fingers curling around your wrist – not rough, but firm. Anchoring. Claiming. His thumb presses into your pulse, and he feels how fast it’s racing.

“Now,” he says, releasing you slowly. “Everyone’s gone.” 

Your breath catches. Just once. That’s all he needs.

He steps back, forcing space between you like it’s the last good decision he’ll make tonight. 

“This is your last chance,” he says. “If you walk out that door, we forget this ever happened.”

You look at him for a long moment. 

Then you turn. 

Not to leave – but to the door.

You reach up, fingers wrapping around the lock Harry left half-turned, and twist. 

The click is loud in the empty restaurant. Final. A choice made out loud.

Will laughs under his breath, something dark and unrestrained finally snapping loose in his chest.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

You step back into his space, close enough that he can feel the heat of you again, voice low and sure.

“Neither do you.” 

His hand comes up to your jaw, thumb brushing your lip, slow and deliberate now, like he’s taking his time on purpose.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been waiting all night.” 

Will doesn’t kiss you this time – he claims you.

His mouth finds yours like it’s been denied too long, hands already moving, already sure, already done pretending this is anything other than inevitable. You barely have time to react before you’re pressed back against the counter, his body boxing you in, voice low and dangerous against your lips. 

“Come on, be a good girl for me now?” he murmurs, like he knows you won’t listen – and like he’s counting on it. 

You try to answer him, but when his fingers brush against your damp underwear under your skirt, it comes out in a broken noise, breath catching when his grip tightens on your arm just enough to remind you who’s in control.

“You’re soaking already, sweetheart.” He says teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix this for you.” 

He lifts you, so you’re sitting on the countertop, leaning back on your hands, and lowers himself so he’s level with your already aching core. You can feel his breath hot against you, making you squirm around and very close to begging for it. 

Will drags your underwear down your legs torturously slow, then stuffs them in his back pocket, sending you a smirk. 

Before you could respond to that, Will leaned in to lick your slit. 

“Oh fuck,” you cried out, head thrown back, arms nearly giving out with the shock of pleasure. 

He uses his long fingers to push through your folds and slips one into your embarrassingly wet hole, tongue attached to your clit. He takes his time in a way that almost feels cruel, making you feel every second of it, every inch of anticipation, making that string inside you stretch thin. 

His hands hold your thighs in place around his head, steady and unyielding, while his mouth memorises the taste of you, nose nudging your sensitive clit as his tongue dips into you. 

Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter without thinking, knuckles whitening. Whines and broken noises escape your lips. The faintest hint of satisfaction shows in the way his grip tightens, but his pace never changes.

“Look at you all, desperate.” He says, pulling his mouth away, but still pumping his fingers in and out. “If I knew this was all it took to shut you up, I would have done this ages ago.”

“Sh- shut up,” you say weakly. Gasping as he hit that spot deep inside you. 

“That’s not very nice, honey is it?” 

He returns his lips to your drooling pussy, and you let out a whine. You were practically humping his face, and when Will’s tongue moved even faster, you moved your hands to grip his hair and began to press his face deeper into your folds. 

“Fuck, Will, yes, so close,” you groaned out, legs shaking as he moved his mouth to suck hard on your clit. After only a few more swipes and licks of his tongue, you could feel yourself on the edge. 

When you try to speak, to warn him, to say his name, he hums softly instead, a quiet, controlled sound that tells you he’s exactly where he wants to be.

“Go on, sweetheart, cum for me.” You finally let go, shaking as you do, and Will holds you as you fall apart. 

When you finally stop shaking, Will stands from his place on the floor slowly, giving you a second to catch your breath. 

But his hands don’t leave you. They slide up, steady and smooth, thumbs brushing reassurance into your skin even as his eyes stay dark and focused, watching you like he’s checking for something only he can see. For a moment, he just holds you there, breathing heavy, forehead resting briefly against yours like he needs the contact to steady himself too. 

“Look at me,” he says quietly. 

You do, and his grip tightens just a fraction, approval flickering across his face like he’s pleased with what he sees. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and certain. 

Then his hands move again, guiding you to lean back on the counter. 

He leans in, mouth brushing your ear, voice low and rough with restraint. “Not done with you yet,” he says softly, unbuttoning his trousers and shoving them down. 

You reach towards him, freeing his cock from his underwear. 

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckles down at you, capturing your lips in a kiss where you can taste yourself on his tongue, while he lines himself up at your entrance. 

“Please, Will.” You finally beg, and he pushes into you, stealing your breath away. 

“There you go, pretty girl.” 

He starts slow at first. Deliberate. Dragging his cock in and out of your walls like a punishment for every time you teased him, every time you smiled at someone else just to make him lose his mind. His voice drops again, closer now, and when he says your name, it sounds like it’s been sitting on his tongue all night, waiting.

“Still want to play?” He asks teasingly, breath warm against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck. 

Your breath stutters, and he notices, smiling like he’s been waiting for that reaction. He reaches up to fondle your tits, making more pathetic noises fall from your lips and echo in the empty kitchen. 

The steel counter is cold against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat building everywhere else, and you squeeze around his cock hard.

The control he’s been holding onto slips, not completely but enough that his breath stutters, enough that the brutal rhythm changes. The sound you make pulls a groan out of him, low and rough, and he presses closer instinctively, forehead dropping to your shoulder. 

“Fuck”, he breathes out. 

You feel him lose the careful pacing, the way he finally stops dragging it out, thrusts turning needier, and everything narrows down to sensation, pressure, and the way he keeps you close. His hands slide to your back, holding you through it. 

You moan out again. “Will– fuck- I’m gonna-”

“That’s it,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

You finally cum for the second time that night, and Will follows soon after, hips stuttering as he releases into you. 

Will rests his forehead against yours for a second, eyes closed, your breath mingling, like he’s grounding himself before he moves at all.

When he does it’s careful. Unhurried. He guides you off the counter and down with him, hands warm and steady, until you’re both sitting on the floor.  

The kitchen floor is cold. 

Or it should be – but you barely notice, curled into Will’s side with his jacket half-draped over you both, the faint hum of the fridges filling the quiet. The lights are dimmed, the world reduced to his breathing and warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. 

One arm is wrapped around you, firm but easy now, thumb tracing absent-minded lines along your arm, the other hand is tangled in your hair, gentle in a way that feels new – careful, almost reverent. 

You feel safe. 

Not in a this changes everything way. 

Just… steady. Warm. 

It’s nice you think – the quiet after the storm. The way the tension has finally burned itself out into something softer, something easier to breathe in, 

Will presses his lips to the top of your head without thinking about it. 

You smile and let yourself melt a little more into his side. 

For once, there’s nothing to prove. 

The next few days at work feel… different. 

Not dramatic. Just shifted. Like the air has settled into a new shape around the two of you. 

Will’s calmer. 

Not soft but less sharp around the edges, less quick to snap when things go slightly wrong. He still runs the kitchen like a drill sergeant, but there’s a looseness to him now, like he’s not carrying quite so much tension in his shoulders anymore. 

And everyone notices. 

You catch him looking for you without realising he’s doing it – eyes flicking to the floor when he thinks no one’s watching, hands stilling for half a second when you pass the doors. He doesn’t shout at you anymore, not once. Just meets your eyes, smiles slightly, lets you get on with work. 

It’s almost worse than the arguing was.

Arthur Frederick is the first to say something. 

“So,” he says one afternoon, scrubbing a pan that’s already clean, while you linger in the kitchen on your break, his eyes darting between the two of you. “You and Chef got, like… a truce or something? Because he smiled earlier, and it was terrifying.”

Will doesn’t even look up.

“Arthur.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do your job.”

Arthur Hill snorts from the other side of the sink. “There he is.”

Will finally looks up, glare sharp and familiar. “Would you like to join him?”

Both Arthurs immediately shut up, returning to their work with exaggerated focus. 

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

Later, when you pass the kitchen, Will catches your wrist briefly – quick enough that no one sees – just long enough to brush his thumb against your skin. 

“Dinner tonight?” he murmurs. 

You nod, and he smiles.