“He’s a loose cannon,” Will heard Jack say, the words cutting through the quiet hum of the office. Jack sat at his desk, glancing up at Alana with a tired shake of his head. “And he definitely needs to be medicated. She’s like… a honeymoon vacation. They just don’t belong together.”

Maybe Will was eavesdropping. Fine—he was eavesdropping. But could you blame him? You don’t just walk past your boss’s office, hear your name being tossed around like office gossip, and not pause for a moment. Still, as always, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Jack’s voice had dropped to a near whisper, muttering something about Will being a “foolish man” and “a walking bad dream.” Then came the metaphors—comparing Will to a Friday night gone wrong, and you to a welcome sign after a long, peaceful drive. In Jack’s eyes, you and Will were obvious opposites. Mismatched. Unbalanced.

And honestly? That wasn’t entirely wrong.

Will was damaged. Years as a homicide detective had left him fractured—mentally, emotionally. He didn’t pretend to be “normal.” But you… you were, at least in comparison. As normal as a psychiatrist in this field could be. Grounded. Empathetic. Stable.

Which was what led him here. To you.

He lay across your bed, his head resting in your lap, your fingers gently combing through his curls as he tried to piece his feelings together.

“They just kept… comparing me to all these terrible things,” he murmured, voice thick with hurt. “Saying I don’t deserve you.” He sniffled, burying his face deeper against your thigh, trying to hide from the sting of their words.