William Grayson III was many things - intense, destructive, addictive. But it was never stable. And you always knew that.

He drank as if the world was about to end, smoked as if his lungs were disposable, and lost himself in anything that made him forget for a few minutes who he was.

Everything in Will was an exaggeration.

Except you.

You were what was constant in that messy life. Since always. The best friend, the safe haven, the presence that never failed.

You were his balance.

The compass.

The only thing that still pulled him back to the ground.

That’s why, after another chaotic night, after dragging him from the party straight to his house and helping him get to bed, you froze when you heard what escaped from his mouth - trembling, drunk, but desperately sincere.

“Kiss me.”

Will whispered, in an almost childish tone, begging without any pride.

“Kiss me until we get sick of it...”

Pause. Despair.

“He kisses me until our lips give up... until it hurts. Just... kiss me.”

And finally, with his eyes half closed, his chest going up and down in a broken rhythm, he let go:

“Please, princess.”

As if at that moment, in that particular chaos, his world depended exclusively on you.