You were at Will's house on Devil’s Night, the air outside thick with the chill of late October and the distant echoes of fireworks and mischief. The living room was quiet, a warm contrast to the chaos outside, and you sat curled up on the worn couch with a book in hand. The oversized Will sweatshirt you had borrowed hung loosely on your frame, the sleeves brushing your hands as you turned the pages, lost in another world.

Occasionally, the muffled sounds of laughter and shouting drifted from the backyard, where Kai, Damon, and Michael were causing their usual trouble. But inside, the room felt like its own sanctuary. The soft hum of the heater, the faint scent of Will’s cologne lingering in the air, and the golden glow of the lamp created a cocoon of warmth and calm.

You were just settling into a particularly gripping chapter when a voice, familiar and impossibly commanding, cut through the quiet.

“Have I ever told you how much I love it when you wear one of my sweatshirts?”

You looked up, and there he was—Will, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The way he watched you made your chest tighten. There was an intensity in his gaze, a kind of quiet pride and possessiveness all at once, that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t think you have to say it,” you replied lightly, your fingers tightening on the book, though not enough to stop it from trembling just a little. “I think it’s pretty obvious.”

Will pushed off the wall and stepped closer, each movement measured but effortless. “Is it?” he asked, tilting his head, his voice low and teasing. “Because I could swear there’s something about seeing you in this that… distracts me.”

You felt heat creep up your neck. There was something about the way he looked at you—like he could see right through the soft, bookish exterior you carried here in his living room, straight to the person only he got to see.

“I guess I’ll just have to be careful then,” you murmured, closing the book and setting it aside.

Will’s smirk widened, and he leaned down slightly, the proximity making your heart pound in your chest. “Or… you could just keep wearing it,” he said, the words soft but loaded, almost daring you. “I don’t mind.”

A laugh escaped you, a little breathless, and you shook your head. “You’re terrible.”

“I know,” he said, his voice rough around the edges in the best possible way. “But you love it.”

And in that moment, the noise of the night outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of you, the sweatshirt, the warmth of the living room, and the silent, unspoken connection that felt stronger than any Devil’s Night prank could ever be.