V1

Will always knew.

Everyone else bought your excuses— I’m stressed, I’m fine, I don’t do that anymore, —but Will? Will had been watching you too long, too closely, with those soft blue eyes that never miss a detail.

He always knew.

He knew from the way your fingers twitched when you were overwhelmed. From how you disappeared behind cabins for “fresh air.” From the way you always smelled faintly of mint gum— too much mint gum.

He never said anything.

Not until today.

You’re sitting on the porch of the Apollo cabin, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the lake like it’s going to give you answers. Your jacket hangs off one shoulder, your breathing too shallow, too careful. Will steps outside quietly, a shadow of sunlight behind him. He doesn’t accuse you. He doesn’t scold you. He just sits beside you and says, so gently it hurts:

“You never quit, did you?”

Your whole body tenses. You look away. He sighs—a soft, sad exhale.

“I’m not mad,” he murmurs. “Just… worried. You’re hurting yourself to feel like you’re in control, and you don’t have to. Not with me.”

You swallow hard. “It’s not— it’s not like that.”

Will gives you this look—this painfully kind look that makes lying feel impossible. “Okay,” he says. “Then tell me what it is like.”

You can’t. Silence stretches. And Will’s voice drops to a whisper:

“You don’t have to hide it from me. Not the shaking hands. Not the smell on your hoodie. Not the way you disappear for five minutes at a time and come back pretending nothing’s wrong.”

He watched you, waiting for an answer.