Will had just finished his morning rounds, checking in with the younger campers, when he spotted you.

You were trying—really trying—to drag a training dummy across the field. The poor thing had a life of its own, stubbornly refusing to move. It was clumsy work, your feet slipping in the grass as you grunted with determination, your hair bouncing with every frustrated tug.

Will, trying to look casual, leaned against the cabin doorframe, watching you for a moment. He couldn’t help but smile, though he was trying to hide it behind his hand. You were determined, even if the dummy didn’t seem to care for your efforts.

It wasn’t just the way you struggled with the oversized hunk of straw and armor—it was the way you kept muttering under your breath, looking at it like it had personally wronged you. You’d yank it forward a few inches, only for it to slide back just as fast.

He couldn’t resist anymore.

Clearing his throat lightly, he took a few steps forward, smiling that gentle, sunshine smile of his as he caught your eye.

“I mean,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, “you could always try using your actual strength instead of… whatever this is.”