Will is doing his absolute best to stay professional and serious, but it’s impossible, because you keep teasing him.

You duck under low branches, hop across rocks, throw handfuls of leaves at him when he least expects it. He sputters, flustered, brushing them out of his hair while you laugh. The sunlight follows you in patches even where it shouldn’t, warm and bright and wrong. Will feels the weird warmth on the back of his neck — divine, maybe. Or cursed. With you, it’s hard to tell.

When you grin over your shoulder, something in the light flickers like a flame bowing in greeting. Will stares. Squints. Decides he imagined it. But he keeps walking a little closer to you anyway.

Every time you trip on purpose or purposefully spook him with a rustling bush, he tries not to smile. Fails. He has no idea you’re dangerous. He just thinks you’re fun. The forest knows better — but it keeps the secret for you.