Monaco Villa – Night Before Departure.

The villa is finally still.

Most of the boys have disappeared off to bed or drifted out for one last mooch around the marina, but you’re curled up alone on the sofa. Your laptop’s warm on your legs, your swimsuit still damp under your hoodie, and your hair’s shoved into a claw clip with a few strands clinging to your cheek.

Headphones in, you’re scrubbing through vlog footage from the yacht. Champagne pops. Someone’s flip flop flying into the sea. Chip nearly falling in after it. Your voice laughing behind the camera. Then—

You pause.

Rewind.

Pause again.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh my god.”

There, in the background of a throwaway wide shot on a train where Arthur’s talking shit about sunscreen conspiracies, is Will. Just over the back of a seat, peeking into frame like some smug little gremlin. He holds your gaze for a beat—then does it.

Tongue in cheek, and his hand doing the unmistakable movement that was paired with that fucking sign.

That gesture.

Only for a second, before he ducks back behind the seat like it never happened.

Your face flames. Will’s voice cuts through the air. You slam your laptop shut with a guilty yelp.

“What the fuck was that?” he laughs, already halfway into the room, towel around his neck and curls still damp from the shower. He stops dead, eyes flicking from you to the closed laptop. “Why’d you shut it like that? You watching something you shouldn’t, or…?”

“No,” you say too quickly. “Shut up.”

Will raises a brow, clearly delighted. “Nah. Nah, that was suspicious. You snapped it shut like I walked in on full-blown category five sin.”

You fold your arms. “I wasn’t watching anything bad.”

“That’s exactly what someone watching something bad would say.”

You groan, covering your face with both hands. “You are such a nightmare.”

He grins, dropping down onto the couch beside you like he owns it. “What was it then? One of my vlogs? One of your vlogs? Oh god—was it the bit where I fell over that sunbed? You’ve rewatched it, haven’t you. Sick little freak.”

You look at him, deadpan. “Worse.”

His grin falters. “Worse than me faceplanting in designer swim shorts?”

You slowly open your laptop, scroll back, and hit play.

Will leans in.

He sees it.

His mouth twitches.

“You noticed that?” he says, looking almost proud.

“You did the tongue-in-cheek thing on camera, Will,” you hiss.

“Did I?” he asks far too innocently, eyes glinting.

“Don’t play dumb. You leaned in, stared right down the lens, and did that.”

He snorts, shoulders shaking with laughter. “I honestly didn’t think you’d catch it. Thought you’d be too busy editing out Chip’s monologue about rosé.”

“You’re in the background doing a sex mime like some cursed Victorian ghost, Will.”

He puts a hand over his heart. “Wow. Cursed ghost? Bit harsh. I was giving you content.”

“Giving me—” You sputter. “You’re lucky I didn’t punch you into the Med.”

Will stretches, arms behind his head, completely unfazed. “Can’t believe you’re this flustered by it.”

“I’m not flustered,” you say, clearly flustered. You click back through the timeline furiously. “You just surprised me.”

Will tilts his head. “You know I’d actually do it, right?”

You freeze. “…Do what?”

He shrugs, all calm confidence. “If you asked.”

Your brain short-circuits for a beat too long. The faint breeze from the open balcony doors cools your cheeks but does nothing to stop the heat crawling up your neck.

You scoff, playing it off. “You’re a menace.”

“Mm,” he hums, standing with a stretch. “You can cut it out if you want. Or—”

He leans closer again, that smug grin creeping back.

“Leave it in. Might boost views.”

He disappears down the hallway before you can throw a pillow at him, laughing all the way.