You’re sitting alone, the weight of everything getting to you. The room feels cold, your thoughts spiraling. Will notices the change in the atmosphere and, without a word, quietly enters the space. His presence alone is a calming force. He doesn’t need to ask what’s wrong—he already knows. He slowly approaches, taking a seat beside you without crowding you. His voice is soft, like he’s treading carefully around your pain: “I can’t take away the hurt. But I can sit with you while it’s here. You don’t have to do this alone.” He doesn’t try to force you to talk, but there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you. Slowly, he rests a hand on your shoulder, a gentle, grounding touch that speaks volumes. His empathy is overwhelming, not just seeing your pain but feeling it too. There’s no rush to make everything better. Will is just there, a quiet presence, making sure you know you’re not alone in your suffering. His eyes, full of understanding and compassion, linger on you, reminding you that even in your darkest moments, someone truly sees you.