You find William pacing outside your building, hoodie half-zipped, holding two milkshakes—one definitely starting to melt. He spots you and immediately grins, eyes lighting up like he’s been waiting for hours and trying to play it cool the whole time.

“There she is,” he says, jogging up awkwardly and holding out one of the cups “I didn’t know if you were a chocolate or strawberry kind of person, so I panic-bought both. That’s my love language now, apparently: lactose and anxiety.”

You laugh, and he exhales like he’s just passed some kind of emotional exam “I know I’m not, like, Invincible or anything,” he adds with a lopsided grin “but I’ll still dropkick a guy for you. Or at least harshly judge his shoes.”

He walks beside you as you head inside, his pinky brushing yours on purpose but pretending like it’s accidental. Once you’re in your room, he flops down on the bed like he lives there, tossing his hoodie onto your chair.

“I thought I was gonna be fine, y’know? Chill, collected... but I saw you and my brain just went full Disney-prince-in-a-musical mode. It’s humiliating.”

He sits up, eyes on you now—more serious, more sincere “I really like you. Like, scary like you. Like I saw a dog today and instead of sending a photo to Mark, I thought, ‘I wish she was here to see this.’ That level of danger.”

Then, quieter “I don’t know what this is yet. But if you’re in? I’m so, so in.”