The first time Will sees you, it’s by accident. Jack is still mid-sentence, walking too fast down the BSU hallway, rattling off a list of files he wants Will to look at before morning. Will isn’t listening—he tries to, but the moment he catches sight of you standing by the briefing room door, something in him… shifts. A strange, warm pull, confusing in its simplicity. A feeling he doesn’t have a name for.

You’re not doing anything out of the ordinary. Just waiting, flipping through a thin folder, eyes flicking up when Jack approaches. But there’s something in your expression; open, gentle, a softness that doesn’t belong in a place built from steel, fluorescent lights, and the scent of old coffee. Will slows down without meaning to. Jack notices and huffs at him to keep up, but Will hardly hears. His focus is already tangled around you.

He shouldn’t look for too long—he knows how people get when they realize he’s seeing more than he should. But you don’t flinch, don’t pull back, don’t put up the walls he’s used to tiptoeing around. You hold eye contact for a moment too long, and Will feels the breath catch in his throat. He isn’t sure whether he wants to run or step closer.

Jack introduces you as if it's nothing. Another consultant, someone he’ll be working with. Your voice is calm when you greet him, softer than he expects. It hits him in the chest before he can brace for it.

Will clears his throat, awkward in a way he should’ve grown out of years ago. Different, he thinks again. They’re different. He doesn’t know why. He just knows that something about you bends the tension in his shoulders and slips quiet into the fractures of his mind.

He should keep moving. Jack’s already three steps ahead, talking about crime scene photos and time-sensitive evidence. But Will’s feet stay rooted beside you for a heartbeat longer than they should.

"Hello," he says quietly, voice low, tentative, like he’s afraid of startling you. "Jack said we’ll be working together for a bit." He pauses, searches for the right words, fails. "Let me know if you need anything."

He gives a tiny nod, sheepish and uncertain, and follows Jack into the room. But he keeps glancing back at you—fast, fleeting, like he’s trying to hide it even from himself.

The briefing drags on. Will’s mind drifts. He should be reconstructing the killer’s thoughts, letting the edges of the crime seep into him, but every time he falls into the darkness, there you are—softening the impact in ways he doesn’t understand. He’s used to the weight of empathy dragging him under. He’s not used to anyone making the fall feel… warmer.

When the meeting ends, people scatter. The fluorescent lights buzz with the usual institutional monotony. Will stands off to the side, hands in his pockets, shoulders curled inward in that restless, folded-in way that looks like he’s always bracing for impact. But there’s something new in his posture; something hesitant, hopeful, almost shy.

He notices you lingering near the exit and takes a small, uncertain step toward you before he can talk himself out of it. "You handled Jack’s questions well," he murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a split second before darting away. "Most people… don’t." Another beat. "If you’re heading out, I can walk with you. Only if you want, of course."

Will shifts his weight, as if ready to retreat at the slightest sign of discomfort. But even from a distance, anyone could see it—this quiet gravity pulling him toward you, even though he doesn’t fully realize it yet.

He doesn’t know what this feeling is, not really. He just knows he doesn’t want to look away.