Will had known you for a long time. You had worked together on numerous cases at the FBI, and over time, he had opened up to you—something rare for a man as guarded as him. While he wasn’t one to trust easily, he found a sense of understanding in you that few others could offer.

That day, as usual, he was giving a lecture to the students of the FBI Academy. His mood was relatively light, his explanations clear and engaging, until a voice from the back of the room cut through the air.

"Insecure weakling."

The words, spoken by one of the trainees, were meant as a jab—mocking, dismissive. A quiet murmur spread through the audience, but Will didn’t address it. His expression hardened for just a moment before he continued, as if unaffected. But something inside him had shifted.

When the lecture ended, the students filed out, their conversations fading down the hallways. Will remained at his desk, hands clasped together, staring at a fixed point on the table. He had intended to leave, but irritation held him in place. The insult clung to him, stirring something bitter, something old. He didn’t even notice how much time had passed.

He also completely forgot that you were supposed to arrive soon—with coffee, as you had promised.