"There are two of us here," Paul's voice was low as he gestured between he and Will. "So the next time you're debating over what crazy ass situation to put yourself in, I would appreciate it if you could remember that."
They'd just returned from issuing statements at the police station and, yes, Paul was relieved that Will was okay and with him and, most importantly, alive, but he was mad. Madder than he'd been in a long time and he hated it. He hated being mad at Will.
"I know there are two of us." Will sighed dejectedly, eyes finding focus on one of the few uninspired art pieces that hung on his wall.
He momentarily thought back to the day he'd first moved in, Paul graciously offering to help him unpack. They'd evolved so much since then. Awkward hallway encounters had led to casual drop-ins and thoughtful conversation; a friendship that triggered a flicker of familiarity Will couldn't quite put his finger on.
He and Paul's relationship was full and easy in ways totally unexpected, and Will now knew that the subconscious pull he'd felt towards him from the start had been his heart guiding him.
Together they'd built something precious.
Meeting Paul's eyes, he continued. "I know that. I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you, I just couldn't risk…"
Will shook his head in frustration. He was still on edge from the day's events and wasn't articulating himself well. He needed Paul to understand.
"I couldn't risk anything happening to you or to us. I didn't want to see you hurt over this, yet here we are."
"Here we are," Paul repeated, holding his gaze. His own thoughts were spiraling: How could Will put himself in this position? How could he not tell him the truth? What if help hadn't gotten there in time? What if he'd lost him?
He recalled the phone call he'd received from John hours earlier.
He'd left Will at home for the day and was spending the afternoon with Steve, consulting on a new caseload for Black Patch, when his phone rang unexpectedly.
Before he could even verbalize a greeting, John's voice came through the speaker.
"Have you heard from Will, kid?"
Paul suddenly felt a creeping sense of fear rise up inside him.
"He's okay but there's been an accident," John continued.
The phone slipped from his hand and adrenaline propelled him towards Will's apartment with a speed he'd never known.
He halted in front of their building, mind racing at the sight before him: half a dozen police vehicles were parked haphazardly on the premises while multiple officers blocked off the entrance, radios held to their mouths as they offered commands to whoever was on the receiving end.
After successfully manipulating his way inside, Paul stood frozen at the entryway of Will's studio.
The door was flung open and his eyes instantly landed on Hope and Rafe, their guns drawn at the man he peripherally recognized as Leo's former lawyer, Ted, who laid pressed against the floor while an officer cuffed his hands and recited the Miranda rights.
It took another moment for it to register that there was a third gun, just inches away from Ted, and Will was crouched in the back corner of the room observing the scene blankly.
When their eyes met, the relief on Will's face was palpable. Paul, however, was visibly shaken, having put two-and-two together and easily concluding that, for some reason presently unbeknownst to him, Will had very narrowly escaped this situation with his life.
Paul closed his eyes and tried in vain to steady himself against the flood of worst-case scenarios taking up residence in his mind.
Between serums and stolen doses and mausoleums and Ben Weston, they'd come so close – too many times – but Will was here. Will was standing in front of him. Will was here.
"I love you," he said, stepping into Will's personal space and reaching for his hands. "I couldn't— I don't know what I would've done if…"
He swallowed tightly around the lump in his throat, willing his tears to remain at bay.
"C'mere." Will pulled Paul to his chest and whispered against his ear, "I'm not going anywhere."