Golden Hour
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
Pairing: William Grayson III x Reader
Summary: The music’s pounding, the pool’s glowing, and Will Grayson’s playing god again. She steps away for air and ends up finding something else entirely.
Warnings: alcohol, drinking (but no age specified), reckless behaviour, emotional repression, tension, making out, party setting, slight angst, fem!reader
Words: 2.1k
Tune: My Prerogative- Bobby Brown
Notes: thank you anon for putting this idea in my head, “what if reader saw through will’s act?” perfect thing to write on a sick day, decided to give him a break and wrote this, as usual, no use of y/n, hopefully you enjoy!
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
The Grayson house wasn’t built for parties, not this kind anyway. The mansion is all white marble and glass, the kind of place that wants to be quiet and dignified, dripping in wealth. Tonight it’s shaking. My Prerogative thunders through the halls, bass rattling the windows, lights spilling out onto the deck where steam rises from the pool as the night air meets the water.
Will’s in the center of it, of course; the sun in everyone’s solar system. Shirt open, hair damp, beer bottle swinging from his hand. He’s dancing on the pool ledge, shouting lyrics over the music and pointing at people as if the song is an order for them to follow. They cheer because he tells them to; he grins back at them because that’s what they expect.
Damon’s near the firepit, a line of empty shot glasses already forming like trophies, his laugh louder than the music as he eggs two guys into jumping from the balcony into the pool.
Kai’s by the sliding doors, half in shadow, drink in hand, smiling at something someone said without really listening.
Michael stands on the deck steps, a cigarette between his fingers and a beer in his hand, pretending to watch the flames instead of the chaos. His jaw is clenched, eyes calculating whether he’ll have to shut it down before someone calls the cops.
Together they’re the pulse thrumming under Thunder Bay’s skin, reckless and golden, daring everyone else to keep up.
She leans against the deck railing, drink long forgotten and warm in her hand, watching it all happen. From here the chaos almost looks choreographed, Will flitting around the party in constant motion, laughter swelling and breaking like waves around him. She’s seen him at school, in the halls, in their second period algebra class, always alight, always loud. Up close she can see the small breaks between his smiles, the breaths he keeps forgetting to take, the tiny flicker that says he’s not commanding the rhythm, he’s being carried by it.
The song peaks. Someone’s started chanting his name. Will flashes that reckless grin and makes a beeline for the pool house, hauling himself up onto the roof. For a second, he stands there, haloed by the setting sun, beer still in hand. Then he jumps.
The crowd erupts as he hits the water, the splash exploding, sending streaks of gold and blue through the air. He surfaces a second later, bottle somehow still clutched tight, now overflowing with pool water. Water drips from his hair down onto his chest. He looks up, green eyes catching hers. For a heartbeat, everything stills: the music, the heat, the haze, and then his smile clicks back into place.
He raises the bottle in a mock toast, like he knows exactly what she’s thinking, before turning away to pull himself out of the pool.
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The music gets louder again once he climbs out. Someone hands him a towel, another beer is pushed into his fist. He laughs, drenched and radiant, water dripping from him onto the decking, shirt plastered to his chest. For a while, he plays along with the act, another round of cheers, another careless grin, but there’s a shift behind it now, something flickering.
He makes a slow lap of the wooden deck, soaking it all in, clinking bottles, saying something that makes Damon throw his head back and laugh. Michael leans in when Will passes, the two of them exchanging a look she doesn’t notice over the chaos. A few words, a shrug, a nod. Then Will’s gone, slipping through the glass doors without a fanfare, towel hanging loose from one hand. Nobody notices except maybe Kai, who watches him disappear before turning back to whoever’s talking to him.
The party doesn’t stop. If anything, it gets louder.
She’s still standing by the railing, relying on it for support. Eyes unfocused, pulse matching the bass. The crowd feels heavier now, as if gravity’s picked favorites and she isn’t one of them. Someone jostles her shoulder; liquor splashes over her wrist. The air smells like chlorine, smoke, and perfume. It curdles in the heat, shoving its way down her throat.
“Hey-” her friend slurs with a hiccup, “-y -you okay?”
She nods because it’s easier than explaining that everything feels too big and too loud. It’s easier than telling them it’s too much and that she really wants to go home. “I just need a minute,” she says instead. “Somewhere quiet.”
They don’t hear her over the music, already turning back to the noise.
She sets her drink down and slips away from the deck, through the glass doors and into the house.
Inside, the sound dulls but doesn’t die. The kitchen and hallways are crowded, people pressed against walls, hands in hair, mouths colliding. It feels different to outside, in here it’s all lip gloss and cigarette smoke. Glitter on someone’s collarbone. The sharp stench of spilled vodka on marble. The air hums with heat and static.
She keeps moving.
Each door she passes opens onto another version of the same scene, more music, more lights, laughter bouncing off the tall walls. It feels endless.
She turns down a narrower corridor, one she’s never noticed before. It’s quieter and darker. The noise fades until all that’s left is the faint vibration under her feet and the echo of bass deep in the walls.
She follows it until she finds a door half-shut. There’s no music spilling from it, no light except the thin gold line along the floor. She doesn’t stop to think and pushes it open.
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The room is darker than the rest of the house, the only light seeping through the window is from the leftover sun reflecting on the pool outside. Patterns dance over the tiled walls. The air smells faintly of summer and something stronger, bleach. She blinks, taking in the sight before her.
Will’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, elbows on his knees, head tipped back, towel around his neck. The water in his hair glints where the light catches it, he moves, sending droplets down his neck. The beer bottle from earlier sits on the rim beside him, half-empty, condensation softening the label.
He doesn’t look surprised to see her. Just tired.
“You following me?” he asks. His voice isn’t mocking, closer to curious.
She shuts the door behind her, leaning back against it. “It’s a bit hard to follow someone I didn’t know had left.”
“Good, that means people aren’t looking for me,” he says, one corner of his mouth lifting.
“You’re loud, I’m sure someone’s going to notice you’re missing,” she says.
He laughs once, low, almost to himself.
Silence folds between them. The only sound is their breathing and the distant bass, a heartbeat through the floor.
“I didn’t even realise this part of the house existed,” she says.
He answers, “that’s the point.”
She nods, eyes moving over the space. It’s big for a bathroom, mottled tile gleaming faintly, the mirror fogged with humidity from the summer heat. “You’re hiding.”
He lifts his head at that, expression unreadable. “You make it sound like a crime.”
“Just sounds unlike you,” she says. “You’re usually the one starting things.”
Will’s smile fades a little. “Starting things is easy. Finishing them’s the part that gets complicated.”
She studies him. “So this is you finishing something?”
“This is me taking a break before I have to pretend I’m still having fun.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “You don’t seem like someone who has to pretend.”
“Lots of people here are pretending.” He looks at her properly now. “Including you.”
Her breath catches, not offended, just caught off guard. “It’s not like that- I just needed some air” she says quietly.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
There’s a flicker of something in the space between them, recognition, silent understanding.
“You can sit, you know,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the edge of the counter. “It’s not an exclusive hiding spot.”
She hesitates, then crosses the room. The tile is cool under her bare feet. When she sits, the mirror behind her reflects the golden rays over them.
“Didn’t think you’d even notice me,” she admits.
“I always notice you,” he says, simple, matter-of-fact, not flirtatious. Then, with a faint grin, “You’re quiet, but you’re always there.”
She rolls a discarded beer bottle toward him with her toe. “That’s not creepy at all.”
He laughs again, softer this time. “Fair.”
Will’s gaze lingers on her face. The towel slips from his shoulders and into the bathtub. “You ever get tired of it?” she asks.
“Of what?”
“The noise. The pretending.”
He nods, barely. “All the time.”
He leans back before continuing. “Feels good to stop for a minute, doesn’t it?”
She hums in agreement. The patterns cast from the pool outside tremble over his face, catching on the small curve of a smile that doesn’t quite last.
Something about the quiet stretches, comfortable at first, then charged. Her pulse picks up before she knows why.
He straightens slowly, crossing the space until he’s standing in front of her. The faint scent of cologne, chlorine, and beer clings to him.
Will stops close enough that she can feel the warmth of him even in the cool room. His hand lifts halfway and hesitates. It drops back to his side. A breath later, he tries once more, fingertips brushing a damp strand of hair away from her cheek.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “You should go back out there.”
“Probably,” he says, but he doesn’t move.
The light ripples across the tiles, it’s the only thing shifting.
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His fingers trail down her cheek, rough and warm, catching on her jaw before tilting her face up to his. For a second she thinks he might speak again, might laugh it off like he always does. But he doesn’t.
She gasps, her pulse stumbles. Everything in her wants to lean away and closer at once. He licks into it, swallowing the sound. His other hand grips her waist, pulling her flush against him, her back arching off the mirror with the force of it.
The kiss doesn’t start slow. There’s no tentative exploration, no testing the waters. Will kisses as if he’s been drowning in the sound of his own laughter and he’s finally found air again.
His tongue drags against hers, tasting of liquor and salt and something sweet, his teeth catching her lower lip just hard enough to make her whimper.
Her fingers tangle in his damp hair, nails scraping his scalp as he presses closer. His hips grind against hers, a quiet moan pulls from their chests at the contact.
Heat pulses low in her stomach, her breath coming in ragged bursts as his mouth moves to her neck, sucking a bruise into the tender skin beneath her ear.
“Fuck,” he mutters against her throat, his hands sliding under her shirt, calloused palms dragging over her stomach. “Didn’t think I’d need you this bad.”
A sharp rap at the door makes them freeze.
“Will!” Damon’s voice, loud and slurred. “You in there? Michael’s about to fucking lose it with these idiots by the pool.”
Will pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, pupils blown out and chest heaving. His fingers dig into her hips like he’s debating whether to ignore it. The moment stretches, heavy with tension.
The next knock lands harder, shaking the door in it’s frame. Damon’s voice filters through, amused and slurred. “Will! You good, man?”
Will exhales through his nose, a quiet, frustrated sound. His eyes flick toward the door, then back to hers. Then his grip loosens. He lets out a rough breath, stepping back.
“Be right there,” he calls, voice steadier than it should be.
“Sure you will,” Damon calls, voice smug. “Tell your little friend to get decent and drag you out here before he kills the vibe.”
The footsteps retreat. Will exhales, running a hand through his hair, mouth still swollen from hers. “So much for a break,” he murmurs.
She can still taste him on her lips. The air between them is thick, but the moment’s broken.
Will hesitates, just for a second, before flashing that familiar, careless grin. “Next time,” he says, like it’s a promise.
Then he’s gone. The door shuts behind him. The sound of the party seeps back through the walls, laughter spilling into the silence he leaves behind. She exhales, collects herself, and walks back into the noise like nothing happened, his touch still burning on her skin.