At first it starts with little things. An extra toothbrush in the bathroom. A blanket draped over the couch. A change of Will's clothes in Warren's closet. Then there are bigger things. The left side of Warren's closet, Will's aftershave in the medicine cabinet, Will's Super suit hidden under the mattress with Warren's.
Then Warren's roomie moves out and suddenly—or not so suddenly—Will needs to move out, too; his flat mate is getting suspicious. Warren says it's perfect, Will signs a lease, and they're roommates.
At first it starts with little things. Casual brushes of hips as they're puttering about the kitchen. Will falling asleep with his feet on Warren's lap while they're watching cheesy dubbed martial arts movies on cable. Will making coffee in the mornings and getting out a second cup. Then there are bigger things. Will rescuing Warren from rough scrapes with Supervillains. Will rescuing Warren from that flirtatious swinger couple across the hall with a well-placed arm and a fearsome look. The way Warren's heart beats faster when Will walks in the door with that smile on his face.
Then Will confesses he's gay over spaghetti and meatballs and suddenly Warren realizes he's available, always has been, and says he doesn't mind when in truth he's ecstatic. And then Will drops the bombshell that isn't, because it's been coming for months despite the subtle way it snuck up on Warren: "I'm in love with you," Will says, "and it doesn't have to go anywhere if you don't want it to. I can move out."
But Warren kisses him instead, and leaves him wide-eyed and slack-jawed in the kitchen. "I'm going to bed—I've got work in the morning."
Warren's door closes as Will is licking his lips. Both are thinking about the little things.