At Devon's words he glared at him, involuntary, before softening his gaze a little. He wouldn't listen to him otherwise. "Of course he knows me better," he said simply, "He was my friend for fifty years. We went to hell and back during that period, probably about five times. He's going to know me." It might not be what Devon wanted to hear but it was the truth. Devon was six years old, had only known Will for seven to eight months... they hadn't got a history yet.
Will wished he could say that he had faith they weren't off doing that, but he couldn't bring himself to say what he didn't believe. So he kept quiet, shrugging a little as he paced the room, clicking and stretching his limbs.