Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

William wasn’t supposed to be there. 

Santa had dragged him along, half-bribing him with bubble tea, snacks, and some well-deserved gossip about his Phi’s new crush. William had come reluctantly—hoodie half on, hair still damp from his post-class shower—thinking he would get at least an hour of scroll time on his phone while Santa stared longingly at his future boyfriend. 

The university’s indoor pool still had that mechanical smell of freshly installed bleachers, and every splash echoed like a drumbeat. The stands were mostly filled with swim team members and a few die-hard fan clubs.

William wasn’t supposed to be there.

He was supposed to be in his dorm, cuddling with his cat, watching a K-drama with a face mask on and eating noodles.

Yet here he was—poolside, waiting for his Phi to look away from his new muse. 

“Phi, do you even understand what’s going on, or do you just cheer whenever someone completes a lap?” William had asked after watching Santa cheer every time a freshman finished a practice lap. 

“I cheer whenever someone looks at me. It’s a coincidence that the swimmers complete their lap at that moment,” Santa had replied, shrugging. 

“Maybe he looks at you because you cheer so hard at random people doing practice laps,” William muttered under his breath.

Now he was stuck watching the swim team practice, already feeling himself prune up just thinking about spending that much time in chlorine.

But then—William saw him.

Not just anyone.

Not someone he could casually describe to his friends later.

No. William would remember this moment for the rest of his life. 

Standing at the edge of the pool in a crisp white and blue swim jacket was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

The most perfect, tiny waist.

Lean muscles in all the right places.

Messy hair, curled slightly at the ends from the pool’s humidity.

William leaned forward just as the guy turned around.

Heart-shaped lips.

William swore he could see the soft curve of the swimmer’s mouth—like the beginning of a secret smile. 

And just like that, William forgot to breathe.

“Bro. Earth to William?” Santa nudged. 

“I need to sit down,” William said faintly—even though he was already sitting. 

“You… are sitting?”

William didn’t answer. His eyes were glued to the swimmer.

As if on cue from God himself, the guy turned his head slightly to speak to a teammate. His side profile was even better—sharp nose, heart-shaped lips, eyes so small and pretty they looked like they could either love you forever or never notice you at all.

William believed in fate wholeheartedly. He believed in love at first sight. He was born on Valentine’s Day and had grown up watching rom-coms. He had imagined scenarios every night before sleeping about meeting his soulmate.

But he had never imagined this.

He had never imagined who it would be, or what it would feel like to have the wind knocked out of him by just a glance.

Finally, he had a face for all his daydreams.

“Who the hell is that?” William asked.

“Who?”

“The most beautiful guy I have ever seen in my life. My soulmate. The love of my life. My future husband!!!” William announced without a shred of hesitation.

Santa blinked, stunned. He had dragged William here so he could stare at the love of his life without being judged—yet now his nong had found his future husband???

“Do you mean Phi Est?” Santa said slowly. “The two-time university champion? Lives in water? Hates sunshine, small talk, and happiness?”

Est.

Est.

Est.

Est.

Est.

Est.

Est.

Est.

Est.

Est.

Est.

Est.

“Est,” William whispered like it was sacred. “I’m gonna marry him.”

“You what? You just found out his name! William, Est is a third year. Plus, he radiates black cat energy. I get it—opposites attract—but this is like North and South.”

“Third year… tell me more.”

Santa stared at him. Aish, this kid.

“William, stop staring at that man and look at me,” Santa said, physically pulling him away. “Est is cold. He’s not someone you mess with. He’s rejected countless students. He’s low-key nice, but I don’t know why he’s been single for so long—and I don’t think he’ll be breaking that spell anytime soon.”

“So what you’re saying is… he’s nice and he’s single.”

Santa slapped his forehead with his palm.

Est had moved away from the pool and was now standing at the other end of the bleachers—just out of William’s line of vision.

He’s the one.

He’s the one.

He’s the one.

William let out a long exhale, leaning back dramatically like he’d just survived a heart attack. “Phi… I didn’t even want to come today.”

Santa raised a brow, arms crossed. “I know. You complained the whole way here. You literally said—and I quote—‘I’d rather eat expired seaweed snacks in bed with Mochi than smell like pool water for three hours.’”

“I stand by that,” William said quickly, “but also… thank you.”

Santa blinked. “What?”

William’s voice softened, eyes flicking toward the other end of the pool. “Thank you for dragging me here. Seriously. I was gonna waste today rotting in bed, but now? I think I just saw the face of my future.”

Santa stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve known him for, like, ten minutes. He hasn’t even spoken a word to you.”

William shrugged, smiling so wide it hurt. “Doesn’t matter. My soul spoke.”

Before Santa could snark back, Est turned again.

Just for a second.

His gaze swept across the bleachers, slow and disinterested, until it landed on William.

And stayed.

William’s breath caught in his throat. His spine straightened, eyes locked. For the briefest of seconds, everything else went quiet.

The sounds of the pool faded. The chatter blurred. Even Santa’s scoff barely registered.

Est didn’t smile. He didn’t frown either. He just… looked.

Right at William.

And then he looked away, as if nothing had happened.

But for William?

It had.

He slumped back against the bleacher seat, eyes wide, chest heaving just a little.

Santa noticed. “What? What happened?”

William turned slowly. “Phi.”

“Yeah?”

“He looked at me.”

Santa rolled his eyes. “Who? Phi Est? That doesn’t mean anything.”

William grabbed Santa’s wrist with both hands. “No. He looked at me. Like—not in passing. It was a moment.”

“It was a glance,” Santa corrected.

“A glance is a moment. A shared glance is practically intimacy. This is the beginning of our story.”

Santa groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

William didn’t care. He felt high.

Est had looked at him. The universe had tilted for just a second. And William, sitting in the middle of bleachers that still smelled like metal and pool chlorine, felt like he had just been cast in a drama where he already knew the ending.

William didn’t just lie on his bed after the swim meet—no way. He floated.

The moment Est’s name popped into his head, William sprang up, Mochi still snoozing on his stomach. He gently slid the cat down to the floor, who promptly blinked at him like, You’re nuts.

William grabbed his phone with both hands, pacing the room dramatically, his hoodie sleeves hanging loose, the torn fabric swinging with every step. He paced once, twice, then spun on the balls of his feet, nearly tripping over Mochi who darted between his ankles with amused disdain.

“Okay, Mochi, listen up! This is not a drill. I have officially met my soulmate.” He threw his arms out wide, nearly knocking over a stack of books. “He has heart-shaped lips. Heart-shaped! Can you believe that?”

Mochi blinked slowly and settled back into a regal loaf position on William’s desk.

William flopped onto the floor, stretching out like a starfish. “I’m gonna marry him. I’m already practicing my vows.” He cleared his throat dramatically and recited, “I promise to love you as much as I love bubble tea and midnight snacks. Will you accept this forever?”

Mochi yawned.

William ignored the cat’s unimpressed attitude and started swiping through Instagram. “Let’s find out everything about Mr. Est. Mr. Perfectly Fine. Mr. Black Cat Energy.”

His fingers hesitated, then typed carefully: @est — a private account. Hm.

“Okay, no. That’s fine. Let’s try… @est.s… Bingo!” William’s eyes sparkled.

He scrolled, discovering photos of Est: swimming triumphs, candid campus shots, and—wait for it—a profile picture of Est with a golden retriever puppy perched happily on his lap, tongue lolling and tail wagging like it had no worries in the world.

William froze, mouth slightly open.

“A golden retriever?!” he exclaimed. “Mochi, this is proof. He has a golden retriever. And I am a golden retriever. We were made for each other.”

He leapt off the floor and started dancing around the room again, doing a ridiculous spin with arms outstretched, chanting, “Golden retriever and black cat. Opposites attract! Golden retriever and black cat! Meant to be! Meant to be!”

Mochi flicked his tail, clearly unimpressed, and slipped out the door like a dignified shadow.

William paused mid-spin. “You’re right, Mochi. I’m a little extra. But if you don’t believe in destiny, who will?”

He collapsed onto his bed again, phone clutched tightly, a goofy grin plastered across his face.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered, “I’m gonna find a way to talk to him. For real. Not just from the bleachers. We’re gonna be more than just ‘golden retriever and black cat’ stories. We’re gonna be us.”

Mochi’s soft meow echoed from the hallway like a gentle reminder: Don’t forget my food.

William laughed. “Okay, okay. Food first. Then world domination.”

Chapter Text

The sun was bright over campus, and William practically bounced across the field, hoodie half unzipped, phone tucked in his pocket like a secret weapon. Mochi was curled in a warm spot at home, probably plotting his next nap, but William was on a mission.

He found Santa lounging near the student center, animatedly talking to a guy William recognized from the pool.

So this was the crush…

“Hey, Phi!” William waved as he got closer. 

Santa turned, flashing that sunshine grin William was used to. “William, come meet Phi Perth.”

“Phi! I’ve heard so much about you. A bit too much if you ask me, is it true that you and Phi Santa—” William got cut off as Santa slapped his hand on his mouth. 

“Ignore him, he likes to talk.” 

Perth smiled softly while looking at Santa.

God, imagine Est looking at you like that—William thought to himself. 

“You must be the one Santa dragged along yesterday. I saw you guys at the pool,” Perth said. 

Suddenly, William’s face brightened, “Yes, speaking of the pool—”

Santa cleared his throat loudly.

William ignored him. “—who was that guy? Tall, dark hair, swimmer’s jacket, objectively the most beautiful person on Earth. Does he happen to be named Est? Because if so, I think I found my future husband.”

Perth’s brows lifted. “Est?”

William clasped his hands together dramatically. “Est.”

Perth looked amused. “You’re not the first person to fall in love with him at first sight.”

“I better be the last,” William declared, eyes serious.

Santa groaned.

William was not the kind of person who could have a crush quietly.

He was the type to fall hard, fall fast, and fall loud. And when he fell, the whole world knew. Especially his bandmates. Especially today.

William was a performing arts major, emphasis in music. He lived and breathed melodies. His brain processed life in harmonies, and for the last twenty-four hours, his heart had been humming in Est major. He didn’t know if that was a key or not, but he’d make it one.

By mid-afternoon, the performing arts department was buzzing with the usual chaos—students running through monologues in the hallway, a random violinist warming up in the stairwell, and the unmistakable echo of someone belting out a show tune from behind a half-closed door. William skipped down the corridor, two steps at a time, heart thudding louder than the drama department’s current rendition of Phantom of the Opera.

When he got to Studio 7,  tucked behind the main hall of the arts building, the door was halfway open. He pushed the heavy wooden door open, and flung himself dramatically into the room.

“Everyone!” he declared, voice echoing.

Nut, Lego, Hong, and Tui didn’t even look up from where they were lounging in mismatched beanbags, halfway through their usual band jam session, all of them used to William’s dramatic self. 

“You’re late,” Tui said without looking up.

“I bring tidings,” William announced.

“Unless they’re edible, I don’t care,” Nut said, sitting up dramatically.

“Or gossip,” Hong added.

William threw his bag onto the couch. “Better. I bring news of fate, romance, and possibly lifelong emotional damage.”

All four of them turned slowly.

“Okay, spill,” Lego said, folding his arms.

“There’s a man,” William started.

“Obviously,” Tui muttered.

“A beautiful man. A third-year. He’s on the swim team.”

“Ah, so someone emotionally unavailable and wet. Very on brand,” Hong deadpanned.

William ignored the jab. “His name is Est. And he looked at me.”

There was a beat of silence.

Lego blinked. “Like… looked at you as in… made eye contact?”

“Yes.”

“Was he looking at you or through you?” Nut asked seriously.

William pointed at him. “You don’t get to talk.”

“Fair.”

“I’m telling you,” William said, voice soft and almost reverent, “he looked at me like I was a fully composed song. Like a verse he didn’t know he needed.”

Hong fake-gagged.

Nut sat up straighter. “Wait, is this the same Est from the finance department? Cold, kind of scary, looks like he could kill you with a glance but probably uses metal straws and recycles religiously?”

William gasped. “Yes! That’s the one.”

“Oh no,” Lego whispered.

Tui chuckled. “He’s doomed.”

“Doomed in love,” William said, fluttering his eyelashes.

“You literally saw him yesterday,” Nut pointed out.

“And I haven’t stopped thinking about him since,” William replied.

“Sounds terminal,” Lego muttered

They all exchanged looks.

“Oh God,” Nut muttered. “He’s in love again.”

“Shut up! This is different!” William stomped over and practically threw himself onto the beanbag next to Nut.

“You are such a drama queen,” Hong said, snorting. “What happened to ‘I’m staying single this semester to focus on our band and gigs’?”

“That was before I saw the love of my life in a pool and had a full spiritual awakening,” William said, sighing. “Anyway, we’re performing at Café BLUE again this weekend, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t change the subject,” Nut said. 

William sat up a little straighter, eyes shining. “He’s… everything. Tall. Sharp. Cold but like in a sexy way, you know? … Oh my God. His profile picture? He has a golden retriever.”

Four voices shouted at once:

“He has a dog?!”

“You’re done for.”

“He’s gonna steal your heart and your playlist.”

“Wait, doesn’t this mean he likes golden retrievers?!” Tui added, eyes wide. “William. You’re literally a golden retriever.”

William gasped. “Exactly! It’s fate! He has a golden retriever. I am a golden retriever. This is the universe’s version of slow-burn romcom setup!”

“Anyway, I have a plan.”

“Uh-oh,” Tui said under his breath.

“Operation Meet Phi Est is now in motion,” William said, pulling out his phone and opening his notes app. “Step one: accidentally bump into him somewhere casual but cute, like the library. Or the juice bar. Or the vending machine near the gym that only ever has like, two Snickers left.”

“Why do you sound like you’re planning an assassination?” Lego muttered.

“Step two,” William continued, “say something funny and memorable. Then I flash my smile and hope for the best.”

“Step three?” Nut asked.

“Fall in love. Step four: move into his apartment and introduce Mochi to his golden retriever. Step five: get married. Step six: become domestic icons.”

“Don’t you have midterms next week?” Tui reminded gently.

William waved that off. “Who cares about midterms when I’ve already passed the most important test of my life: soulmate identification.”

Nut grabbed a guitar pick and flicked it at William’s forehead.

“Ow! Rude!”

“Shut up, William. You’ve got it so bad.”

William grinned. “I really do.”

But the teasing was laced with affection. William’s friends knew he was intense—he loved like he sang: loud, shameless, and in full harmony. His band, LYKN, had been through all his phases: the drama major he tried to write a song for and got ghosted by, the barista who only ever remembered his name as “Will.i.am,” the senior who called him “cute” and then graduated the next week.

But something about Est already felt different.

William was quieter now, absentmindedly picking at his skin. “He doesn’t smile. I don’t think he smiles.”

“That’s your type though,” Hong said. “You like the emotionally constipated ones. You want to be the sunshine in their gloomy lives.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Nut chimed in.

“You’re not wrong,” William admitted with a sigh. “But this time it’s real. I don’t want to just flirt with him. I want to, like… ask how his day was. I want to remember how he takes his coffee. I want to write him stupid songs he’ll pretend not to like. I want to be someone he trusts enough to smile at.”

That shut everyone up.

Lego blinked. “You’re serious.”

William nodded. “I am.”

Tui whistled. “Damn. Okay.”

The room buzzed with excitement. Chaos energy activated.

“You need to be careful,” Lego said. “He’s older. Probably has walls.”

William nodded solemnly. “I’ll bring a metaphorical pickaxe.”

“Also, be yourself,” Tui added. “Don’t try to act cool. You’re a golden retriever. Own it.”

“True,” Nut said. “Classic rom-com. Guaranteed slow burn.”

William sighed dreamily. “Exactly.”

That weekend, LYKN had a gig at BLUE Café, a tucked-away little spot with fairy lights strung across the ceiling and the best honey toast in the world. The owner, an alumni from the performing arts department, let students perform on weekends. It was practically LYKN’s second home.

They were setting up when Santa popped in, holding two bubble teas.

“Look alive,” he said, tossing one to William. “Practice round two is happening tomorrow. Same time.”

William perked up like a dog hearing the word walk.

“Phi Est is gonna be there?”

Santa rolled his eyes. “He’s literally the vice captain. He’s always there.”

“Then I’m going,” William declared.

“What if he doesn’t remember you?” Santa teased.

“Then I’ll make sure he does this time.”

“God help us all,” Santa muttered.

Hong was already pulling out a pen. “We’re making a mission board. Operation: Make Est Fall In Love With William.”

“Yes!” Nut added. “I’ll bring the glitter.”

Tui groaned. “We’re all going to get banned from the campus pool, I can feel it.”

But William just smiled.

His heart was full. His soul was humming. He hadn’t even had a real conversation with Est yet, but he could feel it. Something was about to start.

And he was ready.

“Operation: Meet Phi Est” had officially begun.

And William was all in.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun was kind, slipping through the clouds like it was trying not to disturb the day.

William tugged the strings of his hoodie as he trotted alongside Santa, who was sipping iced coffee and looking way too smug for someone who had barely said a word in five minutes.

“You’re way too quiet,” William narrowed his eyes. “That means you’re about to say something annoying.”

Santa grinned, unfazed. “I’m just wondering how hard you’re gonna fall today.”

William gasped, scandalized. “Phi you mean I haven’t already?”

Santa rolled his eyes. “You’ve been in love for twenty-four hours and I’ve never seen you lose this much composure.”

“I am very composed, thank you,” William sniffed, stepping onto the edge of the pool deck with flair. “I’m simply enthusiastic.”

The pool smelled like chlorine and competition. William bounced beside Santa as they made their way through the sports complex, the slap of shoes echoing down the hallway. He was practically glowing in his oversized hoodie and worn sneakers, holding a tote full of snacks and drinks.

“You look like someone delivering lunch to their boyfriend,” Santa teased.

William gasped. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet! Manifest positive outcomes only, Phi.”

Santa rolled his eyes. “You’re seriously down bad, huh?”

“You don’t even know,” William said dramatically. “I haven’t slept properly. I saw him in my dreams last night. We were walking in a field of sunflowers and he was holding my hand and saying I talk too much but smiling the whole time. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Insane,” Santa said flatly. “Just remember who dragged you to practice yesterday.”

“I was about to thank you again,” William replied, giving him a playful elbow. “I didn’t even wanna come! But now? Best decision of my entire college life. You brought me to my soulmate, Phi. I owe you one.”

Santa snorted. “You can repay me by setting me up with Phi Perth.”

William wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh? So you’re finally admitting it.”

“I never denied it.”

“You never confirmed it either!”

Santa shrugged, but a pink tinge crept up his neck. “He’s handsome, okay?”

William gasped again—he was very dramatic today. “Look at us, two idiots in love. We should start a club.”

“The Hopeless Pining Association?”

“With matching shirts.”

They both cracked up as they stepped onto the bleachers. The pool area buzzed with activity — splashes echoed, water shimmered, and the swim team was mid-practice.

On the far end, William spotted two students by the pool, laughing and coaching.

“These are Phi Est’s best friends,” Santa said, pointing. “Joong and Daou. Co-captains.”

“They look intimidating,” William whispered, eyes wide.

“They’re sweet. Phi Joong’s kind of chaotic. Phi Daou is the more serious one. You’ll like them.”

“I like everyone who’s friends with Phi Est,” William chirped. “I brought drinks.”

Santa raised a brow. “You what?”

William held up the tote bag proudly. “I got them all juice pouches. And protein bars. And cookies for after practice. You think I came unprepared?”

“Oh my God, you’re worse than I thought.”

The university’s indoor pool was half empty at this hour — just a few students loitering by the stands and the splash of water echoing through the massive space. The swim team was mid-practice, slicing through lanes like they were born in water.

William’s eyes scanned the pool instinctively, searching.

And then — there.

Lane four. Long limbs. Strong shoulders. Black cap. The steady, rhythmic pace like poetry in motion.

Est.

William exhaled slowly, almost reverently.

“I told you he was the best,” Santa whispered beside him, glancing at William’s expression with a smirk. “You’re such a simp.”

“Shh,” William hushed him. “This is sacred.”

They stood in silence as Est hit the wall and rose, water glistening off his skin as he pulled off his goggles. Joong called something from across the pool and Est nodded, expression calm and unreadable.

Santa nudged him. “Don’t you want to say hi?”

William blinked. “I want to give him a cat and propose marriage.”

Santa snorted.

Just then, Joong and Daou putting down their clipboards turned around, as they noticed the two visitors.

Before Santa could intervene, William trotted down toward the poolside like an excited golden retriever approaching strangers at a picnic. “Hi!” he called out.

Joong looked up, goggles perched on his forehead. “Uh… hey?” He narrowed his eyes. “You guys lost or just bored?”

Santa waved lazily. “Hey Phi Joong! I’m here for Phi Perth. And he’s here for Est.”

William gasped. “Phi!”

Joong exchanged a glance with Daou. “Are you like… from the fan club?”

Santa chuckled from behind. “He’s not.”

William puffed up. “Excuse me. I am not a fan club. I am a classmate. A supporter. A concerned citizen. Phi Santa brought me yesterday and now I’m emotionally invested. And I brought snacks!”

He held up the tote bag dramatically. Joong looked skeptical, but Daou grinned.

“Snacks make you halfway forgiven.”

“I brought enough for the whole team!” William opened the bag and handed out chilled drinks and snack pouches, each labeled with cute hand-drawn seals, stars, and stickers. “I even labeled some of them with tiny stickers. You know, motivation.”

“Stickers?” Joong asked, pulling his drink out and discovering a little one that said YOU SLAY. He squinted at the animal sticker. “Is this a narwhal sticker?”

“Yes! Because you’re the strong silent one, but you’ve got hidden sparkle energy.”

Daou laughed so hard he nearly choked on his drink. “Dude, that’s scarily accurate.”

William beamed. “I’m good with vibes.”

“Are you always like this?” Joong asked.

“Unfortunately,” Santa sighed.

Just then, the sound of water breaking signaled another swimmer surfacing — and William turned so fast he almost dropped his tote. There he was.

Est.

Hair wet and slicked back, goggles pushed to his forehead, soft drops of water running down his sharp jaw. He climbed out of the pool with the grace of a silent movie star, towel in hand, barely acknowledging the world around him.

William forgot how to breathe for a moment.

The chaos in his head narrowed into a single, shimmering point: Est walking toward him.

Joong followed his gaze. “You looking at Est?”

William nodded dumbly.

Daou nudged Joong. “Called it.”

Est walked toward them, drying his hair. 

“Hey,” Est said quietly, blinking at the scene before him. “What’s going on?”

Joong gestured toward William. “This one brought snacks. And compliments. Possibly a proposal.”

Est looked at William.

William panicked and shoved a juice box into his hand.

“Hi! You swim really good—well! I mean well. Not that you’re not good. You are. Very good. But grammatically—anyway, juice?  I got this one especially for you—apple-flavored. I read it’s good for hydration.”

Est looked at the juice box, then at William, then back again. “I don’t drink anything before practice.”

William’s smile faltered just a little. “Oh, right. I totally get it. Sorry. But… maybe just this once?”

Est looked down at the juice. It had a heart sticker on it. A small, wobbly doodle of a cat was scrawled next to the label. His fingers hesitated.

William didn’t say anything. He just stood there, eyes wide, full of hope and sunlight and nerves barely hidden behind his grin.

With a soft huff, Est took the juice.

The poolside went silent.

“Bro,” Daou whispered to Joong, “He never takes stuff before practice.”

Joong nodded slowly. “He didn’t even take the energy bar I gave him last week.”

Santa raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Breaking rules for someone, Phi Est?”

William beamed so hard he might’ve combusted.

Est didn’t reply. He just turned and walked off toward the lockers, holding the juice box like it didn’t matter. Like William’s entire soul hadn’t just exploded.

William stood frozen.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” William whispered under his breath, watching Est walk away, drink in hand, as casually as if he didn’t just shake William’s entire soul.

Across the pool, a small group of fan club girls whispered and gasped like they’d just witnessed a national scandal.

Santa put a hand on William’s shoulder. “You good?”

William blinked. “I can die now.”

Santa laughed.

The metallic sound of lockers echoed softly. Est leaned against the cold surface, towel around his neck, the juice box still in his hand.

Joong’s voice cut through the quiet.

“You never take snacks from people,” he said, standing across from him. “Not even from us.”

Daou chimed in, towel slung over his shoulder. “Especially not from wide-eyed golden retrievers.”

Est stared at the juice box. He stayed quiet.

His eyes drifted to the corner of the locker room. His brain, uninvited, pulled up a memory. One from a few weeks ago.

It was late evening. Est had been rushing to the swim center after grabbing a quick bite. He’d passed by a small café called BLUE—one of those warm little places with fairy lights in the windows. He hadn’t meant to pause, but music had floated out onto the street. Clear vocals. A voice so full of sunshine and soul it made Est slow down.

Inside, through the window, he had seen a boy on stage, singing with a wide smile and a guitar in his hands. Four other guys laughed and played alongside him, creating this aura of chaos and warmth.

Est hadn’t known why he paused. Just that something made him linger. Just for a second.

He hadn’t gone in.

He hadn’t thought about it again.

Until now.

He looked back down at the juice box.

William’s voice was still echoing in his ears, cheerful and soft: “Maybe just this once?”

Joong tapped his knee. “You okay?”

Est nodded. Slowly. “Yeah.”

Est glanced down at the juice box, the doodle now a little smudged. The small cat had big ears and sparkles for eyes. It looked ridiculous.

And then, without another word, he punctured the straw into the box and took a quiet sip.

Chapter Text

Est had always felt more at home in water than on land.

It was where things were quiet. Still. Predictable.

There were no loud voices echoing down hallways or people trying to read his face. There was only the steady rhythm of his breathing, the push and pull of his arms, the cold kiss of water against his skin.

In the water, he was free from the weight of attention. From expectations. From feelings that were harder to handle than a hundred laps.

Swimming was the one place he could be entirely in control — a silence he had known since he was a kid, when everything else had felt too loud.

In water, Est didn’t have to explain himself.

He just was.

Lately, though, that silence had started to echo with a name he hadn’t asked for.

William.

Not that Est remembered giving him permission to show up so often — but there he was.

At the library window, waving dramatically from the quad while Est tried to read for a business class presentation.

At the smoothie kiosk in the student center, where he’d shouted “Phi Est!” across the crowd like they were in a coming-of-age movie.

Even at the entrance to the pool, standing there with a grin and a slightly sweaty forehead as if he just happened to be passing by.

Each time, Est said nothing. Just a short glance, a tight nod, a small sigh as he walked past. Nothing dramatic.

Just… noticing.

He figured William would get tired of it eventually.

Most people did.

⸻

Some days Est didn’t even realize how much he relied on swimming to keep himself steady—until someone disturbed the stillness.

Today, that person was a girl. She caught him just outside the training center, clutching a little envelope with stickers on it.

“Est,” she said softly, her eyes darting away for a second before she gathered the courage. “I… I was wondering if you’d want to go out sometime?”

He blinked. The air was warm, the sun lighting the pavement gold. He didn’t dislike her. He didn’t even feel awkward.

But he felt… nothing.

Still water.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, voice steady. “I don’t date. But thank you for asking me.”

There wasn’t any judgment in his tone. Just clarity.

Her smile wobbled, but she nodded. “Okay. Thanks for being nice about it.”

Est watched her walk away before he turned toward the practice pool building.

He didn’t date. Not because he didn’t feel—he did. In strange, slow, quiet ways. Like water eroding stone.

It was just… people expected too much. Or he gave too little. Or both.

Still, the moment lingered in his mind as he walked toward the lunch area after practice, towel around his neck and earbuds in. The sun was sharp today, the kind that made your eyes squint without realizing.

And then—

“Phi Est!!”

Est flinched slightly at the now familiar voice, and there he was.

William. 

Bounding toward him like a golden retriever let off a leash, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, smile so bright it could eclipse the sun.

“Juice box?” William held it out like a peace offering. Or a love letter in disguise.

Est sighed, one earbud still in.

“I don’t drink anything before practice.”

“I know!” William said, eyes big. “But you already practiced. I checked the schedule—I mean—I just guessed! Lucky me, huh? Anyways, I—” 

Est raised a brow.

“How long have you been waiting here for?”

William had the decency to look sheepish. “Define waiting… I swear I didn’t plan this. Okay, maybe I waited around the fountain for ten minutes. But who’s counting?”

Est tilted his head slightly, unimpressed but not annoyed.

William held up the juice box. “Peace offering?”

“I don’t drink anything before and after practice.”

“But this one has lychee jelly. It’s energizing and emotionally fulfilling,” William added, stepping forward.

Est didn’t reach for it.

William leaned in — not too close, but close enough — and gave him the biggest, most ridiculous puppy eyes known to man. “Please? It’s from Mochi and me.”

Est blinked. “Mochi?”

“Yes. My cat. He approves of our friendship. He was the one who picked this flavour.”

Est stared at him.

William stared back.

His brown eyes were so open, so stupidly warm. Like he had no idea how to be anything but sincere.

Est huffed lightly through his nose — the closest he got to laughing — his hand moved almost of its own accord.

He took the juice box.

“Fine,” he muttered.

William nearly squealed. “You took it!”

Est gave him a flat look.

William gasped. “Wait. You actually took it. That’s… Are you okay? Do you need medical attention?”

Est blinked. 

William beamed anyway. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. You probably have to go now. I won’t keep you. Just wanted to say hi and, you know… prove I’m consistent.”

Est looked down at the drink in his hand.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

William’s smile softened. “Anytime, Phi Est.”

Joong and Daou, who had been nearby watching everything unfold like a drama episode, practically gasped.

“Hold on,” Joong said, half-laughing. “Did he just—?”

“He took it?” Daou looked like he’d just seen a ghost. “Since when did he start taking anything from anyone?”

Est ignored them both and turned back toward the locker room.

“I’m going to change,” he said simply, juice box still in hand.

⸻

Inside the locker room, Est sat on the bench for a while, holding the drink in both hands.

He hadn’t meant to take it.

He wasn’t even thirsty.

But something in him… responded. Not to the juice. But to William. To the way he looked at him. As if he was worth all that chaos. All that effort. As if Est was someone interesting instead of just… quiet.

And William kept appearing.

A wave from the bleachers while Est came out from the lockers to practice. A soft “Hi, Phi!” when Est walked out the pool door. One time, William had just smiled at him across the campus lawn like it was the most natural thing.

Est had brushed it off each time. Just a kid being friendly. Just a passing face.

But now, the juice box in his hand felt like evidence. Like a turning tide.

When Joong and Daou strolled inside the locker room, Est was peeling off his jacket. Joong immediately pointed to the juice box in Est’s hand.

“No way.”

Daou raised an eyebrow. “Is that a gifted drink?”

Est gave them both a look. “He insisted.”

Joong sat beside him on the bench. “You never take stuff from strangers. Or friends. Or us. Not even gum. I once offered you a mint and you walked away.”

Daou leaned against the locker, arms crossed. “What makes juice-box boy different?”

“He had jelly,” Est replied dryly.

Joong grinned. “Jelly and a death wish.”

“Don’t bully him,” Daou said, laughing. “He’s like a golden retriever who found his human.”

Est opened his locker and ignored them both, placing the juice box gently inside, untouched.

Joong’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“You okay?”

Est blinked. His two best friends were by the lockers now.

“You never take anything,” Daou said gently, plopping down beside him. “Especially not from people who look like they’d name a band LYKN.”

Est shrugged, trying to act indifferent. “It’s just juice.”

Joong smirked. “Just juice from a guy who’s been orbiting you like you’re the sun.”

Est shot him a look.

“I’m just saying!” Joong held up his hands in mock surrender.

“He’s like a walking golden retriever,” Daou added, grinning. “Are you even immune to that?”

Est turned around without replying.

His friends exchanged a look.

“Ignore him,” Daou mouthed to Joong.

But as Est changed into his dry clothes, he couldn’t help but glance at the juice again.

Why had he taken it?

⸻

Outside, William was bouncing on his feet, backpack slung carelessly across one shoulder.

He was still glowing from the small victory. “He took it,” he whispered to himself, eyes dreamy. “I gave Est a juice box and he took it.”

Santa rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m in love,” William shot back.

“Oh my god.”

Perth walked over just then, handing Santa a bottle of water. “Did he take it?”

Santa pointed at William. “Do you hear this man? He’s planning their wedding.”

“I’m just saying,” William sang, “he didn’t throw it away.”

Nut, Hong, Lego, and Tui—all members of LYKN—had joined in too, settling at a table outside the café where they sometimes performed.

“I wanna meet this mysterious swimmer,” Lego said, leaning forward like he was watching a soap opera.

“You’ll scare him off,” Hong warned. “He’s all mysterious and brooding and—”

“And hot,” William added dreamily.

“Okay, we get it,” Tui laughed. “You’re whipped.”

“I’m hydrated, actually,” William joked. “Because Est accepted my hydration.”

“Oh god,” Nut muttered, stealing a fry.

That night, Est sat at his desk, Pooh snoring softly at the foot of his bed. The room was dark, save for his desk lamp — and the small juice box placed right beneath it.

He hadn’t drunk it. Not yet.

He didn’t understand what William was doing. Or what he wanted. He seemed too loud for someone like Est. Too bright. Too much.

And yet… he kept coming back.

Est scratched behind Pooh’s ear, his chest tight with thoughts he didn’t know how to untangle.

Why him?

Why now?

He didn’t have answers.

Just the soft hum of confusion, and a juice box that felt heavier than it should.

Later that night, William collapsed onto his bed, phone in hand and heart buzzing. Mochi was nestled into his chest like a purring anchor.

“I messed up,” William whispered dramatically.

Mochi blinked.

“I mean… I didn’t, right? He took the juice. That’s a win. That’s a green flag. That’s a whole traffic light.”

Mochi’s tail flicked.

“But what if I’m too much? I mean—I know I’m too much. I always am. He’s so quiet, Mochi. Like… cathedral-quiet. And I’m a marching band.”

He turned onto his side, facing the ceiling.

“What if I scare him off? What if he just thinks I’m a weirdo who keeps showing up with drinks and bad jokes? What if he’s just being polite and he’s actually waiting for me to disappear?”

Mochi yawned.

“I really like him,” William admitted, voice soft. “Like… too much. And I don’t even know him yet. But I want to.”

His voice wavered. “And I don’t want to mess it up.”

Mochi, as cats do, rolled over and fell deeper into sleep.

“I’m going to try,” William whispered, pulling the blanket over his shoulder. “But slow. I won’t push. I’ll let him set the pace.”

He glanced at Mochi.

“You’d tell me if I was being annoying, right?”

Mochi remained silent.

“…Right.”

Meanwhile, back in Est’s room, Pooh the golden retriever was sprawled out at the foot of his bed. Est sat at his desk, towel-drying his hair.

The juice box sat unopened next to his lamp.

Pooh lifted his head groggily, watching Est stare at the juice.

“You’d like him,” Est murmured again.

Pooh’s tail thumped once.

Est looked away, blinking slowly, unsure if he felt warmed or unnerved by that thought.

He wasn’t sure what William saw when he looked at him — but he knew what he felt:

Exposed.

Chapter Text

If there was ever a place least suited to William’s energy, it was the library. The quiet suffocated him. The polite “no food or drink” signs mocked his usual habit of snacking to stay awake. And the chairs were way too hard for someone who regularly played three-hour gigs sitting on a stool.

Still, here he was.

Slouched over a stack of music theory textbooks, William’s head was halfway buried in a tangle of notes and sticky tabs. The fluorescent overhead lights glared down like they had a personal vendetta against him. He blinked hard at the page in front of him. Counterpoint. Who invented this demonic concept and why did it make him want to cry?

Music theory II wasn’t just difficult—it was a cruel joke for someone who lived off intuition and vibes. He could feel music in his bones, but explaining why a tritone resolved the way it did? His brain refused.

He sighed, brushing his hair back and squinting at his notebook. He was highlighting something when he felt it.

That weird shift in energy, like when someone enters the room and the universe subtly holds its breath.

William looked up.

And there he was.

Phi Est.

Dressed in his usual black hoodie and jeans, looking as cool and collected as ever, Est stood just a few steps into the library, scanning the rows of tables. His hair was slightly damp, probably from practice, and he had that air about him—like he didn’t belong in the ordinary world but made it bend anyway.

Their eyes met.

Est froze.

William’s tired face lit up, slow and warm like a sunrise. He gave a soft, almost sheepish grin and raised his hand in a little wave, not too big, just enough.

Est blinked.

And then, as if realizing he was standing like a statue in the middle of the room, Est turned, half a step toward the exit. But before he could flee, his eyes darted around—tables full. Every single one. Students crammed together, laptops open, fans whirring, cold drinks sweating on tabletops. The only space free was William’s table.

He looked at William again.

William’s grin faltered just a little. It wasn’t obvious, but Est saw it—how his shoulders lowered slightly, how he quickly glanced down, pretending to study again.

Est made a decision.

He walked over and pulled out the chair across from William like he owned the whole library. Effortless. Quiet. Cat-like.

William, meanwhile, almost fell out of his seat.

He sat up straighter, then immediately slouched again, trying to look casual. His heart was doing backflips.

Phi Est. Shark Est. Sitting. Right. Here. With William.

“Hi,” William whispered, unsure if he should even say anything.

Est nodded. “Hi.”

That was it.

They both fell into silence again.

William’s thoughts were a mess.

He wanted to talk. He wanted to scream. He wanted to ask what Est was doing here—no, wait, that sounded weird. It’s the library. People study here. Obviously. But what was he studying? Was it swimming-related? Business major stuff?

Do swimmers even study? he thought helplessly.

Across from him, Est unpacked his laptop and notebook with the precision of someone used to structure. His handwriting was sharp and clean, like his movements. He didn’t look up again. He just… settled.

William could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. This was torture. Delicious, heart-wrentching torture.

He tried to refocus on his notes, tapping his pen against the side of his head. D minor modulation… pivot chord… but nothing stuck.

He could hear people whispering.

“Is that… Est?”

“The Shark?”

“What’s he doing with that freshman?”

“Isn’t that the music kid from the café?”

William curled in on himself slightly. Not because of the attention—it wasn’t new—but because Est was probably hearing it too. He didn’t want to make Est uncomfortable. He’d been so careful these past few days, orchestrating casual run-ins, waving from a distance, never pushing too hard.

He couldn’t mess it up now.

So he sat there. Pen moving, notes half-absorbed, trying not to vibrate out of his seat from the sheer awareness of Est sitting across from him. Occasionally, he’d glance up and catch a glimpse of his hair, the curve of his cheek, the way his fingers tapped quietly against his book as he read.

Est, on the other hand, was dealing with his own internal chaos.

He had only intended to pop in for a reading he’d been assigned for his Business Comms class. But the moment he saw William, head bent, brow furrowed in concentration, looking like a kicked puppy in that oversized hoodie—Est’s feet made the decision before his brain did.

He hadn’t expected to sit. He definitely hadn’t expected it to feel… oddly normal.

Even when William said nothing, the air around him hummed. Restless. Warm.

Est focused on his notes. On his schedule. Swim practice at 6. Meeting Daou about the training drills tomorrow. Call home. Feed Pooh.

Except he kept hearing that pen tapping again.

And again.

And again.

Until finally, William dropped it. The pen rolled off the edge and hit the floor with a light clack.

William dove to retrieve it at the same time Est instinctively bent to pick it up.

Their hands brushed.

William’s eyes went wide.

Est paused.

Then calmly handed the pen over.

“T-Thanks,” William stammered, taking it like it was made of glass.

“No problem.”

And then back to silence.

The kind that stretched so thin it might snap. William swallowed and looked down again. He scribbled something. Then scratched it out. Then underlined it three times like that would help.

Est couldn’t help but glance at him again. William looked like he was seconds away from combusting.

It was oddly endearing.

By the time the library’s soft chime rang to signal closing in 30 minutes, Est had made good progress. He closed his laptop, stacking his things. William was still mid-spiral, flipping through flashcards like they were tarot readings.

Est hesitated.

Then stood.

“Bye.”

William blinked. Looked up.

Est was looking right at him.

“Bye!” William blurted, far too loud for a library. He winced. “I mean, yeah. Bye. Good luck with… whatever you’re working on.”

Est gave him a small nod and turned.

William slumped into his seat. Then straightened. Then let out a breath that could’ve been mistaken for a prayer.

He said bye to me.

On his own.

The rest of the night, William’s notes remained untouched.

His heart was too busy dancing.

Joong’s apartment smelled like vanilla and cinnamon candles, the kind of odd but comforting mix that always seemed to work in his place. Est stepped in without knocking, already used to Joong’s casual attitude about doors.

Daou was already curled up on the sunken couch, sharing a blanket with Offroad, who was halfway through a soda and dramatically recounting a horror movie they’d watched the night before.

“Est!” Joong greeted Est with his usual grin, waving him over. “We were just placing bets on how many freshmen fainted today in your presence.”

Est rolled his eyes and dropped his bag beside the sofa, plopping down with the sigh of someone used to this level of chaos.

“I didn’t bite anyone. Not today,” he muttered dryly.

“That we know of,” Offroad added with a snort.

Dunk arrived with plates of cheesy pasta, placing them on the table as he greeted Est with a soft nod. “Heard something wild today at practice.”

Joong grinned, eyes dancing with mischief. “Yeah. Word on the street is… Shark Est sat with a freshman in the library today.”

Daou gasped dramatically. “Without scaring him away?!”

Est blinked, expression unreadable. “It was hot. Everywhere else was full. All the tables were occupied.”

Offroad raised a brow. “Oh so you just happened to sit at the table of a guy who just happens to give you juice boxes?”

Est stayed silent, but the twitch in his jaw gave him away.

Dunk laughed. “I thought you didn’t take things from people. You’ve literally told the vending machine guy no before.”

Joong leaned in, teasing. “But William gives you a juice box and suddenly you’re a changed man?”

Est glared at him. “He had that stupid face on again.”

“Stupid how?” Daou asked, already grinning.

“You know. That big-eyed thing. Like I kicked a puppy.”

“That’s literally his whole face,” Offroad chuckled.

At that moment, the door burst open again and in walked Santa and Perth, still in their practice gear, hair damp from post-gym showers.

“Why do I feel like we just walked into an intervention?” Santa asked, dropping onto the floor with a grin.

“Because it is one,” Dunk said smoothly.

“We’re confronting Est about his growing tolerance for freshmen,” Joong declared, sipping from his iced tea. “Specifically one freshman.”

Perth raised his brows. “Oh. You’re talking about William.”

Santa snorted. “Of course you are. Be careful what you say though, he is my favourite nong.”

Est groaned and rubbed his temples. “Do you two have to start, too?”

Santa leaned against the coffee table, giving Est a knowing look. “You know William literally plans his days around trying to ‘accidentally’ run into you, right?”

“Today,” Perth added, “he almost had a heart attack because Est sat at the same table as him.”

“I was studying,” Est said firmly. “Not flirting.”

“Not denying the juice box though,” Joong pointed out.

Est sighed. “It would’ve been rude to say no.”

Daou grinned. “Since when do you care about being rude?”

“I—!” Est opened his mouth, then closed it, defeated. “He’s… persistent.”

“He’s into you,” Dunk said simply. “And you know it.”

Est shrugged, expression shifting to something softer. “It’s just a crush. It’ll pass.”

Silence settled for a moment before Joong said, “Maybe. But it’s been weeks. And he’s still around. Still giving you juice boxes. Still smiling at you like you hung the stars.”

Est didn’t respond to that.

Offroad leaned back. “What do you think of him? Really.”

Est hesitated. “He’s… loud. And bright. Kind of annoying.”

Daou tilted his head. “But?”

Est looked away. “He doesn’t give up.”

Joong’s voice softened. “That scares you?”

Est shrugged. “I don’t date.”

“You haven’t dated,” Daou corrected. “In eight years.”

Est looked at his hands. “Maybe there’s a reason for that.”

There was another pause, this one heavier. Perth reached over to nudge him gently.

“Hey. You don’t owe anyone anything. But… don’t push him away just because you’re scared.”

Est looked up, expression unreadable. “I’m not scared.”

Santa, who had been unusually quiet, finally said, “You didn’t throw the juice box away.”

Est looked at him. Then at everyone else. Then at the floor.

“No,” he admitted. “I didn’t.”

⸻

The dorm room was dim when Est returned, the sky outside already inked over in dusky blues and purples. He dropped his keys into the ceramic dish by the door with a soft clink and sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, untying his shoes in silence.

Pooh, his golden retriever, padded over from his cushion in the corner and nuzzled against Est’s knee, tail thumping softly against the floor.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Est murmured.

Pooh barked once in reply—quiet but eager.

The campus was unusually still as Est walked through the curved paths behind the dorms, leash in hand, Pooh trotting comfortably beside him. Crickets chirped faintly in the bushes, and the soft shuffle of fallen leaves underfoot made the night feel quieter than usual. It gave Est space to think, which was both a relief and a problem.

He hated how much he was thinking lately.

Juice boxes. 

Libraries. 

Freshman smiles.

“God,” he muttered under his breath, ruffling a hand through his hair. “What even is happening.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Mae.

He picked up with a small sigh, voice steady. “Hey Mae.”

“Est, sweetheart. Are you outside?”

“Yeah. Taking Pooh out for a walk.”

“Oh, that’s good. It’s important to breathe in some fresh air. Clear your head a bit.”

Est hummed softly.

There was a pause on her end. Then she asked, “How’s everything going? You sound… quiet.”

Est looked up at the stars, choosing his words carefully. “It’s fine. Just… some stuff at school.”

“What kind of stuff?”

He paused.

The image of William holding out a juice box like a peace offering flashed into his mind.

He quickly shoved it out.

“Just distractions,” Est said vaguely.

His mother’s tone immediately sharpened, in that soft but firm way only she could manage. “Est. You know you can’t afford distractions right now. The tournament’s coming up.”

“I know.”

“This will be your third, Est. Three back-to-back golds. Everyone’s watching. Your coach. The department. The scouts.”

“I know,” Est repeated, a little sharper this time.

His mother quieted, then softened. “I just don’t want you to throw all your focus away. You’ve worked too hard. Just… keep your head clear, okay?”

“Yeah. I will.”

“Promise?”

Est exhaled. “Promise.”

They hung up shortly after, and Est stood for a moment under the dull glow of the path lights. His heart felt heavy—not in a sad way, but in the way it sometimes did when everything was a little too much and yet somehow still not enough.

He was about to tug Pooh’s leash gently and start back when Pooh gave a sharp bark and pulled forward toward the bend in the path.

“Pooh, wait—!”

And then Est looked up.

And saw him.

William.

Standing awkwardly under the light of a lamppost, wearing oversized black glasses, a beige hoodie with the hood up, and a worn jean jacket layered over it. He looked like he was trying not to be seen and had failed spectacularly. In one hand, he held a half-open bag of chips.

They stared at each other.

For several long, weird seconds.

William blinked.

Est blinked back.

And then—very slowly, very dumbly—William extended the bag of chips toward him.

“Uh… want some?” he asked, voice too loud in the still night.

Est just stared. “…Huh?”

Pooh, thankfully, broke the tension by trotting forward and sniffing curiously at William’s shoes.

“Oh my god,” William whispered in panic, holding very still. “I don’t—I’ve never met a dog before. I have cats. I know cats. Cats don’t sniff your whole existence.”

Est rolled his eyes faintly. “Give him your hand.”

“Huh?”

“So he can sniff it.”

William hesitated, then slowly extended his hand. Pooh sniffed once, then wagged his tail approvingly.

Est crouched beside them and scratched behind Pooh’s ears.

“He likes you. He’s Pooh,” Est said softly.

William smiled, a little breathlessly. “Guess we’re both golden retrievers, huh?”

That earned a full look from Est.

“Pooh?” William grinned. “That’s his name? Like… Pooh Bear?”

“He’s a golden retriever,” Est replied, clearly trying not to smile. “It fits.”

Two golden retrievers—one wagging his tail, the other holding out a bag of chips under the stars.

And for once, Est didn’t feel like running.

Chapter Text

They stood there for a second. The kind of silence that’s not awkward, but expectant. The kind that feels like a page waiting to be turned.

“Want to sit?” Est asked suddenly, nodding at the nearest bench under the tree.

William blinked. “Y-Yeah. Sure.”

Pooh collapsed with a dramatic sigh at Est’s feet as they settled onto the wooden bench. William sat on the far end first, leaving space between them like a polite boundary. Est didn’t fill it, but didn’t increase it either. The bag of chips rustled in William’s hand. He opened it quietly and offered it toward Est.

Est took one.

The bench beneath them was cold, the metal humming faintly with the chill that came after sunset. A breeze rustled the trees above, and the faint crackle of the chip bag between them was the only sound for a moment—until William filled it.

“So… Mochi stole my sock today,” William said, eyes on the ground. “Like, not one. Just one. Always one.”

Est gave a small hum. Encouragement.

“He also hates water but likes to dip his paws in my drinking glass. Like it’s his personal soup bowl. Cats are evil.”

He likes to talk a lot, Est thought to himself. That’s cute. 

“—and then Nut actually thought I lost my voice because I didn’t scream during the horror movie but like, I was literally just frozen. Like, completely frozen. Couldn’t even move a finger. Lego had to throw popcorn at me to get me to breathe.”

Est blinked.

William chuckled weakly, running a hand through his hair as he nervously glanced sideways. “Sorry. That probably made no sense. I just… ramble sometimes. Especially when I’m—uh. Yeah. It gets kinda annoying sometimes for people and—”

Est tilted his head slightly, his eyes still on the path ahead, one leg casually crossed over the other. He looked every bit the picture of someone trying not to care. But his fingers tapped lightly against the chip bag between them.

“You’re fine.”

The words were quiet. Almost too quiet. If William weren’t so attuned—if he weren’t constantly holding his breath waiting for any sign—he might’ve missed them.

He blinked, then sat up straighter. “Wait. Really?”

Est didn’t look at him, but the faintest twitch of a smile ghosted over his lips.

“Okay, okay. Cool. I’m fine. I’m fine,” William muttered to himself, then louder: “I’m not annoying?”

“No.”

A beat.

“Should I leave?”

“No.”

Another pause.

“…Are you sure?”

Now Est turned, slowly, expression unreadable as always, and locked eyes with him. “If I wanted you to leave, you’d know.”

William went rigid, like a cat caught knocking something off a shelf. “Okay! Got it! Noted!”

Est looked away again, but he was biting the inside of his cheek to stop a smile.

They sat in silence for a little while, Pooh curled under the bench with his head on Est’s foot, sighing heavily. The sky above them was turning that deep, dark blue that came before full night, and the lamps along the path flickered on one by one.

“You talk a lot,” Est said finally.

William winced. “Yeah. I do that. I can try not to if you want—”

“It’s not bad.”

William blinked. “It’s not?”

Est shook his head. “You fill the silence.”

There was something raw in that. Something he didn’t elaborate on. William didn’t press.

Instead, he offered the last chip from the bag without a word.

Est stared at it.

“I’m not trying to bribe you,” William said, smiling sheepishly. “It’s just the last one. And I don’t wanna eat it without asking.”

Est rolled his eyes but took the chip anyway. “They’re… okay.”

“Whoa. That’s high praise.”

Another silence fell, but this one was different. Not awkward. Just there. Like something had settled in between them, not heavy—just real.

William leaned back. “Can I walk you back?”

Est didn’t answer at first. He stood, stretched his arms over his head, then turned halfway to glance at William. “If you want.”

William scrambled up with an awkward laugh, grabbing the now-empty chip bag. “I always want.”

They walked slowly, side by side, steps almost in sync without trying. William kept glancing sideways like he couldn’t believe it was really happening. Est, for once, didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t mind.

“Mochi destroyed my guitar case last week,” William said after a while. “I think he thought there was a mouse inside. Turned out it was just my pick bouncing around. But like… he looked so proud afterward, I couldn’t even be mad.”

Est nodded, listening.

“He’s black and really fluffy. Kind of a menace but also really soft. I’ve had him since high school.”

“You like cats?”

William looked at him, startled. “Yeah. Love them. Why?”

Est shrugged. “Just wondering. You don’t seem… calm enough for cats.”

“That’s fair,” William admitted. “But he calms me down. It’s kind of like… I don’t know. He doesn’t need much. Just food, head pats, and for me to shut up sometimes.”

Est hummed. “Sounds familiar.”

“Are you talking about you or Pooh?” William grinned.

Est raised a brow. “Both.”

That actually made William laugh. Like a real, warm laugh that spilled out of him too fast, too bright, too alive.

Est didn’t say anything else, but his lips twitched—just slightly.

William looked down at Pooh, who had accepted him entirely and now walked between them like a furry chaperone. “So this is your bodyguard?”

“Emotional support dog.”

“He seems like good company.”

“He is.”

Another pause. More walking. William’s nerves danced on the edge of his skin, and he was sure he was saying too much and yet not enough. But something about Est’s presence made it easier to ramble—like talking filled the space Est was too quiet to invade.

The walk ended sooner than William wanted it to. They reached Est’s building, and Est gave a soft tug on Pooh’s leash. The dog followed instantly, tail wagging lazily.

William shifted on his feet. “Thanks for… you know. Not running away.”

Est looked at him for a long beat. “Thanks for… walking me back.”

Then he disappeared into the building with Pooh in tow.

William stood there for a moment, hand still raised in a silent goodbye he never gave. Then, slowly, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He didn’t just survive that.

He kind of… maybe… made progress.

Maybe.

⸻

William was halfway back to his dorm when it hit him.

He’d walked Est back. Est had let him. Est had even talked—well, like five sentences, but still. That counted, right?

William pressed a palm to his face.

“You’re fine,” Est had said. 

You’re fine.

Did he mean it? Or was that just the polite version of shut up? God.

William replayed everything in his head like a broken record: the way Est took a chip (victory), the way Est didn’t outright tell him to go away (bigger victory), the way Est asked what color Mochi was (universe-altering victory).

His brain spun.

Did I talk too much? Did I say too little? Did he actually listen? Was that a smile? No, couldn’t be. Maybe. No—

He collapsed onto his bed when he got home, face-first, only to be immediately greeted by a very offended meow.

“Mochi,” he groaned, “I might be in love with someone who thinks I’m a noise complaint in human form.”

Mochi stepped onto his back and plopped down like a weighted judgment.

“But he let me walk him home. And he asked about you. You.”

Mochi flicked his tail like finally, some respect.

William rolled over and stared at the ceiling. He had no idea where this was going. He didn’t know if Est even saw him as anything other than an annoying freshman who kept showing up with snacks and puppy eyes.

But there had been something in the quiet tonight. In the way Est didn’t rush off. In the way he said “thanks.” In the way he existed beside William without putting up walls.

William smiled to himself.

Est let the door close behind him and leaned against it.

Pooh padded into the room and immediately curled up in his favorite corner, letting out a soft, happy sigh.

He stayed still for a while.

He hadn’t meant to let William follow. It just… happened. He didn’t know why he didn’t stop it. Maybe because it felt easier not to. Maybe because it was easier to walk in silence than to tell him no.

He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing Pooh’s ear absently.

William was loud. And jittery. And exhausting. But also strangely… warm. Not just in the way he talked, but in the way he existed. Like he was built out of pure sincerity and not afraid to hand pieces of it out for free.

Est wasn’t used to that.

He’d expected it to get annoying. But it hadn’t.

He thought back to the moment William offered the chips again, this time without asking for anything in return. No stupid joke, no flirty comment—just an open bag and a patient glance. Est had taken one.

And yeah, they were still okay.

But the silence they shared while eating them?

That… wasn’t bad.

He remembered the way William looked when he talked about his cat—like every little part of his life was some shiny object he wanted to show Est. Like Est mattered enough to be shown.

Est sighed and tugged at the sleeve of his hoodie.

It was probably just a crush.

Just some freshman thing. It would fade. It always did.

But still…

William’s eyes had lit up when Est asked about the cat. Not many people lit up like that when Est spoke. Not many people cared enough to stay.

Est looked over at Pooh.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered. “It’s nothing.”

But Pooh just blinked slowly, like he knew better.

And Est… didn’t argue.

Chapter Text

The soft quiet that had lingered after their shared moment didn’t last long. A few days passed, but the ripple they created had already started turning into a wave.

It only took a spark to start a fire.

At first, it was harmless murmurs. A few shared glances in the hallway. A couple of whispers echoing across the back rows in lecture halls. Then someone saw William hand Est a juice box—and Est didn’t reject it.

Boom. Wildfire.

It began slowly with whispers.

Then stares.

Then full-on conversations across tables, messages in group chats, and those anonymous university confession pages that seemed to thrive on drama.

Est had always been a name on campus. He wasn’t just a swimmer—he was the swimmer. Gold in his first two years, MVP twice, and now in his third year, the stakes were higher than ever.

Everyone was watching him.

Coaches.

Teammates.

Fans.

And then there was William.

The golden-retriever freshman with the band and the juice boxes. With a laugh that carried too far and a presence that couldn’t go unnoticed even if he tried. People knew him for his gigs with LYKN, for his energy, his voice, and now—because of one shared juice box and a few exchanged glances—they knew him for Est. He had charm. And, now, he apparently had a crush on Est.

It started with the hallway “accidents”—bumping into Est with increasingly transparent excuses.

Then came the shared table in the library, where Est didn’t just sit down—he stayed.

And then… the juice box. Witnessed by a first-year girl who immediately live-texted the moment into her group chat, which was then screen-recorded and dropped into an Instagram story captioned:

“SHARK EST ACCEPTED THE JUICE. 🧃💀💀💀”

From there, the rumors bloomed like ivy up campus walls.

Some of the rumors were harmless.

“Did you see Shark Est chatting with a freshman? And not running away?”

Others weren’t.

“He’s probably just chasing Est for clout.”

“Freshmen are so bold now, huh? Trying to break a three-year streak of cold rejection?”

“I don’t understand what William sees in Est?”

“Honestly, Est can do so much better than William!”

“Isn’t Est way out of his league?”

“Bet he’s doing it for attention.”

“Est won’t even blink at him. Watch.”

Est heard it all. In the locker rooms. On the walk from the pool to his classes. Even during warm-up laps.

But what really hit him was when his coach pulled him aside after practice.

“Est,” Coach said, his voice firm but not unkind. “I know you’ve got your personal life. But nationals are coming up. You’ve won gold twice. Everyone’s expecting a third. I need you locked in. No distractions.”

Est didn’t respond. He just nodded, towel over his shoulders, water still dripping from his hair. But inside, his chest felt tight. Not because of the pressure—he was used to that. But because the word distractions hit different now.

He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t said anything. And yet somehow, it was his name in everyone’s mouths.

Even his so-called fan club had started showing up more often outside the pool. A group of loud, over-enthusiastic underclassmen with no sense of boundaries and way too many opinions.

“Hey, Est!” one of them chirped, corners of her lips curled into a condescending smile. “Who’s the guy with the juice boxes? What’s his name again? Walter?”

“William,” Est said flatly, not looking up as he adjusted his goggles.

Another one scoffed. “Right. William. The freshman? You sure he’s not, like, following you for attention?”

“Seriously,” another added, “you know people are saying he’s trying to get famous by dating you. That’s low, even for a freshman.”

Est blinked, lips parting like he was about to say something. But what was he even supposed to say? That William was just… kind? That he hadn’t done anything wrong? That he’d offered him chips and Est hadn’t even hated them?

He didn’t have the words. So he said nothing.

And then William heard it.

He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t come looking for drama. He’d just stopped by the pool area because Nut and Hong had told him the fan club was getting “a little crazy,” and he wanted to make sure Est was okay. But he’d paused just by the side door, hoodie up, fingers clenched around a bag of chips.

He heard his name before he even fully stepped inside.

“—trying to get famous by dating you.”

William froze.

Est stood there, silent, as his fan club laughed and gossiped, treating him like some shiny trophy they were protecting from William’s grubby freshman hands.

The chip bag crinkled slightly in his palm.

That hurt more than he expected.

And Est—Est hadn’t said anything.

He hadn’t meant to overhear. He had just dropped by to leave something.

A small bag with a packet of chips—the same ones they had shared at the bench. A juice box. Two cat stickers. And a yellow sticky note that said:

“One tough day doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re trying. :)”

He had planned to drop it off and bounce before anyone noticed. But then he heard them. Est’s “fan club,” talking about him. Laughing about how he was just a distraction. About how Est deserved someone “on his level.”

So William just… turned around and left.

William never expected Est to stand up for him after all he was just a random freshman for Est who had just been discovered in his orbit a couple of weeks ago. What had William expected, some conversations and coincidental moments with juice boxes would melt Shark Ests heart?

He never heard what happened after. Never heard Est—face tight and voice low—cut through the noise like a blade:

“Don’t talk about him like that. Ever.”

⸻

Instead, later that evening, after showering and running a hand through his wet hair, Est found the small bag waiting near his locker. Neat. Quiet. Still warm with intent.

He stared at it.

He didn’t need to ask who left it.

The stupid cat stickers gave it away.

“Who dropped this off?” he asked Daou, casually—like asking about the weather.

Daou looked up from where he was sat on the bench.

“Who? Oh—William.”

“He didn’t stick around?”

“Nah. He just left it and dipped.”

Est hummed. Neutral. But something sat oddly in his chest. He should be relieved. William was backing off. He wasn’t lingering. Wasn’t pressing. Wasn’t annoying.

So why did it feel a little too quiet?

⸻

Est didn’t remember walking back to his dorm.

Everything after the encounter with those upperclassmen felt like static in his brain—white noise buzzing in his ears while his feet just moved on instinct. The evening air cooled his skin, but not his thoughts. He didn’t usually let things get to him, but there was something about hearing William’s name dragged through the mud, in connection to him, that scratched under his skin like a bad rash.

Not because it hurt his reputation.

But because… it felt wrong.

And he didn’t say anything. Not enough, at least.

He had told them to drop it. He had narrowed his eyes, crossed his arms, and said, “That’s enough.” But it wasn’t enough. Because when he turned the corner, they were still whispering. Still laughing.

Still calling William desperate. A clout-chaser. A kid.

Back in his room, he tossed his swim bag down and let out a sharp sigh. Pooh, curled up on the bed, lifted his head with soft ears perked. Est sat next to him, pressing a hand into his fur.

“I shouldn’t care,” Est muttered.

Pooh blinked at him, like do you want a cookie for lying?

Est shook his head.

⸻

Later that night, when he went down to fill Pooh’s water bottle from the hallway dispenser, he found the snack bag sitting untouched.

The moment he saw the chips — the exact same kind from the bench — something stuttered in his chest.

He reached out slowly, turning the bag in his hands, then spotted the cat stickers taped neatly along the juice box. And finally, the note.

He stood there for a long time.

It was the kind of gesture someone like Est didn’t know what to do with.

It was… soft.

It was not the kind of distraction that came with noise or chaos or pressure.

It was the kind of distraction that left snacks behind and didn’t even stick around to be thanked.

Est swallowed tightly, feeling something heavy settle in his chest.

He knelt down to pick up the bag properly and returned to his room, where Pooh greeted him with a yawn.

He didn’t even realize he was staring at the snacks until his phone buzzed.

Santa:

Hey Phi, Phi Perth and I might swing by tomorrow. Is that okay?

Est typed a slow reply.

Est:

Yeah

Did William come with you during practice?

There was a long pause before the typing bubble appeared.

Santa:

Yeah. Dropped some snacks off for you and ran before anyone saw him, lol.

Est stared at the screen.

So he had heard.

And still left the snacks anyway.

Est set his phone down, then looked again at the chips. The juice. The note.

He let out a quiet exhale, leaning back into his chair. Pooh hopped up beside him and curled against his side.

Est stroked his fur absentmindedly.

He wasn’t supposed to like this. Wasn’t supposed to be affected.

But for some reason, the silence William left behind felt louder than any noise all day.

⸻

The next afternoon, Est was towel-drying Pooh when the knock came.

“Yo, open up!” Santa’s voice came muffled through the door.

Est tugged open the door to find Santa and Perth standing outside, arms full of bubble tea and plastic-wrapped pastries.

“We brought bribes,” Perth said, holding out a peach drink.

Est stepped aside. “He’s going to shed all over your pants.”

Santa snorted. “He already did last time. We bonded.”

Pooh gave a soft bark from the rug, tail wagging like he remembered both of them and didn’t quite care.

The three of them settled on the floor, Perth cross-legged beside the low table, Santa sprawling like he owned the place. Est sat on his bed, sipping slowly. He wasn’t usually one for long social hangouts, but this one was easy. Comfortable.

Almost forgettable.

Except he didn’t forget.

Not the snacks.

Not the note.

Not William.

Which is why, fifteen minutes into the conversation about some upperclassman who shaved off his eyebrows for a dare, Est casually said, “Heard you said William came by yesterday.”

Santa’s eyebrows lifted. Perth’s eyes darted up, subtle but sharp.

Est looked calm, unaffected, as if he’d asked about the weather.

“Yeah,” Santa said, after a beat. “He was there for like three minutes. Dropped off some snacks and bounced before anyone could talk to him.”

“He didn't said anything?” Est asked, eyes still on his cup.

Perth smiled. “Nope. Just looked around and ran. Classic William panic move.”

Santa laughed. “Actually—he did look like he wanted to say something. But then those fan club girls showed up, and he dipped.”

Est stayed quiet, but the smallest twitch crossed his brow. “He didn’t… want to stay?”

Santa shrugged. “Probably didn’t want to cause more trouble. You know how people get.”

Est didn’t respond.

Because he didn’t know.

Not really.

All he knew was that William had been everywhere lately—falling into his path like he belonged there, wide-eyed and ridiculous and offering juice like it was a love language.

But this time, he left. Quietly.

And Est had thought he liked the quiet. Preferred it.

Now, though, there was something in the silence William left behind that rubbed at the edge of Est’s thoughts.

Est didn’t really plan on it.

Or maybe he did.

But when he walked across campus the next day—his hoodie pulled low and hands stuffed in his pockets—he knew exactly where he was going.

The student cafeteria was loud as usual, full of late risers and early grinders, people cramming sandwiches into their mouths between classes and groups huddled around one laptop or another. Est scanned the space once, twice.

And then, at the far end by the window, he saw him.

William.

At the far end, tucked in a corner seat under the flickering light of a tired bulb, sat William. Slouched a little, earphones in, hoodie sleeves tugged over his wrists, and hair sticking out in sleepy tufts. His tray was half-filled—sandwich, juice box, and an untouched muffin—and his eyes looked just a little dimmer than usual. Not broken or anything. Just… quiet.

Est almost turned back.

But then he remembered the cat stickers.

The chips. 

The juice.

The note taped on top of the bag that read: One tough day doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re trying.

Est walked over before he could change his mind.

One foot in front of the other, passing tables where some turned to look. A few whispering voices followed him like low waves against a boat. But he didn’t slow down. He didn’t meet anyone’s gaze.

And when he finally reached the table, he simply set his bag down and sat across from William.

The ripple was instant. Like someone had dropped a pebble in still water, and the waves rolled through the entire room. Someone gasped—very audibly. Another person dropped their fork.

He didn’t even realize he’d sat down until William jerked back slightly, blinking at him like he was hallucinating.

“Wait—what?”

Est cleared his throat. His ears were already heating.

William pulled out one earbud and blinked.

“Phi Est?”

“You didn’t stay.”

William blinked. “Huh?”

Est looked away, cheeks faintly pink. “Yesterday. You didn’t stay. I wanted to say thank you. For the snacks. The stickers. The… note.” Est’s voice was perfectly calm, almost bored, but his ears—his ears were turning red. “I wanted to say thank you.”

William blinked once, then twice.

“You… came here to thank me?”

Est nodded.

William stared at him for three seconds straight. He set down his half eaten sandwich like he was afraid it would fly out of his hand. “Like—you came here? For me?”

Est squirmed under the weight of those big, round, stunned eyes. “You didn’t leave a name.”

William’s voice was nearly a whisper. “But you knew it was me?”

Est gave him a flat look. “You put cat stickers.”

William smiled, lopsided. “Fair point.”

Phi Est came for me. For me!

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” William whispered, loud enough for Est to hear but not loud enough for anyone else. “You came to find me specifically… to say thank you.”

Est’s ears burned brighter, and he didn’t reply.

William sat up straighter, his eyes wide. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You—you wanted to say thanks, and you thought about it. And then you—on your own—you walked all the way here. To find me.”

“Are you going to keep repeating it?” Est muttered.

William beamed.

And Est looked away, clearly flustered. The tips of his ears were burning now, and he silently cursed his own skin tone for betraying him.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” William said before he could stop himself. He immediately panicked. “I mean—not in like a weird way. Or creepy. I just meant like—”

Est raised an eyebrow. He rolled his eyes but looked up at him properly now. William looked tired—there were dark circles under his eyes and a slight crinkle to his nose like he was fighting off a yawn.

“Anyway,” Est said, still not looking at him directly. “It would have been easier to thank you if I had your number.”

William’s brain short-circuited for half a second. “Wait—wait, is this—are you—are you asking for my number?”

Est didn’t reply.

“Oh my god,” William breathed again. “You are.”

“I’m not asking.”

“Fine,” William grinned. “Then I’ll ask. Can I have your number?”

Est shrugged again, which was probably as close to a yes as William was ever going to get.

William took his phone out instantly, nearly dropping it. 

He held it out. “Here. You can just put your name in. Or I can type yours if you don’t want to—wait, no, you probably don’t want me touching your phone—”

Est took his phone calmly, ignoring the flailing, and typed in his number.

“There,” he said, sliding it back. “Now I can thank you without… walking across campus.”

William stared down at the contact name glowing on his screen.

Est 🦈

His heart exploded a little. “You gave yourself a shark emoji?”

Est deadpanned, “You gave me cat stickers.”

William grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. “Okay, true. Can I have your Instagram? Or—or is that too much?”

Est raised an eyebrow. “Why would it be too much?”

William almost choked. “Right, right, of course. Totally normal. People exchange socials all the time. It’s modern networking. Nothing suspicious.”

Est reached across the table. “Give.”

William handed his phone over again with reverence, like it was a sacred offering.

As Est typed, William stared at him—at his slightly flushed ears, his downcast eyes, the exact curl of his lashes and the faintest arch of a single brow.

He’s so pretty, William thought helplessly. And cool. And calm. And I stayed up all night whining about his lips.

He had spent four hours talking to Nut and Lego about Est’s heart shaped lips and had forgotten to finish his composition draft.

Est slid the phone back, Instagram handle saved and stood up slowly, hoodie sleeves slipping over his hands.

“Thanks again,” he said.

William nodded, dazed. “Anytime.”

“I have to go,” he said, standing.

“Okay—yeah—of course—thank you,” William said, slightly breathless, still holding his phone like it might combust into glitter.

Later that night, William collapsed on his dorm bed dramatically, phone pressed to his chest like he was in a music video.

Nut groaned from the couch. “Bro, just tell us already. What happened?”

“He has my number,” William whispered, eyes wide and glassy.

Lego threw a cushion at him. “What?”

“He. Has. My. Number.” William sat up. “And I have his! And his Instagram. I can DM him memes now. I can send him cat reels. I can—”

“Please don’t send him cat reels,” Hong muttered.

“Too late,” William whispered, dramatically rolling across the bed. Mochi, his black cat, watched from his perch on the pillow with judgmental eyes.

“And get this,” William added, holding up his phone triumphantly. “He thanked me. In front of everyone. He sought me out.”

Tui threw a fist in the air. “My boy!!”

They all huddled around as William opened Est’s Instagram profile. It was minimalistic, black and white theme. Some swimming shots. A lot of Pooh. One photo from a beach trip. One selfie — barely angled, Est’s face partially covered by shadows, yet somehow ethereal.

“He’s an aesthetic king,” Lego muttered.

“He’s beautiful,” William sighed, zooming in.

“Dude, you’re embarrassing yourself in front of your cat,” Nut pointed out.

As if on cue, Mochi meowed.

William dramatically threw himself back again. “He accepted my follow request. He wants me in his digital life. We are basically married.”

“You’ve talked twice.”

“I’m making progress!”

They all laughed, and William just lay there, grinning, cheeks flushed and heart warm.

From somewhere behind him, Mochi leapt onto his chest and curled up with a purr, and William whispered, “I think I’m really falling.”

And for once, none of them teased him.

Chapter Text

The chlorine-heavy air of the indoor pool clung to William’s skin the second he stepped inside.

His sneakers squeaked loudly against the tiles as he wandered closer to the bleachers, clutching a juice box in one hand and ridiculous hope in the other.

The overhead lights cast reflections that danced across the surface, creating a ripple of movement even in the stillness. The rhythmic splash of laps echoed across the building—strong, fluid strokes cutting clean through the water.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting.

But then he saw him.

Phi Est.

There he was.

Focused.

Smooth.

Effortless.

And shirtless.

William’s thoughts promptly died.

Error.exe

William’s brain has stopped working. Please leave a message at the tone. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. 

Shirtless. 

Which wouldn’t have been such a big deal if it wasn’t for the sheer definition of him. He looked like he had been sculpted by the gods who decided that swimmers needed washboard abs and tiny waists and that elegant line that disappeared under the edge of his swim shorts. William swallowed. His eyes trailed from the damp strands of Est’s hair, curling slightly at the ends, all the way down to the fine sheen of water across his glistening skin.

He should look away. 

He really should.

But he was transfixed. 

Entirely and embarrassingly transfixed.

Est was beautiful.

Dangerously so.

He was… objectively beautiful. Not just pretty, not just good-looking—beautiful. Like, museum-worthy. Or like he’d been drawn by someone obsessed with anatomy and grace.

Even from a distance, William could tell he was in his zone. 

Eyes forward. 

Arms slicing. 

Kicks purposeful. 

It made something warm and proud crawl up into William’s throat. He hadn’t even done anything. But still.

William didn’t even realize his jaw had slackened until someone cleared their throat beside him.

A voice made him jump. “You came again, Juice Box?”

William jumped and nearly choked on his own tongue.

Two tall figures stood just beside him—Joong and Daou. Est’s closest friends. Daou had a towel slung over one shoulder, and Joong looked suspiciously like he’d just been lurking there waiting to pounce.

“I—uh, hi Phi,” William blinked. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just… wanted to drop by.”

“To stare at Est?” Joong asked, deadpan.

William’s ears burned. “No! I mean—he’s just really good. At swimming. Which he is. But I wasn’t like—staring staring. Just, observing. Supportively.”

Daou snorted. “Supportively?”

“Relax.” Joong smirked. “We’re just joking.”

William shifted nervously. “Did I fail the vibe check?”

Joong tilted his head like he was seriously considering it. “Not yet.”

“Actually, we’re surprised how long you’ve lasted,” Daou added with an amused shrug. “Usually people back off after a few days.”

“Or Est shuts them down,” Joong said. “Hard.”

William blinked. “He does?”

“Yeah. Some people get pushy. Or weird. Or annoying.” Joong shrugged. “He doesn’t put up with much.”

Daou leaned in slightly, curious. “You’re not scared off yet?”

William paused. “Wait…has he… had a lot of people come see him before?”

Joong and Daou exchanged a glance.

“You’d be surprised,” Daou said. “Est’s got a long history of people crushing on him. It’s the whole mysterious, broody athlete thing.”

“Most of them disappear after a few weeks,” Joong added. “Especially when they realize Est isn’t the type to flirt back or play games. He’s… guarded. For a reason.”

William’s heart did a small achey thing.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. He’s… not scary. He’s just… quiet. But not in a bad way.”

Joong looked mildly impressed. “First person to describe him like that.”

William smiled sheepishly, then squinted toward the pool again. Est had just flipped underwater, kicking off the wall with a practiced rhythm that made it hard to look away.

“Anyway,” William asked, “is everything okay? I know there were rumors going around… and I didn’t wanna be a problem.”

Daou exchanged a glance with Joong. “Well, yeah. He was distracted for a bit. Which is rare.”

“Like never-before rare,” Joong added. “And I mean—Coach noticed. We noticed. Everyone noticed.”

William looked stricken. “Was it… because of me?”

“You are the common factor,” Daou said, raising a brow. “And weirdly? That’s not a bad thing.”

William’s heart skipped.

“Est has been better recently after that entire thing,” Joong admitted. “Focused. Sharper.”

“You mean he’s still a shark,” Daou said, “but like… a slightly less emotionally repressed shark.”

William stared. “Wait—really?”

Joong nodded. “He might be… thawing.”

“Est melts slow,” Daou added. “Like, glacial pace. But he does melt.”

William blinked again. “I thought he barely tolerated me.”

“He still might,” Joong said casually. “But at least he’s thinking about you while he does.”

William felt like his soul left his body for a second.

“Also,” Daou continued, “rumor has it he defended you.”

“Wait, what?”

Joong smirked. “Last week. Some of the fan club girls were talking crap. Said you were clingy. That you were messing with his schedule.”

William’s stomach sank. “Oh…”

“Est told them to shut up,” Daou said. “Didn’t yell. Just—cut them off. Said you weren’t a distraction. Told them not to talk about you like that.”

William felt his heart do a triple backflip and then collapse.

“He did that?”

Joong nodded. “In front of like ten people. It was kind of iconic.”

William opened his mouth—then promptly forgot how to speak, because right then, Est broke his stride in the water, lifting his head mid-lap to rest at the pool’s edge.

And looked up.

Their eyes met. 

And for a moment, time stopped.

Water rolled off his body in rivulets, the curve of his shoulders gleaming in the overhead light. He draped a towel around his neck, chest rising and falling evenly, water dripping down the side of his face.

William gave the smallest, hopeful wave.

Est didn’t roll his eyes this time. 

Or turn away. 

Or offer a blank look like he had before.

Est paused. 

Then—just the briefest of moments—he nodded.

Est nodded.

A real nod.

The kind you give someone you recognize. Someone you maybe even like seeing.

Joong’s grin widened. “Progress.”

William was seconds away from fainting.

Joong and Daou both turned toward the pool, then back to William with matching grins.

William was somewhere between elated and breathless, but the heat rising in his cheeks doubled when Est suddenly emerged from the pool, water glistening across his skin, towel slung low around his neck.

He walked over to the bleachers with clear intent, cheeks slightly pink—whether from exertion or something else, William wasn’t sure.

“What are you guys doing?” Est asked, voice cool but noticeably quieter than usual.

Joong gestured dramatically. “Oh, just praising your secret admirer.”

Est shot him a flat look. “He’s not—”

Daou cut in, mock-innocent. “We were just telling him how grumpy you’ve been lately. Maybe nong William should visit more often.”

Est’s ears turned the faintest shade of pink. “You’re both annoying.”

Joong and Daou snickered, standing up to stretch. “We’ll leave you to it, then.”

As they walked off, Est lingered, towel now resting over one shoulder.

William swallowed, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Est replied.

They stood there, a strange but not uncomfortable silence stretching between them.

William broke it first, his voice warm. “Phi Joong and Phi Daou…told me about what you did. Thank you… for defending me. You didn’t have to do that.”

Est looked away, brows furrowed. “They were being stupid and dumb.” 

William smiled. “Still. Thank you. Here you go.” He offered the juice box that he had been clutching for dear life. 

Est shifted awkwardly and took his from his hand, painfully slow. Then, as if bracing himself, he looked back at William—and smiled. Soft. Tentative. Real.

It knocked the breath out of William like a punch to the chest. 

A real, honest-to-god Est smile.

“You’re beautiful,” William blurted out.

Est blinked.

William’s eyes widened in panic. “I mean—you don’t have to agree! That just came out—I—my bad—”

Est’s smile widened just a fraction, the faintest crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and he turned, walking off before William could combust.

William stood frozen. Heart in his throat. Brain short-circuited. Knees weak.

He stared at Est’s retreating back.

Then turned to the heavens.

“Help,” he whispered to no one. “I’m gonna die.”

⸻

That evening, William was a mess.

He rolled around his bed, clutching a juice box and screaming into his pillow while Mochi—the actual owner of the dorm room, if you asked him—judged from the windowsill.

“I got a smile,” William whispered. “Like a real one. From Est. It was soft. It was warm. I’m unwell.”

Mochi blinked slowly.

Wrapped in his emotional burrito of joy, William stared at the ceiling, heart full, cheeks sore from smiling.

He whispered into the darkness, “I hope he smiles again tomorrow.”

“Bro, you’re off beat again,” Nut called out, barely glancing up from his guitar.

“I’m not off beat,” William argued, mid-chorus.

“You are,” Hong added. “You literally said ‘hey’ two counts late.”

“Maybe I’m distracted,” William muttered, pushing his hair back in frustration.

Tui tossed him a juice box. “Maybe you’re in love.”

“I’m not—shut up.”

But he was. Or getting there terrifyingly fast.

They were rehearsing for their upcoming gig at Café Blue, a monthly showcase where LYKN usually brought down the house. William should have been focused, fine-tuning harmonies or tightening guitar riffs. Instead, he was thinking about Est’s blush. That half-second smile. The way his hair dripped water onto his collarbone. The fact that he nodded at William yesterday, in front of everyone.

It was almost too much.

Lego noticed the faraway look on William’s face and flopped down next to him on the floor, drumsticks in hand.

“Okay. Spill.”

William groaned and covered his face. “I kinda want to invite him to our gig.”

“YES!” Nut fist-pumped.

“But what if he says no?” William peeked through his fingers. “What if he’s just been tolerating me and he’s actually really annoyed and blocks me the moment I message him?”

“He won’t,” Tui said.

“Even if he does,” Hong added, “at least you won’t die wondering.”

“God,” William moaned, flopping back on the floor like a Victorian widow. “I don’t want to seem too much.”

“You are too much,” Lego said dryly. “That’s literally your brand.”

William groaned again, but they were right. He couldn’t keep relying on fate and juice boxes and “coincidental” library sightings. He had Est’s number now. He had to take the first step.

⸻

William sat on the floor, laptop open but ignored. Mochi curled up on his bed, tail flicking with disinterest.

“Okay. Okay okay okay.”

He opened the chat. Stared at it.

Typed.

Hey Phi Est! There’s a gig at Café Blue this Friday. My band’s playing. You should come if you’re free :)

Deleted it.

Hey. So I was wondering if you wanted to come to this thing. It’s not a big deal. Just my band playing. No big deal. Unless it is. If you’re into music. Or not. Or—

Deleted again.

“Mochi, why is texting scarier than singing in front of 200 people?”

Mochi meowed, unhelpfully.

William took a deep breath. Finally, he typed:

Hey Phi Est :) My band LYKN is playing a small gig this Friday at Café Blue. I know it’s last minute but… I’d love for you to come if you’re free! No pressure though.

He stared at it. Then hit delete before he could send it.

Immediately tossed his phone across the room and collapsed face-first onto his bed, screaming into his pillow.

Mochi jumped onto his back and kneaded into his hoodie.

William groaned, muffled. “I’m insane.”

Ding.

He froze. Rolled over. Reached for the phone.

One message.

Est 🦈:

?

William sat bolt upright. “OH MY GOD.”

He clutched Mochi to his chest. “WHAT DID I DO?”

He rolled onto the bed, burying his face into his cat. “MOCHI. I CAN’T BREATHE.”

Mochi tolerated this for five seconds before wiggling free and trotting off like a disappointed roommate.

He had indeed sent a text…

William 🎸:

Ndjdnejdorndjcuhsbsidh

“I’m gonna kill myself,” William muttered to himself. 

This is so embarrassing. Why does something like this only happen to me? Wait, I need to reply. What should I say? 

William 🎸: 

Hey Phi :)

Mochi crawled over my keyboard  

Mochi looked up from his bed, deep judgement in his eyes. 

Est 🦈: 

… 

Mochi…

Your cat…crawled…over your phone keyboard? 

William 🎸: 

Yup 

[Image sent] 

Look at that face. 

Definitely plotting my doom. 

It was a picture of Mochi, taken by Lego after Tui had stepped on his tail, with the world’s grumpiest face plotting everyone's demise. 

Est 🦈: 

.

Cute

Now is your chance William, say it. Invite him. Ask him. Do it!

William 🎸: 

Hey Phi, my band LYKN will be playing at Cafe Blue this Friday. 

I know it’s last minute. 

No pressure or anything. 

I would be really happy if you came. 

William saw the three dots appear and disappear for at least two minutes and yes he counted. 

When, finally—

Est 🦈: 

I have practice. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it. 

William 🎸: 

No pressure. You can come after practice. 

Even just for one song. 

Please 🙏 

Est 🦈: 

…

I’ll try. 

William  rolled on the bed in joy, screaming into his comforter. “I HAVE A DATE. THIS IS A DATE. OH MY GOD I’M GOING TO DIE.”

“HE SAID HE’ll TRY!”

Outside the dorm room, someone knocked.

“Shut up, William!” Hong shouted from the hallway.

“I CAN’T I’M IN LOVE!”

The next day arrived with a buzzing kind of nervous energy. Café Blue was hosting its last gig before finals, and LYKN was ready to set the place on fire—musically, not literally, although with the boys there was always the possibility of the impossible happening. Posters were being rolled out, taped up, and shoved into backpacks as the band split up to plaster every corner of campus.

“I’ll take Performing Arts and Lit,” Tui declared, adjusting his sunglasses dramatically. “They love me there.”

“I got Humanities,” Hong said with a smirk, slapping Nut’s back. “You’re coming with me.”

“Wait—what about Finance?” William asked too quickly.

Four heads turned toward him.

“Oh my god,” Lego grinned. “You’re going to Finance. Because coincidentally, Est will be there.”

“Shut up,” William mumbled, hugging the rolled-up poster to his chest. “It’s a public gig. I’m just… promoting.”

“Right,” Nut said. “And if his class just so happens to be ending when you get there…”

“Then the stars aligned,” Hong finished, winking.

Everyone paused.

“Shut up,” William said, snatching the posters. “It’s called targeted marketing.”

William tried to look unfazed. He failed miserably.

⸻

William made his way to the Finance building, heart pounding like a drum solo in one of LYKN’s messier rehearsals. His fingers tightened around the rolled-up poster tucked under his arm, now slightly crumpled from how many times he’d clutched and smoothed it.

He didn’t know why he felt so nervous. 

Okay—he did. 

Phi Est had said he’ll try to come and maybe this was the only chance to convince him. 

He entered the Finance building, heart thudding in his chest like it was trying to break out and run away. He checked the time. Phi Est’s class was supposed to end in—oh, two minutes. Perfect.

He climbed the stairs and turned the corner just in time to see a familiar head exit one of the classrooms. Est.

Joong and Daou were with him. Joong’s boyfriend Dunk had an arm slung around his shoulders, laughing about something, and Daou’s boyfriend Offroad was juggling a coffee and a textbook while trying to match their pace. It was domestic and casual and… terrifying.

The whole squad. 

The sight nearly made William trip over his own feet.

He hesitated.

This was stupid. He could leave the poster on a noticeboard. He didn’t have to hand it over directly. But just as he was about to retreat—

Joong spotted him.

“Isn’t it the Juice Box guy?” Joong asked, grinning with far too much enthusiasm.

William stopped in front of them, awkwardly shoving the poster forward.

Joong. Dunk. Daou. Offroad. Est.

Est. 

William looked down, cheeks already warm.

“Ohhh?” Dunk grinned. “You mean the Juice Box guy, the one we’ve heard so much about.”

“Est talks about you all the time,” Offroad added helpfully.

Est turned red. “Shut up.”

He turned his head, eyes catching William where he stood awkwardly near the hallway column. William tried to stand a little taller and gave a small wave that he instantly regretted.

“I—uh—brought this,” William stammered, stepping forward and awkwardly extending the rolled-up poster like a peace offering. “It’s for… um, Café Blue. We’re playing this Friday. LYKN. My band.”

Joong took the poster like it was a royal decree. “Ohhh. A personal delivery?”

“Very exclusive,” Dunk chimed in.

Est blinked, silent.

“It’s not a big deal,” William said, trying not to fidget. “But I thought—maybe—you might want to come. If you’re free.”

Joong and Daou exchanged a glance. “So… we’re all invited or is this…for someone special?”

William’s face flushed. “It’s for everyone.”

Still, Est hadn’t said anything. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, his face unreadable.

Joong raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for a response. William glanced at Est, then quickly looked away. He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His shoulders dipped, just barely—but enough for Est to catch.

That quiet shift. That tiny slump. The way William’s hopeful eyes flickered down for a split second before he masked it with another polite smile.

And Est felt something twist in his chest.

He didn’t like that expression.

He didn’t like the idea of William thinking they weren’t coming. That he wasn’t coming. He thought about last night. The message filled with gibberish and then the tentative invitation. Est had decided to visit for at least one song after practice but he had not expected to see William the next day again, inviting him with the same glistening look in his eyes. 

Before he could think too hard about it, Est blurted, “Okay. We’ll be there.”

Joong, Dunk, and Daou all turned to him in surprise. “We will?”

Est cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

William’s eyes snapped up again. “Really?”

Est nodded once, short and firm. “We’ll be there.”

Joong looked positively gleeful. “Ohhh, that was fast. Didn’t even need to beg.”

Daou nudged Est’s shoulder. “You’re soft for him.”

Est ignored them.

But he did glance once more at William, who had lit up like someone had flipped a switch inside him.

He wasn’t smiling with teeth or making a dramatic gesture. He wasn’t bouncing or trying to impress anyone.

He just looked… relieved.

And quietly happy.

And for some reason, Est felt okay about that.

He ignored them all and started walking away. “We’re going to be late for lunch.”

William stood frozen, dazed, until Joong clapped him on the back.

“Welcome to the inner circle,” he said, amused. “You’ve just survived Shark Est’s version of flirting.”

William thought he might never recover.

⸻

Back in his dorm room, William shut the door behind him and immediately collapsed onto his bed with a groan.

Mochi, curled up in a ball of sleek black fur near the foot of the bed, blinked slowly at him like he’d been expecting the drama.

“He said he’s coming,” William mumbled into his pillow. “He. Said. He’s. Coming.”

Mochi yawned.

William sat up, hair a mess, face flushed from the walk back, and stared at his cat like he held the answers to the universe.

Mochi flicked his tail, unimpressed.

“And the nod,” William continued, now pacing. “He did this little—like—tiny nod thing. He doesn’t nod. He’s like a statue most of the time. But he nodded. At me.”

He paused and turned dramatically toward Mochi.

“He also texted back last night which is huge.”

Mochi meowed once, sharp and judgmental.

“I know,” William said, dropping to the floor beside his bed, arms around his knees. “I sound insane. I feel insane. But you don’t get it, Mochi.”

Mochi slowly got up and stepped right onto William’s thigh, then plopped himself down.

“I can’t mess this up,” William whispered into his fur. “This might actually be something. He might actually come. What if he hates our set? What if I say something dumb and he walks out halfway through the second song and never speaks to me again”

Mochi sneezed.

“Right. Get a grip,” he muttered, then rubbed his ears gently. “Okay. Okay. This is fine. It’s a gig. A normal gig. We’ve done dozens. I just… need to not panic if he’s in the crowd. Or if he makes eye contact. Or smiles. Oh God, what if he smiles?”

He collapsed back onto the floor, arms flailing.

“I am not okay,” he muttered.

Mochi climbed onto his chest and settled there with a soft purr, like some tiny emotional support demon.

The days leading up to Café Blue passed in a frantic, buzzing blur.

Between class, rehearsals, and organizing everything from sound check schedules to Nut’s eternally missing amp cable, William didn’t have time to breathe—much less obsess over the fact that Est might be coming to see him perform live.

Which, of course, meant that he did exactly that. Every time he wasn’t physically doing something, his brain went into Est-loop mode.

William: He said “we’ll be there.”

Also William: What if he changes his mind.

But even with the storm inside his head, the campus wasn’t about to stop just because William was living a one-man romantic musical in his mind. He still had lectures to attend. Projects to finalize. A setlist to adjust when Tui said he needed to open with the new song, and Lego said he refused to end on a ballad.

Somehow, in the chaos, William kept running into Est.

At first, it was casual—Est walking across the quad with Joong and Daou, passing by William on his way to drop off updated posters in front of the dining hall.

“Morning!” William called out before his brain could get nervous. “Can’t wait for you to hear the new set.”

Est, mid-bite of his banana bread, blinked at him. Joong wiggled his eyebrows. Daou waved.

Est didn’t reply. But William thought he saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips before he looked away.

The next day, William spotted Est outside the library steps.

He was sitting under the big frangipani tree with a laptop open in front of him and a half-drunk iced coffee beside it. His brows were furrowed, reading something intently. William was rushing by with a coil of mic cables over his shoulder and a guitar case bumping against his thigh when he nearly tripped over his own feet.

Est looked up.

Their eyes met again. William hesitated for one heartbeat—then grinned.

“Hope you like live music,” he said, nodding at the guitar case. “We’re going all out this Friday.”

Est didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t look away either.

William waved and kept walking before he could embarrass himself further.

He didn’t see it—but after a few seconds, Est looked back down and started typing again, the corner of his mouth tugging up just a little.

Later that night, William was half-asleep in bed, curled under a mountain of lyric notebooks and Mochi’s unimpressed stare. His body ached, his brain was mush, and he had officially burned through his last functional brain cell at rehearsal when Tui suggested adding choreography. (To a rock set.)

But even in his exhaustion, his fingers reached for his phone.

He opened the chat with Est.

William 🎸:

[Image sent]

Caption: He looks like this because I accidentally stepped on his tail while trying to record a demo. Send prayers.

The image was a close-up of Mochi mid-glare, ears pinned back, tail curled like a whip. He looked like he was plotting William’s untimely demise.

No response.

William sighed. Fair.

He tossed the phone aside and sank deeper into his pillows.

Ding.

He bolted upright.

Est 🦈:

Did you survive or was he merciful?

William 🎸:

It’s touch and go.

I think he put a hex on me.

My guitar string snapped five minutes later.

Est 🦈:

Sounds deserved.

William bit his lip to keep from grinning. It felt like something. A moment. A real exchange. Not a favor. Not a pity response. Just… Est choosing to talk to him.

The next afternoon, William was walking out of Studio 7 when he saw Est by the vending machines across the hallway. Joong was standing beside him, enthusiastically trying to shove coins into a slot that clearly wasn’t working.

Est leaned against the wall, arms crossed, sipping water.

William didn’t think. He just veered off course, bounding over.

“Hey, Phi!” he chirped. “Want another juice box? We’re setting up early Friday so I’ve stocked like, thirty.”

Est glanced at him. “Are you bribing me?”

William blinked innocently. “Nooo. I’m… pre-hydrating you.”

Joong choked on air and turned away, clearly trying not to laugh.

Est shook his head—but the smallest smile ghosted across his face. “I don’t even like juice.”

“Liar,” William said with zero hesitation. “You drank the whole thing last time.”

Est opened his mouth like he wanted to argue. But then he closed it.

William grinned. “See you Friday.”

He didn’t wait for a reply this time.

As he walked away, Est watched him go. Then looked down at the water bottle in his hand like he’d suddenly wished it was grape juice.

That night, Mochi became a full-fledged flirtation device.

William sent three photos: one of Mochi mid-yawn, one of Mochi sitting perfectly still like a judgmental gremlin, and one of him squished into a shoebox that was way too small.

William 🎸:

[Images sent]

Caption: Grumpy. Menacing. Smol. Do you relate to any of these moods?

Est didn’t reply for half an hour.

Ding. 

Est 🦈:

Middle one.

100%.

William kicked his legs under the blanket like a middle schooler with a crush.

William 🎸:

I knew it.

He’s literally you. 

Menacing on the outside yet fluffy on the inside. 

Est 🦈:

…

William 🎸:

A little accurate though???

Est:

…

William 🎸:

Too far?

Est 🦈:

Just far enough.

On Thursday, William was running across campus with a stack of lyric printouts when he spotted Est sitting on the steps outside the business building. He had one earbud in, a textbook open in his lap.

William jogged past, holding up the papers over his head like a banner.

“Final setlist is fire!” he yelled.

Est raised an eyebrow.

William backpedaled, breathless but excited. “Just saying. If you miss it, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Est glanced down at his book. “That’s dramatic.”

“See you tomorrow,” William said, already halfway jogging backward again.

Est didn’t say anything. But this time… he smiled.

Just a little.

That night, William didn’t send a picture. He sent a voice note.

William 🎸 (0:09):

“Mochi sat through the whole rehearsal today without leaving. That means it’s a good sign. He usually walks out during my solos.”

Est didn’t respond immediately. William stared at the screen until he gave up and flopped onto his pillow, cheeks burning from the sheer emotion of it all.

Ding.

Est 🦈 :

👍

Ding.

Est 🦈:

Looking forward to it.

It was well past midnight and William was still awake. There was a buzz in his chest. A warm, low simmer that had been building over the past few days.

It wasn’t just nerves.

His guitar sat untouched on its stand. His laptop blinked with an untouched to-do list. But his fingers hovered over his phone, warm with something he didn’t have words for.

Mochi curled against his ribs, already dozing.

William 🎸:

[image sent]

Mochi says goodnight 🐾

He’s trying to remind me to sleep. But I’m too excited.

Can’t wait for you to come see us live.

Est 🦈:

He looks like he’s judging you.

William 🎸:

He is. He’s brutal.

But he loves me. I think. Sometimes. When he’s not stealing my spot on the bed.

Or glaring at me for breathing too loudly.

Est 🦈:

Sounds like a cat.

William 🎸:

Also sounds like you.

A pause. Then—

Est 🦈:

…

I’m less fluffy.

William laughed into the darkness, soft and giddy.

William 🎸:

True.

But you’re warming up to me. Slowly. Like Mochi.

(Just don’t bite me.)

Est 🦈:

No promises.

William stared at the screen, heart full.

William 🎸:

Get some rest, Phi Est.

See you soon.

Est didn’t reply right away. William set his phone down, expecting that to be the end of it. But just as he was closing his eyes—

Est 🦈:

Goodnight, William.

Good Luck.

William clutched his pillow like it held the stars.

Chapter Text

Café Blue was glowing.

It always did on gig nights — warm string lights curling around the windows like vines, casting golden shadows on the sidewalk, the sound of clinking cups and distant guitar chords filtering out into the summer evening. It was the kind of glow that felt alive — electric, expectant, like something was about to happen.

From backstage, William could see it all — the dim lights, the packed tables, the sea of faces waiting for the show to start. His heart was pounding, not just from the usual pre-gig adrenaline but because somewhere in that crowd… Phi Est was here.

The leather jacket seemed like a bad idea now.

Or maybe it was the best idea. 

William couldn’t tell. 

All he knew was that the thing felt like a second skin as he stood backstage, guitar slung across his torso, hair styled so precisely that even a breeze would think twice before messing it up. Nut had teased him for “going full K-pop” tonight, but William wasn’t thinking about stage fashion trends.

He was thinking about him.

Est Supha Sangaworawong.

Every time William walked past the curtain, he risked peeking out, scanning the crowd. 

When he finally spotted him — sitting near the back, white sweater soft and oversized with blue butterflies, dark jeans hugging long legs, hair falling slightly over his forehead — his breath caught.

God. 

He looked unfairly good. 

Cozy. 

Comfortable. 

The kind of good that made William’s chest feel too small.

He turned away quickly, acting like he hadn’t just been hit by a truck named Est.

“Will, stop pacing, you’re making me nervous,” Lego muttered.

“Can’t,” he said. “Need to walk off the energy.”

“Is it ‘walk off the energy’ or ‘try not to stare at a certain someone in the audience’?” Hong smirked.

William ignored him. Kind of.

When the café owner gave them the go-ahead, they stepped out. Applause rolled through the room, and just like that, the nerves sharpened into focus. 

Music has always been William’s safe place — the moment his fingers hit the strings, the world shrank to the sound, the rhythm, the connection.

From the corner of his vision, though, William caught him watching. 

Calm, unreadable. 

He wanted to know what was going through his head.

Est stood just outside, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, a little off-kilter with nerves he would never admit aloud. Joong and Daou stood by his side, their usual smirks playing at their lips. 

“You sure you’re not just here for the free food?” Daou teased, nudging his shoulder.

Est rolled his eyes. “I heard it was decent.”

Joong snorted. “Right. You’re wearing your good sweater and you styled your hair. For the food.”

Est said nothing.

The glowing blue sign of Café Blue shone above them, its soft neon flickering like a beacon. Est’s heart thudded a little too loudly inside his chest — the way it always did when William was near. 

As they stepped into the café, the low hum of conversation wrapped around them. The place was packed — shoulder to shoulder with students from different departments, groups crowding around tables, and the small stage already bathed in soft blue light.

Across the room, Est noticed Perth and Santa sitting close together in a corner booth, fingers intertwined, their easy smiles speaking volumes. They looked like a real couple now — something solid and certain.

And then Est saw him.

William.

He didn’t mean to look that much.

Really, Est had told himself it was just polite—after all, William had invited him. And it wasn’t like there was much else to focus on in Café Blue when the band was playing this loud. 

But the problem was William didn’t just play. 

He performed. 

Every flick of his hand along the strings, every sway of his body, every grin he threw at the crowd—it was magnetic.

The leather jacket was unfair. 

So was the hair, perfectly styled yet somehow looking like he’d just rolled out of bed and made it work. And the way he slung the electric guitar low, leaning into each note… 

Est couldn’t stop watching.

Not just because William was handsome — although damn, he was. His jawline was sharp, angular enough to cut through the warm café light like a blade, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of nerves and excitement.

No, it was more than that.

It was how William made everything else fall away.

Est felt his throat tighten and quickly looked away, cheeks warming.

And when his eyes found Est’s across the room — like he’d sensed him the second he walked in — he actually stilled for a second.

Then William smiled. Not a full-blown grin, but something smaller. 

Softer.

Like he knew Est had come — and couldn’t quite believe it.

Est looked away, heat pooling at the back of his neck.

“You’re staring.” Joong murmured with a grin, dragging Est toward a small table near the side wall. Dunk and Offroad were already waving from their seats, drinks half-finished.

“I’m not,” Est muttered.

“You are,” Daou said, far too smug. “And you’ve been staring since they came on stage.”

Est ignored them. Or tried to. His eyes still found William in every song, especially when the boy tilted his head back and sang into the mic like he meant it. William’s voice had that kind of warmth that lingered long after the note faded.

By the time the set had ended, Est had come to one irritating conclusion: William looked ridiculously good tonight.

And he knew it.

The chatter dimmed as LYKN took the stage.

William was the lead, of course — electric guitar strapped on, leather jacket catching the light, hair just messy enough to be endearing and rebellious all at once. Nut was on bass, a wry grin on his face. Lego’s drumsticks danced in the air as he set the beat. Hong stood close by, his mischievous eyes locked on Nut, the banter between them filling the space with a playful tension that only made the band feel more alive. Tui adjusted the microphone with exaggerated flair, the ever-dramatic keyboardist ready to steal the spotlight whenever the mood struck.

The first notes rang out — a powerful, raw sound that sent a ripple through the crowd. William’s voice was clear and vibrant, effortlessly weaving through the music.

Not far away, William’s eyes flicked toward Est once or twice, like a moth drawn to the glow. Est caught himself holding his breath at each glance.

It wasn’t unfamiliar anymore, this warm pull in his chest when he saw William. It didn’t scare him the way it used to.

Maybe it should have.

But tonight, in the safety of the crowd, Est let it sit quietly in his ribcage, undisturbed.

He had read the message at least twelve times the night before. 

Est hadn’t replied immediately. He wasn’t sure what to say. 

But he didn't want to say no.

And he hadn’t wanted William to think he didn’t care.

So he replied.

Now here he was, in a small corner of the café, surrounded by William’s music and warmth and that chaotic band of his, and… he didn’t hate it.

Not even a little.

⸻

William’s second song was a cover. A stripped-down, acoustic version of some pop ballad Est had heard a million times. But the way William sang it — slow and clear, eyes somewhere in the crowd but not really — it sounded different.

It sounded like a question.

And Est didn’t know the answer yet. But he was listening.

He could feel Joong watching him. He didn’t look back.

By the time the fourth song started, Est’s foot was tapping softly under the table. He didn’t even realize it until Offroad pointed it out with a grin and Daou stage-whispered, “He’s melting.”

Est scowled. But even he couldn’t fully suppress the way his lips curled.

The set rolled on — covers, original songs, each one carrying the energy of a band that knew its rhythm and was having fun owning it.

William was electric. His fingers flew over the strings, and his voice carried the weight of every lyric like it was a secret he was sharing only with Est.

Est’s pulse sped up as he watched, and it wasn’t just the music.

There was something about the way William’s jaw clenched slightly on certain notes, the way his eyes squinted just a bit when he hit a high note, and the way his entire presence commanded attention without trying too hard.

Est’s chest ached with quiet admiration.

That jawline will cut straight through hearts, he thought, and bit his lip to keep from smiling too much.

After the last song, the café exploded into applause. William bowed with a dramatic flourish, cheeks flushed and eyes searching the crowd until they locked on Est’s corner.

⸻

Later, as the crowd thinned and people filtered out into the warm night air, Est lingered near the exit with his friends. Joong was busy whispering something to Dunk that made him blush. Daou and Offroad were already planning where to eat next.

And William?

William was at the counter, talking to the café manager and helping Nut pack up cables. He was still smiling. But every now and then, his gaze darted toward the door.

“Go say hi,” Joong murmured under his breath.

“I already said I was coming,” Est replied.

“That was yesterday.”

Daou leaned in. “You gave him a nod. Big moves.”

Est rolled his eyes. 

Joong leaned in, nudging Est’s shoulder.

“You know,” he said, voice low but teasing, “three girls came up to them while they were leaving the stage. Wanted to know if William’s single. One of them asked for his LINE.”

Est didn’t reply. He looked straight ahead, jaw tight.

Joong grinned wider. “ Nut was dying trying not to laugh. I think Hong told one of them that William's already married to his cat.”

Daou joined in, fanning himself dramatically. “I mean, William was hot tonight. I’ll agree with crowd on that.”

Joong cast Est a sideways glance. “Everyone’s after him tonight.”

He paused, then added — quieter, almost casual:

“But he’s after you.”

Est blinked. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying.” Joong smirked, sipping his drink. “It’s kind of funny, right? Every pair of eyes in this place is on him. And his eyes… well.”

Est didn’t answer.

Because Joong wasn’t wrong.

William could’ve soaked up all the attention. He could’ve smiled at the girls leaning forward, accepted the compliments, flirted back. He could’ve played to the room.

Instead, every look, every glance, every spark behind his eyes had settled — quietly, deliberately — on Est.

And that was more dangerous than anything else.

⸻

The warm hum of music still echoed inside, but the night air outside Café BLUE had quieted to a gentle buzz of motorbikes and laughter drifting from the street.

Est stepped out with Joong and Daou at his side, his hands tucked in his pockets, mind still a little tangled in the last song.

It had been… good.

Better than good. It had felt like something.

Daou caught sight of Offroad coming out of the restroom. “There he is—”

“And there I go,” he added with a grin, already jogging off.

Joong bumped Est’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go with Dunk. I’d say come with us, but…” He gave Est a look. “You’re good?”

Est nodded, gaze flicking back to the door. “Yeah.”

Joong didn’t say anything. Just smiled, the knowing kind, and slipped away with a casual, “Text me if you need saving.”

And then Est was alone, standing under the soft glow of the café sign, arms folded, pretending he wasn’t waiting for anything.

The door opened again behind him.

William.

Still a little flushed, hair damp with sweat, eyes glowing like someone who’d just run on adrenaline and now couldn’t figure out what to do with all the leftover happiness.

“Oh—hey Phi,” he said, stopping when he saw him. “You’re still here.”

Est shrugged. “My friends ditched me.”

William laughed. “Mine are still inside stealing pastries we didn’t pay for.”

They stood there for a beat, something hovering in the quiet.

William rubbed the back of his neck. “Would it be okay if I walked you back?”

Est hesitated. Then nodded, once. “Sure.”

They fell into step together, the streetlight catching in Est’s hair, William’s guitar pick still dangling from his wrist on a cord like a bracelet.

William talked nonstop — about the set, the songs, the almost technical difficulties that were definitely sabotaged by Tui, and a long, passionate rant about fries and why crinkle cuts were the best.

Est would never admit it out loud, but walking home with William felt oddly natural. 

The boy talked enough for both of them—about everything and anything, with his hands moving animatedly when he spoke. He listened, half amused, half entranced, his usual guarded expression softening with every step. 

“You know…” William said while kicking at a stray bottlecap, “for someone who doesn’t like crowds, you handled Café Blue like a pro.”

Est hummed low in his throat. “Wasn’t there for the crowd.”

William smirked. “Oh? What were you there for?”

Est side-eyed him, a flicker of amusement tugging at his lips. “The free food Joong promised me.”

William gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Wow. Heartless. I poured my soul into that set, Phi.”

“I didn’t know you guys were that good,” Est replied eventually.

William’s head whipped toward him so fast he almost tripped on the sidewalk. “Wait—was that a compliment? Did you just say we were good?”

Est’s mouth quirked. “I said that good. Meaning, tolerable.”

William gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “Brutal, Phi, brutal”

Est rolled his eyes at his drmatics. “It was good. I had fun.”

William blinked.

And then smiled. Wide and open and immediate. “You had fun.”

“I did.”

“Like fun fun or like ‘this wasn’t terrible and I didn’t want to die’ fun?”

Est sighed, trying not to smile. “William.”

“Okay okay, I’ll stop.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry. I just—this is the first time we’ve talked after a gig and I don’t want to mess it up and my brain is like five steps ahead and I can’t stop talking when I’m—”

“You’re fine,” Est interrupted quietly.

William paused. Looked at him. His grin softened into something smaller, more real.

“Yeah?” he asked.

Est nodded, eyes forward. “Yeah.”

⸻

William was on cloud nine and didn’t shut up after that.

Est didn’t really want him to.

“I think I lost my voice in the second song,” William was saying, arms flailing as he reenacted some tragedy. “Maybe Mochi really did put a hex on me or—”

“You did step on his tail like four times this week,” Est said.

William looked genuinely offended. “Accidentally!”

“Mmh sure.”

“You wound me, Phi Est.”

Est rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth curved despite himself and let out a small laugh. William’s energy was like a little spark dancing just outside his reach — warm, harmless, but impossible to ignore.

And then—

“You laughed!”

Est blinked. “What?”

“You just—that was a laugh! Don’t lie! I saw it!” William pointed, eyes wide like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “That wasn’t just an exhale. That was a real, living, breathing laugh.”

Est tried to recover with a cough, but it was too late. His ears were turning red.

“Okay, calm down,” he muttered.

“No, no, no. Don’t backpedal now.” William was grinning so hard it looked like it hurt. “You laughed. I made you laugh. That’s going on my resume. My first laugh.”

“You don’t even have a resume.”

“I will now. Under special skills: cracked Est Supha Sangaworawong’s ice wall.”

Est was still blushing, trying hard not to let it rise further. His feet moved slower. He wasn’t quite ready to get back yet.

William seemed to sense it, because he stopped yammering for a second. Just walked beside him in silence. It was… weirdly nice.

And then:

“So,” William said casually, “what’s your favorite color?”

Est side-eyed him. “What?”

“Favorite color. It’s not for anything suspicious. I’m just asking. As a person who… likes colors.”

Est narrowed his eyes. “You’re not subtle.”

William gave a helpless shrug. “Was I ever? I think I stopped being subtle after I followed you to three back to back swim practices.”

Est sighed, amused. “It’s blue.”

William lit up again. “I knew it! You literally are blue.”

Est turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

William suddenly looked sheepish. “I mean, like… if a person could be a color. You’d be that kind of blue. Not cold or sad but like… quiet. Deep. Still. But sometimes, there’s this really sharp brightness to it. Like ocean water when the sun hits it.”

Est didn’t say anything for a second.

Because, what do you even say to that?

He cleared his throat. “That’s… poetic.”

“I’m very poetic,” William said. “I write songs. None of them rhyme, but that’s not the point.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But I made you laugh,” William beamed.

Est looked ahead again, but a tiny smile tugged at his lips.

He didn’t deny it this time.

William was fighting for his life.

Est’s ears were red. His mouth had twitched into a smile—a real one. And at one point, he had laughed. 

Out loud. With sound.

William was spiritually ascending.

I made Phi laugh. I made P’Est laugh. I—oh god—he’s walking next to me and he smells like mint and sunshine and I need to calm down or I will implode.

Everything about Est was otherworldly. He didn’t just walk — he moved like something that had always known stillness, grace. He didn’t say much, but every word that did come out felt like some rare reward. Like gold coins dropped at William’s feet just for existing.

And William? 

William was practically vibrating next to him like a toddler after cake.

He tried to be normal. “Do you like animals?”

Est blinked. “That’s your follow-up?”

“I’m just asking!” William said, trying to look nonchalant. “You know I have a cat. And I know you have a dog.”

“You’ve told me five hundred times. I have seen him more times this week than I have seen my own face.”

“Well I believe everyone should see Mochi’s death glare at least once a day. It keeps them in check.”

Est made a tiny sound. It might’ve been a snort. Or agreement. 

William’s heart was screaming.

“I like cats,” Est admitted after a pause. “But I grew up with dogs.”

William gasped. “Wait, Pooh is—”

“Yeah. He’s from home.”

“No wonder he’s perfect,” William whispered reverently. “Like father like dog.”

Est tried not to react. But the way he looked down, trying to hide the growing smile, told William everything he needed to know.

He wanted to scream into the sky.

He’s so cute. He’s so cute. He’s so cute. Oh my god, he’s cute and smart and athletic and he talks like he’s emotionally allergic to people but he came to my gig and let me walk him home and now we’re talking about pets and I’m gonna die—

“William.”

“Yeah?” he squeaked.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Where you think so loud I can hear it.”

William blushed. “Sorry. It’s just—this is the most we’ve talked ever and I think I’m short-circuiting a little. And this is like my second time walking you home which—score. My brain is melting just thinking about it.”

Est turned to look at him. And then, very softly:

“I don’t mind.”

It took everything in William not to fall to his knees.

⸻

The walk back wasn’t long, but Est wished it had been a little longer.

It wasn’t like they were saying anything important. William had spent five whole minutes ranking types of juices based on “vibe,” and Est had offered maybe five words in return. 

But… it wasn’t awkward. 

The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable. 

It just was. 

A soft kind of air. 

Easy to breathe.

The dorm buildings came into view, soft light spilling from the lobby windows. William slowed his steps, then slowed them even more, dragging out the last few meters like a kid not ready for recess to end.

They stopped outside Est’s dorm building.

Est turned, hand already half-reaching into his pocket for his keycard. William was still standing there, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

Neither of them said anything at first.

Then—

“Well…” William scratched the back of his neck, hair slightly mussed from the wind. “This is your stop.”

Est nodded. “Yeah.”

“You made it back alive.”

“I did.”

“Which means I was a very good escort. Again.”

Est huffed out a breath — not quite a laugh, but close. “You talk too much.”

William grinned, clearly unbothered. “You don’t talk enough.”

They lingered.

And then — almost shyly now — William took a step back and leaned against the street light. “Okay. I’ll go before I say something embarrassing.”

“You already did.”

“I have five more embarrassing things queued up. You’re welcome for sparing you.”

Est stared at him for a second longer. His chest felt oddly full.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly.

William beamed. “Goodnight, Phi Est.”

Est scanned his ID, the glass door clicking open—but he didn’t walk through. He glanced back and frowned lightly.

“…What are you doing?”

William tilted his head, all faux-innocence. “Waiting.”

“For what?”

“Making sure you get in safe,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Est blinked, thrown off just enough that his voice came out a touch softer. “…This is the dorm. It’s not like I’m crossing a highway.”

“Still,” William shrugged, “wouldn’t feel right just leaving you here.”

Est’s mouth twitched—he was clearly fighting a smile. “What are you, my bodyguard?”

William grinned, leaning into the bit. “More like your very handsome personal safety escort.”

Est finally stepped inside, but before the door could close, William called out—soft, almost under his breath—

“Night, Phi.”

Est glanced back over his shoulder. “…Goodnight, William.”

William stayed where he was until the elevator doors closed behind him. Only then did he turn to leave, a quiet, stupidly happy smile tugging at his lips the whole way back to his own dorm.

⸻

Est swiped his keycard and stepped into the lobby, the soft beep breaking the quiet. He didn’t look back right away—didn’t need to, really—but when he finally risked a glance over his shoulder, William was still standing there.

Not checking his phone. Not pretending to be distracted.

Just… watching.

Est shook his head and walked to the elevator, pressing the button and shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. The metallic doors slid shut with a soft sigh, and as the elevator began to rise, he caught the faintest glimpse of William through the narrowing gap—still leaning casually against the railing.

It wasn’t until Est reached his floor and slid his key into his door that it clicked:

William hadn’t left until he heard the elevator doors close.

His hand hesitated on the knob for half a second. 

Then he pushed inside, muttering to himself, “Ridiculous,” but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the smallest, quickest curve.

Later that night, Est stood by his window in an oversized shirt, hair damp from his shower, the building across the campus lit up in patchy warm squares. Somewhere in that sprawl was William’s dorm.

He’d already fed Pooh, brushed his teeth, set his alarm.

Still — his fingers hovered over his phone.

The chat was open.

William’s name stared back at him.

Typing…

I had fun tonight.

Backspace.

Thanks for walking with me.

Backspace.

You’re not as annoying as I thought.

Backspace.

His thumb hovered, then finally typed:

Hey.

He stared at it.

And then he sighed and deleted it too.

His shoulders dropped against the edge of his bed as he sat down, exhaling through his nose.

Why am I doing this?

He didn’t even like William.

Right?

Right.

He rubbed his forehead. “He’s just loud. And persistent. And… he is…kind off…cute.”

He stared at the phone again.

He tossed the phone onto his bed, frustrated with himself.

And yet… the feeling in his chest wouldn’t go away.

It had been nice. All of it. The walk. The music. The way William talked like Est was someone he wanted to talk to — not just someone he was trying to impress.

He didn’t know what it meant.

Or what it was supposed to mean.

Ding. 

Est was halfway through his self-doubt cycle, when his phone buzzed. 

He almost ignored it — but the name on the screen made him pause. 

William 🎸

He unlocked the phone, and there it was—a picture of William still flushed from the gig, smiling like he’d just won the lottery, holding a very displeased Mochi who looked two seconds away from filing a formal complaint.

Underneath:

Thanks for coming tonight, Phi. 🐈‍⬛

Est just… stood there for a second, sweater half-off, staring at the screen. 

The faint, post-performance glow on William’s face was unmistakable. His hair—still slightly pushed back from the stage—looked almost too deliberate to be an accident.

And that grin…

He didn’t reply. Not right away. But as he set the phone down, he caught himself still smiling faintly, the same smile that crept back every time he thought about William standing outside, refusing to leave until Est was safely inside.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

All thoughts from before had been completely replaced by…William. 

⸻

Meanwhile, across campus, William was a walking storm of barely contained energy. He kept his hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cool air, replaying the night over and over again in his head.

Est in that sweater. Est laughing. Just…Est.

God.

By the time he got to his dorm, the mask of casual golden-retriever confidence was gone. 

The door had barely clicked shut before he dropped his guitar case to the floor, flopped face-first onto his bed, and let out a muffled scream into his pillow.

“Oh my god,” he groaned into the fabric, rolling onto his back with the dramatic flair of someone dying from feelings. 

“He stood there. He actually stayed to talk. And he—” William grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it, kicking his legs into the air. “I’m never going to recover from this.”

Mochi appeared at the edge of the bed, tail swishing, expression already deeply unimpressed.

William sat up, scooping him into his arms despite the cat’s obvious resistance. “You don’t get it, Mochi. He looked at me. Like—really looked at me.”

Mochi squirmed. William ignored it, pulling out his phone with one hand while cradling the cat with the other.

“Okay, we need to commemorate this historic night. Say cheese, buddy.”

Click.

The resulting photo was… perfection. William’s hair still slightly mussed from the gig, grinning like an idiot. Mochi, squashed in his arms, wearing the most offended face a cat could possibly have.

He typed out the message before he could overthink it: 

William 🎸:

Thanks for coming tonight, Phi. 🐈‍⬛

(attached a picture of Mochi glaring while William beams)

William flopped onto his bed like he had just performed a Broadway finale. Mochi yawned beside him, unimpressed.

He kicked his feet in the air, still high off today’s… everything.

Maybe…everything will be alright. 

Chapter Text

The university campus felt like it had been turned inside out.

After the soft glow of the gig at Café Blue, the university had shifted into survival mode. Students buzzed through corridors with highlighters clenched like weapons, eyes wide with impending doom. Study groups claimed every inch of library space. Caffeine ran thicker than blood.

It was mid-morning, campus buzzing with its usual weekend-after-energy — some students looking hungover, others rushing to finish assignments. 

William had just come from a music theory workshop and was heading across the ground, half-scrolling through his phone, looking at the picture of Mochi he had sent Est the night before, when he spotted a group of upperclassmen from the business faculty hanging out near the fountain.

He knew them vaguely — friends-of-friends territory — and they waved him over.

“William, right?” one of them called. “Nice gig last night. You guys were good.”

William grinned. “Thanks, phi.”

Another added, “Heard you’re close with Phi Est. You’re always around lately.”

It was meant casually, almost teasing, but before William could answer, another chimed in:

“Just… you know. The swim meet’s coming up soon. Everyone’s counting on him to win this time. He’s been under a lot of pressure. Don’t distract him too much. It would be bad if he were to loose, you know.”

There was no malice in the tone. 

No sharpness. 

Just… a simple, friendly warning. The kind people gave when they thought they were being helpful.

But William’s smile froze for half a second before he forced it back into place.

“Ah… yes. Of course. I get it,” he said lightly, waving goodbye before making some excuse about class.

By the time he reached Studio 7, the words had already embedded themselves like splinters under his skin.

Don’t distract him too much.

William knew they didn’t mean it harshly. 

He knew. 

But the phrase tangled with every insecure thought he had never wanted to unpack. 

He found LYKN sprawled in their usual positions — Nut and Lego arguing over a chord change, Hong scrolling through something on his phone, and Tui quietly restringing his bass.

William dropped into a chair. “Do you guys think I’m… clingy?”

Four heads turned to him in unison.

Nut frowned. “Where is this coming from?”

William hesitated, then recounted the conversation with the upperclassmen — in their exact words, leaving nothing behind.

When he finished, Hong rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in his skull.

“P’ Est is a grown man, not a fragile vase,” Hong said. “If he didn’t want you around, you would know. Trust me. The black cat would have hissed at you already.”

“Exactly,” Lego added. “He’s never once told you to go away, has he?”

William shrugged. “No… but maybe he’s too polite? Or maybe he doesn’t want to be rude.”

“Will,” Tui said calmly, “you didn’t hear them say you are distracting him. You just heard them say to be careful. There’s a difference.”

“Will,” Hong said gently, “you’re not a distraction. You’re just—”

“Too much,” William finished for him, laughing without humor.

“No,” Hong said firmly, but William wasn’t listening anymore. The words had already begun their slow spiral in his head.

The seed had been planted, and William couldn’t unhear it. 

Don’t distract him. 

He needs to win.

He remembered every time Est had looked away when William got too close, every pause before a reply, every neutral “hm” when William texted him late at night. He remembered the way Est sometimes furrowed his brow, as if deciding whether to say something or not.

And now, instead of seeing those moments as part of Est’s naturally reserved self, William’s mind twisted them into proof.

I’ve been annoying him this whole time. He’s just too polite to say it.

William liked to think of himself as someone who could roll with anything.

Late nights, chaotic schedules, last-minute rehearsals — sure. Friends canceling plans, bandmates changing a setlist thirty minutes before going on stage — fine. 

He was adaptable. 

Easygoing.

At least, that’s what he told people.

But the truth was, when he cared about something — or someone — he poured everything into it. All his time, all his attention, all his energy. If he liked a person, they’d know. He’d be there for their big days, their boring days, the days they didn’t even know were special. 

It wasn’t calculated. 

It was just how he was built.

And more than once, people had told him that it was… too much.

It had been years since high school, but he still remembered the sting of an old friend telling him he was “clingy.” 

That he didn’t need to text back within seconds every single time. 

That maybe showing up at someone’s practice or dropping by “just because” could get a little… annoying. Back then, William had laughed it off — “Annoying? Please, I’m delightful” — but it had stuck. 

Those comments always did. 

He had told himself it wasn’t worth overthinking. 

That the right people wouldn’t mind. 

But sometimes, late at night, he still wondered if they had a point.

And now, with Est…

That worry was louder than ever.

It wasn’t like Phi Est had ever told him to back off. 

But William could feel it — the way Est liked his space, liked quiet, liked things steady. 

William wasn’t steady. He was a thunderstorm with lightning. 

A little too loud, a little too fast, a little too… everything.

So maybe giving Est some breathing room was the smart thing to do.

After all, finals week wasn’t exactly the best time to hover. William had his own assignments threatening to bury him alive, and Est? 

Est had both exams and an upcoming swim meet — the kind of double pressure that could make anyone want to lock themselves in a soundproof room and ignore the world. 

The last thing Est needed was William popping up everywhere like some overeager puppy.

He’d been riding the high of the Café Blue gig for days — the rush of playing on stage, the crowd’s cheers, Est waiting for him afterward under that streetlight. The way Est had told him goodnight, that soft look in his eyes… William could’ve lived on that memory for weeks. 

And maybe that’s why the idea of messing it up — of pushing too hard — terrified him.

By the time Nut shoved a chip at him and told him to “snap out of it,” William had already made up his mind.

“I think I’m just… gonna back off for a bit,” he said, voice quiet but decisive. “Let him focus. Finals, swim meet… I don’t want to make it harder for him.”

No one in LYKN looked convinced, but they didn’t push. William was already pulling out his phone, staring at the little unread messages in his chat with Est — and deciding he wouldn’t add to them. 

Not for now.

The more he thought about it, the more he decided that giving Est space was the safest choice. 

No matter how much it hurt.

Maybe if he toned himself down, Est would see him as more than just the loud freshman who followed him around campus. 

Maybe he’d take him seriously.

That didn’t stop the little voice in his head from whispering,

What if you’re just proving you were never that important in the first place?

William shoved that thought down.

He had decided on space. He was sticking to it.

Besides, there was still Mochi to keep him company. 

And homework. 

And band practice. 

He could fill his days without chasing after Est.

Right?

Right.

Even if every part of him wanted to do the exact opposite.

It was supposed to be temporary.

That’s what William kept telling himself that Monday afternoon, as he stood outside his lecture hall, thumb hovering over his phone screen.

He had the perfect Mochi picture — the cat jammed into a too-small paper bag, ears flattened, eyes wide like he’d been caught mid-crime. Normally, William would send it to Est without thinking, maybe add some dumb caption like “fashion icon”.

But the conversation still lingered fresh in his head.

So instead of hitting send, he locked his phone and told himself he was being considerate.

That was the logic for most of Monday.

When he saw Est crossing the grounds with two teammates, William didn’t jog over. 

He just slowed, turned toward the opposite path, and convinced himself it was better this way. He’d make it up to him after the finals. 

After the meet.

Tuesday, it got harder.

He’d been in line at the café when Est walked in, hair damp from practice, hoodie sleeves shoved up. William’s heart jumped — and then sank. He could imagine it already: him wandering over, starting a conversation, and someone thinking he was just another distraction.

So he paid for his drink, didn’t even wait for his change to settle on the counter, and left without looking back.

That night, he opened Est’s chat twice, typed a how’s studying going?, and deleted it both times.

By Wednesday, the avoidance felt like a habit.

He was laughing with Lego near the Arts building when the pool doors swung open and he caught a glimpse — Est, head tilted back to drink from a water bottle.  

Normally, William would’ve shouted his name.

Instead, he turned around so fast that Lego had to call after him, “Where are you even going?”

William mumbled something about needing to grab sheet music, heart tight in his chest.

By Thursday, it was exhausting.

Every time he saw Est, his body reacted first — that little jolt of recognition, the instinct to walk over — and then his brain slammed the brakes. 

He started taking long routes between classes just in case. 

He lingered in practice rooms after rehearsals ended. 

He told himself he was protecting Est’s focus, but the truth was uglier: he was scared.

Scared Est would realize he was too much.

Scared someone else had already decided that for him.

By Friday, he caught himself scanning crowds. Not for Lego. Not for his other friends. 

For Est. And every time he thought he’d found him, William made sure to be gone before Est could notice.

It was safer this way.

Wasn’t it?

On Monday, Est thought nothing of it.

William wasn’t outside the Business building after Est’s lecture like he sometimes was, but that was fine. People had their own schedules.

Tuesday, it was a little more noticeable.

He was in line at the café, phone in hand, when someone brushed past him on the way out. He looked up just in time to see the back of William’s hoodie disappearing through the door. 

No wave. No hey.

Strange. But maybe he hadn’t seen him.

Wednesday, the coincidences piled up.

Passing Studio 7, he thought he heard William’s laugh from inside — that warm, easy sound that seemed to carry. For a moment, Est considered knocking. But then the hallway filled with rushing students, and he kept walking. 

Later, he spotted him in the distance near the Arts building… only for William to turn on his heel and vanish into the crowd.

By Thursday, Est’s awareness sharpened.

He started taking routes that might overlap with William’s. 

Passing the practice rooms after his own lectures. 

Cutting through the student lounge on his way to the library. 

Nothing. 

Or worse — glimpses, followed by William disappearing again.

It didn’t make sense.

Last week, he’d been everywhere. Loud. Persistent. Impossible to miss. 

Now… gone.

Joong noticed first.

“You keep looking around,” he said Thursday afternoon. “Lost your freshman golden retriever?”

“Shut up.”

“Right,” Joong replied, clearly unconvinced. “So you just don’t miss him.”

Est ignored that, but Joong’s words stuck. Because the silence was strange. 

The absence felt heavier than he wanted to admit. 

Est made small detours — past the practice rooms, through the student lounge, down to the courtyard behind the library where William sometimes sat with Lego and Hong. 

Nothing.

He even went to Café Blue in the evening under the excuse of picking up pastries for Joong.

No band. 

No William. 

Just the low hum of coffee grinders and indie music through the speakers.

He told himself he wasn’t looking for William. 

He was just… curious. 

But by Friday night, sitting at his desk with an open textbook he wasn’t reading, Est found himself pulling out his phone and scrolling to William’s contact.

No new messages since Saturday night.

No Mochi pictures.

Not even a “what’s up?”

He put the phone down without typing anything — twice.

When finals week officially began, the campus shifted into quiet, tense focus — libraries full, cafés buzzing with caffeine desperation. 

William was doing his best to stay focused. Or, at least, he was trying to.

William missed him. 

He missed the easy rhythm of their conversations, the way Est’s dry humor always made him grin. But every time he thought about sending a message, the voice in his head reared up: you’re being too clingy, you’re a distraction…

So he kept it all in.

The photos of Mochi curled up under a blanket. 

The late-night urge to tell Est about the ridiculous pun Lego made during rehearsal. 

The random thought he had during lunch about whether Pooh liked squeaky toys.

He wasn’t sure if Est had even noticed that he was gone.

⸻

William pushed through the library’s front door… and immediately stepped into academic chaos.

Every chair, beanbag, and floor tile was occupied. Someone was crying near the returns desk. A group presentation was happening in a whisper-shout in the stairwell. Every table had a laptop forest, every outlet was claimed, and the air was thick with the sound of highlighters squeaking against paper.

He’d already circled twice, pretending to look for a free seat but really just trying to decide if sitting on the floor by the recycling bin counted as rock bottom.

The library had clearly failed him.

William backed out slowly, clutching his sheet music to his chest like a shield.

“Okay. Nope.”

It was only when he had resigned himself to finding some outdoor spot that he remembered the little bench tucked between the Business and History department buildings.

Hardly anyone knew it existed unless they’d been wandering at just the right angle. A wooden table under a tree, draped with shade, far from the main walkways.

Quiet. 

Secluded. 

Perfect.

And then he saw him.

There, under the shade of the old ficus tree, sat Phi Est.

The wooden picnic bench was half-covered in papers and a very neatly stacked pile of flashcards. A mechanical pencil tapped rhythmically against a notebook. 

Est with his broad shoulders hunched over notes, dark hair falling slightly forward as he scribbled something down with precise, almost aggressive strokes. A hoodie sleeve was pushed to his elbow, revealing the kind of forearm William was trying not to think about right now.

Oh.

Est.

William froze mid-step, every part of him screaming abort mission.

He’d seen Est like this before — focused, closed off, in his own head. This was Est in serious-study mode, the kind where even Joong and Daou knew better than to crack a joke.

And William… William was a loud, sunny-weather person. The last thing he wanted was to be that guy.

He should go. Really, he should—

William stopped walking.

His heart did a very stupid thing. 

The same stupid thing it always did around Est: it stuttered, then sped up, then curled around itself like it had no business beating for anyone else.

He took a breath, adjusted the strap of his backpack, and took a deep breath. 

Maybe…just for today. 

⸻

Est sat hunched over his textbook, pencil resting between his fingers, the faint hum of campus noise in the background. The sun filtered through the leaves in lazy, dappled shapes, painting the wooden bench with light and shadow. He’d been there for almost an hour already, having escaped the chaos of the library after realizing half the student body had the same idea.

Too loud. 

Too cramped. 

Too many people.

Here, under the tree by the east lawn, the world moved a little slower. He could hear himself think.

Or at least, he could—until someone’s shadow fell over his notes.

Est looked up, already guessing who it was or at least he hoped it was who he guessed  

William was standing there, squinting into the sunlight, a half-folded music department flier sticking out of his backpack and sweat glistening on his forehead. His hair was a little messy—windswept and soft-looking—and his smile was small yet, unapologetically bright.

“Um,” William blinked, “Hi Phi!”

Est raised an eyebrow. “Hi.”

William shifted his weight. “The library was a war zone. I figured I’d try the benches—didn’t realize you’d already claimed this one.”

Est looked down at his books. “Too noisy in there.”

William nodded. “Yeah, I felt my soul leave my body when someone started crying in the group study room.”

A small quirk of Est’s lips.

William hesitated. “Would it be okay if I sat? I don’t want to ruin your focus. I can be… distracting.”

Est glanced at the open spot beside him. “It’s a free bench.”

Which, in Est language, meant yes.

William’s brain short-circuited.

He dropped his bag to the ground and sat down across from him, stretching his legs under the table. His knees almost bumped Est’s—he pretended not to notice.

For a few moments, they both fell into the quiet. Est returned to his notes, and William pulled out a stack of lyrics to review for a finals presentation. He skimmed through them without really reading, sneaking glances across the table instead.

Est’s fingers were long and precise. His lips moved slightly as he read. The breeze ruffled his hair, and he pushed it back absently, revealing the slope of his brow and the soft crease between his eyes. His pursed heart shaped lips. 

William quickly looked back down. His heart had no business beating that fast.

For once in his life, William was actually… focused.

The lyrics he’d been dreading to revise for a week were now neatly annotated. His handwriting was oddly straight. He wasn’t even doodling hearts in the margins.

Every few minutes, he’d glance up and remember, with a full-body flutter, that Est was right there.

Across from him. 

Still sitting. 

Still studying with the sharp, quiet intensity of someone who might spontaneously combust if you so much as sneezed too loud.

And William—miraculously—was not combusting. 

Or fidgeting. 

Or being annoying.

He was focused.

He could do this.

The air was warm but not heavy, laced with the sound of rustling pages and the occasional gust of wind that fluttered the edges of their notes. 

Every now and then, the tip of Est’s foot brushed against William’s under the table. Not entirely accidental, but not entirely intentional either. William didn’t move.

He wasn’t going to mess this up by being too much.

Not today.

He scribbled another note in the margin of his song draft. He liked this line. He might keep it. He wondered—would Est ever listen to his songs if he shared them?

Would he like them?

William glanced up again—Est’s head was down, brow drawn, the curve of his lips a little tense. He looked like he was trying very hard to focus. 

And yet… he hadn’t left.

That had to count for something.

⸻

At first, Est had considered getting up the moment William sat down.

It wasn’t like he needed company. He’d sought this corner of campus for peace, and William… well. 

Now, nearly thirty minutes in, Est found himself… not bothered.

Actually, quite the opposite.

William was hunched over his notes, pencil in hand, mouthing words as he read lyrics or scribbled revisions. He looked focused. He looked… studious.

He looked really, really pretty when he was concentrating. (What?)

Est blinked, eyes returning to his own notebook, his own mess of bullet points and case summaries. But the corner of his mouth betrayed him—just barely lifting.

The silence between them was companionable, not strained. The breeze carried the smell of cut grass and something faintly floral. William kept glancing up, not saying anything, but Est could feel it. 

That nervous energy. 

That eagerness held back.

However, usually William’s attention came in waves — loud, golden waves that Est had grown… used to. 

Maybe even liked. 

But now, the younger boy’s focus was pinned to his notebook, his expression serious. It was quiet. 

Too quiet.

Est found himself glancing up more than once, wondering why.

He turned a page. His pencil paused mid-word. And before he could think too hard, he said, softly—

“I never thanked you.”

Across the table, William’s head jerked up.

“For what?” he asked quickly, eyes wide, like he’d been waiting his whole life to be addressed first.

Est exhaled through his nose. “For walking me back that night. After your performance.”

William blinked.

You thanked me twice before going inside, William thought to himself. 

William leaned forward, chin resting on the back of his hand, eyes impossibly bright and his mouth spoke before he could think. “It’s alright. My dorm is on the way. Plus it was our semi-almost-sort of-second date.”

Est raised an eyebrow. “Second date—when was the first—wait. You think that was a date?”

“I’m manifesting. And the first was at the bench, where we shared the packet of chips, and when I walked you back the first time. Third time the charm.” William replied, completely deadpan.

Est let out a soft huff of amusement. It might’ve been a laugh. Maybe. Barely.

William looked like he’d just been told he won a lifetime supply of every Est expression ever.

Est shook his head, looking back at his notes, cheeks visibly tinged pink. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“And loud.”

William gasped. “Hey, I was quiet this whole time! I was giving you study silence!”

Est hummed. “Mostly.”

A beat passed. William leaned in slightly, eyes glittering. “…Was it nice, though? Like I know I can be a bit too much and too loud and kinda annoying.”

Est didn’t look at him right away. He adjusted his flashcards. Took a sip of his coffee. Then, finally—

“It wasn’t bad. But I don’t mind when you talk.”

And William—sweet, insecure, full of self-doubt William—leaned back with the softest grin, like someone had just placed a star directly into his hands.

“Cool,” he said.

But inside, he was screaming.

⸻

Est found himself glancing up more than once, wondering if he had somehow transferred to another reality. He had talked to William twice during this entire time and yet William, who had once given an entire speech on snacks, was quiet. He would reply to Est but it was not the same as…usual.

This was strange.

After twenty minutes, Est finally spoke without looking up.

“You’re quiet.”

William shrugged, eyes fixed on his notebook. “Don’t wanna distract you.”

“You’ve never worried about that before.”

The words landed somewhere between a tease and a genuine observation.

Est’s mind wasn’t so lighthearted, though. His pen paused mid-line, hovering over the paper as a knot tightened in his chest. He wanted to shake William, to demand to know what had been wrong with him all week. Why had he been so distant? So quiet? Where had he gone?

Did something happen? Was it him?

Est bit his lip, struggling to put the swirl of worry and confusion into words. But the question hung there, unasked, waiting for permission to escape.

William glanced up briefly, eyes avoiding Est’s gaze, then flicked back down to his notebook like it held the answers.

“Finals,” William muttered, voice low. “You’ve got enough on your plate. I don’t wanna be too much.”

Est blinked, caught off guard. The words were so simple, but they hit him like a quiet blow. He didn’t know what to say. His throat felt tight.

For a moment, the silence between them stretched, filled with things unsaid.

He wanted to tell William that he wasn’t too much. That he didn’t mind. That William’s presence was exactly what he needed. But the words stuck, tangled in the awkward space.

Instead, Est swallowed hard and looked down at his notes, heart pounding louder than his own thoughts.

For the next hour, they studied side by side in near silence, the only sounds the scratching of pens and the occasional turning of pages. 

Yet beneath the quiet, both minds were racing—William stealing glances at Est’s focused profile, while Est wrestled with the urge to reach out to William. 

Words hung heavy in the air, unspoken and tangled in their insecurities, leaving them close in space but worlds apart in thought

However the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. 

It was… steady. Calm. Grounding.

Until Est glanced at the time on his phone, closed his notebook, and stood up with quiet finality.

“I should go,” he said, slipping his pen into his bag. “Practice.”

William blinked, sitting up straighter. “Swim practice?”

Est nodded. “Mm.”

There was a tiny window—just a few seconds—where William’s brain screamed: ask if you can come. Ask. Ask. ASK.

But before he could stop himself, it tumbled out: “Can I come with you?”

Est paused mid-step, looking over his shoulder. Not annoyed. A bit surprised. 

William scrambled to fix it. “I mean—if that’s okay. I won’t bother you, I promise. All my friends are busy with their work and Mochi definitely won’t tolerate me, I’ll just sit quietly. You won’t even notice me. I’ll be like a pool noodle. I can—”

“It’s fine,” Est cut in.

William blinked. “Wait—really?”

Est gave a half-shrug. “You said you wouldn’t be a nuisance.”

Which—coming from Est, the man who defined personal boundaries as sacred territory—was practically the equivalent of a handwritten invitation.

William clutched his bag like it was a trophy. “I will be the least nuisance-y person ever. Watch me.”

Est just shook his head, hiding the smallest smile again, and turned to walk. 

William followed, practically floating.

They took the longer way toward the other side of campus. The sun was slanting lower, casting long shadows on the pavement. 

William noticed how Est walked just a little slower than usual, like he didn’t mind the extra few minutes. Their elbows brushed once, then twice and neither of them commented.

When they approached the athletic building, William automatically turned toward the main pool building, but Est tilted his head in the opposite direction.

“That way,” he said.

William stopped. “Wait, not the main pool?”

Est glanced at him, then away. “The juniors are using it. They’ve got a tournament coming up. I’ve been using the East pool instead.”

William nodded, as if this was normal. “Ah yes. Secret hidden pool. Very exclusive. Does it have mood lighting and candles?”

Est gave him a flat look. “It’s smaller.”

William grinned. “But still worthy of your presence.”

To his utter shock, Est didn’t roll his eyes. He didn’t huff or glare.

He just walked.

Which, again—progress.

They reached the smaller East Campus pool tucked behind the sports annex—a quieter building, older than the main complex. 

William had never even been here before. He didn't even know that a place like this existed. It smelled faintly of chlorine and mint soap.

Est waved briefly at the sleepy front desk guard and disappeared toward the changing rooms without a word.

William sat cross-legged by the pool while Est changed. His bag sat beside him, abandoned. The air was humid, the smell of chlorine sharp but not unpleasant.

He pulled out his notebook but didn’t open it. Instead, he looked around.

The place was empty.

Sunlight filtered through the high windows, painting soft lines across the tiled floor. Water lapped gently against the pool’s edge, blue and still. It was quiet. Peaceful.

Kind of like Est.

William sighed, slouching a little as he waited.

Mochi was never going to believe this when he told him later.

The changing room door creaked open after a few minutes, and Est stepped out, his towel slung over his shoulder and his goggles looped around his wrist. 

He looked… well. 

He looked like he always did when William saw him near water—confident, focused, like this was the one place in the world he could just exist without effort.

But William still stared like he’d never seen sunlight before.

Est didn’t say anything as he dropped his towel on the bench and stepped up to the edge of the pool. He rolled his shoulders back, slow and methodical, and began to stretch, his arms moving in precise lines, one after the other. William sat frozen. 

He was definitely going to flunk his finals if this continued.

Est dove in without warning—one sleek, perfect motion, clean like a blade slicing through satin. He barely made a splash. 

William let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The pool rippled with each stroke as Est swam laps.

Smooth.

Controlled.

Beautiful.

William watched every second like it was art. He didn’t even notice that he was smiling.

He didn’t even realize he had started humming softly to himself until Est paused at the wall, pulled his goggles up, and blinked at him.

William straightened, startled. “Was I too loud? Sorry—force of habit. My brain’s always making music. You were kind of the soundtrack just now.”

Est blinked, water dripping down the side of his face. “The soundtrack?”

William’s ears went pink. “Yeah, I mean. You were like—graceful. Like a slow piano solo. But also like… strong. Maybe with a violin.”

Est tilted his head. “A violin?”

William nodded with great seriousness. “A good one. Emotional. Very you.”

Est made a face that was half an eyeroll and half… not. “You’re strange.”

William’s smile wavered. “You say that like it’s new information.”

Est shook his head and dunked back under the water.

⸻

The water was cooler than usual, but Est didn’t mind. It helped focus his thoughts.

He liked the rhythm of swimming. The routine. The silence that came with being underwater.

He was used to solitude. He preferred it.

But somehow… today felt different.

It was the boy on the sidelines. The one with hair that stuck out in strange directions and eyes that always lit up like a sparkler on New Year’s. 

William. 

Who had no business being here and yet somehow fit, sitting cross-legged like he belonged in Est’s world without asking permission.

Est surfaced again and rested his arms on the edge of the pool, glancing over.

William had gone back to writing something in his notebook. His lips were moving soundlessly, probably trying to memorize lyrics or chords. He looked serious for once, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Est didn’t know why he smiled.

Or why it lingered.

He dipped his head back into the water.

⸻

Est pushed off the wall to float lazily on his back, his arms moving with the barest effort. William found himself staring again—less at the way Est’s wet hair curled against his temples, and more at the peacefulness on his face.

He looks so… different when he’s not all sharp lines and closed doors.

The thought twisted something in William’s chest. It had been a weird week—him keeping a little distance, Est looking confused in passing. And William…

William telling himself he was giving space, even though it felt like holding his breath every time he didn’t wave or call out.

Est eventually swam back over, pulling himself out of the pool in one smooth motion. William’s brain short-circuited for exactly three seconds watching water trail down Est’s arms before he forced himself to offer a hand towel instead of gawking.

Est grabbed the towel, ruffled his hair dry, and tugged on a navy hoodie—one with a faded logo on the chest. Then, to William’s delight, he walked right over to the poolside, dropping down on the smooth tiles with a soft thump. 

He sat close—close enough that William could see the droplets clinging to the tips of his lashes.

William scooted over a little.

“Thanks,” Est said, toweling his hair.

“You were… really fast in that last lap,” William commented, voice soft but earnest. “Like, world-record fast. I think I even blinked slower than you swam.”

Est huffed a quiet laugh. “

“Can I—” he asked, pointing at the water. “Is it allowed to dip my feet in? Or is that like… pool etiquette treason?”

Est side-eyed him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You can do whatever you want.”

William grinned and peeled off his socks, then rolled up the hems of his pants before dipping his feet into the water with a delighted little gasp. “It’s warm.”

Est nodded. “It’s heated.”

“Oh. Rich pool.”

They sat there together, legs swinging gently in the water, the late afternoon breeze rustling the trees just outside the wide windows. The water lapped quietly, reflecting the soft golden hue of sunset.

For a while, neither said anything.

It was the good kind of silence.

Then Est’s phone buzzed on the bench behind them.

He glanced back, reached for it, and answered with a soft, “Hi, Mae.”

William immediately straightened like someone had rung a church bell behind his ears.

Oh my god. It’s the mother.

He looked away fast, pretending to be deeply interested in a spot on the floor while Est stood and turned slightly from him, phone tucked between his shoulder and ear.

“Mmm, I’m okay. Just came from practice. Hm? No—no distractions. That was just a one-time thing. I’m focused now.”

William blinked. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. But his brain had gone into autopilot. 

Est’s voice had dropped to that soft register again—the one William had only heard a few times. Gentler. Warmer. Different.

“I’m studying hard,” Est was saying. “Finals are coming up soon. I’ll come home after. I promise… yeah, I miss you too.”

A pause.

Then Est laughed—quiet, small, and very real.

William’s heart basically somersaulted into the chlorinated water.

Est ended the call and returned to the edge of the pool with a sigh, slipping his phone into his hoodie pocket before flopping down beside William again, his knee brushing his.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “That was my mom.”

William shook his head. “You never have to apologize for that. I was trying really hard not to listen, I promise.”

Est glanced sideways at him.

“I mean I failed,” William added quickly, “but I tried. And she seems very sweet. She reminds me of my auntie.”

Est chuckled under his breath. “She is sweet. And overinvolved.”

William leaned back on his hands, grinning. “That’s literally the job description of a mother.”

Est didn’t answer for a second.

Then he said quietly, “She worries. I think… she knows I’m under pressure. Everyone does.”

William felt his heart stutter. 

Est’s gaze was still fixed on the water. “This year… everyone’s watching. The coaches. The swim program. My professors. My parents. They’re expecting me to get gold again.”

William didn’t interrupt.

“They don’t say it, but it’s there. Every practice. Every time I’m late. Every time I look tired.” Est’s voice was steady, but his fingers twitched on the edge of the tile. “It’s like people think… I owe them something.”

A pause.

Then William said softly, “Do you?”

Est blinked. “Do I what?”

“Owe them something.”

Est opened his mouth. Closed it again.

William watched him with his head tilted slightly. “You’ve already done so much. You’ve already made everyone proud. But you still don’t get to breathe?”

Est let out a small, almost invisible breath. Then he remembered something.

“You’ve been… different this week.”

William stared at the ripples in the water. “Different how?”

“Less… loud,” Est said. His voice was calm, but William caught the flicker of something else there — curiosity, maybe. Or suspicion. “No running into me in random hallways. No Mochi pictures at two in the morning.”

William’s lips twitched, but he kept his gaze down. “I didn’t want to be annoying.”

Est turned toward him fully. “You’re not annoying.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

William swallowed, the lump in his throat heavier than he liked. “You’ve got finals. And your meet. I don’t want to… distract you.”

Est’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment

They sat in the quiet for a while after that.

To lighten the air, William splashed a little water toward him. “So, Phi Est… can you even do a cannonball?”

Est gave him a flat look. “I swim competitively, William. Not… whatever that is.”

William splashed him. “Scared to lose?”

The smirk Est gave him was all warning — right before he sent a wave of water straight into William’s face.

“You didn’t just—” William gasped, scandalized.

Est’s only answer was another deliberate flick, this one bigger.

“You want a war? Fine!” William kicked at the surface, sending a spray in Est’s direction.

It escalated ridiculously fast. 

William laughed so hard his sides hurt, Est’s usually composed demeanor cracking into something far more mischievous. The sound of splashes echoed across the otherwise empty pool area.

“You’re going to regret this,” Est warned, grabbing the pool’s edge with one hand and sending a much bigger wave toward William.

“Unfair!” William shrieked between laughs

It turned into a splash war — William starting it, of course. Est retaliated. They both laughed, the sound echoing off the pool walls. William dodged back, losing his balance — and for one terrifying second, he was going to fall in.

Then hands caught his waist.

Firm. Steady. Warm.

They froze.

William’s heart was in his throat. Est didn’t move for a moment, just held him there — and then slowly let go.

“Careful,” Est said, voice quieter than usual.

William nodded, though he wasn’t sure if he’d breathed at all in the last thirty seconds, suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth lingering from the grip, of how close they were in that moment. He coughed lightly, trying to play it off.

“Yeah, okay, you win,” he muttered.

William could still feel it—the quiet, unshakable memory of Est’s arm around his waist. It wasn’t just touch; it was warmth, steady and grounding, seeping into him like sunlight through glass. 

It clung to him stubbornly, a phantom weight that made his pulse race every time he thought about it. 

And the worst—or maybe best—part was that he didn’t want it to fade.

⸻

As the sun dipped further behind the tall walls of campus, casting long shadows across the pavement, Est stood and shook the water off his feet before slipping on his shoes.

William followed, tugging on his socks and shoes like it was a group activity. Neither of them said anything as they left the pool, the quiet between them not awkward—just filled with a kind of warm hum, like the tail end of a favorite song.

They walked down the path together, backpacks slung over shoulders, a few leaves crunching under their feet.

William kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, glancing sideways now and then. Est seemed… not exactly distant, but thoughtful.

At one point, a car passed, headlights briefly casting a glow over them. William shifted slightly to walk on the side closer to the road, a small, instinctive gesture.

“You don’t have to walk me back,” Est said at one point, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

William shrugged. “I’m not walking you back. I’m… just walking in the same direction. Totally unrelated.”

“Uh-huh,” Est said, but his lips twitched.

They bickered the whole way — about whether cats were smarter than dogs, whether William’s cheering had been “supportive” or “embarrassing,” about who had actually won the splash war.

“You cheated,” William insisted.

“You started it,” Est replied.

William tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

Est kept walking beside him, gaze forward. But after a second, he said quietly, “You’re not a distraction.”

William blinked. “Huh?”

Est turned to look at him, his face mostly unreadable but his voice softer than it had been all day. “You’re not a distraction. And you’re not as annoying as you think you are.”

William stopped walking for a split second, stunned, before catching up with wide eyes and a stupidly big smile on his face. 

He felt those words hit him deeper than he had expected. 

All week long, he’d been trapped in a spiral of doubt—thinking he was too much, that he was annoying Est, that maybe the quiet distance was because Est wished he’d just disappear. 

But hearing Est say he wasn’t a distraction, that he wasn’t annoying, pulled him out of that dark place, if only for a moment. His heart swelled, pounding so fiercely it felt like it might burst free. 

For the first time in days, William didn’t want to run. He just wanted to stay right there, hold onto that small, shining moment, and believe that maybe, just maybe, he was enough.

William leaned a little closer. “Is this your way of saying you like me?”

“No,” Est replied, ears pink. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Too late. I’m already twenty-seven steps ahead and picking out our wedding colors.”

“William.”

“I’m kidding! Unless you like lavender. Do you?”

Est groaned, but William caught the way the corners of his mouth twitched upward before he looked away.

They walked the rest of the way back in a quiet rhythm, the campus slowly falling into its usual evening hush. 

A few students crossed paths with them, but Est barely noticed them. Not the way he usually would. Not the way he used to track every eye that might be watching.

Est had convinced himself that a week without William would bring him the calm he thought he needed. No unexpected drop-ins, no bursts of chaotic energy, no disruptions to his carefully maintained focus. He imagined he’d feel lighter, maybe even happy. 

But the reality was starkly different. 

The quiet had been suffocating. The absence of William’s presence—his laughter, his teasing, the way he filled every space—left a hollow that gnawed at Est more than he cared to admit.

Today, seeing William so subdued—shoulders hunched, eyes avoiding his—something shifted inside Est. He saw the weight William carried, the hesitation and the doubt that hadn’t been there before. 

When William finally spoke those small, vulnerable words about not wanting to be “too much,” Est understood how much he’d been holding back his own feelings.

In that moment, he knew he had to break the silence, had to say what William needed to hear: that he wasn’t a distraction, that he wasn’t annoying, that he was exactly the person Est wanted beside him—even when everything else felt overwhelming.

When they reached Est’s dorm, William lingered a step behind as Est unlocked the door.

“Well…” William rocked on his heels. “I’ll let you go, Phi Est. Thanks for sharing your study tree. And your swim vibes.”

Est nodded once. “Night, William.”

“Goodnight,” William said, already walking backward with a stupid grin. “Don’t stay up too late. And drink water. And maybe dream about me.”

“Go away.”

William laughed and waved dramatically before finally turning and disappearing down the path toward his dorm.

Est watched until he was out of sight.

Then he turned slowly and headed upstairs.

⸻

Later that night, in the quiet of his room, Est towel-dried his hair and sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand. His books lay untouched in his bag. Somewhere in the back of his mind, William’s laugh echoed softly—light and impossible to forget.

The past week had thrown him off balance. 

William had been everywhere one moment—sending Mochi pictures at odd hours, appearing around campus, eager to talk about everything and nothing. Then, suddenly, he’d vanished, like a shadow retreating from the light. 

The silence had been louder than any noise.

And then—just like that—he vanished.

The sudden quiet wasn’t relief. It was a hollow ache, a silence that screamed louder than any noise.

Today had been different.

Sitting beside William, Est noticed something he hadn’t expected. 

William—the living, breathing chaos personified—had seemed almost… quiet. Purposeful. As if he was trying to give Est something rare and precious: peace.

One look at him across that bench, hair falling into his eyes, mouth pressed into that careful line, and Est had felt the urge to break his own rules. 

William wasn’t buzzing with his usual energy. 

He wasn’t teasing or leaning too close. 

He was… smaller, somehow, like someone had taken the light out of him.

Est hated it. 

Doubt followed close behind, whispering questions he wasn’t ready to face: Was William really as into him as he had thought? Or had he been fooling himself all along? 

He told himself it shouldn’t matter.

The thought crept in, uninvited and sharp: What if William thought Est wasn’t worth the effort?

And Est knew—he couldn’t demand attention that wasn’t freely given. 

William wasn’t…his. Not like that.

What was he doing?

He sighed, falling back onto the mattress, arm draping over his eyes, caught between the urge to study and the pull of his swirling emotions, when his phone buzzed.

A message.

William 🎸

I had fun today :)

Est stared at the screen, blinked, then let out a slow, soft smile.

Just a small one, enough to warm his chest and tint his ears pink.

He pressed his thumb to the screen, as if that simple touch could steady the rapid beat of his heart.

Be still, my heart.

He didn’t reply right away.

He just sat there, phone glowing softly in the dim room, whispering quietly to no one but himself—

“…I had fun today.”

Chapter Text

The clock in the exam hall ticked too loudly. Every second felt like a drop of water on stone, wearing him down, wearing him thin.

Est hunched over his desk, pen scratching across paper. His eyes burned, the words blurring in places where his focus faltered. 

Three days in a row of finals, three nights of sleeping less than four hours, and the constant low hum of anxiety about the swim meet this weekend—it was a recipe for slow collapse.

Finals had crashed into Est like a wave that refused to pull back.

Every morning was the same: a frantic rush from lecture hall to library, to swim practice and back again—papers in his bag, formulas stuck in his teeth, the hum of fluorescent lights burning behind his eyelids even when he blinked. He was drained, stretched so thin even the soft ping of a message felt too loud.

Not that anyone noticed.

Every person he ran into lately seemed to have the same script.

“Good luck at the meet, Phi Est!”

“You’re going to smash it, right? Three for three this year?”

“You’re almost done with finals, yeah? Then just the meet!”

Like his entire existence was just one long performance: tests, competitions, medals, expectations. 

No one asked if he was eating properly. 

No one asked if his shoulder ached from the extra laps or if his eyes stung from chlorine.

No one asked if he was tired.

And he was. 

God, he was tired. 

Not just in his body, but deep—deep enough that the weariness sat behind his ribs and made even breathing feel like effort.

His mother’s voice on the phone that morning hadn’t helped.

“You’re so close to the finish line, Est. Just one more push, okay? After finals, the meet is only a week away. Focus. You’ve trained too long for this to mess up now. Don’t stay out too late. Don’t get sick. Stay away from distractions.”

Distractions.

It was the same thing his coach had said. 

His captain. His teammates. His own mind.

Every word lodged itself in his chest until the space felt crowded, like there was no room for anything else.

Est was exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. 

He was supposed to be perfect—silent, precise, controlled. 

The one who won the gold. 

The one who never flinched under pressure.

The exam ended, papers were collected, and he shuffled out into the courtyard. Heat shimmered off the pavement. The air felt too thick to breathe.

He stepped out into the harsh midday heat, baseball cap pulled low. Sweatpants, t-shirt, and the same worn sneakers he’d been wearing for days. He didn’t care. Every shred of energy was going into just keeping his head above water.

He was somewhere between conscious and autopilot.

Right now, all he wanted was to crawl into bed and not think. 

Not about practice. 

Not about exams.

And definitely not about the boy with stars in his eyes who had decided to play hot and cold with him.

Est told himself he wasn’t keeping track. 

Not really. 

But he’d noticed it anyway: William, who had been everywhere a few weeks ago—texting, showing up with juice boxes, sitting beside him in the shade—had gone quiet.

He had expected for William to bounce back into his life after their day at the pool. He had almost texted him. 

Maybe, William had finally gotten bored of him, his brain had repeated this sentence daily.

The only thing Est had received all finals week was a single picture of Mochi curled in a sunbeam, captioned: Good luck, Phi.

That was it. 

No jokes, no random appearances, no easy chatter that filled the air like sunlight through an open window.

Not that Est was waiting for him. Definitely not.

But still.

Something about the silence pressed on him like another weight on top of all the others.

By the last day of finals, Est was running on fumes.

He was so far inside his own head he didn’t notice the figure moving toward him until a familiar voice broke through.

“Phi.”

He looked up.

William stood there, hair mussed, looking equally as tired. He was smiling—softly, almost cautiously.

He jogged up to him, clutching his bag and blinking sunlight out of his eyes.

“Hey,” William said, panting slightly. “You survived the exams?”

Est nodded. “Barely.”

“You look… really tired,” William said gently. “Why don’t you take a break? Come with me to Café Blue. I’ll—”

And something in Est just—snapped.

Not at William. Not really. But at everything. The exhaustion. The pressure. The way William had been hot-and-cold these past few days, appearing out of nowhere now like nothing had happened.

“Are you not tired, William?” Est’s voice came out sharper than he meant. “Because I’m exhausted. Completely done.”

William blinked, caught off guard. “I—”

Est couldn’t breathe.

It was like the weight of everything he’d been carrying—all the expectations, all the pressure—boiled over.

He didn’t mean to say it.

He didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

But it did.

“I get it, okay? It was probably fun at the start for you right,” Est continued, words tumbling out unchecked. “That’s how it always goes. People show up, make things exciting, then get bored and leave. That’s the game, right? Hot one day, cold the next.”

William’s expression faltered. He opened his mouth, but Est cut him off before he could speak.

“You disappeared all week. Just one picture of your cat and that’s it. No notes, no showing up like before. And now you want to just… what? Pick up where you left off? Do you know what that feels like?”

William took a small step back. “I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t what? You weren’t playing with me?” Est’s voice was low now, biting. “Because it sure felt like it. And maybe I was stupid enough to think you actually—” He broke off, a bitter laugh escaping. “Never mind. Guess I’m not worth the effort, huh? Or maybe, it was just a phase for you. Guess you grew out of it pretty quickly.”

Silence.

The words hung between them, heavy and poisonous.

And as soon as they were out, Est felt the ground drop from under him.

He saw it—the exact moment the hurt sank into William’s eyes. That flash of something breaking, the way his breath hitched almost imperceptibly.

William’s mouth opened, closed. Then he smiled.

But it wasn’t the bright, easy grin Est was used to. 

It was small, wavering, trembling at the edges.

“Oh,” William said softly, voice thin.

He stood there for a moment, eyes glinting like he was holding back more than he could say. Then, with a shaky inhale: “I… I left something behind in class. I should go back.”

He glanced away. “Bye, Phi.”

And before Est could find words—any words—William turned.

He walked away quickly, shoulders stiff, as if he was afraid that if he slowed down, something would spill out that he couldn’t take back.

Est stood rooted to the spot.

Heat pressed down on him, thick and suffocating. He could still see William’s retreating figure, that brittle smile burned into his mind.

What the hell did I just do?

His stomach turned.

You idiot.

Every ounce of exhaustion was still there, but now it was tangled with something colder—sharper. Regret sank its claws in deep.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t meant any of it. Not like that.

He was tired. He was frustrated. He was drowning under pressure from every side. And William—

William had been the one bright spot in all of it.

And he had just crushed it under his heel.

Est’s fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms.

The courtyard was still buzzing with students, but all he could hear was the echo of his own voice, sharp and cutting.

And that small, broken oh.

He swallowed hard.

You really fucked up this time, Supra.

But William was already gone.

William didn’t remember how he got from the courtyard to the path that led towards Studio 7.

One moment, Est’s words were still hanging in the heavy afternoon air—sharp, deliberate, the kind of sentences you can’t just pretend you didn’t hear. The next, his feet were moving, fast. Almost running.

Because if he didn’t move, if he stayed there even a second longer, he was going to crack wide open in front of everyone.

And he couldn’t—he couldn’t let Est see him like that.

Not when Est already thought…

No. He swallowed hard, the pressure building behind his eyes.

He had known Phi Est was tired. 

You didn’t have to be a genius to see it. Finals had been dragging everyone through the mud, and on top of that, the guy was training for the most important swim meet of his life. 

William had watched him—sometimes from a distance—going through campus like a shadow of himself. He’d been quieter, his steps slower, like he was carrying something too heavy.

That was why William had been keeping his distance this week.

It wasn’t because he didn’t want to see Est—God, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

It was because… he didn’t want to be one more thing weighing him down.

Especially after Est had opened up at the East pool. He didn’t want Est to feel like he owed William anything. 

He’d thought about all the little ways he’d been inserting himself into Est’s days: showing up out of nowhere, sitting too close, chattering about nothing just to make him laugh. It was fun for William—too much fun—but maybe it wasn’t what Est needed right now. Maybe it was selfish.

So he had pulled back. Just a little.

He thought… he thought he was doing the right thing.

Giving him space.

Letting him breathe.

But maybe that space had felt like absence. Maybe it had told Est that William didn’t care as much as he thought.

And maybe—God—maybe that’s why Est looked at him today like he was some stupid, short-lived phase that had already burned out.

The words were still there, echoing in his head like a loop he couldn’t stop replaying.

“It was fun at the start. That’s how it always goes. People get bored and leave. Hot one day, cold the next.”

Every syllable had landed like a blow.

Hot and cold.

Bored and leave.

A phase.

And then—Guess I’m not worth the effort.

He felt that one in his bones.

It was like Est had reached inside him, found the exact place where all his old insecurities were buried, and pressed until it hurt.

He didn’t think Est knew. He didn’t think he could know how often William had been told he was too much. Too loud, too clingy, too present. How many people had laughed and said, You’re too much, Will, you wear people out, you gotta chill.

And now Est had basically confirmed it.

And the worst part? 

William couldn’t even be mad.

Maybe he wasn’t good for him.

He had annoyed Est to the point that Est thought it was all a game for William. A phase that William grew out of.

He blinked hard against the sting in his eyes, his pace quickening. The path blurred a little at the edges.

He kept replaying how it had gone. How he’d spotted Est leaving the exam hall looking like he’d been wrung out. Baseball cap low, shoulders slumped, every step weighted. 

And William had just wanted—needed—to do something, anything, to make him rest for a second.

To remind him there was still a world outside of tests and training.

So he’d gone up, kept his voice light, and said, “Phi, you look tired. Why don’t you take a break? Come with me to Café Blue.”

And then—

God, the way Est’s expression had changed.

Like William had crossed some invisible line.

And then all those words had come out, fast and sharp.

He’d wanted to explain. To tell him, I wasn’t ignoring you. I was trying to give you space.

But every time he opened his mouth, Est cut him off. And with each sentence, William’s chest got tighter, his voice smaller, until there wasn’t anything left to say.

So he smiled. Or at least tried to. And it had come out crooked, trembling.

Oh.

That was all he’d managed, because what else was there?

And then—because he couldn’t trust his voice to hold—he had lied. Said he’d left something in class. Turned and walked away before the burn in his eyes spilled over in front of him.

His legs ached by the time Studio 7 came into view.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, the familiar smell of cables and coffee hitting him like a wall. Nut, Lego, Hong, and Tui were there, sprawled across the couches, mid-laughter about something he didn’t catch.

All four looked up when he entered.

“Will?” Nut started, frowning. “What’s—”

And that was it.

The fragile dam he’d been holding together since the courtyard cracked wide open.

A choked sound tore out of him before he could stop it, and suddenly he was standing there, eyes flooding, breath coming in uneven bursts.

“Whoa—hey, hey, hey—” Lego was already on his feet, crossing the room.

But William couldn’t stop.

He sank down onto the nearest couch, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook, and the words tumbled out broken and raw:

“Phi Est—he hates me.” His voice cracked on the name. “He—God—everyone was right. I’m not good for him.”

“Wait, what?” Hong crouched down in front of him, eyes wide. “Where is this coming from? Will, breathe—”

But William shook his head, dragging in shaky breaths that didn’t help. “I—” His voice broke again. “I just wanted to help him. He’s been so tired, and I thought—maybe—maybe I should give him space so I wouldn’t be in the way. And then today—” His hands tightened against his face. “He said I was hot and cold, that it was fun at the start and then I just… left. That he wasn’t worth the effort. That he was just a phase and—and I got over him pretty quickly.”

The last words came out in a whisper, like saying them too loud would make them more real.

Nut swore under his breath.

Lego’s voice was careful. “Will, you know that’s not—”

“No,” William cut in, lifting his head just enough for them to see the red in his eyes. “It is. It’s exactly what everyone says. I’m just… too much. I wear people out.” His throat tightened. “And he’s got so much on his plate already, why would he need me making it worse?”

Tui sat down beside him, tentative hand on his back. “You’re not making it worse.”

But William shook his head, tears spilling freely now. “You didn’t hear him. He meant it. And—” His voice wavered. “I really… I really liked him. Not like I’ve liked anyone else before. And now I ruined it. I ruined everything. I really really like him.”

They tried—God, they tried—to talk him down, to tell him Est was probably just stressed, that finals and the meet were making him say things he didn’t mean.

But none of it could get past the loop in William’s head: Est’s tired eyes, his sharp tone, the weight in those words.

He stayed there on the couch, folded in on himself, while his friends hovered, helpless. He couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop replaying it, couldn’t stop feeling the sting of that broken smile he’d tried to hold together in front of Est before turning away.

Because if he hadn’t turned away, Est might have seen just how much it broke him.

⸻

William didn’t remember standing up.

One second, he was still in Studio 7, eyes red and stinging, voice breaking as he choked out the same words—“Phi Est hates me. Everyone was right. I’m not good for him.”— over and over until they didn’t sound like words anymore, just a dull ache pushed out into the air.

And then, somehow, he was outside.

The door shut behind him, muting Nut’s voice calling after him. The cool night air hit his damp cheeks, and he barely noticed. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew his phone was low on battery. Knew he should at least text someone—let them know he was leaving.

He just… walked away. 

The streets blurred.

At first, it was just the dull patter of his sneakers against the pavement, the faint sound of motorbikes rushing past on the main road. His hoodie hung heavy on his shoulders from sweat and leftover tears.

And then—he didn’t know exactly when—it began to rain.

Not the kind of sudden downpour that the clouds sometimes threw at you without warning, but a slow, steady drizzle, like the sky was easing him into it. Cold water gathered in his hair, slid down the back of his neck, seeped into the collar of his shirt. 

It should’ve been uncomfortable. 

It wasn’t.

It felt… fitting.

The good parts hit him first. They always did. The moments he’d replayed in bed, grinning like an idiot at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

But they didn’t stay good for long.

Because tonight’s version of Est had replaced them—Est standing there in the middle of the campus ground, eyes tired, words clipped like each syllable was a cut.

Are you not tired, William?

It’s just a phase. 

Like William was a kid playing pretend. Like everything William had done or said weren’t real. 

The rain picked up. His hoodie clung tighter to him, the weight of it dragging on his shoulders. His sneakers squelched with every step.

He didn’t stop until the faint glow of a familiar lamp post pulled him out of the blur.

The bench.

That same old wooden bench tucked under the overhanging tree near the east side of campus. The one where they had shared a bag of chips. 

He sat down in that same spot.

The wood was slick under him, the rain soaking straight through to his jeans. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at the puddle gathering at his feet. His reflection shimmered in it—distorted, broken every time a raindrop hit the surface.

For a while, he just listened. To the rain drumming against the leaves overhead. To the faint hiss of tires on wet asphalt in the distance. To his own breathing—too shallow, too fast.

You’re too much, William.

You talk too much.

You push too much.

He’d heard versions of it before, from people who’d come and gone. He’d laughed them off, made jokes, pretended it didn’t matter. 

But Est… Est had been different.

And still, William had ruined it.

He thought about earlier this week, watching Est push himself at practice, the way his arms had trembled just slightly when he had pulled himself out of the water. He had seen how Est had favored one shoulder over the other. He had seen the shadows under his eyes, the way he barely paused to breathe between sets. He’d wanted to tell him to slow down. To take care.

Instead, he’d pushed too much. Too fast. Too loud.

Like an idiot.

Like someone who couldn’t read the room.

A silent tear slid down his cheek. It mingled with the rain, so maybe it didn’t count.

He didn’t cry much—not like this. But tonight, something had cracked in him. And it wasn’t just about Est saying no. It was the way he’d said it, the way it made William feel like he had been imagining all of it. 

Like none of those moments had meant anything.

Maybe they didn’t.

He huddled in on himself, trying to make his body smaller. Less obvious. Less too much.

For a long time, the rain was the only sound—steady, relentless, almost loud in the quiet street. William stared at the wet pavement, tracing the ripples in the puddles with his eyes.

By the time he finally stood, he didn’t know how much time had passed. His phone was dead in his pocket, cold against his leg. The campus was quieter now, only the occasional headlights sweeping across the road.

The walk back to the dorm felt longer than it should have.

The rain had soaked him through completely. His hoodie was heavy with water, his jeans clung to his skin, and every step felt like he was carrying weights around his ankles.

He didn’t turn the lights on when he went inside.

The room was dark, lit only by the grey spill of light from the window. William sank down onto the edge of his bed, then just… stayed there.

His hands hung limp between his knees. His hair dripped onto the floor. He didn’t even bother taking his shoes off.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been before the door opened.

“Will—?” Nut’s voice stopped mid-sentence. “Holy— You’re soaked!”

Footsteps. The scrape of shoes on the floor. Someone gasped.

“William—” Tui started, relief flooding his voice.

He didn’t answer.

“William.” Nut’s voice was closer now. He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. You’re freezing, come on, you gotta get out of those clothes.”

He didn’t react.

The next few minutes blurred—hands pulling at his hoodie, voices low but urgent. Someone tugged his wet shirt over his head, the fabric sticking to his skin. Someone else pressed a towel into his hair, rubbing roughly to get some warmth back into him. His jeans were peeled off, replaced with sweatpants.

The whole time, he stayed quiet. Not a single word.

By the time they got him under the blankets, his hair was damp but no longer dripping, his clothes dry and warm. The room smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the minty shampoo Lego had probably grabbed from the bathroom.

Nut crouched beside the bed, searching his face. “You’re gonna be okay, yeah?”

William blinked at him. Not slow, not fast—just… blinked.

Lego’s voice was softer when it came. “We’re right here, Will.”

Tui adjusted the blanket higher over his shoulders. “Sleep.”

He closed his eyes. Not because he wanted to, but because it was easier than looking at them. Easier than letting them see how empty he felt.

The sunlight was too bright.

It wasn’t harsh—it was the kind of soft, early-morning gold that should have been pleasant—but Est still flinched away from it, eyes half-shielded by his arm. His head was heavy. His chest was heavier.

The moment he opened his eyes, the memories rushed back.

William.

His expression from last night—surprised, hurt, then shattered—flashed in his mind with alarming clarity. Est didn’t even need to dig for it; it came uninvited, vivid as if it had happened seconds ago. The way William’s mouth had tightened, the light dimming in his eyes as Est’s words hit.

He’d said everything like he had been stating a fact, dismissive and final, because in that moment he was tired, overwhelmed, desperate to keep his balance while the tide of finals and the upcoming swim meet threatened to pull him under.

But that was no excuse.

Not when he had seen the way William’s smile faltered.

Not when William had left so abruptly, claiming he’d forgotten something in class, without meeting Est’s gaze again. 

Not when he had seen William’s eyes. 

Est dragged himself upright in bed, running a hand through his hair. Pooh stirred on the floor, the golden retriever’s tail giving a half-hearted thump against the rug before flopping back down. Even Pooh seemed to sense the weight pressing on him.

He had expected—what? A message from William, maybe. Some stubborn attempt to brush it off, to act like nothing had happened. 

But his phone screen was blank. 

Est checked twice, even refreshed the notifications, as if there might be some delay. Nothing. And honestly, that was exactly what he deserved. 

And with that emptiness came a quiet, gnawing thought.

He was giving me space.

Not because Est asked for it. Not because Est wanted it.

But because William didn’t want to add to his burdens.

Est leaned forward, elbows on his knees, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes.

The truth was, William had never been a burden. Not once.

Yes, he was loud. 

Yes, he was persistent. 

Yes, he had a knack for showing up at the most unexpected times, armed with Mochi pictures and a lopsided grin. 

But he was also… warmth. Solid, grounding warmth in a time when Est’s days were nothing but pressure and deadlines and stopwatch timers.

And Est had pushed that warmth away.

The guilt swelled until he couldn’t sit still. He picked up his phone again, thumbs hovering over the keyboard before he typed:

Est 🦈: 

Morning. Are you free today?

He stared at it for a moment, then deleted it. It sounded too casual, too much like pretending nothing had happened. 

He tried again.

Est 🦈: 

I’m sorry about yesterday. Can we talk?

That one stayed. He hesitated for another few seconds before hitting send.

The message went through. The little “delivered” note appeared.

And then… nothing.

Minutes passed. He put the phone down, got up, paced, came back, checked again. Still nothing. 

The silence made something restless stir inside him.

Est grabbed his hoodie and left the apartment. He didn’t bother planning where to go first—he just started walking.

Est checked the cafeteria first. He scanned the tables, ignoring the curious glances from other students. Nothing.

The music building was next—Est poked his head into Studio 3, the practice rooms, even the side hallway where William sometimes lingered between classes.

Still no William.

With each dead end, his unease deepened.

Finally, there was only one place left to try.

Studio 7 was quieter than usual.

The moment Est stepped inside, he noticed the difference.

The familiar chaotic energy that always seemed to pulse here—the laughter, the teasing, the sound of instruments being tuned at random—was absent.

Instead, Nut was slouched on the couch, phone in hand but clearly not paying attention to it. Lego sat cross-legged on the floor, idly twirling a drumstick in his fingers. Tui leaned against the counter, nursing what looked like his third cup of coffee. Hong was flipping through a notebook, though the pages had clearly stopped moving a while ago.

When Est walked in, all four pairs of eyes turned toward him.

It wasn’t hostile exactly. But it wasn’t welcoming either.

The air felt heavier somehow, thick with something unspoken.

“I’m looking for William,” Est said after a beat, his voice steadier than he felt. “Have you seen him?”

Silence.

Nut’s gaze flicked briefly to Lego, then away. Hong tapped his pen against the notebook, a slow, deliberate rhythm. Tui didn’t move at all.

Est’s brows drew together. “Well?”

No answer. Just that same quiet. It was so at odds with their usual noise that it almost unnerved him more than outright confrontation.

Finally, Lego spoke. “He’s sick.”

Nut shot him a sharp look, like he’d stepped on a landmine. “Lego—”

“What?” Est’s head snapped toward Lego. “Sick? Since when?”

Lego met his gaze evenly. “Since last night, I guess.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

Tui let out a short, humorless laugh. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.” His tone was flat, but the way the words landed made it feel almost mocking.

Shame burned in Est’s chest.

“Where is he?” Est asked quietly.

Nobody answered right away.

Est exhaled, the sound sharp in the stillness, and turned toward the door. “Fine. I’ll—”

“Wait.”

He turned back to see Nut watching him closely, his expression hard to read. Hong had stopped tapping his pen, leaning forward slightly.

Nut’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent was unmistakable. “If you’re going to see him… you’d better not hurt him again.”

The weight of it hung between them.

Hong added, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “We don’t care if you’ve got a swim meet or not. Doesn’t matter how busy you are. If you hurt him, you’re gonna have to deal with us.”

It wasn’t shouted. It wasn’t dramatic. But the quiet conviction in both their voices made Est’s throat tighten.

For the first time since walking in, he didn’t feel like the senior they sometimes looked up to. He felt like an intruder in their territory, someone being measured and found lacking.

“I understand,” Est said finally, the words low but certain. And he meant it.

Because no matter what it took—he wasn’t going to leave things like this.

“He got sick when he came back soaked from the rain. Wouldn’t say much,” Tui spoke. 

The guilt deepened. 

⸻

Est wasn’t supposed to be here.

Not here, in this headspace. 

Not here, in this quickened heartbeat that felt like it was trying to climb its way out of his chest. 

Definitely, not here at the convenience store.

He was supposed to be at the pool, finishing his sets, focusing on his starts, thinking about times, technique, rhythm. He had a swimming competition in less than a week. He had things to think about—important things. 

But William was…sick. 

His bag was still slung over his shoulder when he left Studio 7. He hadn’t even said goodbye, just muttered something and walked out before anyone could ask questions. 

The rain outside was light now, more of a drizzle, but it still soaked into his hoodie within minutes as he cut across campus toward the convenience store. His mind was already building the list before his feet had even decided where to go.

Soup. Something warm. Something easy to eat. Maybe soup or porridge. Medicine. Fruit. Juice. 

The juice was a stupid detail, but it stuck. Because William always carried juice boxes—offering them like it was the most natural thing in the world, tucking them into Est’s hands with a little shrug and a, “You look like you need this.”

It felt wrong to show up empty-handed. Wrong to just knock and stand there.

By the time Est made it to the convenience store, his hands were shaking so badly he had to shove them into the pockets of his hoodie just to make them stop. It wasn’t from the cold—though the rain outside still clung to him like a second skin—it was from the gnawing pit in his stomach.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it 

Sick.

The word had lodged itself in his ribs like a splinter.

He could still see William’s smile—bright, infuriatingly earnest—flashing in his mind, except now it warped into an image of him shivering somewhere with damp hair plastered to his forehead.

Est moved mechanically, throwing items into a basket. A couple packets of the porridge his mother used to make him when he got sick. Medicine. Juice boxes. Snacks in case William didn’t feel like eating something heavy.

By the time he got to the register, he had to force himself to breathe normally.

The cashier didn’t care that he was buying what looked like enough to nurse a small army. But Est still muttered something under his breath, as if to justify it:

“It’s for… someone who’s sick.”

The words tasted bitter.

William was sick and Est couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, in some twisted way, it was his fault.

Not the rain. Not the weather. Him.

So he went straight to his own dorm first, dropped his bag, then started pulling things out. Rice. Chicken. Ginger. He didn’t cook often—not from scratch—but porridge was simple enough. Still, his fingers hesitated over the ingredients, uncertain. He could mess this up. He could ruin the one thing he was trying to do right.

Without letting himself overthink it, he grabbed his phone and dialed his mother.

It rang once. Twice.

“Est? This is rare. Is everything okay? You never call in the middle of the week unless—”

“Ma.” His voice came out tighter than he meant. “How do you make your soup? The… the one with chicken and ginger.”

There was a pause. “Are you sick?”

“No.” He hesitated. “It’s for… a friend.”

Another pause. “A friend,” she repeated, voice warm but carrying that familiar edge of curiosity. “A special friend?”

He could feel his ears heating. “Just—Mae, the recipe. Please.”

She sighed, but he could hear the smile in it. “Alright. You need fresh ginger, chicken breast, scallions, and rice. And patience.”

“I have patience.”

She hummed doubtfully. “We’ll see.”

He scribbled the recipe down on a scrap of paper, his handwriting messier than usual. She added in instructions for porridge too—just in case they can’t handle solid food—and reminded him three times to taste as he went.

By the time he hung up, his pulse was still too fast. It felt strange, this jittery energy that wasn’t quite adrenaline but wasn’t calm either.

Back in his tiny kitchen, he set to work.

He wasn’t bad at cooking—just… methodical. The kind of person who followed recipes to the letter. Tonight, though, it felt different. Every step was sharper, more deliberate. The scrape of the knife against the cutting board. The hiss of ginger hitting the pot. The soft, rhythmic swirl of rice in simmering broth.

The apartment filled with steam and the scent of chicken, ginger, and something warm he couldn’t name. He kept glancing at the clock, irrationally afraid that every second he took was another second William was sitting there—alone, maybe shivering, maybe…

He cut that thought off. Focused on the rhythm. Stir. Add broth. Stir again. The steam rose up and fogged his glasses briefly, but even that didn’t slow him down.

He wanted to make it right.

When everything was ready, he let them cool slightly while he packed the rest: juice boxes (the same brand William always had), a few snacks he knew were safe on a sick stomach, basic cold medicine, some fruit, some vitamin C tablets and a thermos full of tea.

And it still felt like it wasn’t enough.

By the time he was walking toward William’s dorm, the drizzle had stopped, leaving the streets smelling faintly of wet concrete and damp leaves. His bag was heavier than it should have been, straps biting into his shoulder, but he barely noticed.

His mind wouldn’t stop running in circles.

When he reached the door, his pulse was loud in his ears. He stood there longer than he should have, staring at the wood, hearing nothing from the other side. The hallway was quiet except for the faint hum of a vending machine down the corridor.

His heart was doing a steady, relentless pounding against his ribs.

His sharp focus could now hear faint movement inside—soft shuffling, the creak of a bed frame.

He lifted his hand to knock, then stopped. 

Lowered it. 

Lifted it again.

What if William didn’t want to see him?

What if he opened the door and just… looked at him the way he had after the just a phase comment—blank, polite, distant?

Est’s stomach twisted.

But then the sound of a cough from inside made the decision for him.

He knocked. Twice.

There was a pause, then footsteps—slower than usual, dragging. The door opened just enough for William’s face to appear.

He looked… wrong.

William stood there, hair messy and damp at the ends, hoodie half-zipped like he hadn’t bothered to finish dressing, skin pale except for the flushed heat on his cheeks. His eyes were glazed in that way that made Est’s stomach twist—fever-bright.

His voice was scratchy when he spoke. “Phi…Est?”

The guilt hit all over again.

For a second, Est forgot every word he’d planned to say.

“I… I texted,” Est started, the words tumbling out awkwardly. “You didn’t answer. I went to Studio 7, and your friends told me you’re sick. I—” He lifted the bag slightly, like proof. “I brought some food. Medicine.”

William just stared at him. 

No smile. 

No teasing glint in his eyes. 

Just… silence.

Something about that silence made Est’s stomach drop. It was as if William wasn’t entirely sure Est was real—like maybe he was a hallucination. 

And then Est couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped forward, set a firm but gentle hand on William’s shoulder, and pushed past him into the room.

“Phi…?” William’s voice was soft, scratchy.

“You’re sick,” Est said, and it came out more like an accusation than he meant.

“I’m fine,” William mumbled, stepping back to let him in.

It was warm inside, but not in a comfortable way. Heat clung to the air, heavy and stale. Est set the bag down on the desk and glanced around. The curtains were half-closed, Mochi perched at the foot of the bed with his tail flicking.

“Come on,” Est said, quieter now. “Lets sit down.”

William obeyed—slowly, like moving through water. He sank onto the bed, his gaze still locked on Est as if he couldn’t quite believe he was real.

Something in Est’s chest twisted. This was not the William he knew — not the one who always had something to say, even if it was nonsense. 

The silence felt wrong.

He busied himself unpacking the bag, lining up things on the desk as if they needed arranging — porridge, soup in a thermos, juice boxes, a small pack of watermelon slices because he remembered William once saying they were his favorite when sick.

“Brought you soup,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “And juice. And… uh, fruit. I didn’t know if you’d want porridge or soup, so I brought both.”

No reply. Just the faint sound of fabric shifting.

He cleared his throat. “Do you… want to try eating something now, or—?”

A muffled hum, head still turned into the pillow.

Est sighed, walked over, and crouched beside the bed. “Hey. You should eat. Just a little. You’ll feel better.”

Glass-brown eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused but still managing to meet his. The look was so tired, so quietly miserable, that Est felt the guilt spike so hard it almost made him wince.

God, had he done this? 

Maybe not the fever, but the way William was shutting down, curled up like he didn’t want to bother anyone — had yesterday pushed him into retreat?

“You don’t have to talk,” Est said softly, “but… will you sit up? Just for a bit?”

Slowly, William pushed himself upright. Est slipped an arm behind his back to steady him, feeling the uncomfortable heat of fever through the thin fabric of his T-shirt.

He could feel his own heart hammering in his chest.

Because the truth was—he didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know if this would make anything better. But standing there, in William’s room, with William looking so small and tired and far away, Est knew one thing with a sharp, aching clarity.

He couldn’t walk away again.

He sat down at the edge of the bed. “Do you have a thermometer?”

William gestured weakly toward the desk drawer. Est fetched it, switched it on, and pressed it gently against William’s temple.

The beep confirmed what his palm had already told him: high fever. Est bit back a curse.

By the time the soup was ready, William had shifted again, his hair falling into his eyes. Est set the bowl down and reached out before he could stop himself, brushing the strands back. His fingers lingered a beat too long.

Est pulled a chair close to the bed and scooped up a spoonful, blowing on it until the steam curled away.

“Here,” he said, holding it out.

William reached for the spoon, but his hand shook faintly, and Est didn’t let go.

“I’ll do it. Your hands are shaking,” he said, moving the spoon forward. “Here.”

There was a flicker of hesitation in William’s expression—something shy, almost vulnerable—before he leaned forward and accepted the bite.

It went on like that, slow and unhurried. Est fed him in small spoonfuls, pausing to let him sip from the water bottle. Every now and then William would glance up, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how, and Est’s chest ached with the weight of it.

The role reversal made Est’s head spin—he was usually the one who kept people at a distance, the one who resisted care. 

And yet here he was, coaxing a fevered William into taking slow, careful sips, murmuring things like, “It’s still warm, careful,” and “Tell me if it’s too hot.”

Est found himself talking—not because William asked, but because the silence felt too heavy.

“Pooh’s been… ridiculous lately,” he started, glancing down at the spoon. “The other day he tried to drag my slipper into his bed like it was some kind of prize. Growled when I took it back. I think he’s plotting against me.”

He didn’t expect a reaction, but when he glanced up, William’s eyes were fixed on him—not fever-glazed now, but softer, like he was listening even if he couldn’t muster the energy to speak.

Est kept going, fumbling for more stories, anything to fill the air. “Yesterday he barked at the laundry basket. I have no idea why. Maybe the smell offended him.”

It wasn’t until movement caught his eye that Est noticed Mochi sitting at the edge of the bed, tail curled neatly around his paws, watching him with a look that could only be described as… judgmental.

Est froze. “Uh… hey.”

He extended his fingers slowly. Mochi blinked at him, then—surprisingly—didn’t move away when he reached him. He let him scratch lightly behind his ear, eyes narrowing in what he could only hope was approval.

And that’s when he heard it—William’s voice, hoarse and scratchy but unmistakable.

“…Mochi likes you.”

Est’s head snapped toward him. William was still watching him, voice faint but carrying that same earnest warmth he always had, even like this. “He doesn’t like everyone.”

The words settled between them like something fragile but important, and Est didn’t trust himself to speak right away.

So instead, he set the cup down, brushed a strand of damp hair from William’s forehead, and said softly, “Guess I’m lucky, then.”

Est refilled his water glass, fussed with his blanket, adjusted the pillow behind his back. Every time he brushed William’s arm, he felt the heat radiating from him, and his chest tightened again.

William obediently finished the rest of the soup, silent the whole time, though his eyes followed Est’s movements in a hazy sort of way. Est found himself talking again, words spilling out to fill the quiet.

“…and then Joong swears he can beat my fifty-meter time, which is ridiculous because he hasn’t touched a pool in months. Daou’s been egging him on, of course. I think they just like watching me get annoyed.” He glanced over. “You’d probably think it’s funny.”

No response. Mochi hopped onto William’s lap, curling against his side like he knew he needed the warmth.

Est kept talking. About practice schedules. About Pooh’s latest habit of sleeping under the bed. About how the vending machine by the business building had finally been fixed. About nothing important at all.

It felt strange, hearing only his own voice. He wasn’t used to it with William. Normally, he had to work to keep up with the boy’s thoughts, his tangents, the way he’d leap from one subject to another with boundless enthusiasm.

Now, William just watched him in that quiet, fever-fogged way.

Est checked the fever reducers, handed William a glass of water, and made sure he swallowed the pills. Then he reached for the washcloth he’d dampened in the bathroom and gently pressed it to William’s forehead.

“Lie down,” Est said quietly.

William didn’t argue. He sank back against the pillows, lashes low over fever-bright eyes. Est soaked the washcloth in cool water from the bathroom, wrung it out, and returned to place it gently against his forehead.

William sighed softly at the touch, like it eased something deep in him.

Est stayed long enough to replace the cloth twice, watching the rise and fall of William’s breathing. 

When he finally stood to take the empty cup and cloth away, a hand closed weakly around his arm.

It wasn’t a tight grip, more like a barely-there anchor. William’s head was still tilted toward the pillow, his eyes half-shut, but his voice came out small, almost fragile.

“…Don’t leave.”

Est froze.

It was barely a whisper. Est froze, looking down to find William staring at him with something raw in his gaze.

“Don’t leave,” he said again, smaller this time.

And in that moment, all the sharp edges inside Est melted.

It was such a simple request, but there was something in it—a thread of uncertainty, like William thought he might be pushed away again.

The guilt that had been simmering in Est’s chest all day swelled until it hurt.

“I’m not leaving,” he said quietly.

William’s mouth curved just barely, and then his eyes slipped shut, his grip loosened, and he drifted toward sleep, the line of his mouth softening. Est stayed, watching the faint crease in his brow smooth out. 

He watched William breathe, slow and steady, until it was obvious he’d fallen asleep. Something in his chest loosened, just a little.

Without thinking, he reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair off William’s forehead. His fingers lingered, tracing lightly over the soft, slightly messy strands.

Mochi chose that moment to hop up onto the bed, curling himself next to Est’s leg. He glanced down at him.

“Your human’s a mess,” he whispered. “I was… mean to him. Said things I shouldn’t have. I hope he gets better soon. And I hope he forgives me.”

Mochi blinked at him, then nudged his head against his arm.

The quiet was soft now, not heavy. The only sounds were William’s breathing, the faint hum of the fan, and Mochi’s purr.

Est’s phone buzzed. A group chat message from Joong:

Practice at 4? You coming?

Daou had sent a gif of someone shrugging.

Est typed back:

Not today.

Something important came up.

He locked his phone without waiting for a reply and glanced back at William. His breathing had evened out completely now, mouth parting slightly in sleep. Est stayed where he was, hand still resting lightly in William’s hair, unwilling to move.

Outside, the afternoon light shifted, shadows stretching across the room. But inside, everything felt still.

For the first time since yesterday, Est let himself breathe a little easier.

Chapter Text

When William woke up, the world felt… slightly less like a fogged mirror.

His body still felt heavy, but not as molten-hot as it had yesterday, but the pounding in his head had eased. He was warm—maybe too warm—but not in that suffocating, fever-boiling way from last night. The air felt fresher, too, like someone had opened the window just enough to let in a soft, lazy breeze.

He blinked at the ceiling, brain trying to boot up like an ancient computer. Bits and pieces of yesterday floated through his mind in no particular order: cold rain, an empty walk back from studio 7, someone peeling off his wet clothes, curling under his blanket with Mochi tucked by his side. 

Then—he thought—someone at the door? 

A blur of warmth and careful hands?

And then… nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing. 

He remembered a voice. 

Low. 

Familiar. 

Too familiar. 

A hand at the back of his head, holding him steady. Something warm—soup?—touching his lips. That same voice telling him to just swallow, it’s fine, you don’t have to move.

But that had to be a dream.

A fever hallucination. 

Because no way—in no possible universe—would Est Supha Sangaworawong, aka the most composed, aloof black cat, and heart-attack-inducing swimmer William had ever met, have actually been in his room spoon-feeding him like some… drama scene.

Right?

William groaned quietly and buried his face in his pillow. His brain clearly enjoyed tormenting him, creating fantasy scenarios so vivid he could still feel the ghost of Est’s touch. He’d probably imagined the whole thing just to make himself feel better.

For a moment, he lay still, letting the quiet sink in.

Then—quiet wasn’t quite right.

There was a sound.

A voice. Low, steady, and oddly… calm.

And then—he heard it.

Not the voice in his head this time. 

A real voice.

Low.

Even.

Talking.

“…and then she just dropped it in the pool. Pooh’s favorite ball. I had to jump in after it or he wouldn’t stop barking. He’s… stubborn like that. You’d probably like him. Or maybe you’d glare at him like that, too.”

William froze. His ears strained toward the sound, his brows furrowed, confusion slipping through the haze.

That voice.

That voice wasn’t in his head. 

That voice was here.

And he knew that voice. 

It was Phi Est’s voice.

Very slowly, he turned his head on the pillow.

And there—sitting casually at his desk like he owned the place—was Phi Est.

That was… impossible, right? 

He must still be fever-dreaming. 

Because Est Supha Sangaworawong was not sitting at his desk, leaning forward on his elbows, talking to—

Talking to Mochi.

What?

Yes, Mochi, who was perched on the desk in his usual loaf position, staring up at Est with the most unimpressed, grumpy-old-man expression in his arsenal. A true resting bitch face you could say.

He must have died in the night. 

That was the only explanation.

Because this was not real.

“And he got so worked up he wouldn’t eat dinner,” Est continued, elbows resting lightly on his knees as he leaned toward the cat. “I swear, sometimes I think Pooh thinks he’s the one taking care of me.”

Mochi blinked, slow and judgmental.

William’s brain short-circuited.

Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.

Fever hallucination, round two. 

No way this was real. No way Est was actually sitting in his dorm room in his soft grey hoodie, hair slightly mussed like he had ran a hand through it too many times, calmly talking to Mochi about his golden retriever.

“You’re even moodier than Pooh,” Est went on, voice faintly amused, “at least he lets me pet him sometimes. You’ve been glaring at me for an hour.”

William just stared, still half-tucked in his blanket, unsure if moving would shatter this strange, too-perfect image. His fever-addled brain whispered: hallucination. Had to be. Est wouldn’t actually be here, talking to Mochi of all things, telling stories about his dog like—like…he belonged. Especially after yesterday.

Still, he didn’t say anything. 

Just watched. 

Est didn’t seem to notice—until, as if pulled by some invisible thread, Est’s gaze flicked upward mid-sentence.

And their eyes met.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then Est blinked once, twice—and promptly stood up like someone had just hit an alarm. In three strides, he was at William’s bedside.

“You’re awake,” he said, his tone somewhere between relieved and brisk. He reached out without hesitation, placing a cool hand against William’s forehead. “Fever’s down… but not by much.”

William’s brain still wasn’t catching up. His mouth opened, then closed again. 

Phi Est was here. 

Touching him. 

Talking to him. 

This wasn’t some warped dream. 

Or maybe William had finally achieved some magical abilities to conjure up Est. Yes, that was exactly the only possibility. The only explanation. 

William had officially gone mad. Crazy. 

Est straightened slightly. “Do you want some water? Or food? You should try eating—”

William still didn’t answer. He just stared, confusion swirling around his head like fog.

Est’s brow furrowed. “Hey. Are you okay?” His voice softened, but there was an edge of worry creeping in. “Does something hurt? You feel dizzy? Should I—”

“Phi Est,” William croaked suddenly, cutting him off.

Est paused. “…What?”

“You’re… really here?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Something in Est’s expression shifted. The worry melted—just a little—into something quieter. Gentler. He pulled the chair from the desk and sat beside the bed, his knees brushing the side.

“I’ve been here since noon,” Est said, almost offhandedly, as if that wasn’t a fact that would completely derail William’s ability to think. “You were out cold. I gave you medicine. You ate a little.”

“You’ve been here… since noon?” William repeated.

“I texted you in the morning. You didn’t answer. I… looked around campus, checked Studio 7. Your friends told me you got caught in the rain yesterday. You didn’t look good.” Est’s voice hesitated, the faintest flicker of guilt in it. “So I came.”

William’s mind tried to backtrack, piecing together scraps of fevered memory.

His brain was still catching up. 

William’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Ate?”

Est’s lips pressed together like he was debating whether to elaborate. “Soup,” he finally admitted.

“Did you…” His voice cracked a little. “…feed me soup?”

What was going on?

William’s mouth dropped open. “…You fed me soup?”

And—oh. Oh, was that the faintest blush on Phi Est’s cheeks?

Est looked away, pretending to inspect the blanket. “You couldn’t hold the spoon properly.”

William grinned despite himself, the warmth in his chest spreading faster than the fever ever could. “So… you spoon-fed me.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s such a big deal,” William countered, his voice still hoarse but tinged with laughter. “I’m starting to think maybe I got sick on purpose.”

Est rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached over to adjust the blanket around William’s shoulders. “Don’t joke about that. You were shivering when I got here.”

William’s smile softened. “So it wasn’t a dream.”

“No,” Est said simply.

They sat in a comfortable quiet for a moment, only broken by the faint rustle of Mochi hopping down from the desk and padding toward the bed. He leapt up, circled once, and settled himself against William’s side, still giving Est a look that screamed you better not steal my human.

Est noticed and smirked faintly. “Your cat hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” William said, stroking Mochi’s back. “He’s just… possessive. And grumpy. And maybe jealous that you were telling her about Pooh instead of me.”

Est actually chuckled—quiet, but real. “Pooh’s easier to talk to than you. He doesn’t interrupt.”

William gasped dramatically, then coughed. “Wow. Attacked in my own bed.”

The corner of Est’s mouth curved just enough to give him away. “You should eat again. Wait here, I’ll get some porridge.”

“You’re bossy when you’re worried, Phi.”

William watched him disappear into the tiny kitchenette, the sounds of a pot lid and faint clinking filling the air. The scent of something warm and sweet began to drift over—Est must have added sugar or honey. William sank back into his pillow, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment.

When Est came back, he had a steaming bowl and a careful look, like William might vanish if he wasn’t steady enough. He sat on the edge of the bed without asking, blowing lightly over the spoon before offering it to William. “Here you go. It’s not too hot now. Sit up.”

William leaned further back dramatically against his pillow. “Still too weak,” he sighed, closing his eyes for maximum effect. “Guess you’ll have to feed me again.”

Est gave him a look that could curdle milk. “…You can hold a spoon.”

“But I might drop it.”

“Then eat slowly.”

William cracked one eye open, letting his lip jut out just slightly. “You’re really going to deny a sick person?”

Est’s sigh was long, suffering, and entirely put-on. “…Fine. But only so you don’t spill it all over your bed.”

Victory. Sweet, spoon-fed victory.

As Est sat and scooped up the first spoonful, William decided this was possibly the best fever of his life.

Est held the spoon out, and William watched him—not the porridge, not the steam, but him. Est, in William’s space, moving around like he belonged here, talking like it was normal.

“You’re looking at me weird,” Est muttered, not meeting his eyes.

Every time the spoon touched his lips, he pretended to be just slow enough that Est would have to linger, hand steady, waiting for him to finish.

When the bowl was halfway empty, William caught himself staring at the way Est blew lightly on each spoonful before offering it over. His brain supplied no witty commentary—just the quiet, almost overwhelming awareness that this was real. Phi Est was here. Taking care of him.

They went on like that for a few minutes—Est coaxing, William eating, the porridge sweetened just enough to make it soothing. 

At some point, Est started talking again, about how Pooh had once stolen a loaf of bread from the counter, about how finals were exhausting this year, about nothing in particular. It filled the space in a way that made William feel warm in places the fever hadn’t touched.

“You texted me,” William said quietly, somewhere between bites.

“I did. And I checked the library, the benches near the East pool… Studio 7 was my last stop before I came here.”

William blinked at him, then remembered—yesterday.

The look on Est’s face when William had invited him to Café Blue. The words that had followed. The rain. His breakdown afterwards.

“Did you…skip your practice?” William began slowly.

“I did.”

“But—you— you never skip practice.”

“This time I did.” Est’s voice was steady, like he wasn’t going to explain more than that.

They didn’t say anything for a while after that.

Est set the empty bowl on the nightstand, reached for the damp cloth he’d been using earlier, and laid it against William’s forehead.

William frowned at the coolness, but Est’s hand lingered, keeping it there. 

And then, quietly, Est started, “When I first won the gold, everyone said it was luck. How could a freshman come and defeat senior swimmers? People with more experience. More practice. So I won it again next year to prove it wasn’t luck. I had no idea that it would set such a big fire.”

William blinked up at him.

Est’s voice wavered for a fraction of a second before it steadied again. “Now…the third time, it’s like all anyone expects. I know that I don't owe these people anything. Yet…I guess I got stuck replaying their words.”

Est looked away, his hand moving away from William’s forehead. 

“Despite all of this, it’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you yesterday. It was my fault. I was wrong. About everything. I—I shouldn’t have said all that. I was confused and hurt. One day you were everywhere and suddenly you vanished. I thought maybe it was because of me.” 

“I know you were stressed,” William said softly. “And I… I kinda thought maybe everyone was right.”

Est frowned. “Right about what?”

William exhaled slowly. “Some people said I might distract you. That I’d make you… lose focus before the meet. And I—” he stopped, looking down at his hands. “I thought maybe they were right. So I decided to give you space. Let you… not deal with me for a bit. I know I can be a bit…too much.”

Est’s brow furrowed, but his voice stayed steady. “That’s not—” He cut himself off, then sighed. “William.”

“I’m not saying I believed them,” William said quickly, eyes flicking up. “I just… didn’t want to risk it. You’ve worked so hard for this. I didn’t want to be the reason something went wrong.”

“I get too…clingy. I thought I was annoying you. Being too much” William gave a small shrug, eyes fixed on the blanket pooled over his legs. “So I figured maybe giving you space was better. Even if I didn’t… want to.”

Est was quiet for a beat, the kind of silence that felt heavy but not empty. Then he exhaled. 

“I never want you thinking you’re a distraction. As I have said before, you have never ever been a distraction. Or too much. You’re not.” His voice softened, almost hesitant. “You’re not clingy or annoying. I’m sorry if I made you think all this.”

William looked up — and Est’s expression was steady, his gaze clear in that way that always seemed to pin him in place.

There was a beat of silence. Then Est repeated, “You’re not a distraction. Especially not to me.”

The words landed heavier than they should have, soft but certain. William looked at him for a long moment, then nodded, some of the tightness in his chest loosening.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The air between them was warm, not from fever, but from something quieter.

William’s voice was steady when he spoke. “Gold or no gold, you’ll always be Phi Est to me.”

Est looked at him then, and William held his gaze. “And no matter what you say, I won’t ever let you push me away. You’re not a phase. You’re worth all the effort.”

They didn’t press the topic further. The cracks would slowly fill with time. 

Eventually, Est shifted, tucking the blanket more snugly around him. “Sleep. I’ll be here.”

William’s body felt heavier by the second, but his mind clung to wakefulness. “…You mean it?”

“I mean it.”

And that was enough.

William fell asleep to the faint weight of the towel on his forehead, the steady sound of Est’s breathing nearby, and the hazy thought that if this was a fever dream, he never wanted to wake up.

⸻

The room was dim when William’s eyes blinked open again, the edges of the curtains glowing faintly with the last light of evening. His head felt lighter than before—still warm, but not boiling—and the hazy cotton of fever had thinned enough for him to string thoughts together without losing them halfway.

And the first thought that stuck was this:

He’s still here.

Est Supha Sangaworawong was sitting at the desk, not scrolling his phone, not lost in his own world, but leaning back in William’s creaky chair with Mochi sprawled across his lap like some tiny, overfed emperor. One of Est’s hands rested on Mochi’s side, the other lazily tapping at the desk in rhythm with whatever song must be playing in his head.

William laid there for a moment, just watching. Partly because moving still felt like too much work, partly because—well, he could get used to this view.

When Est glanced over and noticed his eyes open, the shift was immediate. “You’re awake again,” he said, voice softer than William remembered it being yesterday.

William blinked at him slowly, “I… think so?”

Est sat down at the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out automatically toward William’s forehead, just like earlier. His palm was cool, steady, and the sudden closeness made William’s brain fizzle into static.. 

William’s brain finally caught up enough to mumble, “Phi Est… you’re really stayed?”

That made Est blink, and then his expression softened in a way that made William want to hide under his blanket just to recover.

“I told you I’d be here when you wake up,” Est added, standing.

William blinked up at him. “You actually meant it.”

Est ignored the comment in favor of pressing a digital thermometer to his head. “Better,” he confirmed after a beep. “Still not perfect, but much better.”

Before William could bask too much in that, Est was already moving toward the little kitchenette. “I’m reheating the porridge.”

William made a face. “Porridge again? I’m not a hospital patient.”

“You’re sick.” Est didn’t even glance over his shoulder. “Sick people need sick people food.”

William groaned into his pillow. “I want something good. Do I have to eat porridge?”

“Yes, and I added more honey this time,” Est said, finally glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t make that face. You need the energy.”

“I wasn’t making a face,” William lied — badly.

Est’s lips curved, the tiniest smirk. “You always make a face. You’ll get watermelon slices after the porridge.”

William’s head popped up. “…Watermelon?”

“And juice.” Est’s voice was maddeningly casual, like he didn’t just dangle the keys to William’s compliance right in front of him.

William narrowed his eyes. “What kind of juice?”

“The one you carry around in your bag all the time,” Est replied. “I bought a pack.”

Well.

That was unfair.

Unreasonably thoughtful, even.

William sank back down, trying—and failing—to hide the way his chest went warm at the thought of Phi Est knowing exactly which juice he liked.

By the time Est came back, a small tray balanced in his hands, William had convinced himself that maybe porridge wasn’t the worst fate in the world.

“Here,” Est said, setting the tray across William’s lap.

The porridge steamed faintly, smelling better than it had any right to, and the watermelon was cut into neat, bite-sized pieces. The juice box sat like a trophy to the side.

William poked at the bowl with his spoon. “This looks… tolerable.”

Est gave him a flat look. “Eat.”

William let out a suffering sigh, then—because he couldn’t resist—leaned back slightly and asked with a straight face, “Are you going to feed me again?”

Est gave him a look that could have been exasperation or amusement. “You’re not that weak.”

“I might be,” William said, deliberately leaning his head against his pillow like lifting the spoon himself would drain the last of his strength. “Better safe than sorry. Phi Est… I feel too tired to lift the spoon.”

Est’s brow arched. “You just picked it up.”

“I dropped it.” William let the spoon clatter lightly onto the tray. “See? No strength left.”

Est stared at him for a long moment. “…You want me to feed you again.”

William didn’t say yes. He just looked at Est with the most pitiful golden-retriever eyes he could muster.

A sigh—long, suffering, but not entirely without fondness. “You’re impossible.”

Yet, Est picked the spoon back up anyway, blowing gently on the first scoop before holding it out. William leaned forward, pretending to be reluctant, but inside his head it was chaos.

He’s feeding me again. This is happening. I’m not hallucinating. I am being spoon-fed by Phi Est again and it’s—

“Don’t smile like that while you’re eating,” Est said, voice dry.

“I’m not smiling.” William’s lips curved around the spoon.

“You are.”

And so it went: William dragging out each bite like it required monumental effort, Est alternating between exasperated little huffs and the kind of quiet patience that made William’s insides feel too warm.

When the porridge was done, William was finally rewarded with the watermelon and juice. He drank the juice slowly, almost theatrically, just to make Est watch him enjoy it.

Then came the dreaded part.

Est held out the packet of medicine. “Take this.”

William immediately frowned. “I hate that flavor.”

“You need it.”

“I’m allergic to bad-tasting things,” William tried.

Est’s brows rose. “You’re going to take it.”

“It tastes awful,” William protested, shaking his head like a stubborn kid. “Every time I take that I regret being alive for at least ten minutes.”

“You’re dramatic,” Est said flatly, holding it out with the kind of steady patience that was somehow scarier than anger.

William didn’t take it.

Est stared at him for three full seconds before saying, “Fine. I’ll make you a deal. You take this now, and I’ll… I don’t know… I’ll show you a picture of Pooh in his puppy days.”

William blinked. “…You’re bribing me with baby dog pictures?”

“Yes. And you’re going to fall for it.”

William folded his arms. “Just one photo of Pooh?”

Est hesitated. “…Two…?”

William’s brows shot up. “Three and I’ll do it without complaining.”

“Two and I’ll sit here while you fall asleep later.”

That was—well, that was actually better than the photos. William caved instantly. “Deal.”

William  popped the pill into his mouth, chasing it down with water before he could think too hard. He made a face, shuddering exaggeratedly. “That was disgusting. Where’s my reward?”

Est pulled out his phone without a word, scrolling before handing it over. William took it carefully, as if the device contained state secrets. The photos that appeared were of a fluffy golden retriever puppy, ears too big for his head, gazing at the camera with bright, trusting eyes.

William’s heart melted instantly. “…Okay, fine. Worth it.”

And then came the wet towel.

“No,” William said flatly when Est approached with it. “I’m not a kid, Phi.”

Est just looked at him.

William wilted immediately. “…Fine.”

The towel was cool against his forehead, and as much as he wanted to keep protesting, he couldn’t deny it felt good. Mochi, having relocated to the bed’s edge, gave a little chirp, and Est absentmindedly reached out to scratch under his chin.

They ended up talking—light things at first. Mochi’s grumpy expressions, Pooh’s strange habit of sleeping on top of laundry, the way finals always turned the campus into a ghost town after dark.

And somewhere between the bickering about whether cats or dogs were more dramatic (they both accused the other’s pet of being the champion drama king), William realized that being sick had turned into an excuse. An excuse to have Est here, close, fussing, caring in ways he never had before.

He was on cloud nine. Fever or no fever.

By the time the conversation quieted, William’s eyelids felt heavy again. The towel was still cool, Est’s presence still steady at his side.

The rest of the afternoon blurred into a kind of soft, unhurried domesticity.

Est refused to let William get up for anything. When William protested that he could feed Mochi himself, Est simply said, “You’re contagious. I’ll handle it,” and bent down to scoop a grumbling Mochi into his arms.

Mochi, of course, tolerated it only because it was Phi Est.

William watched from bed as Est moved around his small space with practised ease — refilling Mochi’s bowl, making tea, fetching a fresh blanket from the chair and draping it over William’s legs without comment. 

Every little gesture worked like stitches, closing up the tiny cracks left over from the previous day.

By the time evening settled in, the dorm was lit only by the warm glow of William’s desk lamp. Est had coaxed him into another cup of tea, adjusted the blanket twice, and sat by his side scrolling quietly while Mochi curled up between them.

At some point, William’s eyelids grew heavy, but he didn’t want to sleep — didn’t want to waste even a second of this.

Eventually, Est glanced over, thinking him asleep. With a softness that almost hurt to witness, he eased himself up, gathering the empty mugs and the bowl from earlier. He padded to the kitchenette, the faint clink of ceramic barely audible.

William cracked one eye open. From his vantage point, he could see Est standing at the sink, sleeves pushed up again, washing each dish with careful, deliberate movements, as if the goal was to make no sound at all.

Then his phone buzzed.

Est dried his hands and answered in a low voice. “Hey, Joong.” A pause. “Yeah, I couldn’t make it. I had… something important to do.”

William’s throat tightened.

The call was short, and before William could process it, the phone buzzed again.

Est’s voice shifted subtly — warmer now. “Hi, Ma.” He listened for a moment, then chuckled under his breath. “Yes, I made it.” His gaze flicked instinctively toward the bed, as if checking William was still asleep. “No, he’s resting. I’ll call you later.”

He hung up, rinsed the last dish, and dried his hands again before returning quietly to the chair beside the bed.

William kept his eyes shut, but his heart felt impossibly full — not just from being taken care of, but from realising that Est had been here, the whole day, not because he felt guilty, not because he was obligated… but because he wanted to be. Because he’d chosen to be.

And in that small, golden moment, William thought maybe — just maybe — he wasn’t just getting better from the fever. He was healing from yesterday, too.

⸻

The room was quiet when William blinked awake again, a slow, groggy kind of waking that felt like swimming up through thick, warm water. 

For a second, he lay there, breathing in the warmth of his blankets, half-wondering if he’d dreamed the entire day.

But then, the faint traces of memory began to surface: Est’s voice, calm but firm; the taste of warm porridge; the faint sting of bitter medicine; the way his hand had lingered just a moment too long on William’s forehead.

William’s lips curved without him meaning to, a smile tugging lazily across his face. Did that actually happen? Or did he just hallucinate the whole thing?

He reached up to rub his eyes and felt the soft weight of his blankets against his skin, the faint tickle of Mochi’s fur somewhere nearby.

He pushed himself up slowly, head still heavy, and reached for his phone on the nightstand. It wasn’t where he’d left it. Instead, it sat neatly atop a folded towel, a cool glass of water beside it, and… a small square of paper.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, William picked up the note first.

The handwriting was neat but casual, leaning just enough to the right to feel human and unpracticed.

William,

Drink the water and take the medicine when you wake up. I left some extra porridge in the fridge—heat it before eating.

Call me if you need anything.

Message me when you wake up.

—Est

P.S. Mochi has been fed. Again. He glared at me the whole time. I think he likes me.

William stared at the postscript for a long moment, blinking, trying to figure out why his chest was suddenly racing. 

Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face so wide it hurt his cheeks. He held the note delicately, like it was something fragile, something sacred, before setting it gently down on the blanket in front of him.

His phone lit up at his touch—fully charged.

Of course.

Of course Phi Est would have remembered to charge it.

Of course he would.

William let out a soft, scratchy laugh that turned into a cough, reaching automatically for the glass of water. He sipped slowly, letting the cool liquid trickle down his throat. Somehow, even the simplest thing—the taste of water—felt infused with care, and it made him grin again.

At the edge of the bed, Mochi sat, tail curled neatly around his paws, the perfect little loaf of judgment and smugness. The cat’s ears twitched as William’s hand hovered near him.

“Hey, Mochi… did you like him?” William rasped, his voice still rough from the fever.

Mochi blinked slowly, unimpressed, then hopped onto the bed and curled up against William’s hip.

“He took care of you, didn’t he? Fed you, even though you gave him the evil eye.” His voice was soft, almost reverent. “And he took care of me. Like—really took care of me. Soup, medicine, the works. He even made sure my phone didn’t die. Mochi, do you know what that means?”

Mochi’s eyes narrowed at him as if saying, you have no idea what you’re in for.

“It means… I am actually so gone for this guy,” William whispered, letting the words fall across the blankets like confessions in the dark. “Like… head over heels. Gone. Doomed. The…serious kind.”

His eyes flicked back to the phone. The screen glowed with unread messages from LYKN, all suspiciously quiet since he’d been knocked out by the fever. He tilted his head, thumbs hovering.

LYKN

Lego: 

Bro, did Phi Est come over? 

You dead?

Nut: 

👀

Hong: 

Spill

Tui: 

Don’t ignore the question, rockstar

William: 

maybe

Hong: 

MAYBE?? WHAT DOES MAYBE MEAN

maybe you’re dead? Or maybe phi est came????

Lego: 

in lawyer terms that’s a yes

Nut: 

in normal terms that’s also a yes

William: 

Fine

Yes

He came over

Got me food. 

Made me take medicine. 

Charged my phone. 

Even fed mochi.

Tui: 

oh he’s husband material

Hong: 

after everything, that’s literally the least he could do

Lego: 

still

THIS IS GOOD.

Nut: 

are you in love yet

yes or yes

William: 

shut up

ok yes maybe

Hong: 

M A Y B E

He set the phone aside, shaking his head, smiling faintly at their chaos. 

William felt his chest tighten with something akin to awe. His body still ached, his throat was raw, but the edges of the day felt smoothed out. 

The jagged anxiety and frustration of yesterday had been soothed by Est’s quiet, persistent care. Every small act, from spoon-feeding him porridge to charging his phone, to even keeping Mochi fed, carried a warmth that settled over him like a soft blanket, both literal and emotional.

He reached for the note again, tracing the familiar letters of Est’s name with his thumb. “You’re not supposed to be this perfect, Phi Est,” he murmured, letting the words tumble softly into the quiet room. Mochi purred, nudging against his hand, a small, approving vibration.

William leaned back against the pillow, curling tighter, Mochi nestled against his side. The group chat notifications buzzed faintly, but he ignored them, letting the warmth from Phi Est’s care spread through his limbs, through his chest, and finally, through his mind.

William let out a soft, contented sigh, curling further into his blankets, Mochi tucked comfortably by his side. His body was still worn out, but his heart felt surprisingly full, and he went back to sleep. 

The day had felt like a storm—loud, unrelenting, impossible to predict.

Est Supha was not someone who lost control easily. 

Years of discipline from swimming, from business lectures, from family expectations—he had built his entire life around control. 

William was sick. 

The guilt Est had been nursing collapsed into panic. 

First time in years, Est felt as if he had lost control of the narrative. 

⸻

The entire evening blurred: coaxing William to eat, holding the spoon steady, watching him grimace like a child at medicine. Est remembered how he had caught himself smiling—actually smiling—at William’s dramatics. His golden retriever energy had been dimmed by fever, but his spark remained.

It softened something in Est. Against his own expectations, he found himself wanting to make William feel cared for.

⸻

Now, hours later, Est sat on the edge of William’s bed in the quiet room. The rain had long since stopped, leaving only the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle of the cat—Mochi—moving across the desk.

William was asleep again, breathing evenly, face relaxed. The fever had broken a little. Est had checked twice (or maybe seven separate times) already, but he still reached over to brush his knuckles against William’s temple, just to be sure.

Warm, but not burning. Relief spread through him.

He sat back, exhaling quietly. The whirlwind of the day pressed against his chest. From guilt to worry, from worry to this strange tenderness—he didn’t know when William had begun to occupy so much of his headspace.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “You’re ridiculous,” he whispered under his breath, looking at the sleeping boy. 

His phone buzzed. Est startled, quickly stepping into the corner of the room to avoid waking William.

“Mae,” he whispered, answering.

His mother’s warm voice came through, concerned. “Est, are you home? You sound tired. Did you eat?”

“I ate,” he assured her softly.

“And your friend?” she asked. “How’s everything?”

Est hesitated, glancing toward the bed. William’s hair was a messy halo across the pillow. “He’s… sleeping now. Fever. But it’s better.”

“Did you cook? Was it okay?” she asked with a smile in her voice.

“I made it,” Est said quietly, surprising even himself with the ease of the confession. “He complained. Said it was sick people food. But he ate anyway.”

His mother chuckled. “He must trust you, then.”

Est didn’t answer. His chest tightened at her words. Trust. That was exactly it. Even flushed with fever, William had let him feed him, had leaned into his presence without hesitation.

“Tell him I hope he feels better,” his mother added gently.

“I will,” Est said.

They hung up, and Est stood still for a moment, the weight of his mother’s simple kindness settling in him. He didn’t usually talk about people to her—not classmates, not friends. But William had slipped past his guard.

⸻

Returning to the desk, Est quietly set about small tasks. He found William’s phone nearly dead, so he plugged it into the charger. He refilled the glass of water. He folded the damp towel he’d used earlier. He moved with care, almost absurdly cautious about making noise.

⸻

Before leaving, Est wrote the note carefully, folding it once and tucking it by the glass of water. He almost erased the P.S. about Mochi, but something made him keep it.

He turned back to the bed. William stirred faintly, turning onto his side. His lips parted, a soft breath escaping. The boy looked younger like this, without the mischief in his eyes, without the endless energy. Vulnerable.

Est sat down carefully on the edge of the bed again, telling himself he was just making sure William stayed under the blanket. But his hand moved before his brain could stop it—fingers brushing through William’s hair, gentle, slow.

William sighed in his sleep, leaning slightly into the touch. Est froze, heart thudding. Then, almost against his own will, he let his hand linger a moment longer.

Soft. Warm. Too much.

He pulled back, staring at his own hand like it had betrayed him.

What was happening to him?

He had told himself this was just about guilt. About responsibility. But sitting here, watching William sleep peacefully, feeling the weight in his chest ease—Est knew it wasn’t that simple.

Somewhere between the cat pictures, the loud cheers at the pool, and the way William had smiled at him even while sick and miserable… Est had begun to melt.

He stood finally, forcing himself to step back. He picked up his bag, cast one last glance at the boy curled beneath the blanket, and whispered so quietly it was almost inaudible:

“Sleep well, William.”

Then he slipped out into the hall, closing the door with care.

⸻

Walking back through the quiet campus, Est realized the whirlwind of the day had left him both exhausted and strangely light. The guilt was still there, but softened. William had forgiven him, in his own way—not with words, but with the easy trust of letting Est take care of him.

Est shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head back toward the night sky.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or how he was supposed to handle the mess of feelings unraveling inside him. But for the first time, he didn’t feel the urge to push them away immediately.

For now, it was enough to know that William was sleeping soundly, safe, with Mochi guarding him. 

William was not used to this much attention from one person.

Correction: he was not used to this much attention from Phi Est.

Est had been relentless all week. The moment he woke up the next morning after his fever broke, his phone was already pinging. 

Est 🦈:

Have you eaten yet?

Don’t forget your medicine.

Water. Not coffee.

It’s raining today. Don’t even think about going outside.

Send proof you’re resting.

The messages arrived one after another, timestamped five minutes apart. As if Est had paced around his room and sent them slowly, reluctantly, like each one had to fight its way out of him.

He sat up against the pillows, hair sticking out in every possible direction, rereading the messages like some starved romantic hero. Mochi padded up the bed, plopping himself right onto his stomach, eyes narrowed in feline judgment.

William grinned down at him. “He’s bossy, Mochi,” he said softly, scratching behind his ear. “But you like him, don’t you? I saw you. No hissing. That’s like… Mochi-level love confession.”

Mochi purred, which William took as irrefutable proof.

He coughed once, reached for his juice box, and typed back:

William 🎸:

Just woke up to the most beautiful sight. Your concern.

I’m alive. Barely. But I ate half a croissant.

Does that count?

The reply came faster than expected.

Est 🦈:

No. Eat real food.

Croissant is not lunch.

William chuckled, rolling onto his back. His entire body hurt, but his heart? His heart was thriving.

William 🎸 :

Okay okay!

I’ll have porridge. Again.

Just for you 🥺

Est 🦈:

I’m not a reason to eat.

Health is.

William 🎸:

But you’re such a good reason though 😳

Motivation unlocked.

He could almost hear Est sigh through the screen. But the typing bubble returned, and this time, the message came with a weight that made William sit up a little straighter.

Est 🦈:

Don’t get sick again.

And don’t walk in the rain next time.

William blinked. Heart tripping over itself.

They were simple words. But from Phi Est? That was basically a handwritten love letter.

He clutched the phone to his chest, grinning so hard his face hurt.

⸻

William had tried to ask the next day if he could come by the pool — just to watch — and Est had shut him down immediately.

Est 🦈: 

No.

William 🎸: 

why 🥺

Est 🦈: 

You’re still recovering.

Rest.

William 🎸: 

but I miss the pool

Est 🦈: 

.

really 😑

William 🎸: 

😌

⸻

Denied, William got creative.

If he couldn’t go to the pool, he could at least send himself there in spirit.

That afternoon, Santa and Perth stopped by his dorm to check in on him.

“Brought snacks,” Santa said, holding up a bag.

“And I brought you these.” Perth handed over another bag, but William’s grin turned downright mischievous.

“Actually… you’re both my delivery people now, Phi.”

“What?”

William dragged out a box from under his desk — neatly packed with juice boxes, snacks, and small containers of cut fruit, all covered in bright stickers and little post-it notes with motivational doodles.

Santa peered inside. “You’re sending this to Phi Est?”

“Yes,” William said cheerfully, scribbling one last “Swim fast, Phi 🐬💙” note before taping the box. “Since he won’t let me see him, he can’t stop me from sending moral support.”

Perth smirked. “You’re whipped.”

William beamed. “Absolutely.”

⸻

Later, at the campus pool, Est was alone in the locker room. His practice had ended minutes ago, and the messages had started arriving, each one a tiny, bright ripple in the otherwise quiet evening.

William 🎸:

I miss the pool.

Do you miss me sitting there being useless?

Est 🦈:

You were not that useless. 

Just… loud.

William 🎸:

That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever received. 💖

You didn’t miss me, huh?

Est 🦈:

…

Maybe a little.

William nearly combusted. Seventeen different replies typed, deleted, retyped—he finally settled on one:

William 🎸:

Permission to visit you tomorrow?

Est 🦈:

No.

Stay home. You’re still sick.

William 🎸:

Did you get the snacks that i sent?

care package specially for Phi Est 🤭

Did Phi Santa give them to you?

Est stared at the screen, trying to focus on the stack of bags that Perth and Santa had delivered earlier that morning.

A sticky note screamed “DO NOT EAT UNTIL PHI EST HAS ONE!!”, complete with three glittery smiley faces. Inside: protein bars, mini cakes, fruits, cans of peach soda, juice boxes, and a small packet of spicy seaweed Joong had immediately claimed.

The moment he unwrapped the first bar, Joong and Daou pounced.

Est barely had time to lift his phone before snapping a quick selfie. Perth and Santa were crouched on the floor, cans of soda in hand, Joong with the spicy seaweed, Daou holding juice boxes in both hands, and the corner of his lips lifted into a rare, genuine smile.

Click. The picture sent itself before he could overthink it.

Est 🦈:

They attacked the bag.

I tried to stop them.

William 🎸:

OMG LOOK AT YOU

Are you SMILING???

Is this my impact?????

Est felt heat crawl up his neck. 

He didn’t answer. 

Instead, his mind drifted back over the day. The texts, the careful pacing, the way William had sent him snacks even though he had been sick… all of it had tugged at something he refused to name. 

Not guilt this time. 

Something warmer, more tangled, that made his chest ache softly. 

Est had been sitting in the corner of the locker room for too long, towel still draped around his shoulders, phone balanced loosely in his hands. His hair was damp, but he hadn’t bothered to dry it fully. 

He couldn’t—not when his phone kept buzzing, and every buzz pulled at his lips in a way he was trying (and failing) to control.

William 🎸:

drank the gross medicine.

are you proud of me 😷

Est 🦈:

You’re supposed to.

William 🎸:

but it tastes like sadness.

Est 🦈:

Drink water.

William 🎸:

already did.

also Mochi glared at me bc I sneezed too loud.

betrayal in its purest form.

Est 🦈:

You probably deserve it.

William 🎸:

ouch.

phi est is cruel 😭

Est’s fingers hovered, and before he realized it, he was typing back.

Est 🦈:

Rest.

Stop texting me every two minutes.

William 🎸:

can’t. might die of loneliness.

Est 🦈:

You’re dramatic.

William 🎸:

yet you’re still replying tho 👀

A smile tugged, traitorous and soft, at the corner of Est’s mouth. He quickly pressed the phone closer to his chest, as if shielding it from view.

That’s exactly when Joong’s voice cut through.

“You’ve been smiling at your phone for the past thirty minutes,” Joong said, leaning against the lockers with his usual smirk.

“I haven’t,” Est replied immediately, too sharp, too quick. His fingers tightened around the device.

“You have,” Daou added, raising an eyebrow as he tugged at his swim cap. “It’s… getting weird. You didn’t even notice us coming in.”

Est looked at them, face tightening. “…He’s still sick.”

“Uh-huh,” Joong drawled.

“I was just checking in,” Est muttered.

“Sure,” Daou said.

“I’m just being… polite.”

“Definitely,” Joong answered, the sarcasm dripping.

Est’s phone buzzed again. Against his better judgment, he looked.

William 🎸:

ate the porridge Phi Santa made.

wasn’t as good as Phi Est’s cooking tho.

His chest gave a little jump, and he quickly locked the screen. But the smile had already betrayed him.

Joong leaned in closer. “Est. Be honest.”

Est sighed, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. “…He’s been… sending me snacks, checking if I ate… if I’m okay. I… I don’t know why I let it make me smile this much. Especially after…everything.”

“You like him,” Joong said, grinning like a cat with cream. “It’s okay.”

Est frowned. He wanted to argue. Wanted to deny. But his chest was warm, his heart thudding in a way he couldn’t fight. “…I—I don’t know… Maybe.” 

Joong clapped him on the back. “Welcome to the club.”

“What club?” Est asked warily.

“The club of people who like William.”

“Very exclusive,” Daou added, smirking. “You’re the only member.”

Est groaned, burying his face in his hands. But beneath the embarrassment, there was that soft warmth again—undeniable, spreading through him like sunlight he couldn’t shut out.

That night, lying on his bed, Est couldn’t stop replaying the past couple of days. 

The texts, the small notes, the meticulous care he’d taken to leave William’s phone charged, the careful feeding of Mochi, the gentle way he had smoothed the blanket around him… all of it kept circling. 

He realized the guilt of lashing out had faded. This wasn't an obligation. 

Not anymore. 

It was something else. 

Something he didn’t want to name yet.

Something more.

He called Joong and Daou, needing both the teasing and the reassurance. The conversation stretched long into the night.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Joong said, but his tone held warmth. “HE LITERALLY WAVES AT YOU LIKE A LOST GOLDEN RETRIEVER.”

“I just—” Est rubbed his eyes. “People don’t like me like that. He’s… bright. He’s William. He likes everyone.”

“Yeah,” Daou said gently. “But he likes you different.”

“I don’t think so,” Est mumbled.

“You’re not scared he doesn’t like you,” Joong said. “You’re scared he does.”

Est didn’t respond.

Not because they were wrong.

But because maybe, just maybe…

They weren’t.

“I’m not scared,” he mumbled.

“You so are.”

“Est. You’re the guy who once skipped an entire CLASS because a girl gave you a compliment you didn’t know how to process,” Daou replied. 

“That was one time.”

“That was every time.” Joong had mumbled again.

“You hate being the center of attention unless it’s for swimming. And even then, you get twitchy when people make it too personal.”

Est quietly replied,“It’s not just that.” He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, voice muffled by his pillow now.

“He’s amazing. Like… sunshine personified. He’s loud and chaotic and warm and somehow he just—sees me. And it’s like I’m not ready to be seen like that.”

“Oh my god.”

“He’s not going to eat you, Est.”

Both Joong and Daou had replied, their voices overlapping. 

“What if he realizes I’m not fun or bright or—anything like him? I’m scared,” Est admitted quietly. “I’ve… it’s been eight years. I haven’t… I haven’t done this in so long. What if it’s too much?”

“You mean him caring?” Daou asked softly.

“Yes,” Est whispered. “And me… liking him back. But what if I can’t?”

“You can,” Joong said firmly. “And he’s worth it.”

They teased, yes, but there was no judgement. Just the warmth of friendship, of green lights in the form of voices he trusted. 

Slowly, slowly, Est felt himself melting into the admission he hadn’t allowed: that maybe he wanted this, wanted William’s attention, his care, his chaos, and his warmth.

“…I think I want to,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Joong laughed. “Good.”

“About time,” Daou added.

Est pulled the blanket over his head, hiding the small, traitorous smile. “…I’m hanging up now.”

“Finally. Goodnight, loverboy,” Joong teased.

“Sweet dreams of your freshman,” Daou added.

“I hate you both,” Est muttered, but his heart felt lighter than it had all week.

Alone, he lay there, phone silent, the shadows of his room settling around him. He let himself think of William—the way he fussed over him, the texts, the small acts of care, and the warmth he couldn’t deny. He realized, softly, that he was letting him in.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to close the door.

William was so over being sick.

He had spent the last few days buried under blankets, buried in medicine, buried in Phi Est’s texts—which had been equal parts stern, sarcastic, and way too soft. 

But now he was finally upright, fever-free, and ready to scream from the rooftops. 

He sent a series of increasingly desperate messages:

William 🎸: 

bored.

so bored.

i counted how many holes are in my ceiling. 37.

i miss the pool. 

i miss the chlorine smell. 

i miss the way Phi Joong yells at Phi Daou.

i miss u 🥺

Est took his time replying, and when he finally did, it was like an earthquake in William’s chest.

When the notification pinged mid-afternoon, he rolled onto his stomach, checked the sender, and blinked.

Est 🦈: 

Today’s the last practice before the meet. 

You can come.

For a second, William thought his vision had gone blurry.

“Wait,” he muttered. “Was that… an invitation?”

He reread the message seventeen times, half convinced his fever had returned and was conjuring Est’s voice in his head.

But it was real.

Phi Est—cold, aloof, glacial-pace Phi Est—was inviting him. 

Voluntarily.

Phi Est. Had. Invited. Him.

Him.

William scrambled out of bed, already yanking a hoodie over his head. Mochi meowed in protest from the bed.

“Do you know what this means, Mochi?!” he gasped. “He invited me. He wants me there. This is history. This is—this is—”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence, his grin was so wide.

By the time he got to the pool, William was practically vibrating, all red faced and panting. His sneakers squeaked against the tile as he burst through the doors — only to see Est already toweling his hair dry at the edge of the pool.

Est turned at the sound of footsteps, brows knitting.

“Why did you run?” he asked immediately, walking toward him.

William wheezed. “Because… you invited me. And I didn’t want to miss it. And also maybe I panicked a little.”

Est frowned. “You just got better. What if you had fainted halfway?”

“What? No. I wouldn’t have fainted—” William started, but Est had already stepped closer, one hand hovering near his shoulder, the other reaching to touch his forehead—then wiping his sweat.

Wait.

Did he just—

“You’re sweating,” Est muttered. “You shouldn’t have come running like that.”

Est frowned, stepping forward and pressing the back of his hand lightly against William’s forehead — and William’s brain short-circuited.

He could feel the warmth of Est’s skin. The closeness. The faint scent of chlorine and clean soap.

Est muttered something under his breath that William didn’t catch, then stepped back, still frowning.

Across the pool, Joong and Daou had been watching like hawks.

“Is that… Est fussing over someone?” Daou whispered loudly.

Joong grinned. “Our Ice King has melted.”

“Shut up,” Est called over his shoulder without even looking at them, still focused entirely on William.

William, cheeks pink, glanced at the two swimmers. “He’s not—he’s just making sure I’m not sick again,” he said defensively.

Joong smirked. “Sure.”

William blinked, heart thudding—not from exertion this time.

Phi Est was actually fussing over him!

“Oh my god,” he said, lips twitching into a grin as the realization finally set in. “Phi Est, are you fussing over me?”

Est froze. “No.”

“You are. You totally are.” William leaned in slightly, beaming. “My recovery arc is complete. My crush is fussing over me.”

“I’m not—what?” Est started, but the faint blush blooming across his cheeks gave him away completely. He looked down, then away, as if embarrassed by his own reflex to worry.

William was so delighted he almost forgot to breathe. “Wait,” he said after a second. “Why are you fully dressed?”

Then William looked around and noticed the pool was empty, he tilted his head. “Wait… you already did your practice?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why did you invite me if it’s already over?”

Est shrugged like it was nothing — but his voice was softer. “I wasn’t going to make you sit on the hard bleachers the entire time. You just got better.”

Something warm unfurled in William’s chest. His grin softened into something more fragile. “…That’s… really nice.”

Est glanced away, muttering, “It’s not a big deal.”

It was definitely a big deal.

They ended up sitting by the pool, just like last time—legs dipped in the water, shoulders brushing occasionally. The surface shimmered under the overhead lights, and the water rippled gently around their ankles.

Est had said no, initially.

“You just got better,” he’d said firmly when William asked if they could dip their feet in. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near water.”

“But we’re not swimming,” William had pleaded. “We’re just dipping. Dipping is innocent. I need this for my soul.”

Est had held firm.

Until William gave him the eyes.

The wide, watery, golden retriever eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, Est had sighed, relented, and sat down beside him—hoodie sleeves pushed up, sneakers and socks off, legs dangling into the water.

“Fifteen minutes,” Est said.

William grinned. “Fifteen minutes of heaven.”

They sat there in companionable silence, the kind that didn’t demand constant conversation.

Eventually, William glanced at him. “You ready for the meet?”

“More or less,” Est replied.

“You’re gonna kill it,” William said with a certainty that made Est glance at him sideways.

“Don’t jinx me.”

“I’m not. I’m just stating a fact,” William grinned. Then, more softly, “You’ve been working so hard. You’ve got this.”

Est’s mouth twitched, and for a moment, the confident mask slipped into something quieter. “Thanks.”

William watched him, noting the way his right shoulder shifted slightly when he moved. “Does it still hurt?”

Est stiffened. “What?”

“Your shoulder,” William said. “It’s not bad right now, but you favor it when you reach. I’ve noticed.”

There was a pause, long enough for the echo of splashes to fill the space between them. “…No one’s asked about that,” Est admitted finally.

William just shrugged, looking at him with that open, guileless sincerity that made Est’s chest feel too tight. “It’s obvious if you know what to look for.”

For a moment, Est didn’t know what to say. So he just hummed, the corners of his mouth softening before he looked away.

Before Est could say more, the familiar sound of voices echoed across the pool deck.

“Well, well, well,” Joong’s voice sang out. “If it isn’t our Ice King melting under the sun.”

William didn’t even have to turn around to picture Joong’s smirk. Daou was with him, of course, wearing his usual expression of quiet amusement that only made his teasing worse.

“Careful, Joong,” Daou said, “you might slip on all the puddles from the thaw.”

Est’s sigh was audible. “Do you two have practice or are you just here to be annoying?”

“We’re here to witness history,” Joong grinned, dropping his swim bag onto a bench. “The day Est Supha actually lets someone sit this close without glaring them into the next century.”

William flushed instantly, scrambling for composure. “I’m— It’s not— We’re just—”

“Uh-huh,” Joong said, clearly unconvinced.

Daou added, “You know, if you keep fussing over him like that, people are gonna talk.”

“Let them,” Est said without missing a beat.

That shut them both up for a second—probably because Est never, ever said things like that.

 And William, well… William wasn’t sure if his face could get any hotter.

“Anyway,” Joong said eventually, smirking again, “we’ll leave you lovebirds—”

“Out,” Est cut in, jerking his head toward the far lanes.

Joong grinned and sauntered off, Daou following with a small shake of his head.

When they were gone, William cleared his throat. “…So. Uh. That was fun.”

Est didn’t answer right away. Then, as if the conversation had been building in his head, he asked, “Will you come to the meet?”

William blinked at him. “Do you want me there?”

Est’s gaze flicked to him, sharp but unreadable. “…Yeah.”

William’s smile was small at first, then grew until it was all teeth and sunlight. “Then I’ll be there. Front row. Probably screaming your name loud enough to make the announcer jealous.”

“Please don’t make the announcer jealous,” Est said, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.

They sat there for another few minutes, talking about nothing and everything—William tossing out bad jokes, Est pretending to be unimpressed, the air between them easy and warm.

Eventually, Est pushed himself up. “We should head out.”

William groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the tiles. “But I don’t wanna go back. I’ve been cooped up for days, Phi. I’m finally free. I wanna… I dunno… do something.”

“Like what?” Est asked, grabbing his towel and swinging it over his shoulder.

“Anything that’s not lying in bed watching Mochi sleep,” William said, hopping to his feet. “Walk around campus. Get snacks. People-watch. Literally anything.”

Est gave him a flat look. “You still need rest.”

William stepped closer, beaming. “Rest is boring. Fun is good for the immune system. You should join me.”

“I have other things to do,” Est said, turning toward the exit.

William followed anyway, grinning like a fool. “You’ll cave eventually. You always do.”

“I don’t always—”

“Always,” William interrupted, and Est didn’t argue this time.

The sun was just starting to dip when they stepped outside, painting the campus in that warm, honey-gold light that made everything feel a little softer.

William breathed in dramatically, stretching his arms wide as though he’d just been released from prison.

“Ahhh,” he sighed, tilting his head back. “Do you smell that?”

Est glanced at him, brows drawn slightly together. “Smell what?”

“Freedom.” William spun half a turn on the sidewalk, grinning like a fool. “Sweet, glorious, finally-not-stuck-in-my-dorm freedom.”

“You were sick for, what, three to four days?” Est said flatly, but there was the tiniest quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“Four,” William corrected, pointing a finger at him as if that detail was crucial. “Four long, miserable days without sunlight, without laughter, without joy—”

“You were texting me every hour. You had plenty of joy.”

“That was survival,” William countered, pressing a hand over his heart. “But now—” He threw his arms out again. “Now I can live.”

Est shook his head and started walking, but his pace slowed—just enough for William to fall into step beside him.

The late-afternoon breeze carried the faint scent of something sizzling—soy sauce, garlic, maybe grilled chicken—and William’s stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl.

He clutched it dramatically. “I think I’m dying again. Starvation this time. But what a poetic end—free for only an hour before I perish.”

Est shot him a sidelong glance. “You just ate before coming to the pool.”

“Recovery food. This—” William gestured toward the faint smell wafting through the air, “—this is soul food.”

They walked a few more paces before Est spoke, tone casual. “What do you want?”

William stopped mid-step. “Wait… are you… are you offering to get food with me?”

Est kept walking. “You said you were starving. I’m just preventing another dramatic episode.”

William jogged to catch up, eyes suspiciously bright. “Phi Est… are you—are you asking me out on a food date?”

“It is not a date.”

“It is a little date,” William said under his breath, grinning to himself.

They followed the scent until they reached the edge of a street just off campus, where food stalls were already setting up for the evening. The air was thick with the smell of fried dough, grilled skewers, and sweet mango.

William’s eyes lit up instantly. “Ohhh, this is dangerous.”

Est tucked his hands into his pockets. “Pick one.”

“One?” William gasped. “How could you limit me like that? This is a sacred moment.”

Est gave him a look that said, you’re impossible, but didn’t argue when William immediately veered toward a stall selling moo ping—grilled pork skewers, glistening with glaze.

The vendor handed over a bundle wrapped in banana leaves, and before William could even take a bite, Est was pulling a napkin from his pocket and holding it out.

William blinked. “You… carry napkins?”

“You spill things,” Est replied simply.

William stared at him for a beat, then grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. “Phi Est, if you keep doing thoughtful things like this, I’m going to—”

“Eat,” Est cut in, but his ears had gone faintly pink.

They wandered from stall to stall, William picking something at nearly every one. He insisted Est try the fried bananas (“It’s not optional”) and laughed when Est wiped powdered sugar off his own face without realizing it, making the sugar stick worse.

“Here,” William said, reaching out without thinking. His thumb brushed just under Est’s cheekbone, gentle as he wiped the sugar away.

Est froze. 

Their eyes met for a heartbeat too long before Est looked away, muttering, “Thanks.”

William was sure his own smile looked a little dopey, but he didn’t care.

By the time they had collected skewers, fried snacks, and a bag of mango sticky rice, the sun was nearly down. They found a low wall by the sidewalk and sat side by side, their knees almost—but not quite—touching.

William took a bite of the sticky rice and immediately held the container out. “Here. Best one yet.”

Est hesitated but leaned in to take a bite directly from the spoon. 

William’s brain short-circuited for a second, because—holy hell—that was intimate.

“Good?” William asked, trying to sound casual even though his heart was suddenly pounding.

Est nodded once. “Sweet.”

William didn’t know if he meant the dessert or… something else.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, watching the street lights flicker on. Every now and then, Est would nudge something toward William—an extra skewer, the last piece of fried banana—without a word.

William wanted to memorize it all: the quiet generosity, the way Est’s hair caught the lamplight, the fact that Est was here, with him, not brushing him off or telling him to rest.

William leaned back on his hands. “You know,” he said lightly, “for someone who insisted this wasn’t a date… it feels suspiciously like one.”

Est gave him a side-eye that should have been sharp but came off softer than usual. “Eat less sugar next time.”

William grinned. “That’s not a no.”

When they finished eating, Est stood and tossed the empty cups in the bin. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

William almost tripped over the curb at that. I want to. Those three words were going to live rent-free in his brain for the next fifty years.

They walked back toward campus dorms slowly, William dragging his feet just enough to make Est huff.

“Don’t make me carry you,” Est said.

William beamed at him. “You’d carry me?”

“No.”

Another not-a-no no. William decided this day was going down as one of his best.

The walk back to his dorm was unhurried.

The campus was quieter now, the sky deepening into evening blues and purples. William slowly fell into step beside Est, letting their shoulders brush every so often—totally not on purpose (it was absolutely on purpose).

They talked about little things: Est’s upcoming meet, William’s band practice schedule, the fact that Mochi had decided his latest hobby was knocking pens off William’s desk. Somewhere along the way, Est reached over and plucked a stray piece of food from William’s shirt like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

William didn’t breathe for a solid five seconds.

When they reached William’s dorm, he lingered by the steps. “Thanks for today,” he said, softer than he intended.

Est gave him a small nod. “Rest. No more dramatic declarations of freedom tomorrow.”

William grinned. “No promises.”

Est rolled his eyes but there was no real annoyance there. “Goodnight, William.”

William waited until Est had turned the corner before leaning back against the wall and letting out a very quiet, very undignified squeal.

Chapter Text

The locker room was too bright for this early in the morning. 

Est sat on the bench, elbows resting on his knees, rolling his shoulders to loosen the familiar tightness. The faint scent of chlorine clung to the air, mixing with the hum of chatter from his teammates as they prepared.

It was loud in a way Est both expected and didn’t.

The metallic clatter of locker doors. Voices that bounced off the tiled walls, some too loud, some too nervous. A handful of boys laughed like it was any other Saturday afternoon, but Est could hear the edge in it—like the laugh was to convince themselves they weren’t about to walk into an arena full of people watching their every stroke.

Joong and Daou had only just left him, their pep talks still ringing in his ears.

“You’ve got this, Est,” Daou had said, his grin blinding as always. “Shark Supha doesn’t lose. You don’t just swim—you eat.”

Joong had cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t think too hard. It’s muscle memory now. Trust yourself. And remember—whether you win or not, Dunk’s still going to scream like you just won Olympic gold.”

Est had actually smiled at that, tension cracking for a moment.

Coach had been the last to come by, kneeling briefly in front of him the way he always did before big meets. “You’re prepared. You’ve worked harder than anyone else in this room, Est. I don’t need you to be perfect—I just need you to swim like yourself. You do that, and the result will follow.”

Then there had been his parents’ messages. His mother’s voice note, soft and warm: “We’re watching the livestream tonight. No matter what happens, we’re proud of you. Remember, Est—you’re our son before you’re anyone else’s swimmer.”

And his father’s more steady message: “Good luck out there. We’ll be cheering. Make it your race.”

Est set his phone down after listening, heart beating so hard it felt like it was in his throat.

He did one last mental checklist.

Goggles—check. Cap—check. Suit—check. Breath—barely.

His chest tightened.

And without meaning to, his mind went there.

To William.

He didn’t know if the freshman would actually come. He had said something about bringing his bandmates, which could have been an exaggeration. And honestly, Est wanted him to come. He wanted to see William in the bleachers. He wanted— 

The thoughts kept flickering in and out.

Joong must have caught something on his face because he had grinned knowingly and had teased him one last time before leaving. “You know… it’d be a shame if certain people missed this. Maybe someone who talks too much and sends you too many cat pictures.”

Est had shot him a glare.

And yet—

His phone buzzed.

Est glanced down. Screen lit.

A message.

From William.

He opened it and froze.

It was a picture.

William and all of LYKN—Nut, Lego, Hong, Tui—crammed into one frame, all wearing his department’s swim team merch. Jerseys, scarves, caps. They were in the stands already, holding up a half-painted banner that said GO SHARK EST in big blue letters, with smaller doodles of a shark and… was that supposed to be Pooh?

William was in the middle, grin so wide it nearly split his face, two thumbs up, cheeks flushed from excitement.

The caption:

“Front row. Loudest ones here to make even the announcer jealous. You got this, Phi Shark 🦈💙”

Oh. 

Est stared at it longer than he should have. 

He let out a short, quiet laugh before he could stop himself.

This was… ridiculous.

And so completely William.

He stared at the screen for a moment longer, his thumb brushing over the image as if it could transfer the warmth directly to him.

And then, like a tide rolling in, another memory hit him—William’s words from days ago, when he had been sick: “Gold or no gold, you’ll always be Phi Est for me.”

Oh. 

Est exhaled slowly.

The nerves didn’t vanish, but they shifted. They settled. His heartbeat steadied, not because the pressure disappeared, but because he had something—someone—anchoring him.

He set the phone down, shoulders straightening. Something unclenched in his chest.

He could do this.

He would do this.

Est was ready.

He stepped out into the bright lights and the roar of cheers.

William had never yelled this much in his life.

“PHIIIIIIII ESTTTTTTTT!” he bellowed, cupping his hands around his mouth as if the whole pool needed to know his lungs worked. His voice cracked, but he didn’t care.

Beside him, LYKN was chaos personified. Nut had stolen one of Lego’s glitter pom-poms. Hong was half-standing on the seat, waving their banner like a flag in a revolution. Tui had a vuvuzela (Where did he even get that?) he must’ve smuggled in somehow, and every few minutes, the honking noise rattled William’s skull.

They were in the university’s swim stadium, stands packed to bursting. 

Perth and Santa had joined them, their hands clasped while they laughed at the spectacle. Joong’s boyfriend, Dunk, was on the other side, trying to film while also shielding himself from Tui’s vuvuzela bursts. Offroad—Daou’s boyfriend—sat just behind them, holding a quiet little shark plush like it was the most normal cheer accessory in the world.

And Lego, of course, leaned forward, gossip dripping from his lips. “Phi Tose is here,” Lego whispered conspiratorially, nudging William. “And Phi Punch too. Est’s friend group is stacked tonight.”

William perked up. “Tose?”

“Business senior. Smart, polite, rumored to be scary good at poker.”

“And Punch?”

“Arts senior. Literally everyone loves her. She could start a cult tomorrow and I’d sign up.”

William groaned. “Great. More competition for Phi Est’s attention.”

Lego smirked. “Jealous already?”

“Always,” William muttered, eyes fixed on the pool.

But then—

From just behind him, two senior boys muttered, voices cutting through the cheers. 

“He better win. Everyone hypes him like he’s untouchable. Imagine if he chokes today. Maybe if he loosened up he’d actually swim faster.” 

“Exactly if he chilled out, maybe he’d actually be fun to watch.”

The words hit William like a slap.

Nut noticed his sudden stillness. “Will—”

Tui glanced sideways at William like he knew what was about to happen. “Uh-oh.”

But William was already turning in his seat, eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

He leaned back, fixing the two with a stare that could’ve burned holes. “You got something to say about Phi Est?” His voice was deceptively calm, but his jaw ticked.

The taller one sneered. “Relax, fanboy. We’re just saying—”

“No,” William cut in, his smile sharp, dangerous. “You’re saying garbage. Phi Est’s worked harder than anyone out there. He doesn’t need to ‘chill out’ to impress people. He’s not here to entertain you—he’s here to win. And he will. So maybe shut up and watch.”

The seniors blinked, stunned. 

For a heartbeat, silence. Then Nut chimed in with a smirk, “Our boy doesn’t like people messing with his Phi Est.”

The seniors muttered something and sat back. William turned away, jaw tight..

Behind him, Lego whispered, “That was terrifying.”

Hong snickered. “Remind me never to talk bad about Phi Est in front of him.”

Tui honked the vuvuzela in agreement.

William didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. His eyes were already back on the pool, searching for Est.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers.

“Lane four—Supha Sangaworawong! Two-time gold medalist, record holder in the freshman and sophomore divisions, now competing for his third consecutive title. Rumors of national scouts in the audience tonight—keep an eye on this one, ladies and gentlemen!”

The noise in the stands swelled instantly — a low rumble of cheers, claps, and whistles. William stood without realizing it, his banner slipping from under his arm as he leaned forward over the railing.

He screamed until his throat burned. LYKN screamed louder. Even Perth and Santa joined in, Santa’s voice cracking mid-cheer.

Est walked out, cap on, goggles in hand. Calm on the outside. Focus carved into every line of him.

William saw it though—the faintest twitch of his fingers, the roll of his shoulders. The way his eyes flicked up, scanning the crowd.

Est stepped onto the block, one foot in front of the other, adjusting his goggles with steady hands. His warm-up jacket was gone now, revealing the sleek lines of his suit, muscles defined under the bright pool lights.

William’s brain provided an unhelpful commentary: Do not think about his shoulders right now. Do not think about his shoulders right now.

He thought about his shoulders.

A hush fell over the crowd as the referee raised the whistle. Est crouched forward, toes curling over the edge of the block, head down. Every line of his body screamed focus, coiled and ready.

The buzzer sounded.

Eight bodies hit the water in unison, a burst of white foam erupting around them. William’s eyes locked on lane four — Est’s lane — instantly. His start was clean, powerful, his body slicing through the water like it belonged there.

“Let’s go, Phi Est!” William yelled, the words bursting out almost involuntarily.

The first turn came fast — Est flipping effortlessly, pushing off the wall with a force that looked almost inhuman. His strokes were smooth, each pull precise, breathing every three counts. William didn’t know much about technique, but he could see the efficiency, the lack of wasted movement.

By the 100-meter mark, Est was ahead by half a body length. William’s throat was already starting to ache from shouting.

“You’ve got this!” he yelled, pounding the railing. “Go, go, go!”

Nut and Lego were chanting beside him, Hong was waving his banner like it was a flag in a parade, and Tui was recording on his phone, probably to torment William with later.

Another flip turn. Another burst off the wall. Est’s lead held steady, but William’s hands were clenched into fists anyway. It didn’t matter that Est looked in control — William could feel his own heart hammering like he was the one in the water.

The last 50 meters hit. That’s when William really lost it.

“COME ON, EST!” William roared, voice breaking. “FINISH IT!”

And then—touch.

The buzzer sounded. The stadium erupted.

The scoreboard lit up. Lane four. First place. Gold.

LYKN screamed like maniacs, banners flying, flags waving. Perth and Santa hugged. Dunk and Offroad nearly fell over the railing in excitement.

The stadium was electric, a roar of voices bouncing against tiled walls and metal beams overhead, the scent of chlorine heavy in the air. The scoreboard was lit, the water still rippling from the last race. People were stamping feet against the bleachers, clapping, whistling, some chanting Est’s name, others just shouting in excitement.

But William wasn’t hearing any of it.

The moment Est’s fingertips had touched the wall and the buzzer had gone off, William had exploded out of his seat with a cheer so loud Nut had winced and clapped his hands over his ears. 

Now, as Est pulled himself out of the pool, shoulders shining, hair dripping, muscles taut from exertion, William didn’t just cheer. 

He launched.

He wasn’t thinking. His body just moved.

One second he was behind the safety barrier, heart pounding, voice already hoarse from yelling. The next he was vaulting over the rail, legs carrying him in a near sprint down the pool deck, sneakers squeaking against the slick tiles.

“William—!” someone shouted behind him. Maybe Lego. Maybe an official. Maybe the entire stadium. It didn’t matter.

“Hey! Spectators off the deck!” an official barked somewhere behind him, but William didn’t hear a thing. His heart was too loud, pounding in his ears, beating in sync with every cheer still vibrating in the air.

And then—there he was.

Est Supha Sangaworawong, climbing out of the water like some myth made flesh, droplets rolling off his skin, muscles taut with the aftershocks of the race. A towel was half-slipped off his shoulder, clinging to the sharp line of his collarbone. He looked unreal, impossibly steady even after powering through lengths that had left half the other competitors heaving.

William’s world narrowed to that sight.

By the time Est was a step away from the edge, William was there. He almost collided with him—would have, if Est hadn’t instinctively grabbed his shoulders, grounding him before he knocked them both flat.

“Whoa—” Est muttered, breath still heavy from the race. His hands were firm, fingers digging lightly into the fabric of William’s shirt as if to anchor him in place.

William, of course, didn’t notice the contact. Not properly. He was too far gone. His grin was so wide it might have swallowed the sun, his whole body buzzing like he’d been the one to swim the race. His chest heaved, his hair were bouncing, and his eyes were blazing with unfiltered awe.

“You—” His finger jabbed toward Est, chest heaving with excitement. “You were amazing. Like—amazing amazing. That was—wow. Wow. Phi Est, you won! You really—this is—God, this is so cool! I’m so proud of you!”

The words tumbled out of him in one endless stream, breathless, frantic, unfiltered. He looked like he might combust right there on the pool deck, as though the energy Est had expended in the race had transferred straight into him. His grin was wide enough to split his face, and his eyes—his eyes sparkled like he’d been handed the sun.

Est just blinked at him, towel slipping lower on his shoulder. “You’re… here.”

“Obviously I’m here!” William agreed immediately, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He gestured wildly at the scoreboard, then back at Est, then at the pool like it somehow proved his point. “Because—you—” His voice cracked halfway through, too full of awe to stay steady. “You’re incredible! Did I already say I’m proud of you? Because I am. So proud. Like—super proud. The proudest.”

Something traitorous flickered in Est’s chest.

Oh.

It was ridiculous. Absurd. William was soaked with secondhand pool water from standing too close, hair sticking up in every possible direction, cheeks flushed from running, sneakers squeaking on the tiles where he shouldn’t even be standing.

And yet—Est felt something soften, deep in his ribs. Something that had nothing to do with victory, nothing to do with medals, and everything to do with the boy grinning like the win belonged to him too.

“You’re ridiculous,” Est said, shaking his head. His voice came out steadier than he felt.

“Yeah,” William said without missing a beat. His grin widened, if that was even possible. “But I’m your ridiculous.”

Oh. 

Est’s breath caught.

That one—that one—landed harder than it should have.

Around them, officials were moving in, some of them clearly about to escort William off the deck. A couple of volunteers had even started forward, murmuring things like “sir, you need to return to the stands”. Est noticed all of it—the sharp looks, the muttered disapproval—but William, of course, noticed none of it. He was too busy, too wrapped up in the moment, in him.

Officials started moving toward William, someone even stepped close enough to reach for his arm. But before they could touch him, Est shifted slightly, still holding William by the shoulders. With a subtle shake of his head, he waved them off.

Before the officials could say more, Est lifted a hand, subtle but firm, waving them off. “It’s fine,” he muttered, voice low but steady, his expression giving just enough weight to back it.

The volunteers hesitated, then backed away reluctantly, still keeping an eye on William.

William, of course, noticed none of this. He was too busy buzzing, eyes locked only on Est, words spilling in one long, unstoppable stream.

“You have no idea how insane that was—your turn, the way you pushed through that last lap, I thought my heart was going to stop! And your start? Perfect! I swear, if people weren’t already obsessed with you, they’re definitely going to be after this. Like, how are you so good at everything? Actually no, don’t answer, because I know—it’s because you’re Phi Est and you’re just—” He broke off, laughing breathlessly, hands gesturing wildly in midair. “God, I’m so happy right now.”

His hands were flying everywhere, painting invisible lines in the air, almost smacking Est in the face at one point. His words overlapped, tripped over each other, none of them particularly eloquent, but all of them brimming with so much raw excitement that Est felt dizzy just watching him.

And all the while—Est’s hands were still on his shoulders.

He hadn’t let go.

William hadn’t noticed, too caught up in his whirlwind. But Est did. He felt the solid warmth of William beneath his palms, the tremble of adrenaline still coursing through him, the way his shirt clung slightly damp from the humid pool air.

He could feel William’s shoulders underneath his hands.

And as William kept going, cheeks flushed, grin blinding—Est felt the edges of the world blur.

And suddenly—just suddenly—everything around him vanished.

Oh.

The crowd noise dulled, as if someone had turned down the volume. The smell of chlorine faded. The harsh white lights above softened.

Everything narrowed down to just this: William, buzzing with joy, golden and breathless and shining with a kind of pride Est had never seen directed at him before.

Est looked at him, really looked. And the world stilled.

It hit him like a quiet wave, slipping under his ribs without warning.

Uh oh.

This wasn’t just endearing. This wasn’t just funny. This wasn’t just William being William.

This was dangerous.

Something cracked.

A slow, creeping thought slid in, unwelcome and undeniable: I might be falling for him.

It hit Est harder than any training session, sharper than any wave of exhaustion after a meet. His chest tightened, his pulse skipped, and for the briefest second he felt completely unmoored.

Because Est Supha Sangaworawong, who prided himself on being steady, collected, untouchable—was suddenly, unmistakably, and terrifyingly aware that he was falling.

Falling for this ridiculous, golden, too-bright freshman who made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

And Est had no idea how to stop it.

Because it wasn’t just the chaos or the grin or the words. It was the way William looked at him, like winning mattered less than simply existing in this moment together. Like Est, medal or no medal, had already been enough.

It terrified him.

It thrilled him.

It made him want to both step back. 

It made him want to hold on tighter.

He swallowed hard, forcing his face neutral again just as William finally paused for air.

“Alright, break it up, lovebirds.”

The spell shattered.

Est turned, almost too quickly, to find Joong and Daou approaching in matching tracksuits, smirks practically carved into their faces.

Joong clapped him on the back, ignoring the water still dripping off him. “Coach wants you for the debrief, champ.”

Daou leaned past Est, eyes twinkling as he aimed a grin at William. “Don’t worry, freshie, you can have him back later. You’ve got, what—” He tapped his wrist like checking a watch. “—the rest of your life to stare at him.”

William’s jaw dropped. Then, in classic William fashion, he threw his hand dramatically over his heart. “Oh, I’ll remember your words forever Phi. Forever. I’ll be thinking about them every single day until I’m old and grey. Just you wait.”

Joong rolled his eyes and steered Est toward the locker rooms. “Save the declarations for after he changes, Romeo.”

Daou winked at William before following. “Don’t wear yourself out waiting.”

William just grinned wider, backing toward the stands again. “Worth it! Totally worth it!” he shouted after them, voice echoing through the natatorium.

Est didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Because his chest was still too tight, his pulse still too quick, his thoughts still too loud. And all of them, every last one, circled back to the same terrifying, exhilarating truth—

Oh. 

I might be falling for him.

⸻

The medal ceremony blurred.

Est walked through it in a haze, almost mechanical. Stand here. Face forward. Bow slightly. Accept the medal. Smile.

Only—smiling felt impossible. Not because he wasn’t proud. Not because he wasn’t happy. 

He was. 

God, he was. 

But the moment the cool weight of gold pressed against his chest, the noise around him muffled again—because his eyes had drifted to the stands.

William was there. Phone held high, snapping pictures with no shame. Grinning so wildly. Cheering louder than anyone else, even with security glaring at him.

Est’s stomach flipped. His grip tightened on the medal ribbon.

Don’t look. Don’t—don’t do this. You’ll look stupid. Everyone’s watching. It’s fine. Just smile at the crowd. Keep it together.

He turned his head forward, jaw stiff, smile practiced. But the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching, tugging, because he could feel William’s gaze like sunlight on his skin.

Joong leaned sideways, whispering through the applause. “You okay? You’re zoning out.”

“I’m fine,” Est muttered. Too fast. Too defensive.

Joong gave him a suspicious side-eye but turned back to the front.

Est exhaled shakily. His thoughts weren’t clean sentences anymore. Just fragments.

He’s taking pictures. He’s smiling so much. Why does it make me—why am I—

He risked another glance.

Just one.

Quick.

And there William was, mouthing something across the distance. Est didn’t need to read lips. He knew. “I’m proud of you.”

Est’s cheeks warmed, and he jerked his gaze away instantly, staring hard at the medal dangling against his chest. His reflection in the gold was warped, faint, ridiculous. He could feel the edges of a stupid smile fighting its way out.

Oh, how the mighty has fallen.

He clapped politely as the ceremony wrapped, desperate for distraction. But his heart wouldn’t slow, and the sound of William’s voice—loud, unfiltered, impossibly sincere—echoed through his head long after the crowd’s cheers faded.

⸻

The humid heat of the pool building still clung to Est’s skin when he stepped out into the cool evening air. His damp hair stuck stubbornly to his forehead, smelling faintly of chlorine no matter how many post-meet showers he took. 

The muffled roar of the crowd from inside had dulled into background noise now, replaced by the murmur of families, teammates, and clusters of students spilling into the parking area.

Joong and Daou flanked him, animatedly replaying the race like they hadn’t been standing right there watching it.

“—and then that last fifty meters? You were flying, Phi!” Joong threw his hands up like he was narrating a movie trailer. “I swear, I’ve never heard the stands that loud.”

Daou added with a grin, “I almost thought you were gonna break the record. Almost. Don’t get cocky.”

Est shook his head, lips twitching despite himself. They were impossible. 

Somewhere behind them, Dunk called Joong’s name, and Offroad bounded over to Daou with an over-the-top hug that made Est roll his eyes affectionately. 

Of course. 

The boyfriends were here, which meant the inevitable: team dinner.

Celebration.

Social energy that he didn’t have.

He glanced at his phone. 

William’s message from earlier still glowed on the screen: “Everyone abandoned me Phi but I’ll wait for you!!!.”

Attached was a blurry selfie of William holding a shark plushie. The shot was tilted, the plushie was almost out of the frame—but William’s smile was the only thing Est’s eyes lingered on.

He had read that message right after his shower.

Now, standing outside, he knew without a doubt: William was here somewhere. Waiting for him. 

“Alright, Phi, we’re grabbing korean barbecue,” Joong announced, snapping him out of his thoughts. “The whole team’s going. Dunk and Offroad too. The others as well.”

Daou nodded in agreement. “Coach said you’re not allowed to say no. Celebration rules.”

Est’s first instinct was to say exactly that—no. He was tired. He didn’t want to sit under fluorescent lights with the smell of grilling meat clinging to his hair while people shouted over the sizzling pans.

But more than that… he wanted something else. 

Or maybe someone else.

Or maybe he needed to have better control over his thoughts. 

The looked up—

—and there he was.

William.

Standing a little off to the side, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet like his body couldn’t contain the energy buzzing through him. His hair was slightly mussed, probably from constantly running his hands there them, and that smile—God, that smile—ignited the second his eyes found Est.

Did Est mention the jawline? 

That jawline was made to cut directly into hearts.

Est felt his pace slow without meaning to.

The noise of his friends dimmed as they streamed ahead toward the lot. He let Joong and Daou move forward, let Dunk and Offroad catch up with them, until it was just him and William in a pocket of quiet between worlds.

“Why didn’t you go home?” Est said as soon as he came close to William. 

William opened his mouth but it was Est who cut him off. The roles had reversed. 

“They’re going to celebrate,” Est said, his voice quieter than it needed to be. “Barbecue.”

William’s grin widened instantly. “That’s good. You deserve to be celebrated, Phi.” His tone was warm, no teasing, just genuine, unshaken pride.

Est hesitated. 

His instinct was to keep William out of this—the team, the tradition, the circle that usually closed tightly around swimmers only. It wasn’t like he was ashamed of William.

No. 

Not at all. 

He just wanted to keep William for himself. 

What?

Where had that thought come from? 

Now standing here, fresh from victory with William looking at him like he’d just rewritten gravity, Est couldn’t help the tug inside him.

“…Do you wanna come?”

William blinked. Once. Twice. His brain visibly short-circuited, mouth parting like he’d forgotten how sentences worked. “Yes. Yes, I—uh, yes, I wanna come. Is it—? I mean, I’m a freshman, I—”

“I don’t care,” Est cut in, more blunt than he meant to. 

William shifted on his feet, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you sure though? I don’t wanna… like… intrude? Won’t it be weird for me to show up? It’s your team, your night—”

“William.” Est’s gaze snapped back to him, firm. “It won’t be weird. Joong and Daou’s boyfriends will be there. Perth and Santa too. A bunch of people who aren’t swimmers. You won’t be the only one.”

William’s shoulders eased slightly, though he still looked hesitant.

“I want you there,” Est added, softer, almost grudgingly.

For a heartbeat, William froze. Then the golden retriever switch flipped, and he practically bounced. “Then I’m coming. Definitely coming. You’re not gonna regret this, Phi.”

Est’s lips twitched. He looked away before the smile could fully surface, but it was there.

The words had tasted strange in his mouth. He wasn’t good at things like this. But watching William’s face light up—bright, unfiltered—Est felt something settle in his chest, dangerous and undeniable.

From a few paces ahead, Joong glanced back. Daou followed his line of sight, catching the way Est had slowed, the way William hovered beside him like gravity itself had shifted. Dunk and Offroad were already tugging them toward the parking lot, but Joong and Daou only shared a quiet glance, soft smiles flickering before they both shook their heads. They didn’t call out. Didn’t interrupt. Just turned back around, walking ahead with their boyfriends, leaving Est and William trailing behind—at their own pace.

William pushed open the door to the Korean BBQ restaurant, and immediately the warm, savory aroma of sizzling meat and garlic enveloped him. 

The air was rich with the nutty scent of sesame oil, mingling with faint hints of caramelized vegetables and smoky grill char. The chatter of the swimming team, mingled with the clatter of plates and laughter, filled the room like a constant, comforting hum. Warmth radiated from the tabletop grills, and the faint heat mingled with the faint chill of the evening outside, making the air feel alive, tactile, almost electric.

He instinctively stepped aside, letting Est move forward.

The moment Est crossed the threshold, the restaurant erupted.

“Phi Est!”

“Champion!”

“Our Winner!”

Hands slapped backs, shoulders were clapped, arms draped over him, whistles and cheering bouncing off the walls. 

The energy was overwhelming, alive, and celebratory—but William felt suddenly small, like a shadow in the corner of the room. He instinctively wanted to shrink, to tuck himself into a corner where he could be invisible, a quiet freshman tagging along with a hero.

Before he could retreat, Est’s hand shot out.

It wrapped around William’s wrist with a firm, sure grip that felt like a grounding anchor. 

The touch was simple, yet it sent a bolt straight to William’s chest, short-circuiting every rational thought. His breath caught, heart hammering. His lungs seemed to forget how to work properly.

He froze entirely, staring at Est’s hand holding his, the warm, steady pressure anchoring him in the chaos. William wanted to pull back, but the hold was gentle and confident, guiding him effortlessly through the crowd. He noticed the texture of Est’s skin against his—smooth, warm. He could feel every small movement as Est led him through the cheering group.

They reached the corner of the long table, pushed together from three smaller ones. Est released his wrist only after William was right beside him.

“Here.”

The word was soft, low, but carried unmistakable authority. William looked up, stunned, his gaze locking onto Est’s, who sat down at the edge, then gave William a look that left no room for argument.

So William sat — right next to him.

William was acutely aware of how close they were sitting. Closer than he had imagined, close enough to catch the faint, woody scent of Est’s perfume—clean, slightly sharp, with a subtle warmth that made his stomach flutter. The smell alone made his chest tighten in a delicious kind of panic.

Est’s dark eyes flicked to him, eyebrows slightly arched, silently asking, Are you okay?

William wanted to answer, to speak, but his thoughts had scattered into chaos: I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m not fine. I’m dying. I can’t…

He could feel the warmth radiating from Est’s side, the gentle brush of his shoulder against his own as he adjusted, the slight creak of the wooden bench beneath them. The soft cotton of Est’s sleeve grazed his arm whenever he moved slightly. 

William’s fingers twitched, resting on his lap, wanting to reach out, to touch, to do something—anything—but frozen by the intensity of the moment.

The room buzzed around them: laughter, clinking dishes, the hiss of meat on the grill, the low, warm hum of conversation. Yet in that corner, it felt almost as if time had slowed. 

He could see the curve of Est’s jaw, the way the light hit the dark glint in his eyes, the faint shadow of his eyelashes against his skin. The subtle tilt of his head made William’s chest ache, as though his heart had found some secret rhythm in sync with Est’s presence.

The heart shaped lips. 

He could hear his own heartbeat clearly, loud in his ears, a rapid drum that matched the warmth pooling in his stomach. Every nerve ending seemed alive with awareness, tingling, waiting. 

William’s lips parted slightly, a faint gasp of realization that this—this closeness, this scent, this quiet power—was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Est’s gaze lingered just long enough, silently checking him, before he returned his attention to the bustling table. 

William stayed frozen, acutely aware of every tiny sensory detail: the warmth from the grill brushing against his side, the soft clatter of plates, the faint smoky scent of meat mingling with Est’s perfume, the subtle scrape of their knees under the table.

William was in deep trouble. 

⸻

“Phi Est! You finally brought him!” someone called from across the table.

“Punch,” Est said simply, his tone softer than usual.

William blinked, caught off guard. Softer? That was… new. He instinctively looked up and saw a girl with long hair, a radiant smile, and the kind of presence that could fill a room without even trying. She dropped into a chair across from them, and—William couldn’t believe it—Est actually let a real smile slip across his face.

Punch’s eyes lit up as they landed on him. “You must be William. Performing arts, right? Music?”

William blinked, a little stunned by her, then nodded. “Yeah—guitar, vocals. You sing too?”

Her smile widened, easy and bright. “A little. Not like you band people. I saw you at Café Blue the other week, actually. That jacket. That voice. You killed it.”

“Oh,” William said, ears pinking instantly despite himself. “Thanks Phi. That means a lot.”

“We need to jam sometime,” Punch added, leaning forward, eyes sparkling.

“Please,” William said instantly, grin widening. “I’d love that.”

Est’s eyes flicked sideways at the exchange, unreadable, but he didn’t interrupt. William caught the briefest lift of an eyebrow, the tiniest twitch of lips, and filed it away somewhere in his head. 

Punch leaned in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Actually, I need a new singing partner. Phi Est used to sing with me sometimes, but he’s… well, he said you sing really well, William. Like, really well.”

William blinked, stunned. “Wait… you used to sing, Phi Est?” His voice was a mix of teasing and incredulity.

Est shrugged lightly. “Not that good.”

“Not that good?” Punch’s eyes widened, clearly unimpressed by his modesty. She leaned back with a sly smile. “I have video evidence. He’s amazing. Seriously. You should’ve seen him—he could’ve been a star.”

William laughed, leaning slightly toward Est, nudging him with a playful shoulder. “So you’re telling me you actually sang, Phi Est… and you’re brushing it off?”

Est gave a small, measured shrug, but there was a glint in his eye. “I wasn’t that good. Not like you.”

William’s heart skipped a beat. 

The meat came out not long after—platters of marinated pork, beef, and chicken, along with lettuce, kimchi, and side dishes. The sizzling aroma hit William immediately, warm, garlicky, rich, making his stomach growl so loudly he was genuinely worried the whole table heard it.

He leaned closer to Est, dropping his voice just slightly. “…I don’t know how to grill.”

Est didn’t glance up, already reaching for the tongs with a casual flick of his wrist. “So?”

“So,” William said, mock-scandalized, “how will I eat?”

The corners of Est’s mouth twitched. He picked up a strip of beef, letting it hiss and spit against the hot grill. “I’ll grill. Obviously.”

Obviously.

It was obvious.

Obviously.

William’s brain repeated the word in about fourteen different tones, each more ridiculous than the last.

Obviously, Phi Est would grill for him.

Obviously, William would now owe him his life.

Obviously, this was basically a love confession.

There was a pause, and Est could feel William staring at him like he’d just announced a proposal. He sighed. “What?”

“You’ll grill for me?” William asked, voice hushed like it was a secret, like the table wasn’t right there.

Est kept his face neutral. “I have grilled before for others. I won’t give you food poisoning.”

His tone was… weird. Defensive, maybe.

William squinted suspiciously. “Others? Who are these ‘others’? Names, dates, references, please.”

Est ignored him. But his hand—the one holding the tongs—was just a little tighter than usual.

And the table, of course, couldn’t stay quiet.

Joong leaned dramatically over the grill. “Ohhh. William gets grilled meat from Phi Est? That’s new.”

His voice wasn’t even a whisper. It was loud enough to echo.

Dunk immediately snickered, nearly choking on his lettuce wrap. “Est never grills for anyone. Ever.”

What? 

William froze, chopsticks halfway to a side dish. “Wait. What? Never?”

Never?! His brain scrambled. Did they mean—like, literally never? In his whole life? He looked around wildly, but everyone was nodding.

Daou pointed with his chopsticks. “Hold up—did I just hear that you’re grilling for him? You? Est?”

Offroad leaned around Daou, grinning like a maniac. “That’s history, man. First person in the world to get meat grilled by Est Supha.”

“Shut up,” Est muttered, flipping the meat with sharp, precise movements. His face was blank, but the tips of his ears—traitorous—were pink.

William’s brain short-circuited. First person in the world.

He’s grilling for me. Only me. Oh god. I’m never eating regular food again. This is a peak life experience. Someone write this down in the history books.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only Est could hear. “…Wait. Phi, you said you’ve grilled for others before. But… the first person ever to get grilled meat from you is… me.”

Est didn’t falter. His wrist moved smoothly, flipping another strip. But William caught it: the tiniest pause, the microsecond hesitation, the darker flush at the top of his ear.

William bit back a grin so wide it was almost criminal. His whole chest felt like it was expanding, warm and fizzy and impossible to contain. First person in the world. Yeah, he was never letting go of that.

Est, for his part, was internally screaming. 

He didn’t grill for William on purpose. It wasn’t a thing.

Obviously. 

The tongs were in his hand first, that was all. He was good at grilling, that was all. 

Exactly. 

William had just looked so ridiculously clueless, chopsticks hovering like he expected the meat to cook itself, and Est couldn’t—he just couldn’t watch that happen.

But now the table was acting like he’d carved William’s name into a tree with a heart around it.

And William—god, William was looking at him. Like Est had handed him the moon. His eyes were shining, wide and golden, his smile half-hidden but buzzing at the edges, like he couldn’t quite hold it back.

Est flipped the meat again, focusing very hard on not setting the grill on fire.

“Phi Est,” William whispered suddenly, leaning even closer, breath brushing Est’s shoulder. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m near the grill.”

William tilted his head, pretending to inspect him. “Nah. That’s not grill heat. That’s embarrassment heat.”

Est jabbed a piece of beef onto William’s plate, a little too aggressively. “Eat.”

William beamed.

He fed me. He put food on my plate. Direct service. He could die happy right now.

The night rolled on with sizzling sounds and bursts of laughter. Est, despite himself, kept grilling. Meat after meat, flipped and seared, perfectly timed. And without thinking, he kept sliding pieces onto William’s plate. Not just the burnt edges or leftovers—no, Est kept giving him the good ones. Tender slices. Perfectly browned pork. The first bite of chicken thigh that everyone usually fought over.

William noticed. Of course he noticed. His plate was stacked higher than anyone’s, a private little mountain of privilege.

Every time Est’s tongs reached toward him, William’s chest did that weird expanding thing again, like there wasn’t enough space in his ribs. Est always slid a piece of perfectly cooked meat onto his plate before his own.

“Try this,” Est murmured, dropping a piece of chicken onto William’s rice.

“Okay,” William said, obediently eating it. His eyes went wide. “That’s so good.”

“Eat more.” Est added pork next, then a piece of grilled kimchi, then beef dipped in sauce.

Soon William’s plate was a patchwork of flavors.

“Are you… just feeding him?” Joong asked incredulously.

Est didn’t answer, but he also didn’t stop.

William had to bite back laughter. It felt almost domestic—the way Est kept his plate full, the quiet precision of it. Every time William finished something, Est noticed before he even set down his chopsticks.

His chest felt full, and maybe he was imagining it, but Est seemed… softer tonight.

And then—out of nowhere—Est set down his tongs, picked up a piece of beef with his own chopsticks, and slid it onto William’s plate. 

From his own plate.

William stopped breathing.

Wait. 

Wait wait wait. 

This was different.

This wasn’t just grill-to-plate logistics.

This was a transfer of possession.

Est was giving him his own food. His.

William looked down at the single shining piece of beef sitting there like it was a sacred offering. Then up at Est, who was deliberately not making eye contact.

“Oh my god,” William whispered dramatically, clutching his chest. “You’re feeding me from your personal stash.”

Est rolled his eyes. “I already have too much. I was balancing the ratio.”

“No,” William said, shaking his head with utmost sincerity. “This is love. Don’t cheapen it.”

Est shoved another piece of pork onto his own lettuce wrap just to avoid answering. But his ears—damn them—were glowing again.

The conversation at the table rolled on, a hum of voices bouncing above the sizzle. Punch teased Offroad, Daou made sly jokes, Perth and Santa laughed too loudly at each other’s comments. 

William kept up easily, flashing grins, tossing out stories about Mochi, about campus life, about nothing at all. He was animated, golden retriever energy in full swing, hands moving as much as his mouth.

“So what’s the plan for summer break?” Punch asked suddenly, leaning her chin on her palm, gaze curious.

William rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Uh, I’m not going home. My family’s… back home-home. Abroad. So it’s just me.”

Punch’s brows lifted. “Oh. Won’t you get lonely?”

“A little,” William admitted, trying to keep his tone casual, though his smile faltered for half a heartbeat. “But I’ll survive. Maybe I’ll work, maybe I’ll play gigs. Mochi—my cat—keeps me busy.”

“Still all alone?” Offroad cut in, leaning over Daou to get a better look at him. His tone wasn’t cruel, but it carried just enough pity to make William laugh a little too quickly, brush it all away like it didn’t matter.

“I’ll manage. Mochi will keep me busy,” he repeated, tugging on the hem of his sleeve. He didn’t want to admit it—not here, not in front of Est—but the thought of long, hot weeks without anyone to bother, to sit with, to talk to, left a hollow ache in his chest.

Beside him, Est’s chopsticks clicked against the grill. The meat sizzled, glistening in the low light, and William only caught it because he was watching so closely—the tiny pause in Est’s rhythm, the way his hand hesitated before flipping another slice. Just a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

And then Est’s voice, low and steady, cut through the noise.

“I’m not going home either.”

William’s head whipped toward him.

Est didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the grill, lashes casting faint shadows against his cheeks. “Moving out. Apartment near campus.”

The words came so casually, almost too casual, like they weren’t meant to matter. Like he hadn’t just offered William a glimpse into something private.

But William felt it. The sentence thudded in his chest like a stone sinking into water.

He blinked. “Wait. An apartment?” His grin spread slow and bright, impossible to contain. “So you’ll be around all summer?”

Est gave the faintest shrug, shoulders shifting under his dark shirt. “Yeah.”

The idea bloomed in William’s head before he could stop it—long days, no classes, Est still here. He’d have no excuse to vanish, no walls of distance to hide behind.

“Need help moving?” William leaned in a little, elbow bumping Est’s arm as he grinned. “I’m great at carrying boxes. Real muscles under all this, I swear.” He flexed half-jokingly, the motion exaggerated, but his heart was thudding for real.

Est’s lips pressed together. For a second, William thought he’d be brushed off. But then—just barely—the corner of Est’s mouth curved upward. The smallest, quietest ghost of a smile. “We’ll see.”

William swallowed, his chest tightening like he’d just won something priceless. He stored the look away, carefully, greedily, like treasure.

But then his mouth got ahead of him, reckless and golden retriever-bold.

“You know,” he said, half under his breath, “if I help you move… I might not leave your apartment. Ever.”

The words hung in the smoky air, teasing but edged with something real.

Punch and Offroad were too busy bickering to notice. Perth and Santa had leaned into their own corner, whispering and laughing. No one else was paying attention.

But Est heard it.

His hand stilled on the grill again, chopsticks hovering over the sizzling meat. He didn’t lift his gaze, didn’t move, but inside—inside he was suddenly, sharply aware of how close William was sitting. How the heat of his arm pressed faintly against his own, how William smelled faintly of smoke and cologne and something sweeter, something uniquely him.

He’d really stay, Est thought, a dangerous, ridiculous thought that he stamped down immediately. He’d sit on my couch, talk too much, play with Pooh, show me pictures of that cat in real time instead of through texts. He’d…

Est shifted slightly, letting out a low hum that passed for nonchalance. “Then don’t expect me to feed you every day.”

William laughed, bright and shameless. “Oh, so you’re saying you’d let me stay?”

Est finally glanced up, just once. Their eyes met.

And though his face didn’t change, though his voice stayed even when he murmured, “We’ll see,” something warm and dangerous coiled low in his chest.

He turned back to the grill, flipping the meat with steady hands. But William’s laughter lingered in his ears, too close, too loud, too alive.

And Est thought, almost against his will: Maybe I wouldn’t mind if he stayed. 

It was in the middle of this comfortable rhythm, laughter threading through their table, that it happened.

From the next table over, a voice cut in. “Who’s that? Who invited a freshman?”

Not curious. Not teasing. Just edged.

William froze, chopsticks hovering above his plate.

“Est, why’d you invite him?”

It wasn’t a whisper, either. The words landed on the table like a challenge, and William’s shoulders tightened before he even looked up. He knew that tone. He’d heard it before—dismissive, territorial, the kind of thing that said you don’t belong here.

Not tonight. Not on Phi Est’s night.

He opened his mouth, ready to brush it off, maybe joke his way through, but before he could—

Est’s gaze snapped up.

Sharp. Cold. Steel.

“He’s with me,” Est said evenly. “You can leave if you have any problem.”

No hesitation. No wavering.

The guy blinked, startled, and swallowed whatever remark he’d been about to toss. He turned back to his own table, the tension dissipating like steam.

But William couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

With me.

Not he’s a friend, not he tagged along. Just with me. Like it was obvious. Like William belonged there, no questions asked.

Was this a claim? 

William’s heart stuttered. His ears burned red.

Heat crawled up his neck, hotter than the grill. He ducked his head, shoving a piece of lettuce-wrapped meat into his mouth just to give himself something to do, but it didn’t stop his chest from swelling, didn’t stop the ridiculous hammering of his heart.

And then, casual as anything, Est plucked a slice of meat from the grill, perfectly caramelized, and laid it gently onto William’s plate.

Only then did he add one to his own.

William wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or say you can’t do things like that and expect me to survive, Phi Est. But he kept his mouth shut, lips tugging into a smile he tried to hide behind his glass of iced tea.

His knee brushed Est’s under the table. A tiny touch, accidental—but William didn’t pull away.

And neither did Est.

From Est’s side, he had felt the shift immediately.

William had gone stiff at the question from the other table, his easy shoulders suddenly pulled taut, his laugh gone silent. For someone who carried himself like golden sunshine, William dimmed too easily when people tried to box him out.

Est hated it.

The words left him before he thought twice: He’s with me.

It had come out cool, cutting, enough to shut the guy up without escalation. But the truth of it throbbed under his skin even after the silence returned to normal.

With me.

He meant it. More than he had realized until it was already out of his mouth.

Beside him, William shifted, shoulders easing. Est didn’t need to look to know; he could sense it in the way the air around William lightened again, in the faint bump of his knee pressing, hesitating, then staying against Est’s under the table.

Est didn’t move. Couldn’t.

His hand reached automatically, sliding another slice of beef onto William’s plate. It was easier than words.

But then William’s laugh, softer this time, brushed against him like static. And something in Est stuttered.

Mine.

The thought startled him. He almost dropped his chopsticks.

Oh. 

But it was true. 

He wanted that brightness. All that relentless energy, that warmth that spilled into every room William walked into—Est wanted it. Wanted to keep it close. 

He didn’t want to share it with anyone else.

And William… he didn’t even realize how much he was getting under Est’s skin.

Est slipped a piece of pork onto his own plate, chewing slowly, pretending his thoughts weren’t unraveling.

Then, just when he thought he had his composure back, chopsticks slid into his vision.

William, grinning sheepishly, dropped a slice of chicken onto his plate. “You’ve been feeding me all night. Fair’s fair, Phi.”

Est blinked.

He hadn’t expected that.

The chicken was slightly charred, unevenly grilled—clearly one of the first pieces William had snuck onto the wire mesh when he thought Est wasn’t watching.

It was clumsy. Imperfect.

But Est’s chest tightened anyway.

“Eat Phi,” William urged, nudging the chopsticks toward him. “I worked hard on that one.”

Est’s lips pressed together, hiding the way they wanted to curve. He picked up the piece and ate it in silence.

It was dry.

But for some reason, it was the best thing he’d had all night.

⸻

The grills had long gone cold, their last coils of smoke curling upward and fading into the night. Plates were smeared with sauces and the tang of charcoal still lingered in the air, sharp but comforting. No one made a move to leave.

That was always the way with swim team celebrations—when the food was gone, the conversation carried the night instead. Everyone sat around, leaning against the backs of chairs, chopsticks still in hand like props for the stories they were telling. Laughter rose and fell in waves, the chatter easy, familiar.

William, wedged comfortably beside Est, felt loose from the warmth of it all. His stomach was full, his face hurt from grinning too much, and every once in a while Est’s knee would brush his under the table like an accident. William told himself it was nothing. 

He told himself he was fine. 

He told himself a lot of things, most of which weren’t true.

And then, as if on cue, someone—Daou, predictably—leaned forward, eyes glittering with mischief.

“Alright,” Daou said, tapping his chopsticks against his glass, “enough about music, enough about gigs. I think it’s time we educate William properly.”

William blinked. “Educate me?”

“Yeah,” Offroad chimed in, grinning. “You’ve been sitting here all night looking at Est like he’s some kind of puzzle. Don’t even deny it. So—” he clapped his hands together, “—welcome to Est 101.”

A ripple of laughter went around the table. William’s ears burned, but he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. He risked a glance at Est.

Est was already rolling his eyes. “Don’t you dare—”

But it was too late.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Perth said, leaning forward eagerly. “Pop quiz, Will. Did you know Est wasn’t always Supha”

William blinked. “What do you mean?”

Punch propped her chin in her palm, grinning like a cat. “He changed his name. Used to be Ravipon.”

William turned to Est, startled. “Really?”

Est’s expression was flat, unimpressed. “This is not an interesting conversation.”

“It is to me,” William said quickly, earnest enough to make the table laugh. “Why’d you change it?”

Est hesitated, eyes flicking away, like he was debating whether it was worth answering. His voice came out low, clipped, but honest. “Superstition. Family thought Supha would… suit me better. Stronger. Luckier.”

William tilted his head, tasting the name like it was a secret he wasn’t supposed to know. “Supha,” he repeated softly. “It does suit you.”

Est’s lips pressed together, caught between irritation and the smallest hint of satisfaction.

From across the table, Santa stage-whispered, “He likes it when you say it.”

Est shot him a look that could’ve sliced glass.

But William was still smiling, completely unbothered, storing the new fact away like a treasure. Ravipon. Supha. Phi Est. He wanted to know all of them.

“Next lesson!” Daou declared, saving Est from answering. “Skincare. Did you know this man spends—what is it—thirty minutes every night?”

“Forty-five,” Punch corrected, without shame.

William’s jaw dropped. “Forty-five minutes?” He whipped his head toward Est, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“Est’s a skincare freak,” Joong said, grinning. “I’m talking full lineup. Serums. Toner. Eye cream. He spends longer in front of the mirror than anyone I’ve ever met.”

William turned to Est, wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Normal,” Est muttered, glaring at his so-called friends. “Just normal.”

“Normal, my ass,” Joong cackled. “He carries sunscreen like it’s holy water. If we’re outside and he forgets it, he sulks for hours.”

Est gave him a look that could’ve curdled milk. “I don’t sulk.”

But William was already gone, grin splitting his face. “That’s adorable,” he said before he could stop himself.

Est blinked at him. “What?”

“You. With your little… routine.” William gestured vaguely, trying not to laugh. “It’s… I don’t know. Cute.”

His heart was racing, his mouth was dry, but he couldn’t help it. The image of Est, meticulous and serious in front of a mirror, carefully patting cream into his skin—it was enough to make him dizzy.

Est stared at him for a long beat, expression unreadable. Inside, though, his mind was a mess. Cute. He called me cute. What is he even—does he know what he’s doing?

“Don’t encourage them,” Est muttered, eyes fixed firmly on the table.

But William wasn’t letting it go. “But forty-five minutes? What do you even do? Like—washing, toner, lotion? Masks? Eye cream?” He was half-laughing, half-genuinely fascinated.

The corner of Est’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting the urge to smirk. “You sound like you know more than I thought.”

William flushed. “I—well, I’ve seen some stuff. Plus I’ve seen Lego do it. But forty-five minutes? That’s… that’s dedication.”

“It’s vanity,” Offroad teased.

“It’s called taking care of yourself,” Est corrected, sharp but calm, like he’d said it a hundred times before.

William nodded solemnly, like this was sacred. “Makes sense. That’s why your skin looks like that. Perfect”

The table howled again, the others piling on with more details—how Est had a whole drawer of products, how he lectured them about SPF, how once he made Offroad return a moisturizer because the ingredients were “trash.”

William listened like each fact was gold. Nodding, grinning, asking follow-up questions. He didn’t tease cruelly, didn’t roll his eyes. He looked… delighted.

Est couldn’t stop glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. He’s too earnest. Too bright. Every time they hand him another piece of me, he just… takes it like it’s the best gift he’s ever gotten. Why does that make my chest feel like this?

And then, as if to rescue him from spiraling, Punch chimed in, “Oh, tell him about Valentine’s Day.”

Est groaned. “No.”

“Yes,” Daou said firmly, grinning. “He needs to know. It’s essential.”

William had a bad feeling about this yet he still asked in a tentative voice, “…valentine’s day?”

“Fine,” Est said dryly, crossing his arms. “I hate Valentine’s Day. Always have. Too fake. Too loud. Too much. Annoying.”

Uh-oh.

William raised his brows, leaning closer. “Hate is a strong word.”

“It’s accurate,” Est deadpanned.

“Annoying,” Joong echoed with a grin. “He says that, but every February he sulks like the universe personally wronged him.”

“Shut up,” Est said flatly. He didn’t even raise his voice, but Joong leaned back with both hands up like he’d been swatted.

Across the table, Offroad grinned like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. “And now, William—your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Yeah.” Punch leaned forward. “You. Valentine’s. Thoughts?”

William hesitated. His mouth twisted into a sheepish smile. “Well… I don’t hate it. Actually…” He scratched his cheek, voice dipping lower, a little embarrassed. “It’s my birthday.”

Silence. And then—

“No way.” Perth was the first to crack. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” William said, laughing softly. “February fourteenth. Valentine’s baby. My mom held off for me to be born.”

Est’s head turned so fast William almost laughed again. His eyes widened, sharp focus zeroing in. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” William grinned. “Guess you’ll have to make an exception for me.”

William’s brain, meanwhile, was imploding.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Did I just tell him that? He’s looking at me like I dropped a bomb on his perfectly organized life. He hates Valentine’s—like, hates it with the passion of a thousand burning suns—and I just told him it’s literally my birthday. Great. Fantastic. Good job, Jakrapatr, you’ve officially ruined your chances with your crush because your mom couldn’t wait until February fifteenth.

Except—wait.

Est was still staring at him. Not annoyed. Not rolling his eyes. Just… staring.

Holy shit. He’s thinking about it. He’s thinking about me. Oh no. Oh yes. Maybe Valentine’s Day is ruined for him forever, but also—does that mean I ruined Valentine’s Day for Est Supha Sangaworawong? Is that… hot? Is that a power move? Do I have power over him now?

William’s grin wobbled but didn’t fade. His heart was sprinting like it had signed up for Est’s swim team.

Phi’s going to remember this. Every time he groans about Valentine’s, he’s gonna think of me. Mission accomplished.

Eternal association: William = Valentine’s Day = maybe not so bad after all.

For the hundredth time that night, Est was completely thrown off and William had been the reason for all of it.

His carefully balanced calm slipped, just slightly. Because now when he thought of Valentine’s Day—the noise, the flowers, the artificial hearts—he also thought of William. William’s grin, William’s birthday, William sitting beside him, eyes bright like he’d just handed Est a secret.

Valentine’s Day. 

He hated it. 

The noise, the spectacle, the empty gestures. But William… William being born that day—suddenly it felt less hollow. Less fake. Almost like the day had been meant for someone like him. Someone so infuriatingly bright, so unashamedly full of life.

He could make an exception, maybe just this once.

Est looked away quickly, muttering under his breath, “We’ll see.”

But William caught it. He always did. And he tucked it away, warm and glowing in his chest.

⸻

The restaurant’s neon sign buzzed faintly overhead as the group spilled out onto the street, voices overlapping in a scatter of laughter and half-finished conversations. The night was warm but not suffocating, softened by the faintest breeze that tugged at William’s jacket and carried the faint scent of grilled meat with it.

A chorus of goodbyes rose and fell as friends split off in different directions, pairs and trios scattering toward dorms, apartments, and late-night after-after parties.

William lingered.

His hands fiddled at his sides, the energy bubbling in his chest not yet ready to fade. He could feel it humming under his skin—the way the evening had unraveled, how Est had looked when the Valentine’s confession slipped out, how his lips had tilted in that rare, startled way that William knew he’d keep replaying in his head later. He wasn’t ready for the night to end. Not yet.

“Phi,” he said, jogging a little to catch up when Est moved past the glow of the restaurant. “I’ll walk you back.”

Est glanced at him, one brow raised, expression unreadable in the low streetlight. “You don’t have to.”

“Didn’t ask if I had to,” William replied, grinning without hesitation. “I want to.”

Est didn’t argue. He just adjusted his bag over one shoulder, gaze flicking forward again, but William caught the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth. It was permission enough.

So they fell into step, side by side.

The street stretched wide and mostly empty, only the occasional hum of a scooter passing or the chatter of distant students breaking the stillness.

The glow from passing shop windows brushed warm light across Est’s profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose. William caught himself staring once, twice, maybe three times before tearing his eyes away. His heart beat a little quicker each time, like he’d almost been caught doing something illegal.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and started talking before his brain could tell him not to.

“You were really funny in there, Phi,” William said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Like—everyone’s throwing Est 101 facts at me like it’s an actual syllabus, and you were just sitting there looking like you wanted to murder us all.”

Est’s head turned, slow and deliberate, a faint arch to his brow. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not!” William insisted, his voice rising, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “It’s—it’s like you have this aura, you know? Like, serious. Controlled. But then when they said you sulk on Valentine’s Day—oh my God, Phi, I almost died. I wanted to see it so badly.”

Est sighed, low, quiet. “You don’t.”

“I do!” William shot back, walking backward now so he could face him fully, hands gesturing wildly. 

“Oh! And this one’s the best,” William added suddenly, snapping his fingers like he almost forgot. “Phi Joong told me you were offered a BL drama role once but you turned it down.”

Est stopped walking. His head whipped toward William, eyes sharp. “…He told you what?”

William blinked at the reaction, then grinned wider, like he’d hit the jackpot. “Yeah! Isn’t that cool? Like, you could’ve been in a BL. Imagine—half the country falling for you. But nope. Phi Est, rejecting stardom because he’s too cool for it. That’s the most Est thing I’ve ever heard.”

Est dragged a hand over his face. I will actually bury Joong alive. No hesitation.

Suddenly his foot caught on a crack in the pavement. William stumbled, windmilling an arm, but before he could embarrass himself further Est’s hand shot out, steady and sure, catching him at the elbow.

“Careful,” Est said simply.

The contact lasted barely a second—warm fingers brushing through the thin fabric of William’s sleeve—but it sent heat racing up his arm like fire. William straightened too quickly, his heart stumbling faster than his feet ever had, and he tried to play it off with a laugh.

“See? This is what I mean. You’re all… calm and collected. You save me from imminent doom without even blinking.” He leaned closer, mock whispering. “I think you might secretly be a superhero.”

Est gave him a look. Just a look. But William swore there was the tiniest curve to his mouth, almost lost to the shadows.

They walked on. William filled the space between them with chatter, his words tumbling out in waves that didn’t wait for permission. He talked about the food (“Honestly, Phi, I burned one piece of meat but you ate it anyway, that was very brave of you”), about the chaos at the table, and of course, about Est. Always, inevitably, about Est.

“You know what else I found out tonight?” William said, rocking on his heels as he walked, his voice bright. “That you used to be Ravipon. Why didn’t you tell me? I think it’s a cool name. But Supha—yeah, okay, it suits you. Strong. Sleek. I like it.”

Est didn’t answer right away, just kept his gaze ahead, hands loose at his sides. Then, softly, “It wasn’t important.”

“It’s you,” William replied without missing a beat. “So it’s important.”

That earned him silence, but William noticed Est’s shoulders shift—like the smallest exhale he hadn’t realized he was holding in.

And then, because his brain never knew when to stop, William barreled into his next thought.

“Speaking of important—where’s your gold medal?”

Est blinked, as if caught off guard. “What?”

“Your gold medal.” William tilted his head, eyes wide, voice bordering on dramatic outrage. “You were wearing it earlier. Now it’s gone. Why would you take it off? If I had a gold medal, Phi, I would never take it off. I’d wear it to class, to the cafeteria, to sleep. Everywhere. People would have to pry it off my cold, dead body.”

Est’s lips pressed together. “It’s just a medal.”

“Just—” William clutched his chest like Est had stabbed him. “Just a medal? Phi, you swam your heart out, and you won, and you’re telling me it’s just—” He broke off with a gasp, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re hiding it, aren’t you?”

“I’m not hiding it.”

“Then prove it. Show me.”

“No.”

“Yes!” William bounced a step closer, leaning in until their shoulders brushed, warm fabric against fabric. He tilted his head, letting his eyes go wide in practiced, shameless pleading. “Please, Phi. Just for me. Five seconds. I promise I’ll give it back. I’ll even polish it first if you want.”

Est shook his head, but William noticed the smallest twitch of his lips, like he was fighting a smile.

“I’m serious,” William pressed, walking backward again to face him. “Do you know how many people would kill to see that medal up close? And you’re walking around like it’s… like it’s nothing. Let me appreciate it properly.”

“No.”

“Phi.”

“No.”

“Phi.”

Est looked at him like he was a particularly loud commercial he couldn’t skip. Calm, unamused, yet not walking away either. “No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

William groaned, dragging his feet for extra effect. “You’re cruel. Cruel, Phi Est. Depriving me of my dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“Yes! Dreams! I just think it would be—come on, you didn’t even keep it on for the dinner. Why did you take it off? You should’ve been eating with it around your neck like a king.”

Est exhaled through his nose, slow, steady, like he was holding back something. Irritation—or maybe a laugh. “It’s heavy.”

“Heavy? Heavy is good! Heavy means important. If I had a gold medal that was heavy, I’d be like, ‘look at my neck muscles, everyone, developed solely from carrying the weight of my greatness.’”

Finally, finally, Est cracked the smallest smile. So faint it could’ve been imagined—but William saw it. And when William saw it, his heart leapt.

Encouraged, he pressed again. “Please? I promise I’ll be careful. I’ll give it back in pristine condition. No fingerprints. No smudges. No teeth marks. Unless you want me to bite it, which, historically, medalists do, so—”

“Don’t,” Est cut in firmly.

“Fine, fine. No biting.” William grinned, leaning closer, voice dropping into a playful murmur. “So… is that a yes?”

Est stopped walking altogether, fixing him with that unreadable stare. For a moment, William thought maybe he’d pushed too far. Maybe Est was going to shut him down cold. His heart hiccupped nervously in his chest.

But his hand moved into his bag pocket, slow, deliberate. He pulled out the gold medal, the ribbon looped loosely through his fingers. The streetlight caught on the metal, throwing a soft gleam across its surface

William’s breath caught.

Without a word, Est held it out.

William’s hands hovered before he dared take it, reverent, like Est had just handed him something sacred. The ribbon brushed his fingers, cool against his skin, and the medal itself felt heavier than he’d imagined.

He looked up, eyes wide, grin already spreading. “Oh my god. Phi Est… it’s beautiful.”

Est hummed noncommittally, but his lips curved in the faintest, tiniest smile.

And William—William felt like he’d just been entrusted with the sun.

The medal felt cool and heavy in William’s hands. He couldn’t stop running his thumbs over the engraved lettering, the textured ridges along the rim, the faint scratch across the back that probably came from being tossed into Est’s duffel after the ceremony. 

It was real, solid proof that Est had stood above everyone else that afternoon, the entire stadium echoing with cheers when his name was called.

And now that proof was sitting in his palms.

William walked slowly, head tilted down to admire it, the gold gleaming faintly under the streetlights as they moved along the quiet path back to the dorms. 

Est walked on his left, hands shoved in his pockets, gaze forward and steady as if nothing unusual was happening — though William knew better. He had begged for this medal for at least five minutes, and Est had finally caved with a sigh, muttering something about him being insufferable.

Except he wasn’t giving it back anytime soon. William held it up to eye level, turning it in the light, as if it was some priceless treasure. His smile was boyish, unrestrained.

Est, walking beside him with his hands in his pockets, watched him with a sideways glance he tried to disguise. It was ridiculous, the way William was treating the medal like it was a sacred artifact instead of just another win. Est had drawers full of them back home, medals and trophies tucked away in boxes that smelled faintly of chlorine.

But William… William was looking at this one as if it were more than a medal, as if it had meaning stitched into it.

And it made something strange stir in Est’s chest. Something dangerous.

“Do you like it that much?” Est asked at last, his voice even, his expression smooth. A simple question, nothing more. But his eyes flicked once to William, searching.

William blinked, caught red-handed, and clutched the medal to his chest dramatically. “What? No, no, it’s not—” He paused, lips pressing together, before glancing at Est again. Est’s profile was all sharp lines softened by the night air, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. His expression was unreadable, like always.

William lowered his gaze back to the medal, speaking softer this time. “…It’s not the medal I like.”

For once, Est’s composure cracked. He blinked. 

His steps faltered for half a second. Not the medal?

He tilted his head, trying to read William’s face, but William was looking down at the medal in his hands, not at him. The lamplight softened the sharpness of his jaw, glowed against his cheekbones, caught in his dark eyes.

“Then what?” Est asked, quiet. His voice betrayed none of the quickening in his chest.

William’s throat felt suddenly tight, but he kept his grin, kept his voice light even as his chest hammered with something heavier. He thumbed the edge of the medal again, still not looking directly at Est. “It’s just… this is the first medal Phi Est won while I was watching.” His voice dipped, almost reverent. “That’s why I like it.”

The world went quiet. Even the hum of passing traffic seemed to fade into the background.

Est had stopped walking, his shoes scraping lightly against the pavement.

William halted a step later, confused at first, before he turned — and found Est looking at him.

It wasn’t the usual cool, guarded stare. It wasn’t his sharp eye-rolls or the faint smirks William had learned to treasure like secret victories.

No — this look was different.

Est gaze lingered, deep and unreadable, like he was staring at William and seeing something he hadn’t expected. His jaw tightened, and for once, he seemed unsure of what to do with himself.

The words had knocked Est still. He had stopped walking without meaning to, his body freezing even as his brain scrambled. William, who had been a step ahead, turned with a questioning look, confused by Est’s sudden halt.

Est’s thoughts tangled. The first while I was watching. Why did that matter to him? Why was William looking at him like that—like Est’s accomplishment had become a shared memory just because William had been there to see it? The medal had been won in the water, in the hours of training Est had endured, in the discipline and grind of years. It was his. His work, his sweat. And yet, somehow, the way William said it made Est feel like the medal had a different kind of worth. As though William had tied it to them—Est and William, William and Est—and that bond was what gave it shine.

It was absurd. It was… dangerous.

William’s chest fluttered. Oh. Did I just… break Phi Est?

For a second, William considered cracking a joke, anything to ease the weight of Est’s stare.

But instead, his body moved on its own. He stepped closer, their shoulders brushing again, then closer still until there was barely a breath between them.

It struck him again — Est was taller. Just barely, maybe an inch, but enough that William had to tilt his chin up very very lightly. And standing this close, it was impossible to ignore.

William swallowed hard, fingers trembling slightly as he lifted the medal. He didn’t look away, not this time. Carefully, gently, he looped the ribbon back over Est’s head, letting it settle against his chest where it belonged. The metal gleamed against the dark fabric of his shirt.

Then William smiled. Soft, warm, with a sincerity he didn’t bother hiding. His voice came out quiet, but sure. “I’m very proud of you, Phi Est.”

For Est, it was like his entire system glitched. He stood frozen, his usually sharp mind blanking under the weight of those words — under the weight of that smile. William’s grin wasn’t teasing, wasn’t mischievous, wasn’t demanding or dramatic.

It was… soft.

The kind of smile that tugged at something buried deep in Est’s chest, something he didn’t like acknowledging.

Proud. He was proud of him. Not impressed, not teasing, not congratulatory in the distant way most people said it. Proud. Like Est’s effort mattered to him personally. Like he’d carried a piece of it with him too.

Est’s throat felt tight. He should say something. Anything. But the words stuck, tangled, unspoken.

Est’s brain short-circuited.

Heat rose to his ears before he could stop it, and his hands twitched uselessly at his sides.

He should say something.

Anything.

A dry remark, a dismissal, a roll of his eyes — but his throat refused to cooperate.

Because William was still looking at him, beaming like Est had just given him the world, when in truth it was Est who had earned the medal, Est who had stood on that podium. Yet somehow, William made it feel like he was the one receiving something priceless.

William’s inner voice, meanwhile, was in complete chaos. Oh my god. I just did that. I just—look at him, he’s literally malfunctioning. Don’t faint, William. Don’t ruin this. Just stand here and look normal. Normal! Breathe—

The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. Est’s lips parted, as if to speak, but nothing came out. He shut them again, eyes darting briefly away before he forced them back to William.

William tilted his head, still smiling. “What? Cat got your tongue, Phi?” His tone was playful, but quieter than usual, almost coaxing.

Est exhaled through his nose, the smallest, sharpest huff. “You’re ridiculous.”

It was the only thing he could manage, but his voice betrayed him — softer than he intended.

And William… oh, William’s grin only grew.

William’s chest practically burst. He wanted to frame that half-smile and hang it on his dorm wall.

“…Didn’t we agree that I’m your ridiculous?” William shot back, grinning wider.

That made Est’s control slip just a little further.

He shook his head, and this time the smile broke fully across his face, unrestrained. It was brief, but it was real—his teeth showing, his eyes warming. A laugh escaped him, low and unguarded. “You’re impossible.”

William’s heart tripped over itself. He’d done it. He’d made Phi Est laugh—really laugh—and the sound might as well have been oxygen. He drank it in, dizzy with how much he wanted to hear it again.

Before William could find another line to push his luck, Est surprised him. He reached up, fingers brushing against the ribbon at his neck. He held the medal between his hands for a moment, his gaze fixed on it, then flicked his eyes to William. Something unreadable swirled there—hesitation, conflict, and something softer beneath it.

Without a word, Est slipped the medal off again. He looked at it once more, as if weighing its weight in his palm, then lifted it toward William. His movements were deliberate, almost slow, as though he were crossing an invisible line.

“Here,” Est said quietly. His voice was calm, but William caught the faint hitch beneath it. “You can keep it.”

William froze. “Wait—what? Phi Est, no, this is your—”

Est didn’t let him finish. He leaned forward just slightly and placed the medal around William’s neck himself. His fingers brushed William’s hair where the ribbon mussed it, smoothing it back in a tender, absent motion. The gesture was so careful, so unexpectedly intimate, that William forgot how to breathe.

Est lingered there a fraction longer than necessary, his fingertips just grazing William’s temple before he pulled back. And then he smiled again—not the small, restrained kind, but a real one, softened at the edges. It made William’s stomach flip over and over like he’d just dived headfirst into a pool.

Est’s thoughts, though, were chaos. What am I doing? Why am I giving him this? He didn’t give his medals away. They belonged to him, proof of his work. And yet, here he was, hanging this one around William’s neck like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because William’s face when he said he was proud… because William’s joy at holding it… because William had turned something so ordinary into something unforgettable.

Because somewhere between the restaurant, the walk, and the way William kept making him smile when he wasn’t supposed to, Est had realized it.

He had fallen.

And the worst—or maybe best—part was that it didn’t feel frightening anymore. It felt like relief. Like inevitability.

William, on the other hand, was one second away from combusting. The medal was heavy on his chest, but it was nothing compared to the weight of what it meant.

Est had given it to him. Not loaned, not teased, not let him hold it for a second. Given.

And Est had brushed his hair. And smiled. And—oh god, William was never going to survive this night.

He lifted his hand and touched the medal gingerly, like it was fragile. His grin spread slowly, unstoppable, pure.

“…Phi Est,” he said softly, almost reverently. “This is… I don’t even know what to say.”

Est shook his head, trying to look exasperated, but the warmth in his chest wouldn’t go away. “…Don’t say anything,” he muttered.

But William, as always, couldn’t help himself. “Too late. You realize I’m never taking this off, right? I’m going to wear it to class. To practice. To the cafeteria. People are going to think I won Olympic gold.”

Est laughed, actually laughed, the sound spilling out before he could stop it. He shook his head again, brushing his hair back with one hand, but his smile lingered. Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

And yet, even as he thought it, his eyes softened at William, his ridiculous golden retriever of a freshman, and the medal gleaming against his chest.

Est didn’t want this walk to end.

Ring.

The sharp trill of a phone broke the air between them.

Both of them jerked like startled deer, William’s hand dropping from the medal, Est blinking rapidly as if he’d been caught in a dream.

The ringtone pulsed again, muffled in Est’s pocket. He fumbled for it, ears pink, and when he glanced at the screen, his whole expression shifted.

“…It’s my parents,” he muttered.

William nodded too quickly, taking a half-step back to give him space, though his heart hadn’t yet slowed. He watched Est swipe the screen and lift the phone, angling it so the glow lit his face.

“Mae,” Est greeted, voice softer than William had ever heard it. “Pa.”

The call expanded into video, and suddenly both of Est’s parents filled the tiny rectangle of the screen. His mother’s smile was wide, his father’s expression more subdued but no less warm.

“Est! Our champion!” his mother exclaimed, waving as if Est were across the world. “We saw the livestream! You were wonderful, my boy.”

William blinked. Est—who was usually so collected, so perfectly self-contained—looked… shy. The corners of his mouth tugged in a tiny smile, and his eyes dropped as if he couldn’t quite hold their gaze through the screen.

“Thank you, Mae.”

His father leaned forward. “Proud of you, son. Truly. You’ve worked hard for this.”

And then—disaster.

“Wait a minute,” his father said suddenly, squinting. “Why aren’t you wearing your medal? You always call us with it on.”

William froze.

Est froze harder.

Their eyes shot to each other in panic, like two culprits caught mid-crime.

The medal.

The one still hanging around William’s neck.

For a long half-second, they just stared at each other in silent horror.

Then, of course, William—being William—reacted the only way he knew how.

With reckless abandon.

He leaned into the camera frame with the brightest smile he could muster, lifting a hand in greeting.

“Hi! I’m William!”

Est made a noise like he was choking on air, eyes widening, shoulders jerking as if he wanted to drag William straight into the pavement. But the damage was already done. William’s grin beamed through the tiny rectangle, the gold medal gleaming proudly against his chest.

Est’s parents blinked at the sudden intrusion, silent for a beat too long. Est’s hand dragged down his own face in what could only be described as sheer mortification.

And then—like someone had pressed play again—Est’s mother clasped her hands, her smile widening. “Ohhh,” she said slowly, knowingly. “So this is William.”

Est’s head snapped toward the screen. “Mae—”

“William,” his father repeated, testing the name. His sharp gaze flicked between William’s boyish grin, the medal around his neck, and Est’s reddened ears. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his mouth curved upward. “I see.”

William’s smile wobbled under the weight of all that parental scrutiny, but he pushed through, because retreat was not in his DNA. “Yes, sir! I mean—hello! I, uh—I’m William Jakrapatr. Music major. Freshman.” His hand shot up again in another wave, too enthusiastic, too chaotic. “It’s, um, really nice to meet you.”

Est’s mother tilted her head. “You’re wearing my son’s medal.”

William froze. “I—I can explain—”

Est groaned lowly, cutting in before he could dig the world’s deepest hole. “He—Mae, Pa, he’s just—” He made a vague, helpless gesture toward William, who was still smiling like a deer about to get flattened by a truck. “It’s nothing.”

It was definitely something.

“Oh, it doesn’t look like nothing,” his mother sing-songed, leaning closer to the camera. “Est never lets anyone touch his medals. Not even me.”

“Maaaee,” Est hissed.

William, caught between terror and glee, blurted, “He put it on me himself!”

Silence.

Est’s hand dropped from his face and all he could say was, “Why?” 

But his parents’ reactions were immediate. His mother gasped, delighted, while his father’s brows lifted, amusement cutting through his stern features.

“Oh my goodness,” his mother said, clapping. “So you’re the boy he cooked for that day!”

William’s brain screeched to a halt. “The—what?”

Est’s head whipped toward her, horrified. “Mae!”

“You know, the one he panicked over. The sick friend,” she continued happily, oblivious to her son’s silent pleas. “He called me asking for that recipe because he wanted it to be perfect. He was so nervous.”

William’s jaw dropped. His heart tried to escape his chest. “You—you mean—” He looked at Est, who had never looked more like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. “You cooked for me because—you—”

“Don’t,” Est warned, his voice low, cheeks flaming.

But it was too late. William was gone, spiraling into chaos. His eyes went wide, his grin stretched ear to ear, and he slapped both hands dramatically against his cheeks.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, loud enough that everyone heard. “This is the best day of my life.”

I’m meeting the in-laws. 

Est made a strangled sound. “William—”

Est’s father chuckled then, a rare sound, shaking his head. “You certainly are… something, young man.”

“I—thank you, sir?” William squeaked, every nerve buzzing.

“Est,” his mother said sweetly, ignoring his son’s glare. “He’s cute. You didn’t tell us he was cute.”

William’s entire brain exploded into confetti.

Cute.

The in-laws thought he was cute. He was going to die here, tonight, a happy man.

Meanwhile, Est had his palm over his face, the universal sign of a man in hell. His ears were crimson, his shoulders tense. “Mae. Please.”

“Oh, don’t pout,” she teased. “It’s adorable when you pout, but really, you should be nicer to him.”

William bit the inside of his cheek, vibrating with suppressed laughter. If he made one sound, Est would probably tackle him to the ground right there on the walkway.

Est’s father leaned back, arms crossed, studying the two boys on the screen. “You’re a musician, William?”

“Yes, sir!” William straightened instantly, like he was at a job interview. “I play guitar. I’m in a band—LYKN. We perform at a café sometimes. Uh—you should come! Not that you have to—but, um, Phi Est came to watch once and—”

He stopped himself before blurting something idiotic like I sang half the set to him.

Est’s father’s lips twitched again. “Ambitious. That’s good.”

Est’s mother clasped her hands again. “You must come to the house, William.”

Est’s head shot up. “What?”

“Yes!” she continued brightly. “For dinner. You can play us a song, maybe? I’d love to hear. And Est can—”

“Mae,” Est said sharply, mortification burning every syllable.

“—cook for you again.”

William’s jaw nearly unhinged. He looked like someone had just handed him the keys to paradise. “I—really? Dinner? At your house?”

Est groaned. “Don’t encourage her.”

But William wasn’t listening anymore. His brain was short-circuiting with meet the parents and home-cooked meals and this is real life and not a fever dream.

He bowed slightly toward the camera, too earnest, too dramatic. “I would be honored, ma’am. Sir.”

Est’s mother beamed, Est’s father nodded in approval, and Est himself muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I hate everything.

The call dragged on for a few more minutes—his mother asking William what he liked to eat, his father subtly interrogating him about his studies, William answering every question with the nervous energy of someone defending his dissertation. Through it all, Est looked increasingly like a man teetering on the edge of implosion, but there was no stopping the chaos once it had started.

Finally, Est managed to cut in. “Mae. Pa. I need to go.”

“Fine, fine,” his mother said with a laugh. “But bring William home soon!”

“Mae!”

The call ended. Silence fell on the walkway.

Est stared at the dark screen, shoulders slumped, ears still burning red.

William stared at him, starry-eyed, hand still clutching the medal.

Then—unable to stop himself—he whispered reverently, “They like me.”

Est dragged both hands down his face. “…You’re unbearable.”

But his ears were still red. And his steps, when they started walking again, weren’t quite as sharp as before.

And William—grinning so wide his face hurt—floated along beside him like a man who had just survived the ultimate boss battle and unlocked a secret level: parental approval.

In his head, he was already planning the setlist for the dinner performance.

Est pinched the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t have to—”

Beside him, William was humming happily—actually humming—as if he’d just won the lottery instead of accidentally meeting his crush’s parents via video chat.

“Of course I had to,” William cut in, grinning so hard it was a wonder his face didn’t split. He adjusted the medal resting proudly against his chest. “What was I supposed to do? Leave your parents thinking you lost your medal? No way. I saved the day.”

Est gave him a look, flat but not nearly as sharp as it should’ve been. His chest was still thrumming from the sheer absurdity of it all.

His parents had seen William. His mother had connected the dots—William, the boy Est had panic-called his mother to make the perfect food while said boy was sick.

It was chaos. Utter chaos.

And yet… his parents had looked at William with warmth, hadn’t they? A little surprise, yes, but not disapproval. His mother had laughed, his father had even smiled faintly. Est knew what that meant.

He shoved the thought down before it could sprout into anything larger.

“Come on,” he muttered, tugging William lightly by the sleeve before the younger could beam at him again and completely unravel him. “Let’s go. It’s late.”

William shoved his hands into his pockets, but his eyes stayed glued to Est, who was doing everything in his power not to meet his gaze. His ears were still red.

“So…” William drawled, his voice teasingly low. “You panic-called your mom when I got sick?”

Est’s head snapped toward him, his expression sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t.”

William laughed, delighted. “No, no, wait—let me get this straight. Phi Est Supha Sangaworawong, who doesn’t even let people buy him coffee, panicked so much when I caught a little cold that he called his mom—”

“I didn’t panic.” Est’s voice was flat, but his stiff posture gave him away.

William leaned closer, bumping their shoulders. “She said you panicked.”

Est kept his eyes forward, refusing to take the bait, but the pink on his cheeks deepened.

“Oh my god,” William pressed on, unable to help himself. “You were so worried about me that you actually asked your mom how to cook? That’s…” He stopped to clutch his chest dramatically. “That’s like the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Shut up,” Est muttered, quickening his pace.

William easily caught up, falling into step with him. His grin softened into something gentler. “I didn’t know you could be that cute.”

That earned him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. Est’s lips twitched, like he was fighting the urge to smile despite himself.

Then his thoughts flicked back to the call—the warm chaos of Est’s family, their laughter, the way they teased him without mercy. It was loud, messy, and full of love. So unlike the stiff, polite conversations William was used to having with his own parents, where affection was something implied but rarely spoken aloud.

For a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like if that warmth extended to him—if he wasn’t just the boy walking Est home tonight, but someone Est’s parents expected, someone they welcomed as part of their lives.

He glanced at Est again. Est was chewing at his lip, still visibly embarrassed. William’s chest squeezed.

“They’re really cute, you know,” he said quietly.

Est blinked. “Who?”

“Your parents.” William’s smile softened. “They adore you. You can just… tell.”

Est looked away, shoulders tense, but his ears turned pink again.

William bumped his shoulder once more, lighter this time. “And they seemed to like me.”

“They like everyone,” Est muttered.

“Ah,” William grinned, “but I’m not everyone, am I?”

Est finally glanced at him, eyes narrowing, but William caught the flicker of amusement there.

They walked the rest of the way like that: a little closer than before, shoulders brushing every so often, William humming with happiness, Est quieter but smiling against the night.

When they reached Est’s dorm, William slowed. The medal still glinted against his chest, absurdly out of place over his simple clothes, but he didn’t care.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Then William tilted his head, his grin returning. “Next time I get sick, are you gonna panic-call your mom again?”

Est groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Good night, William.”

William laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, and before Est could retreat inside, he added softly—softer than he meant to—

“Good night, Phi Est.” 

Yet, William still didn’t move. 

Est shifted awkwardly, unlocking the door. “You should go. It’s late.”

William nodded, but again he didn’t move away. Not yet. His grin had softened, settling into something calm, something almost reverent.

“I’ll wait until you’re inside,” he said simply.

Est blinked. “…Why?”

William shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “Because. That’s what you do when you care about someone. You wait until they’re safe inside.”

The words hit like a stone dropped into still water—rippling through Est’s chest, unsettling everything.

For a moment, he could only stare. Then he muttered something incoherent, turned too quickly, and slipped inside before William could see his face.

He leaned against the closed door, pressing a hand to his chest, trying to steady the riot in his heartbeat.

Outside, through the small window by the stairwell, he could still see William. The boy was leaning against the lamp post, medal gleaming, smiling up at the night sky like he’d just been handed the world.

And Est, against every instinct he’d trained himself into, felt his lips curve again. Soft, helpless.

Est Supha Sangaworawong had completely and utterly fallen for William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong.

Chapter Text

For the first two days after the restaurant, Est was absolutely certain that life would return to normal.

For the first two days, Est Supha Sangaworawong told himself he was fine.

At least, he tried.

He had finals behind him, the meet was over, his medal now—well, technically, his medal was still with William, but that was just a temporary thing, not something he should think about at two in the morning. 

He had more pressing matters: packing for the apartment he’d be moving into over the next couple of days, arranging everything, confirming swimming departments opening with Joong and Daou, dealing with the never-ending pile of documents for his internship.

Normal things. 

Ordinary, Est-things.

And yet.

There came the quiet moments.

The stillness of his dorm room at night when he was bent over a half-zipped suitcase, trying to fold shirts—and his mind wandered, uninvited, to William leaning against the lamp post, grin glowing brighter than the streetlight, Est’s gold medal glinting against his chest.

Or every time he bent over the sink to wash his face, patting moisturizer into his skin like he always did, a voice would crawl into his head uninvited:

“Cute.”

William’s voice.

Warm, amused, dangerously fond.

Est stared at his own reflection, hands pausing on his cheeks. He looked the same as always—sharp jaw, high cheekbones, hair falling into his eyes. 

Not particularly cute. 

He’d been told he looked cold more often than not. And yet William had said it so casually, as though it was the most obvious truth in the world.

Ridiculous. 

He was twenty-three. 

He had discipline. 

He did not get distracted like this.

Cute. The word echoed in his head. 

Cute. Cute. Cute.

Est groaned, pressing his palms to his face. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t supposed to hear William’s voice during skincare.

It got worse.

Walking Pooh should have been his sanctuary. His golden retriever was uncomplicated company—joyful, loyal, the perfect antidote to Est’s tendency to overthink. 

Except lately…

“Come on, Pooh,” Est muttered one evening, leash in hand as Pooh bounded toward the park. The sun was low, golden light stretching across the pavement. He should’ve been relaxed.

Instead, he thought of William.

Golden retriever energy. 

Bouncing through life, bright and loud, tail-wagging in spirit if not in body.

Pooh tugged eagerly toward a group of students sitting on the grass, and Est had to laugh despite himself. The sound startled him—it was the same kind of laugh William pulled out of him without trying.

He pulled Pooh back gently, shaking his head. “Not you too,” he muttered under his breath.

As if his dog was conspiring with William.

Even boba tea betrayed him. He had grabbed one absentmindedly after running errands, stabbing the straw through the lid. The tapioca balls, absurdly, reminded him of William too. 

Round, soft, cheerful—exactly the type of silly association William himself would make.

Est stared down at his own cup, scandalized. 

Was he going crazy?

Sunshine, golden fur, tapioca balls—everything, absolutely everything, circled back to one person.

Again, was he going crazy?

Probably.

The teasing from his parents didn’t help.

Every day since that cursed video call, his mother had brought up that boy.

“You should invite William to dinner sometime,” she’d said brightly over the phone, her tone brimming with maternal enthusiasm. “He looked so polite. And handsome. He has good energy.”

Est had nearly dropped his phone. “Mae, he’s just… a friend.”

“Mm-hm,” she’d replied in that way mothers did, where the words were agreement but the tone was anything but. “Funny, though, how you never panic about cooking for your other sick friends. Do you ever call during competition week for recipes for your sick friends, Est Supha Sangaworawong? Don’t even get me started on the medal that was around his neck.”

“Mae,” Est groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t.”

And then his father, deadpan but sharp: “At least the boy has a nice smile. Better than some of those swim brats who trail after you.”

“Pa!”

“Just saying.”

Est had hung up quickly after that, but the damage was done.

Now, every time he packed a box, every time he folded clothes into messy piles, an image would surface unbidden: William sitting cross-legged in his parents’ living room, grinning at his mother’s questions, probably feeding Pooh too many treats. William laughing at the dinner table, trying to charm his parents. William blending into the quiet corners of Est’s world so seamlessly it almost felt inevitable.

For one horrifying second, Est had actually considered it. Taking William home. Letting him into that space.

The thought had jolted him so badly that he’d dropped an entire stack of shirts on the floor.

“Absolutely not,” he’d muttered to himself, shoving them back into the box. “You’re losing it, Supha.”

It was official. He was losing his mind.

He tried to ignore all the thoughts swimming in his head, but this was William.  

And… William wasn’t easy to ignore.

Est had always known the boy was handsome—anyone with eyes could see that. Too many people noticed. Too many people lingered after gigs at Café Blue, whispering about the band’s golden-frontman with the easy smile and the ridiculous fanservice. Est had rolled his eyes, pretended not to care.

Est had been avoiding that particular acknowledgment for some days, brushing it aside whenever the thought crept up.

But now, with his mind uncooperative, memories crept in sharper than before.

That night at Café Blue, William in a leather jacket, guitar slung low, lights flashing across his jawline. Est had tried not to stare, tried to focus on anything else.

It hadn’t worked.

The line of his throat when he tilted his head to sing. The way the sweat at his temple caught the stage light. The confidence in his stance, so at odds with the shy, chaotic boy Est knew offstage.

Hot. The word had occurred to Est then, uninvited and unwelcome. And once it was there, it stuck.

William Jakrapatr was hot.

And it was becoming Est’s problem.

He found himself zoning out while folding towels, jaw tightening as the image replayed in his mind.

His own imagination was betraying him—imagining William shrugging out of that jacket, William leaning close, William’s grin softening in private the way it always did when he looked at Est.

Est flopped backward onto his bed with a groan, covering his face with his forearm.

“This is bad,” he muttered to Pooh, who had hopped up beside him, tail wagging. “This is really, really bad.”

Pooh licked his hand in sympathy.

By the third day, Est had given up pretending. 

He wasn’t just “thinking” about William. 

Est was haunted by him.

The more he thought about William, the more he missed him. 

Est had expected William to send him at least fifty text messages as soon as summer break had started but a week had gone by and there was nothing. 

No Messages. No William. 

Where was William? 

William woke up to Lego shaking his shoulder.

It wasn’t gentle, it was the kind of shaking that meant urgency. William blinked, squinting against the pale morning light bleeding through the dorm blinds. His head felt heavy, his body like lead. He’d gone to bed early the night before, but that didn’t mean he had slept well.

William blinked up at him, his hair sticking out in tufts, his eyes still fogged from sleep—or maybe from lying awake too long last night. “You’re leaving,” he murmured, his voice rasping.

“Yeah,” Lego said.

William sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes beneath his transparent-frame glasses. He had started wearing them more lately, telling himself it was because his contacts dried out when he stayed in bed too long.

The truth was simpler: the glasses were a shield, something that softened the rawness in his eyes when he caught his reflection.

Lego’s duffel bag was slung over his shoulder, his suitcase leaning against the door. He looked ready, prepared, grounded—like he belonged somewhere. 

Unlike William.

“You sure you don’t wanna come?” Lego asked, though he already knew the answer. He asked anyway, a last-ditch effort. “My mom said it’s fine, you know. You could stay with us. You don’t have to…” He gestured vaguely at the room—at the curtains drawn too tightly, the unwashed mug on the desk, the bedsheets twisted from restless nights. “…do this.”

William forced a small laugh, but it came out cracked. “I’ve got Mochi,” he said, glancing at the lump of fur curled at the foot of his bed. His cat twitched his ear, unimpressed, but his steady breathing was the only anchor in the room. “He’ll keep me company. And you know… I’ve got stuff. Work. Practice. Things.”

“Liar.” Lego said it flatly, but not unkindly. “Nut, Hong, and Tui came to say bye. You didn’t open the door.”

William froze, his chest tightening.

“They thought you were asleep.”

He had been awake. 

He remembered the knocks, the muffled laughter outside his door. He had pulled the blanket over his head, shutting his eyes as if that could make it go away. If he had opened the door, it would have been real. The sight of his friends’ bags, their eager faces, their plans that didn’t include him. If he stayed hidden, he could at least pretend for a few hours more.

“I was tired,” William murmured. 

The lie burned, but it rolled off his tongue easily. Lies often did when they protected something tender.

Lego sighed. He came closer, ruffled William’s hair once before William could duck away, and then slung the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder. “Don’t disappear, okay? Text me. And… don’t rot too much.”

When the door clicked shut, the silence that followed was suffocating.

William lay back down, staring at the ceiling. His chest ached in that familiar way—the one that had followed him since high school. Every break, every holiday, every time the world seemed to fold inward and leave him outside of it, he retreated. He would hole up in dorm rooms, watching the weeks pass from the same bed, food wrappers piling up, the hum of loneliness becoming unbearable yet constant. 

The bedrotting became a habit, a defense mechanism against the gnawing loneliness that had settled inside him like a permanent tenant. 

Each summer he convinced himself it would sting less. Each summer it didn’t.

However, he always bounced back after every summer. 

He reached for Mochi, pressing his face into his fur. He smelled faintly of laundry detergent and dust, and he gave a soft, annoyed meow but didn’t move away.

“See? I’ve got you,” he whispered.

But it wasn’t enough.

His phone buzzed sometime later.

Aunt Mui.

He hesitated before answering, already bracing himself for the warmth in her voice—the warmth that would cut him open because he didn’t deserve it.

“Will, my child!” Her voice, warm and honey-sweet, spilled out of the speaker. “How are you? Are you eating? Tell me you’re eating.”

He laughed softly, though it didn’t quite reach his chest. “I’m fine, Auntie. Really.”

“I’ve been calling you since last week. Where were you baby?”

“Just… you know. Busy.”

“Busy?” She laughed softly. “Semester is finished, isn’t it? What are you busy with? You should come here. It’s been months since I’ve seen you. I’ll cook your favorites. You’ll get sick of me fussing over you.”

William closed his eyes. He could picture her kitchen, the way the light hit the tiles, the sound of her humming as she stirred a pot. 

That was home—or at least, the closest thing he had to it.

“I can’t,” he said finally. “I… I’ve got work this break. Stuff with the band. And my friends are around, so it’s not lonely.” 

The lie came out too easily, practiced from years of repetition.

There was a pause. He imagined her frowning, imagined the worry deepening. “All right,” she said finally. “But eat properly. Don’t stay inside too much. And call me, okay? Promise me.”

“Promise,” he whispered.

When the call ended, the silence returned, heavier than before. William lay there for a long time, staring at the phone screen, until his own reflection blurred.

He thought about Phi Est.

It was unfair, maybe, to let his thoughts drift there when everything inside him already hurt. But Est had been a light lately—something sharp and steady, like the glint of sun on water. He thought about the way Phi Est had looked at him after the swim meet, the gold medal gleaming around his neck. He thought about his voice, low and certain, when he said William’s name.

A part of him wanted to reach out. To text. To say something stupid, like a picture of Mochi with a caption that pretended he wasn’t falling apart. 

But what right did he have? Est had a life. Est had people. Est didn’t need someone like William, who couldn’t even open the door to his own friends.

The thought cut him deeper than he expected.

He’ll text Phi Est. 

Not now. 

But maybe in a couple of days. He didn’t want Phi Est to see him like this. 

William woke, once again, to the sound of his phone buzzing insistently on his desk. His eyelids were heavy; he had only gone to bed a few hours ago. 

For a moment, in that heavy, delicious fog of just-waking, he thought it might be Phi Est.

Some sleepy part of him imagined his Phi texting him first for once—maybe a blunt, “Are you awake yet?” 

The phone buzzed again.

Still half-buried in his blanket, William reached for it blindly and swiped to answer before even looking at the screen. His voice was still rough with sleep when he said, “Hello?”

“William.”

The single word froze him. All the warmth drained from his chest in an instant.

His mother.

The sound of her voice—clipped, cool, as precise as glass—snapped him fully awake. 

He sat up in bed, hand gripping the phone too tightly. His heart kicked against his ribs, hard and uneven.

He hadn’t spoken to her in… how long had it been? Weeks? Months? Long enough that he’d convinced himself maybe the silence was mercy.

“Mom.” His throat was suddenly dry.

The line crackled faintly. 

“Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. Too quickly. His fingers curled tight around the phone. “I just woke up. How… how are you?”

“Fine,” she said, the word falling like ice. “I didn’t call to talk about me.” Her tone was as sharp as it had always been, like each word had been measured and filed down to cut.

Of course not. William lowered his gaze to his lap. His heart, which had begun to pound wildly at hearing her voice, tightened now with every syllable she spoke.

“I called three times.”

Guilt surged first, instinctive and automatic. “Sorry. I—I didn’t see.”

“You should learn to wake up earlier,” she said. “You’re not a child anymore.”

William pressed his lips together. He wanted to defend himself, to say it was Saturday, to say he had been working late yesterday, to say anything—but his tongue felt heavy. Every argument died before it reached his mouth.

Her tone had that effect on him. Always had.

“How are your grades this semester?” she asked, brisk.

“They’re fine,” William said instead. His voice sounded smaller than he wanted it to. “I’m keeping up.”

A sharp inhale through the phone. “Fine isn’t enough. You know that.” Her voice sliced into the quiet anyway. “William. Answer me.”

The words cut through him the way they always had. At fourteen, fifteen, sixteen—every year since they left him behind with relatives who clucked their tongues and whispered loud enough for him to hear. This boy? He’ll never amount to much. Can’t even manage school properly. His poor parents. Their only son, and he turns out like this.

He had carried those voices with him. Sometimes they still pressed in at the edges of his confidence, shadows in the quiet.

“I… I know,” he whispered.

“Do you?” Her laugh was short, humorless. “Sometimes I wonder. You’re almost twenty now. You can’t keep drifting like this.”

Drifting.

The word landed sharp. People had called him that before. Aimless. Reckless. A child who didn’t understand responsibility. He remembered the way his relatives’ eyes used to look at him—disappointment wrapped in pity, pity wrapped in scorn.

But William wasn’t that boy anymore.

His hand tightened around the phone, knuckles white. He wasn’t floating. He was holding on, choosing, standing his ground—even if it cost him their approval.

Almost without thinking, he whispered, “How’s Dad?”

For a moment, hope flickered stupidly in his chest. He remembered being little, perched on his father’s shoulders at concerts, the laughter, the songs too loud, the bright lights that made him feel infinite.

But her voice was brisk, cutting.

“He’s busy.”

That was it. No elaboration. No warmth. No echo of those nights that William suddenly found himself clinging to in his memory, like he could still smell popcorn and hear his father’s low laugh over the music. He used to feel so safe, sandwiched between them, his small body leaning against his dad’s arm, his mom’s hand fixing his hair after the wind mussed it.

Now, just he’s busy.

Something cracked in his chest.

“Okay,” William whispered. His knuckles were white around the phone.

“Have you decided yet?” she asked suddenly.

The question was like ice water down his spine. He didn’t need her to clarify. He knew exactly what she meant. The same question she had asked year after year, the one that lived like a shadow in every phone call.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His throat closed, his chest aching. He remembered being fourteen—sitting across from her at the kitchen table

He remembered the look on her face: sharp disappointment, cutting disbelief.

And now, five years later, nothing had changed.

“My answer,” William said, his voice rough but steady now, “is still the same as it was five years ago.”

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating silence on the other end.

Then—click.

The line went dead.

Not a word of acknowledgment. Not a sigh. Not even a goodbye.

William stared at the screen until it dimmed in his hand. His chest felt hollow, carved out. His throat burned. He dug the heel of his hand against his eyes, willing the sting away.

Don’t cry. Not for this.

But the words still echoed in his head, looping like a curse. Have you decided yet?

William pressed the phone face-down on the nightstand, his hand trembling. He curled up on his side, pulling the blanket to his chin, as if he could make himself small enough that the doubts wouldn’t find him.

For a little while, he just laid there, staring at the wall, breaths shallow and uneven.

He hated how easily one call could undo him. He hated how small he still felt in front of her voice. He hated the weight of second-guessing that always followed.

And most of all, he hated how much he wanted, desperately, for someone else’s voice to cut through the silence. Someone steady, someone who would say, William, you’re enough. William, you matter.

But no call came.

Only the quiet hum of the morning. Only the lingering echo of his mother’s tone, and the steady thud of his own heart, heavy as lead in his chest.

William swallowed hard, images flickering unbidden through his mind: his father lifting him up onto his shoulders so he could see the stage during their favorite band’s concert; his mother laughing, clapping along, his small hands caught between theirs as they swayed with the music. Bright lights. Loud guitars. The way he’d felt like the luckiest kid in the world.

What had changed? When had he stopped being their kid and started being a problem?

Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he should have said yes, agreed, stopped fighting them. Maybe then they’d still look at him the way they used to, still smile at him instead of talking to him like a stranger.

If he wasn’t enough for his own parents—how could he ever be enough for someone like Est?

Est, who was disciplined, sharp, admired by everyone. Est, who carried expectations with a straight back and strong shoulders. Est, who looked at him sometimes like William was… something more.

What if that look faded the way his parents’ pride had?

He pressed his palms to his eyes, willing the burning there to go away.

Stop. Don’t cry. Don’t be weak.

Hours later, hunger gnawed at him enough that he dragged himself out of bed, shoved on a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans, and slipped his glasses back on. The campus was quiet, emptied of its usual noise. 

Everyone had gone home. 

He pushed open the convenience store door, grabbed a few snacks without thinking, and paid with barely a word. On his way back, his hands full of plastic bags, he nearly collided with two familiar figures.

“Oi, Nong William!” Joong’s grin was wide, Dunk’s raised brow sharp as ever. They both took him in—rumpled, weary, clutching bags full of snacks. Something unreadable flickered between them.

“Oh,” William said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Hi, Phi Joong. Phi Dunk.”

They looked at him, then at each other. A silent exchange. William hated it—being seen through.

“You’re still here,” Dunk said. Not a question.

“Yeah. Just… snacks.” He lifted the bags weakly, as if that explained everything.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you’re staying here,” Joong said.

William forced a sheepish laugh. “Yeah. Just… can’t leave Mochi alone.”

Joong elbowed Dunk lightly, and they exchanged a look that made William narrow his eyes. “Actually,” Joong said, drawing out the word, “you’d be perfect. We were just talking about Est.”

At the name, William’s heart stuttered, and his hands clenched tighter on the bag.

“Packing up his dorm,” Dunk added casually. “We were gonna help. But, you know…” He slung an arm over Joong’s shoulder. “Last few days before we both leave, right? We wanted to spend some time together.”

Joong nodded, not bothering to hide the fondness in his eyes. “So, Nong, you could go in our place. Take these snacks, lend a hand. Est needs help.”

William blinked. 

The dark fog in his chest made him want to refuse. To retreat. But Est’s name glowed in his mind like a fragile light.

He almost said no. 

Almost.

But then he thought of Est surrounded by half-packed boxes, thought of Est sighing in frustration, thought of Est needing help and him not being there.

His chest tightened, but this time not from loneliness. “I…” William swallowed. “Yeah. Okay.”

Joong smiled, too satisfied. “Good. Here.” He shoved another snack bag into William’s already full hands. “Go on, then. Est will be happy.”

The snacks pressed into his arms, the couple waved him off with far too much satisfaction, and before William knew it, his feet had carried on a path he knew well—the place he always dropped Est off after walks home.

He walked toward Est’s dorm door, heart pounding, doubts clawing at him with every step. 

His pulse thundered as he was halfway to the door. Why had he agreed? What if Phi Est didn’t want him there? What if this was weird? Why had he said yes?

By the time he reached the familiar door—the one he had walked Est to countless times—his palms were sweating. 

He raised his hand to knock, then faltered. 

Maybe he could turn back—

He was about to turn away when the door opened.

He froze with his hand raised. 

Est stood there, framed by the soft light inside. His brows furrowed in immediate confusion, like his brain short-circuited at the sight of the boy standing there in jeans, a worn t-shirt, and transparent-frame glasses slipping down his nose. William’s hair was messy, his skin pale from days indoors, his eyes carrying a tiredness Est hadn’t seen before.

For a heartbeat, Est wondered if this was a hallucination.

Because all week, since the meet, William had lived in his head—bright and insistent, in the curve of a laugh he remembered too vividly, in the warmth of words he replayed late at night. And now, impossibly, the boy who haunted him was standing on his doorstep.

“Phi Joong and Phi Dunk… sent me,” William said quietly quickly putting his hand down, breaking the silence. “To help pack. If you need it.”

Est blinked, his mind stumbling. Joong. Dunk. 

Of course. 

He needed to stop letting them meddle. 

And yet—why hadn’t he thought of this himself? Why hadn’t he asked William?

He quietly stepped aside, ushering him in. 

William hesitated, then crossed the threshold.

The sound of claws on the floor broke the tension. Pooh bounded towards, tail wagging furiously, and made a beeline for William.

William’s eyes softened immediately. He dropped the bags onto the nearest surface, crouched down, and opened his arms. “You remember me?” he asked, voice lighter, a smile tugging at his lips for the first time that day. “It’s only been once.”

Est, still standing by the door, stared. The boy who had looked so tired moments ago was suddenly alight again, his eyes soft, his mouth curved into something real.

Est crossed his arms, masking the way his chest twisted at the sight. “He probably smells the snacks,” he said dryly.

Inside, another thought whispered: traitor. Pooh had never warmed up that fast to anyone.

And yet here he was, melting in William’s arms like he had been waiting for him all along. 

Golden retrievers must sense other retriever energy. That had to be it.

Est’s gaze lingered on William—on the tired lines around his eyes, on the forced steadiness of his smile—and he wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to the sunshine boy he thought he knew.

William had always imagined Phi Est’s dorm to be… well, perfect.

Not in a showy way, but in that crisp, efficient, everything-in-its-place kind of way that matched the image Est carried on campus. 

Est was composed. 

Est was cool. 

Est was the person you asked for group project leadership because he didn’t just keep things under control—he was control.

So when William stood up after greeting Pooh, he was met with what looked like the aftermath of a tornado, he froze mid-step.

“…Whoa,” he whispered, eyes wide.

There were boxes—everywhere. 

Not stacked neatly, not labeled in any sane system, but scattered haphazardly across the floor. Some said things like “important things” or “random stuff idk” in rushed black marker. A pile of clothes leaned precariously on a chair, like one wrong breath could send it toppling. A tower of books stood in the corner, wobbling with the arrogance of a half-built Jenga game. Est’s desk was a battlefield of papers, pens, mugs, and what William thought might be… a spoon?

It was chaos.

Pure, beautiful, catastrophic chaos.

And for a second—just one small second—William’s worldview tilted. So Phi Est wasn’t perfect after all.

He bit his lip to keep from laughing, eyes darting between a half-taped box labeled “fragile/whatever” and the pile of clothes threatening death. He opened his mouth, ready to say something, when Est—who had been watching him like a hawk—snapped preemptively, arms crossing.

“Don’t judge me.”

William blinked. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You were about to.”

William let out a tiny laugh. “Okay, I was definitely about to.” He gestured to the room like a prosecutor presenting Exhibit A. “Phi, this isn’t packing. This is…” He trailed off, squinting at the half-toppled book tower. “…a disaster.”

Est’s frown deepened, but his ears went faintly pink. “I have a system.”

“You have no system.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.” William walked in fully now, Pooh trotting after him, sniffing boxes with unconcerned delight. “This is—Phi, this is like… like if someone closed their eyes and tried to pack in a panic.”

Est’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he held his ground. “It’s my first big move. Alone. I was… improvising.”

“Improvising?” William crouched beside a box labeled ‘don’t open pls’ and peeked inside, finding a mess of cables, socks, and—was that a photo frame? “Phi, this looks like you robbed three different convenience stores and then panicked when the police came.”

“William.”

William froze. Oh, he was in trouble.

Then he grinned, all sunshine. “It’s okay, Phi. You don’t need to worry anymore. You’re lucky.” He puffed his chest proudly. “You have me now. And I—” He jabbed a finger at his own chest, brimming with confidence. “—am a master packer. Been doing it since I was a kid. Let me teach you my ways.”

Est raised an unimpressed brow. “Master packer.”

“Master,” William repeated firmly, then clapped his hands like a general calling his soldier to attention. “Okay, Phi Est. Rule one: you do what I say.”

Est blinked. “Excuse me—”

“No excuses.” William already started moving, opening boxes, reorganizing stacks. “You’re on folding duty. Clothes only. I’ll handle the dangerous stuff before you break your entire kitchen. You—” he pointed at Est, “—fold these clothes. Properly. No shoving. Nice stacks.”

Est eyed the pile. “I can fold.”

“You say that, but can you?” William squinted, then handed him a shirt as if testing him. 

Est folded it perfectly with crisp lines.

“…Okay,” William admitted reluctantly. “Maybe you can. Fine. Clothes are yours. But that’s it. Leave the rest to me.”

For a long beat, Est just stood there, glaring. But in the end, he found himself seated cross-legged on the bed, folding t-shirts while William attacked the books and utensils with terrifying efficiency.

It was… disconcerting. Watching the boy who normally stumbled through life with chaotic energy suddenly command the room with precision. William’s hands moved fast but neat, sorting, stacking, wrapping fragile items in spare towels. He taped boxes with sharp, clean lines, labeling them in bold, sensible handwriting.

Est, still folding, finally asked, “How are you so good at this?”

William didn’t look up, his voice quieter now, like he hadn’t meant for it to slip out. “After the first two or three moves, you kinda figure it out.” He placed another book neatly in the box. “What to keep. What to leave. How to make it all fit.”

Something in Est’s chest twisted at the tone. It wasn’t the voice William usually carried—bright, chatty, unfiltered. This was softer. Thinner. Like a part of him was worn at the edges.

Est wanted to ask. Wanted to reach for the pieces behind those words. But William—always William—cut away before Est could.

“So!” William’s voice bounced back up, his smile slipping on like armor. “What have you been doing this past week since break started?”

Est blinked at the sudden shift. “Uh. Packing. Running errands. You?”

“Same. Running errands,” William said, too quickly.

Est squinted. That was suspicious. 

Normally, this boy would have given him a blow-by-blow, complete with hand gestures, about every little detail. He should’ve been drowning in anecdotes by now. 

Est muttered under his breath, “I was honestly expecting like, three to five pictures of Mochi a day.”

That got William’s real laugh. Warm. Bright. “Mochi usually avoids me when I’m bed-rotting. But fine, I’ll send more pictures.”

Est’s mouth twitched, almost betraying a smile. But his chest tightened, though, because—bed-rotting? He didn’t like the sound of that.

Before he could linger on it, a loud thud broke the moment. The book tower collapsed with a dramatic crash, sending volumes sliding across the floor. 

“Pooh!” Est barked, but before he could scold, Pooh yelped, startled, and immediately hid behind William’s legs, tail wagging nervously, pressing close like he was hiding under his protection.

William crouched down, instantly soothing. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, Pooh.” He stroked the dog’s head gently, shielding him from the mess. “He didn’t mean it, Phi. He just wants to play.”

Est froze. Because William, kneeling there with Pooh cuddled against him, looked like… family. 

Looked like he belonged here. 

Looked—Est swallowed hard—dangerous. He had to turn away for a second before he melted outright.

And then, of course, William abandoned the books entirely to rummage for treats.

“Phi, do you have treats?” William asked, glancing up.

Est blinked, dazed, then wordlessly retrieved the bag from a drawer. William beamed, tearing it open. “Okay, Pooh. Let’s see what you can do!”

Of course, Pooh didn’t listen at first. He wagged his tail, looked at William’s hand, and then barked in excitement before circling him like it was a game.

“Uh… sit?” William tried. Nothing.

Est smiled. “He won’t listen if you just say it. Watch.” He crouched beside William, their shoulders brushing, and demonstrated. “Sit, Pooh.” His voice dropped firm and steady. Pooh sat instantly.

“Ohhh,” William’s eyes lit up like a child’s. “That’s so cool. Phi Est!”

Est rolled his eyes, but his lips betrayed him with a curve.

William, undeterred, kept trying. He fumbled through “shake” and “roll over,” Pooh finally cooperating when Est guided him through. William clapped every time like it was the greatest victory of all time.

“I wanna give him all the treats,” William declared, scratching Pooh under the chin. “He deserves them. Mochi would never. I tried teaching him tricks in high school for a talent show.”

Est blinked. “You what?”

“Yeah.” William laughed at himself. “He just glared at me with those cat eyes. Like, ‘how dare you.’”

For some reason, Est imagined it vividly—William holding a treat in one hand, dramatically demonstrating “shake,” and Mochi just glaring with disdain. His chest nearly burst from the mental image.

Cute. The thought pulsed in Est’s head. Cute. Cute. Too cute. Cute. Cute. Cute. 

He wanted to smack himself.

“You know…” Est said finally, stuffing socks into a bag, “I hate to admit it, but you’re… efficient.”

William’s head snapped up, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Say it again.”

“No.”

“Come on, Phi. Say, ‘William Jakrapatr is the master packer.’”

“Never.” Est shut the drawer with more force than necessary.

William smirked, a spark of the usual teasing returning. “But we both know that I’m right.”

Est snorted. 

The banter should have carried on. Usually, it would. But William only chuckled softly and returned to packing, his movements quieter than normal. 

Est frowned, a prickle of unease threading through him.

It only took two hours for Est to notice their growling stomachs. 

Or rather, it was Pooh. The dog barked and padded toward the plastic bag William had dropped earlier, tail wagging impatiently at the smell.

Est crouched to check. Inside were packets of ramen, snacks, bottled drinks. His lips tugged at the corner despite himself. “You came prepared.”

“Not really but—” William didn’t look up from wrapping one of Est’s picture frames with newspaper. “—packing is war. You don’t go in without provisions.”

Est shook his head but pulled out two ramen cups anyway. He set water to boil and, with a practiced hand, began preparing them. “Sit. I’ll handle this later.”

William blinked. “Phi, I can do it—”

“Sit,” Est repeated, pointing at the chair. His tone brooked no argument.

William raised his hands in mock surrender and obeyed, Pooh trailing after him like a shadow.

While the water simmered, Est called over his shoulder. “You’re not touching the fragile stuff. I’ll pack those.”

William looked scandalized. “Excuse me? Phi, if you’re planning to just throw your glassware into a box without bubble wrap—”

“Bubble wrap is overrated.”

William gasped as if personally attacked. “You’ll break everything!”

Est allowed himself the smallest smirk. “Then I’ll just buy new ones.”

William groaned dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re impossible.”

“Efficient,” Est corrected, deadpan.

When the ramen was ready, Est placed one bowl in front of William and nudged the chopsticks into his hand. “Eat first. Then you can play savior with the fragile things.”

William eyed him but accepted, murmuring a quiet “thanks” before taking a bite. Pooh pressed against his side, shamelessly begging for attention.

They ate on the floor, side by side, steam curling in the small dorm room. The taste was nothing special—instant noodles, salty broth—but it felt grounding. Normal.

William kept sneaking glances at Est’s bowl.

“No,” Est said flatly without looking up.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were going to.”

William grinned, caught. “Come on, just one bite. Yours smells different.”

“It’s the same brand.”

“But the flavor is different—”

Est sighed and held out his chopsticks, some noodles dangling. William leaned forward, lips curving, and took the bite with a satisfied hum.

“…Worth it,” William declared.

Est rolled his eyes, but something in his chest warmed despite himself.

The chatter slowed after that. The room quieted, broken only by the slurp of noodles, the occasional rustle of Pooh. Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was the kind of silence that felt… safe.

Est found his gaze drifting again—to the curve of William’s cheek, the way his glasses slid a little down his nose as he bent over his bowl, the faint flush across his face from the hot steam. 

William looked different like this. 

Softer. Older, somehow, yet still boyish in the small things—the way he puffed his cheeks when the broth was too hot, the way he nudged Pooh’s paw absentmindedly.

And before Est could stop himself, the thought escaped aloud.

“The glasses suit you.”

William froze mid-bite. His head snapped up, eyes wide behind the very glasses in question.

“What?” His voice cracked embarrassingly high.

Est blinked, realizing too late what he had said. But he didn’t take it back. He just repeated, steady, “They suit you.”

Color rushed up William’s neck, blooming across his cheeks. He looked down quickly, fumbling with his chopsticks. A tiny smile tugged at his lips, betraying him.

“…Thanks,” he murmured.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It thrummed, filled with something unspoken, something neither of them dared to name yet. Both of them stared at their bowls, pretending to be absorbed in noodles, while Pooh rested his chin on William’s knee as if keeping the secret for them.

The ramen bowls were rinsed and left upside down by the sink, steam still clinging faintly to the air. Pooh had stationed himself loyally against William’s side again, his chin on William’s thigh as if making a statement: this human stays. 

William, who had been wiping his glasses with the corner of his shirt, absentmindedly rubbed Pooh’s head with a soft smile.

Est noticed. Of course he noticed. It was hard not to when William, with his stupid pretty profile and his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, somehow looked like a page out of some glossy magazine instead of a real person sitting on Est’s dorm floor surrounded by cardboard boxes.

He should have been focusing but his gaze kept snagging back on William.

The way his fingers tapped against his knee when he wasn’t moving. The little crease between his brows when he concentrated. The way he leaned closer to Pooh, murmuring something under his breath like the dog was privy to secret conversations Est would never hear.

Handsome.

The word pulsed in Est’s mind, unbidden. Too much, too often.

He shook himself, reached for the box cutter to slice open a roll of tape, and—

The blade slipped.

A hot sting shot through Est’s palm before blood welled, bright and urgent. It was deeper than the usual little scrapes he was used to. He hissed under his breath, clenching his jaw. 

William froze. For half a heartbeat he didn’t move, didn’t breathe—then he was on Est in a second, chair scraping, glasses slipping down his nose, panic snapping into his movements like a live wire.

“Phi Est—” His voice cracked, high and tight. He caught Est’s wrist before Est could tuck it behind his back, turning the injured hand into the light. “Oh my god, you’re—”

“It’s fine,” Est said immediately, too quickly, but the way he clenched his jaw gave him away. The cut wasn’t a shallow paper-thin slice; it was deeper than he wanted to admit, darkening with blood that slicked against William’s fingers as he tried to pinch the skin around it.

“Fine?” William’s voice was incredulous, furious in the way only fear can be. “You’re bleeding everywhere. Who even does this? Who cuts tape with a knife like that?!”

Est would have smirked at the theatrics if William’s hands hadn’t been trembling slightly around his own. “People who don’t like losing the edge on the roll,” he muttered, but the humor fell flat under William’s stricken expression.

“You are a gold medalist,” William hissed, eyes darting wildly around the room as if salvation might appear out of thin air. “You can’t just—what if it got infected? What if you hit something important? You need—first aid, okay? First aid now.”

Est blinked, startled at the way William was already bustling around, grabbing tissues, muttering like a storm under his breath.

He had seen William dramatic plenty of times—over music, over Mochi, over bad cafeteria coffee—but this was different. This was real worry, raw and unguarded, and Est felt it sink into his bones.

Est watched him, the careful flurry of his hands. 

He’s shaking a little. Not much, but enough. Because of me. 

“It’s not that deep,” Est offered, softer, to steady William more than himself.

“Deep enough.” William exhaled through his nose, fought the quake down with sheer will, and cleaned the cut.

Antiseptic burned. Est didn’t flinch; he’d bled plenty in his life from worse things than impulsive tape cutting. But the way William’s face pinched in sympathy made the sting new—like Est had been careless with something too rare. With someone else’s heart.

“Hold still Phi,” William murmured.

“I am holding still.”

“Still-er,” William said, and the corner of Est’s mouth almost lifted despite the situation.

William’s concentration was total. He anchored Est’s palm in his own and blew lightly over the alcohol’s chill to help it dry faster, an instinctive kindness that made Est’s pulse stutter. Then gauze, then tape.

William’s fingers were sure, quick, reverent. He’d wrapped hands before, Est realized; he’d wrapped his own, probably, in the quiet of rooms no one entered, where the only way to be careful was to do it alone.

Careful for me now, Est thought, and the wanting rose so sharply he had to look away.

William pressed the bandage against Est’s palm, careful, careful, like Est was glass. And the whole time, his chest was tight with thoughts he couldn’t say aloud.

I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this.

Pooh whined, trying to wedge himself closer.

“Pooh,” William said without looking up, voice unconsciously gentle the way it never failed to be around the dog. “Up.” He patted the mattress beside Est. Pooh hopped up obediently with a soft whump that made the entire bed dip. “Sit.” Pooh sat, half on Est’s lap, half on the quilt, a warm, golden paperweight. “Stay. Guard.” He tapped Pooh’s chest. Pooh stared solemnly at Est, as if he understood the assignment.

Est stared back at William. “Are you… appointing my dog as a warden?”

“Until you learn how to not stab tape like an action hero? Yes,” William said, eyes fierce over the gentle work of securing the bandage. “Don’t move Phi.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Then stop doing things that make me have to treat you like one.”

Est’s laugh was low, surprised. “Make you? I don’t make you do anything, William.”

William glanced up, quick and bright, and the force of the feeling in his eyes—frustration, fear, affection braided tight—nearly knocked Est back. “You kind of do,” William said, a breath of honesty, then looked back down fast, sealing the tape with the pad of his thumb. “There. No water on it tonight. Tomorrow I’ll check it and change the dressing.”

“You’ll check it,” Est repeated, the words anchoring in him like a new habit forming. “Tomorrow.”

William nodded, already packing the kit away. “Don’t lift anything heavier than—” he cast around, grabbed a half-empty water bottle “—this. In fact, don’t lift anything. Pooh and I have discussed it; he’s sitting on you until further notice.”

Pooh leaned his entire fuzzy mass into Est’s thigh in emphatic agreement.

Est huffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re reckless,” William returned, and there was that tremor again, barely there. He covered it with teasing, but the worry had a pulse you couldn’t joke away.

He rose in one smooth motion, then pointed at the bed like he was commanding a class. “Stay,” he told Est. “Pooh has jurisdiction. If you try to stand, he will use force.”

Pooh wagged once, threateningly friendly.

Est settled back because—fine—his hand did throb a little, and because William was already moving again, gathering glass mugs from the desk and the single shelf above the sink, laying them out like artifacts waiting for a gentle future. He didn’t understand how someone could make bubble wrap and cardboard look tender, but William did. He swaddled each piece with care, tucked them in as if reminding them they were worth protecting. He wrote labels on the boxes that made actual sense: mugs (4), bowls (2), glass mixing cup, shot glass (gift from Daou—handle with care). He underlined handle with care twice.

Est watched.

He tried not to; he failed.

He watched William’s movements, the way he read a room and then remade it with his hands. He watched the way William chewed his lower lip when he concentrated, the way his glasses slid down and he pushed them back up absently with the base of his thumb, the way he murmured to himself at the strange new noises of tape and cardboard.

No one else gets this.

The thought was so clear it startled him.

No one else gets to see him like this. Not the crowd at Café Blue with their phones up and their noise. Not the noisy girls who only know he’s bright because he laughs.

This is mine. This precise, infuriating, careful boy. Mine.

He was not a selfish person, by training and by temperament.

He was the black cat of his own legend: composed, confronted nothing he couldn’t out-stare.

But the possessiveness curled through him with a heat he didn’t recognize from races or wins. It wanted to settle into his bones.

“You’re staring,” William said without turning, because of course he noticed.

“So are you,” Est said.

“At what?”

“At everything,” Est answered, and William’s shoulders flickered like a shiver before he pretended to focus harder on securing a corner of bubble wrap.

“Your hand is… okay?” William asked, too casual.

“It’s a cut, not a tragedy.”

“It’s on your dominant hand,” William snapped, the worry baring its teeth. Then he exhaled. Softer: “Just… don’t open any more knives today.”

Est looked down at the gauze. It wasn’t a thick wrap, nothing dramatic. Just enough to keep him safe from himself for a night. He flexed his fingers and then stilled because he remembered William’s no moving rule, and, absurdly, he obeyed it.

Pooh angled his head up into Est’s healthy hand. Est scratched behind his ears automatically, and the dog sighed in joy and melted heavier across Est’s leg. A warm anchor. Traitor, Est thought again, affection threaded thick through the insult.

Across the room, William lined the last mug into its nest, set the box lid gently, and taped it with neat, satisfying lines, smoothing the tape’s edge with his knuckles. The ritual completed, he stood, scanning the room the way he had scanned it walking in.

Est could almost see the overlay in William’s mind: mess turned grid, chaos turned plan, the remaining islands of clutter surrounded, identified, on the cusp of submission.

“What’s left?” he asked, businesslike, but his gaze slipped to Est’s hand and softened immediately.

“Not much,” Est replied. 

“Just the desk drawer then—no, you don’t need to—” He put a palm out when Est shifted. Pooh, sensing motion, pressed down harder with a low, friendly huff like a couch cushion with opinions. 

Est slanted William a look that would make most people sit down out of fear.

William blinked innocently at him. “Warden Pooh says no.”

“William.”

“Phi Est.”

“I outrank you.”

“In age or idiocy?”

Est’s eyes narrowed. 

William smiled, unrepentant, and then crouched at the desk to attack the last chaos: a snarl of cables, a small box of random screws, earplugs, spare goggles, a photo strip with faces William didn’t know but was careful with anyway. He wrapped the photo in a scrap of tissue, slid it into a zip bag, then into a personal—desk (top drawer) box with a label that would reunite the memories at the right time.

He didn’t comment on any of it. Est realized as he watched that this, too, was William’s respect: he didn’t pry unless he was invited. He organized the past and left the stories alone.

The light bled slowly orange across the floor. The room began to look less like a storm site and more like a room in transition—edges softened by order, the future sitting quietly in tidy rows of cardboard. William tugged one last strip of tape across a box and then stood, rolling his neck with a little wince he tried to hide.

Est saw it anyway. You’re tired.

He wanted to pull William down onto the bed and press his shoulder under William’s cheek and say rest, and in his mind he did all three.

In reality, he shifted a little under Pooh and said, “Thank you.”

William stilled.

“For the cut,” Est said, nodding at his hand. “For the… kitchen. And the books. And everything else. You were right about the bubble wrap.”

William grinned, small and proud. “Always am.”

Est’s mouth tilted. “Almost always.”

They looked at each other. The kind of looking that collects every small thing and pretends it’s an accident. William looked away first, straightening the stack of finished boxes as if alignment could redirect his heart. 

“Okay,” he said, a breath that tried to be brisk and landed somewhere shakier. “Here’s the plan for tonight.”

Est’s brows rose. “There’s a plan?”

“There’s always a plan,” William said, checking his phone like a clipboard. “You’re going to drink water—two bottles,” he added, lifting two from the bag and placing them within reach on the nightstand. “You’re not going to lift any of the heavy boxes even if you feel fine. You’re going to sleep before midnight. And—” he tapped the bandage lightly, a soft knock on safety, “—you’re going to keep this clean and dry. I’ll come by tomorrow to rewrap it.”

Est stared at him.

“What?”

“Bossy.” Est muttered under his breath.

“I learned from the best,” William said, deadpan, then softened. “I… just. Be careful, okay?”

There it was again—the note under the note, the music only Est seemed to hear fully. 

Be careful didn’t mean don’t get hurt. It meant I can’t watch it if you do. It meant you matter to me in a way that scares me a little.

Est felt it settle in his ribs, a weight he wanted to carry.

“I will,” he said quietly. “I’ll be careful.”

Their eyes snagged and held and didn’t know how to let go. 

William’s gaze skated down to Est’s mouth and darted away so fast it might have been a trick of light. The room seemed suddenly smaller, or maybe they had grown larger inside it—too big for their bodies, for their practiced cool, their deflecting jokes.

William coughed lightly. “Right. So. I should… um.”

“Go,” Est said, because wanting to say stay was a kind of pain he wasn’t sure either of them could survive yet. “It’s late.”

William nodded. He took one step back and then forward again to adjust the water bottles so the labels faced the same way, as if that tiny symmetry could protect Est through the night. He checked the lock on the window despite knowing it was fine. He placed the first-aid kit on the top of the dresser, visible, reachable. He fussed, and Est let him, head tilted, a strange, patient fondness curling warm and dangerous in his chest.

At the door, William hesitated. Pooh slid off the bed with a soft grunt and trotted after him, then looked back at Est like he was confirming instructions.

“Pooh,” William said, crouching to rub the dog’s head. “Guard duty continues. You hear me?” Pooh wagged once, solemn. “If he tries to do anything stupid with a blade, you sit on him.”

Pooh sneezed in agreement. Est rolled his eyes. “Traitor two.”

William straightened, hand on the doorknob. “I’ll text when I get back to my dorm so you don’t worry. And I’ll come by tomorrow morning. I’ll bring coffee or juice boxes. And… bubble wrap.” He smiled, tiny and earnest. “Don’t laugh.”

“I wasn’t going to laugh,” Est said, and then, because honesty was a thing William kept demanding in him without asking, “I like when you… do this.”

William blinked. “Do what?”

“Tell me what to do,” Est said, lips ghosting a smile. “Care. Boss me around. It’s… nice.”

The world tilted. William’s fingers tightened infinitesimally on the knob. 

He likes it. 

The thought hummed through him, destabilizing him completely. He swallowed, pink rising to his ears. “Okay. Then… do as I say, Phi Est.”

“Mm,” Est said, amused and something else. “Tomorrow, report to duty.”

William grinned helplessly. “Yes, sir.”

He cracked the door, the hallway light slanting in. Then he turned back one last time—because there was always a last time with William, an extra orbit he couldn’t help making around whatever he loved. “Text me if it hurts. The cut. Or… anything.”

“I will.”

“And be careful.”

“You said that already.”

“I’m saying it again,” William replied, stubborn, and Est’s laugh threaded something like contentment through the room.

“Goodnight, William.”

“Goodnight, Phi Est.”

William stepped into the hall. Pooh hovered in the doorway, torn between duty and escort, then decided duty was higher rank and trotted back to hop on the bed, flopping down heavy and certain against Est’s thigh.

Est watched the door swing softly shut, listened to the click of the latch that felt less like separation and more like a promise.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He looked at the tidy boxes. He looked at the bandage on his hand. He looked at the water bottles lined like quiet soldiers, at the first-aid kit placed exactly where it would be needed, at the labels written in William’s neat, practical hand. He let each small proof of care soak into him like warmth after a long race.

Then he laid back, careful of Pooh, and stared at the hairline crack in the ceiling he’d never noticed before. His hand ached. He smiled at the ache like it was a secret.

Mine, he thought, unafraid of the word anymore. And I will be his.

His phone buzzed. A message.

William 🎸: 

Reached. Lock your door. Don’t touch knives. See you tomorrow.

Est typed without thinking.

Est 🦈: 

Locked. Not touching anything. Come early.

He hovered, then added:

Goodnight.

The reply came fast, like William had been waiting there on the other side of the screen already.

William 🎸: 

Goodnight, Phi Est. Sweet dreams.

Est set the phone face down, turned his hand so the bandage caught the lamplight, and let the quiet return. Pooh snored softly, an old, domestic sound in a room that finally felt like it belonged to a life in motion, not a storm. The scent of ramen and tape and antiseptic blended into something almost home-like.

He closed his eyes, patient for once, and let morning come closer.

Summer mornings were not for William. 

Not by choice, not by habit, and certainly not by any stretch of personality. It was instilled in him since he was a kid.

Except this morning.

This morning William had startled awake before his alarm had even thought of buzzing, Mochi giving him a suspicious glare as if to say why are you moving, it’s not even breakfast yet. His eyes had shot open with a singular thought barreling through his head like a train with no brakes:

Phi Est was injured.

And William couldn’t get it out of his head.

Every time he tried to close his eyes, the image replayed—the sharp wince Est made when the blade slipped, the bead of red blooming far too quickly, the way William’s own fingers had trembled as he tried to press gauze against it. He hadn’t been able to meet Est’s eyes then. He still couldn’t stop replaying how stiff and clumsy he had been.

Even the memory of his mother’s cutting words from yesterday had been forced into the back seat of his mind. He hadn’t forgotten them—they pressed down on him like cold rain—but the thought of Est with a bandaged hand had shoved everything else away.

Phi Est was injured.

Phi Est was injured.

That mattered more than anything else.

Which was why, against all reason, against the natural laws of the universe, against Mochi’s disapproving glare, William found himself awake at 7:30 a.m., tugging on his hoodie and glasses, shoving random supplies into his backpack — a roll of proper gauze, antiseptic, snacks he figured Est probably wouldn’t buy for himself — and pacing around his room like a storm on two legs.

By 8:00, he’d already called Joong and Daou.

“You’re telling me,” Joong groaned through the receiver, voice muffled with sleep, “that you want us to come to Est’s dorm and… pack his stuff?”

“Yeah!” William hissed, as if urgency could somehow transmit through the phone line. “He’s injured. He shouldn’t be lifting anything. Or folding. Or— or carrying. He has to rest.”

“He cut his hand, not lost it,” Daou muttered in the background.

“Still! It’s serious. What if it gets worse?”

There had been a pause, then the sound of Joong laughing. “You’re unbelievable. Fine. We’ll come by later. But William—” his voice had turned sharp, “—don’t hover too much. Est hates that.”

William had ignored that warning, because by then he was already marching across campus like a man on a mission, determination radiating off of him in waves. 

So, by 8:30 William—William Jakrapatr, sworn enemy of summer mornings—found himself trudging across campus, hoodie drawn up to block the morning sun, glasses sliding down his nose, clutching a small bag he had half-packed with first aid supplies and snacks.

He was going to make sure Est was okay. He didn’t care if Est scowled, or rolled his eyes, or told him he was overreacting. He didn’t care if Joong and Daou laughed themselves sick when they arrived later.

He was going to check on Est.

And that was final.

When he reached Est’s dorm, his heart was already doing nervous gymnastics. He didn’t even pause to psych himself up. He knocked.

And then the door cracked open, and William’s brain simply… stopped.

Est stood there, hair a tousled mess that stuck out in at least six directions, eyes half-lidded with sleep, lips parted as if he hadn’t fully realized he was awake yet. He wore an oversized t-shirt and shorts, his posture slouched in that particular brand of morning sulk — the kind that said I’m awake but not willingly, and the world should know it owes me something in return.

William felt his heart fold itself into a paper crane and launch into the sky.

Phi Est was cute. Too cute. Criminally, unfairly, devastatingly cute.

And grumpy. Which only made him cuter.

William’s mind spun out like a blender with no lid.

Oh no. He’s adorable. He’s so adorable. How is he real? Why does he look like that? Why does he look like— like— like someone I should put in my pocket and never let go of? He’s so pretty. Lord help me, he’s so pretty.

“…Good morning, Phi,” William managed, voice cracking just a little.

Est blinked slowly, as if his brain was buffering. His voice came out hoarse with sleep. “…Why are you here?”

“You’re injured and I told you that I’d come and check. And pack whatever’s left.” William blurted, shoving past his embarrassment and straight into chaos. “You shouldn’t be packing alone…I told you about this yesterday.”

That woke Est up faster than any cup of coffee could have. His brows drew together, his lips pulling into a sulky pout.

“You think I can’t pack my own stuff?”

William’s stomach flipped. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to coo. He wanted to pull out his phone and record this exact image forever: Est, messy-haired and sulking like a cat who’d just been told he wasn’t allowed to jump on the counter.

“I didn’t say that,” William hedged, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I just think you shouldn’t strain your hand. That’s all.”

Est huffed, turning back toward the room. “I’m not helpless, William.”

“I know that,” William murmured, following him inside, his grin widening. But you’re so cute when you pretend to be annoyed. Phi Est, why are you so—

He cut the thought off before it spiraled too far.

The dorm was a mess of half-folded clothes and open drawers. As if Est had tried to pack the rest of the stuff after William had left but had given up before even starting. 

Before he could berate Est on working with an injury, William’s eyes landed immediately on Est’s hand, wrapped in a bandage so loose it was practically falling off.

He tutted instinctively. “Phi… what is this?”

“What.”

“Your hand.” William spun back toward him, horrified. “That’s… that’s not even… why does it look like you tied it in the dark?! Why did you even re-do it?”

Est looked at his hand, then back at William, his lips twitching as though he might actually laugh. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine! You should’ve waited for me Phi” William marched forward, bag in hand. “Sit. Right now. I’m fixing this. It’ll never heal like this.”

Est blinked, thrown off by the command. But he sat down on the edge of the bed anyway, watching as William dug out fresh gauze and tape from his bag, muttering under his breath about “irresponsible patients” and “sharp objects being banned.” He crossed the room in quick strides, catching Est’s wrist gently before Est could tuck it behind his back. “You rebandaged it wrong…”

Est froze.

Not because of the words, but because of the closeness.

The world went very still.

Est hadn’t expected it—hadn’t expected the warmth of William’s palm against his, hadn’t expected the way his breath would hitch, sharp and unsteady.

He prayed William didn’t notice the faint flush rising to his ears.

William lowered himself beside Est, tugging Est closer so he could work.

The movement was automatic, instinctive — as if William didn’t even realize how close it pulled them, Est sitting right next to him, their space reduced to a breath.

William’s fingers were warm, careful as they guided his hand into the light. The younger boy’s face was all focus, brows furrowed behind his glasses, mouth set in determination. He looked unfairly good like this — hoodie stretched across broad shoulders, hair messy from his rush across campus, jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

This combination should be illegal, Est thought, pulse quickening. Glasses and hoodie and serious expression. It wasn’t fair. 

Est’s mind screamed at him to move away, to protest, to say something sarcastic. Instead, he sat frozen, ears buzzing, eyes flickering everywhere except William’s face.

He was so lost in thought he barely realized William had finished unwinding the gauze until the sting of antiseptic touched the cut.

Est flinched—a small, instinctive twitch.

And instantly, William’s head snapped up, his gaze locking onto Est’s with a softness so startling it knocked the air out of his lungs. “Does it hurt?” he asked, voice low, careful, as if afraid of the answer.

Est forgot how to breathe.

Forgot how to speak.

The look in William’s eyes was too much. Open, earnest, unguarded in a way that made something deep in Est’s chest crack open like a fault line.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t force words past the lump in his throat. So he just shook his head mutely.

William’s shoulders eased, relief flickering across his face before he bent back down, resuming his task with renewed gentleness. He wrapped the bandage with precision, his hands steady, his touch feather-light.

Est tried not to notice the brush of William’s knuckles against his skin. Tried not to notice how close William’s face was, how the morning light caught in his hair, how his glasses slipped just barely down his nose. Tried not to notice the warmth curling in his chest with every careful movement.

But it was impossible not to.

It was impossible not to melt.

And when William finished, tying the bandage neatly and finally looking up again — just for a second, just long enough for their eyes to catch — Est felt something inside him unravel completely.

William didn’t notice anything.

Not really.

His brain was still whirring with chaos, cataloguing every detail of Est’s hand, every possible risk of infection, every scenario in which Est overexerted himself. He missed the way Est’s breath caught. He missed the faint pink dusting Est’s cheeks. He missed the way Est’s gaze lingered on his jawline a moment too long.

All William knew was this: Est was bandaged properly now. Est was safe.

And that was enough to make his heart swell to bursting.

“See?” William said softly, letting go of his hand with a smile that could have powered the entire city. “Better.”

Est swallowed, forcing his voice steady. “…Yeah. Better.”

But inside, his heart was anything but steady.

William wasn’t just chaos. He wasn’t just loud or relentless or annoying in the way everyone teased him about.

He was careful. Gentle. Attentive in a way no one else was.

William then lifted the bag in his hand. “Breakfast.”

Est raised a brow, and his cheeks puffed a little in protest. “You didn’t trust me to pack alone, so you brought food to keep me quiet?”

William grinned. “Exactly. Sit.”

“I can pack—”

“Sit.” William’s tone left no room for argument. He was already guiding Est back to the edge of the bed, practically pushing him down with gentle insistence. “Phi has one good hand. I’m not letting it get ruined before it heals. That’s final.”

Est huffed, but it was more for show than anything else. He secretly liked the way William fussed, the way he seemed to orbit around him like some stubborn planet that refused to let him drift too far. So he sat, crossing his legs, pretending not to be intrigued by what William was pulling out of the bag.

One by one, William laid everything on the little desk: a triangular sandwich wrapped neatly in paper, a carton of soy milk, steamed buns still warm from the café, and even a tiny cup of fruit. He unwrapped the sandwich halfway, peeled open the bun wrapper, and popped the straw into the carton—all with the efficiency of someone who had clearly thought this through on the way over.

“Eat,” William said, handing Est the sandwich first.

Est blinked at him. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious. Phi needs energy. No arguments.”

Est took it, biting back the smile that threatened to curl across his lips.

Since when did William become my mother? No—worse. Since when did William become someone I actually don’t mind bossing me around?

While Est chewed in reluctant silence, William turned his attention to the half-folded clothes by the closet. He crouched down, surveyed the mess, and clicked his tongue. “This… is a crime scene. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

Est popped another bite of sandwich into his mouth and narrowed his eyes. “I could have done it just fine. I just…had to feed Pooh.”

“Good. You would have broken your other hand in the process.”

“Exaggeration.”

“Fact.” William didn’t even glance up, separating the shirts that had gotten braided into a mess.

Est rolled his eyes, leaning back on his uninjured arm. “You know, for someone who is supposedly a musician, you act a lot like a drill sergeant.”

William shot him a grin over his shoulder. “I can multitask.”

“You missed a spot,” he said, pointing vaguely at the almost empty closet as he had no retort.

William froze, checking. “Where?”

“Right there.”

“What? Where?”

“Looks weird to me.”

William shot him a look, and Est bit into the steamed bun innocently. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Doing what?”

“Distracting me.”

Est’s lips twitched. “Maybe.”

William shook his head, but his ears turned pink. He bent back down, refolding another shirt. “Then it won’t work. I’m too good at this.”

But it was working. William’s hands stilled for half a second, his shoulders tense. He was acutely aware of Est’s gaze on him, of the soft sound of Est eating behind him, of the tiny sighs and hums that seemed almost… content.

And Est—Est was enjoying this more than he wanted to admit.

He watched the way William’s fingers brushed over the fabric as though untangling clothes was a sacred act. He watched how carefully William avoided jostling anything too loudly, as if he were trying not to disturb Est’s morning quiet. He watched the little furrow in William’s brow, the way he kept glancing back as if to check Est was actually eating.

“You’re fussing,” Est said finally, unable to help himself.

“Of course I’m fussing. Phi has one working hand. Someone has to keep you from making it worse.”

“I’m perfectly capable.”

“Uh-huh.” William turned, holding up the sandwich wrapper that was still half full. “Then why aren’t you finishing this?”

Est blinked. “Because—”

“No excuses.” William thrust it into his good hand. “Eat. Now.”

Est laughed softly despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re stubborn.” William plopped down onto the bed beside him, closer than Est expected, and crossed his arms. “I’ll sit here until you finish. Phi can’t win this one.”

The proximity made Est’s chest tighten. He could feel the warmth radiating off William, could smell the faint trace of his shampoo. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his heart wasn’t listening.

“Fine,” Est muttered, taking another bite.

William watched him with a triumphant little grin, and for a second Est almost forgot about the dull ache in his bandaged hand. He almost forgot about the half-packed boxes and the sulking he’d intended to maintain.

Instead, he just thought about how William looked so alive when he was bossing him around, how his eyes softened when he checked the bandage earlier, how he’d whispered, does it hurt? like it actually mattered more than anything else in the world.

And maybe… maybe Est didn’t hate being fussed over. Maybe, in fact, he liked it a little too much.

The packing continued in bursts of chaos and banter.

Every time William tried to focus, Est threw in a comment.

“Are you sure you know how to fold pants?”

“Yes.”

“Because that one looks crooked.”

“It’s not crooked.”

“Looks pretty crooked to me.”

Every time William sighed in exasperation, Est’s chest grew lighter. Watching William puff his cheeks in frustration was secretly entertaining, and the longer it went on, the more Est realized he didn’t actually want William to finish quickly. The more William fussed, the more excuses Est had to keep him here.

By the time William tapped the first box with military precision, Est was leaning against the bedframe, hiding a smile behind his soy milk carton.

“Done,” William announced.

Est tilted his head. “Already?”

“Told you. Master packer.”

Joong and Daou arrived mid-morning, both yawning like they hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. Joong was still clutching a half-finished iced coffee as if it was the only thing tethering him to life, while Daou had his sunglasses perched on his head despite being indoors.

“What are you both doing here?” Est asked seeing his friends this early in the morning. 

“Your boy called us in a huff, saying you’re injured and needed help packing,” Joong replied with a scowl on his face. 

Est spluttered. My boy. 

Daou was right beside him, grumbling about the ungodly hour William had demanded their presence. 

The first thing they saw when Est finally let them in was William crouched in front of an open box, refolding shirts with a precision that could only be described as military-grade. 

“…What,” Joong said flatly, blinking. “Are we in the wrong room? Did we step into a parallel universe?”

“Nope,” Daou answered, sliding his sunglasses down his nose for dramatic effect. “This is Est’s dorm. But apparently Est has acquired…” He gestured vaguely at William, who was now rolling a pair of socks into a tight little ball like it was a competition. “…a mom.”

“I heard that!” William snapped without looking up. “And for your information, this is called efficiency. Something you two clearly don’t know anything about because you’re late!”

Joong glanced at Est, who was now sitting cross-legged on the bed with a completely neutral face, the very picture of innocence. Except, Joong knew him too well—there was a smug little curl at the corner of Est’s lips, a tiny tell that screamed: I’m enjoying this way too much.

“Don’t look at me,” Est said smoothly when Joong raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Yes, you did,” William cut in immediately, finally turning around to glare at Est, who only widened his eyes like a cat caught near an empty fishbowl. “You were trying to pack with one hand. One hand, Phi Est. And nearly reopened your cut because you didn’t even wrap it properly!”

“I’m perfectly capable,” Est said, voice calm but his posture leaning back just a little more into the pillows. If William wanted to fuss, Est wasn’t about to stop him.

“Capable, huh?” William shot back, standing up to his full height and pointing at the mess of half-folded clothes still on the floor. “Then explain this disaster zone.”

Est pressed his lips together in a line, the faintest flush at the tips of his ears. He hated being scolded—normally, he’d bristle. But with William, there was something strangely comforting about it, as if William’s frustration was just proof of how much he cared.

Joong and Daou exchanged a look, then burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” Daou wheezed. “He really turned into your personal nurse, huh? Est, blink twice if you’re being held hostage.”

Est didn’t blink. He just leaned back, smirk tugging at his mouth. “I’m fine.”

Joong narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to the bed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“No,” Est said far too quickly, straightening his expression into practiced calm. “I’m—”

“He’s enjoying this,” Joong declared loudly, cutting him off.

“Definitely enjoying this,” Daou added, grinning like a devil.

Est ignored both of them, turning his attention instead to the scene unfolding in front of him: William now had both of his seniors corralled into action, barking orders like a drill sergeant.

Daou, affronted, blinked. “Excuse me? Nong William, you do remember we are your seniors, right?”

That finally made William look up. He adjusted his glasses, squinting at them like they’d just insulted his entire bloodline. Then, very sweetly, he asked, “Should I call Phi Dunk and Phi Offroad and tell them that you two won’t make it to your boyfriends because you couldn’t pack on time?”

The silence that followed was golden. Joong and Daou exchanged a look, mouths snapping shut at the same exact second.

“…We’ll get started,” Joong muttered, snatching shirts from Est’s chair.

Daou sighed, muttering something under his breath about blackmail, but followed anyway.

William tilted his head. “That’s what I thought. Now—Phi Joong, start folding those pants—no, not like that! Fold them in thirds, not halves, or they won’t fit in the suitcase properly. Phi Daou, grab those books and stack them by size. Biggest on the bottom, smallest on top. Use your brain cells, come on!”

“Excuse me?” Daou scoffed. “I have plenty of brain cells, thank you very much.”

“Then use them faster Phi,” William shot back.

Joong groaned, deliberately messing up the fold just to test him. Sure enough, William swooped in two seconds later, snatching the pants out of Joong’s hands.

“What is this?!” William exclaimed, holding the crooked fold up like it was evidence of a crime.

“A fold,” Joong deadpanned.

“This is an insult to folds everywhere!” William thundered, refolding the pants with sharp, precise movements before tucking them neatly into the suitcase. “Do it like this, okay? Follow the system.”

Est was biting his cheek to keep from laughing, eyes sparkling in amusement. Watching William boss his seniors around without hesitation was… dangerous. Too dangerous. Every second of it chipped away at Est’s carefully built walls.

Daou plopped a small pile of books onto the desk, deliberately loud. “There. Stacked. Happy?”

“No,” William said immediately, swooping in again to rearrange them. “What is this chaos? They’re not even aligned! Look, the corners are sticking out! How do you live with yourselves?”

“Very comfortably,” Daou muttered under his breath, but he didn’t resist when William shoved him aside to fix the stack.

Joong, meanwhile, was watching Est with narrowed eyes. “Seriously, Est. You’re letting him get away with this? Since when do you let anyone order us around?”

Est shrugged one shoulder, deliberately nonchalant. “Since now.”

Joong gaped at him. “Unbelievable. You’re actually smug about this.”

“I am not smug,” Est said calmly, though the small, satisfied tilt of his lips betrayed him instantly.

“Smug,” Joong accused again, pointing a finger.

Est turned his gaze deliberately away, focusing instead on William, who was now crouched over the cardboard box again, muttering about space-saving techniques. 

Est swallowed. Too much. This was too much.

“Est,” Joong sing-songed, dragging him back to reality. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not,” Est said quickly, maybe a little too sharply.

“You are,” Daou chimed in, never missing a chance to stir trouble.

Est sighed, leaning back further against the pillows. “You two should focus on folding instead of running your mouths.”

Joong gasped dramatically. “He’s deflecting! Oh my god, he is enjoying this.”

William, oblivious to the storm of teasing behind him, looked up from the suitcase and frowned. “What’s going on over there?”

“Nothing!” Est blurted before Joong or Daou could answer.

William narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then turned back to the clothes. “Good. Because we don’t have time for nonsense. We need efficiency, people! Efficiency!”

Daou leaned toward Joong and whispered, just loud enough for Est to hear: “He’s enjoying this too.”

Est didn’t answer, but the heat blooming in his chest gave him away. He couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips as he watched William continue his campaign of organization. Protective, fussy, bossy William—hovering like it was his full-time job.

And for once, Est thought, maybe he didn’t mind being fussed over. Not when it was William.

William, oblivious to everything, straightened up and clapped his hands together. “Alright! Progress. If we keep this pace, Phi Est won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“Exactly,” Est said quickly, seizing the chance to cover his flustered state. He leaned back again, one leg crossing over the other like a king overseeing his subjects. “Carry on, everyone.”

Joong groaned loudly. “I hate this. I hate all of this.”

Daou smirked. “No, you just hate that Nong William is scarier than Dunk when he’s in protective mode.”

William didn’t even deny it—he just pointed at Joong’s pile of folded shirts. “That’s uneven Phi. Refold it.”

Joong stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Do you want me to call Phi Dunk?” William asked, deadpan.

Joong refolded the shirts without another word.

Est, at this point, was having the time of his life. He looked at Daou, who was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He looked at Joong, whose pride was taking a massive hit as he obeyed William’s micromanaging. Then he looked back at William, who was now fussing with Est’s toiletries, carefully wrapping bottles in plastic bags so they wouldn’t leak.

It was absurd. Utterly, ridiculously absurd. And yet Est couldn’t stop the warmth pooling in his chest. William was so serious, so determined, so utterly focused on making sure he didn’t have to lift a finger. Est didn’t even need to exaggerate his smugness—it came naturally, bubbling out in little smiles and huffs as he leaned back in his chair.

“Phi Joong, Phi Daou,” William called suddenly, startling them both. “After this, you two carry the heavier boxes. Phi Est shouldn’t strain his hand.”

“Understood,” Daou replied automatically, before realizing he’d just agreed without thinking. He blinked at Joong, who looked like he might cry.

Est caught Joong’s expression and laughed quietly to himself. Yeah. He could get used to this.

Then Pooh decided to contribute.

The golden retriever had been dozing at Est’s feet, head resting against his owner’s knee. But the second Joong started dragging a suitcase across the floor, Pooh perked up, tail wagging, and trotted straight toward it like it was a game.

“Pooh, no—” Est started, but it was too late.

The dog leapt forward, grabbed a half-folded shirt from the suitcase, and pranced triumphantly across the room with it dangling from his mouth.

Joong groaned. “Why is your dog like this—”

“Don’t yell at Pooh!” William snapped instantly, voice sharper than Est had ever heard. He shot Joong a glare so deadly that Joong physically recoiled.

“He just stole my shirt!” Joong protested.

William stood, tall and unwavering, pointing straight at him. “First of all, that’s Phi Est’s shirt, not yours. Second of all, Pooh is a very good boy. He’s helping.”

Est muffled a laugh behind his hand. Helping? Really? Pooh was circling the room with the shirt like a parade float, tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggled.

Daou reached out cautiously, trying to snag the shirt back. “Come on, Pooh—”

William gasped. “Don’t you dare take it from him like that. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

Est lost it. He had to duck his head, shoulders shaking, to keep his laughter from bursting out loud. William was actually defending his dog against Joong and Daou, and the two were frozen like they’d just been scolded by a strict professor.

“Pooh is causing chaos,” Joong muttered.

“Pooh is doing his best,” William countered, hands on his hips. “At least he’s trying. Unlike some people.” His pointed glare flicked between them.

“Unbelievable,” Daou muttered, but he went back to folding.

Meanwhile, Est reached down and patted Pooh, whispering conspiratorially. “Good job, Pooh. Keep it up.”

The dog gave a happy bark, earning another scowl from Joong.

The living room grew steadily messier as boxes piled up, Pooh sniffed and nosed into every corner, and William’s voice carried like a general commanding troops.

But somewhere between ordering Joong to “tape properly, Phi, not like you’re just pretending!” and swooping in to rescue Est from trying to fold shirts one-handed, the energy that had fueled William started to fray at the edges. He’d been running on little sleep for days now—his mind restless with the weight of that unresolved phone call from his mother. This morning, it had all been drowned out by a single thought: Phi Est. But now, with Est settled and the others steadily working under his relentless supervision, the adrenaline finally had nowhere left to go.

The orders slowed, then stuttered, until they stopped altogether. Joong and Daou traded a glance over the box they were sealing.

“…It’s quiet,” Joong whispered.

“Too quiet,” Daou added.

They turned. William was slumped sideways on the couch, glasses slightly askew, arms folded loosely like he had only meant to blink but ended up drifting off. His mouth softened into the faintest pout as his breathing steadied. The golden retriever energy that had lit up the room just moments ago had flickered out entirely, leaving behind a boy who looked younger than he ever did awake—unguarded, exhausted.

For a moment, Est just stared.

William hadn’t stopped moving since he burst through the door that morning, determined to repack Est’s entire dorm as if his life depended on it. He had bossed Joong and Daou around with startling authority, hovered over Est every time he so much as twitched, and even shooed Pooh away from chewing on tape rolls with military precision. All of that brightness, all of that golden energy—it had seemed endless. And now…

Now Est could see the truth. He was just tired.

Joong opened his mouth, but Est immediately lifted his good hand to his lips in warning.

“Don’t wake him,” Est mouthed.

Daou tilted his head, brows furrowing. “…What about the boxes?” he whispered back.

“Finish them,” Est murmured, voice low but firm. “Quietly.”

Joong blinked. “Wait what, you’re serious?”

“Yes,” Est hissed. “Go. Pack. Quiet.”

Both of them exchanged a look but didn’t argue. They tiptoed back to their work, moving with exaggerated care. Tape ripped slower. Boxes closed softer. Even Pooh, somehow sensing the shift, curled up on the rug instead of stomping around.

Est’s gaze returned to William. His chest rose and fell evenly, lashes dark against his skin, hair falling forward where it hadn’t been styled or pushed back.

He looked… different like this.

Not the sunshine boy who laughed too loud and ordered people around with infuriating confidence. Not the one who had barged in at dawn with juice boxes and breakfast snacks, bossing him into sitting still.

This William looked fragile. Real.

And Est hated how his chest tightened at the sight.

By the time Joong and Daou stacked the last box, they crept toward the door, arms full of spare tape and paper. Joong leaned close to Est, whispering, “You’re different with him, Est. Do you have something to tell us?”

Est shot him a flat look, feigning indifference. “Go home, Joong.”

Daou smiled softly. “Happiness looks good on you.”

Est’s throat tightened. He didn’t answer. Just nudged them both out with a firm, “Quietly.”

When the door clicked shut, silence fell. A soft, heavy silence that settled like a blanket itself.

Est turned back. William hadn’t moved. His glasses had slipped further down the bridge of his nose, threatening to fall. Est padded closer, crouched, and hesitated before carefully sliding them off, folding the arms closed with his good hand. He set them gently on the table, then lingered.

Up close, William looked even more undone. No practiced grin. No boundless chatter. Just a boy who had burned himself out for someone else and finally allowed his body to rest. Est felt his chest squeeze painfully tight.

He fetched a blanket from his bed and draped it over William’s frame, tucking it around his shoulders. His injured hand ached faintly, but he ignored it, brushing William’s hair back from his forehead. The strands were softer than he expected.

“You really are…ridiculous,” Est murmured under his breath, voice almost trembling, looking at the boy sleeping on his couch. 

Or at least that’s what he thought. 

William had stirred awake some time ago, the haze of exhaustion not enough to stop the prickle of awareness crawling up his neck. 

He didn’t remember how many times he had blinked against the dim light of the dorm, adjusting to the silence, but he hadn’t moved.

Not when the door clicked shut behind Joong and Daou.

Not when Est had padded softly across the floor, careful with his injured hand, his footsteps a little uneven.

Not even when Pooh had climbed down from the bed and waddled over, sniffing curiously at William’s leg before collapsing dramatically against the carpet.

Because William was comfortable. Too comfortable. His body sunk into the worn cushions of Est’s couch, his limbs loose in the kind of rest that only came when he was surrounded by something safe, something familiar. Or someone.

The phone call from his mom—the one that had left him hollow and restless—was gone. Not forgotten, but dulled. Like static drowned out by the steady sound of rain. All the sharp edges of her words had faded into something distant, muffled.

Because of Est.

He heard Est pause a few steps away, felt the weight of his gaze press down like sunlight through a window. William’s chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, feigned sleep painted across his features. Inside, though, every nerve was alive, alert. He had no idea why he hadn’t opened his eyes yet—maybe it was cowardice, maybe curiosity—but he didn’t want to lose this.

Because Est was watching him.

The thought made William’s pulse jump, the steady thud-thud-thud loud in his ears.

He waited.

There was the faint sound of fabric brushing against skin. Est crouching, probably. A hitch in breath that wasn’t his own. And then—

A gentle touch, the ghost of fingers at his temple.

William’s heart nearly lurched out of his chest.

Est’s uninjured hand was reaching for him, careful and slow. William felt the shift of weight as Est leaned in, felt the careful removal of his glasses. The world blurred behind his shut eyelids, the faint pressure lifting from the bridge of his nose.

For a second, William thought that was it. That Est would simply set his glasses down and go. 

But then—the warmth returned.

Fingers brushing back strands of hair that had fallen loose, the careful sweep of touch across his forehead.

William almost forgot how to breathe.

It wasn’t just the touch—it was the hesitation in it, the lingering. Like Est wasn’t simply fixing something out of habit. Like he was memorizing.

William’s lashes fluttered but stayed shut. He didn’t dare move.

And then—so faint, so fragile—Est’s hand slowed, fingers trailing along the line of his hair before pausing near his cheek. 

And William felt it. The hesitation. The way Est’s touch lingered against his cheek, thumb ghosting over his cheekbone as though he couldn’t help himself. William’s breath nearly caught in his throat.

A moment suspended.

And in that stillness, something flickered. William felt it, the shift in Est’s breath, the way the air seemed to tighten.

For Est, this was dangerous. Too dangerous. 

He realized too late that he wasn’t just fixing William’s hair. His chest tightened, his throat went dry, and then—before he could stop himself—the thought bloomed, reckless and devastating:

What if I kissed him?

It froze him. The idea, sudden and raw, shocked him more than the fact that his fingers were still pressed against William’s skin. His gaze dragged over the curve of William’s lips, too close, too inviting.

Slowly, very slowly he caressed William’s cheek. 

Once. Then, twice. 

He let his hand drift along his cheek to his jaw as if memorizing his face. 

Unknowingly, Est’s face shifted closer, and once again his gaze dropped to William's lips. 

The world held its breath.

Est wanted to taste those lips. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to make William his. 

And just as quickly, Est jerked back. He blinked, horrified at himself, heart stumbling over its own rhythm. What was he doing?

William only dared to breathe again once he felt Est’s hand pull away. His pulse was a mess, his palms clammy against the fabric of the couch, but he kept still—only this time, his eyes opened slowly, lashes lifting as if he had just stirred from sleep.

He blinked drowsily, eyes adjusting, landing straight on Est.

And Est — standing stiff a step away now — looked as though he’d been caught in the middle of something he shouldn’t have been feeling at all.

“Mm—did I… fall asleep?” His voice was hoarse, pitched low like he’d just woken up.

Est, who’d already stepped back as though caught red-handed, cleared his throat. “You were tired. It’s late.” His tone was clipped, flat in that familiar Est way — but William had been listening to him long enough now to hear the edges.

It wasn’t flat.

It was defensive.

William tilted his head, blinking up at him, and for a split second he wondered if he’d imagined it — the warmth of Est’s fingers in his hair, the brush of a thumb against his face, the shift in air between them. His heart was still hammering.

You weren’t dreaming, William. He touched you. He—

Est turned away before William could pin him down with a look. “Joong and Daou left. Everything’s cleaned up.”

William hummed, still drowsy, but his lips curved just slightly. 

“You’re awfully fidgety, Phi,” William drawled, his voice still husky from his pretend nap. “Did something happen while I was sleeping?”

“No.” Too quick. Too flat.

William smirked into the couch cushion. “Mmm. You sure?”

Est finally turned, narrowing his eyes. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” William said innocently, stretching again, his shirt riding up just slightly on his stomach. “Just feels like you’re avoiding looking at me.” He tilted his head, pretending to puzzle it out. “Did I look weird while I was asleep? Mouth open? Snoring? Drooling—”

“Yes,” Est cut in immediately, the answer sharp and efficient.

William barked a laugh. “You liar. I don’t snore.”

“You don’t know.”

“I would know, Phi Est. I’m very self-aware,” William teased, grinning, then softened just a little. His gaze lingered on Est, the kind of look that made Est feel like he was being seen instead of just looked at. “But… thanks for letting me sleep. You didn’t have to.”

Est froze at that warmth, at the gratitude tucked in between William’s casual tone. He shrugged, turning his face away again. “You needed it.”

There was a silence, heavy but not uncomfortable. 

William turned his head to the side, cheek pressed against the couch. A soft smile pulled at his lips before he could stop it. 

If this was what it meant to find safety and comfort in someone, then this—sprawled out on Est’s couch—was it.

For the first time in his life, William felt like he’d found a home. Not a place, not a fleeting moment, but a person who saw him, really saw him—not through him, not past him. Just him. And God, it was Est.

Chapter Text

Est had been in the new apartment for less than twenty-four hours, and it already looked like someone lived here. 

Not perfectly lived in—he wasn’t that type. The shoes were lined neatly by the door, his textbooks were stacked like soldiers on the low shelf he had dragged over himself, and the bed was tucked tight the way he liked it. 

But there were little marks of a move-in: unopened boxes shoved into corners, a laundry bag slouched against the wall, and the faint smell of cardboard that still hung in the air.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. At least it was done. Or rather—at least Joong and Daou had bullied their entire swimming team into carrying all the heavy boxes. 

Est had tried, once or twice, to protest. His hand had ached after he had reopened the cut twice, but more than that—it was William’s voice that had gotten in his head.

Be careful. Don’t overdo it. Call me if you need anything, Phi.

The words had been repeated so often that Est swore he heard them even when his phone didn’t buzz.

And still, Est had thought—irritated at himself—that he was listening. Because every time he thought about grabbing a box heavier than necessary, that voice floated back. Don’t overdo it.

And apparently, William hadn’t trusted him to listen on his own, because somewhere between the chaos of lifting boxes and Daou’s constant yelling, Joong had muttered, “He threatened us if we didn’t take care of you.”

Est didn’t doubt that William had given them a full set of instructions. He could picture it too vividly—William crossing his arms, voice unusually firm, telling them exactly how to make sure Est didn’t lift a single box too heavy for him.

And then, of course, his phone really had buzzed.

William 🎸: 

Mochi says good luck with the new place 🐱

Attached photo: Mochi glaring at the camera from inside a cupboard.

Est’s lips twitched, helpless. He’d been sitting on his bare couch when that one came in, still sweating from moving, and had found himself laughing out loud.

It had been like that all day. William hadn’t come—he’d said something vague about “errands” and had waved off Est’s suspicion when Est had asked what that meant.

Not that Est was waiting for William to come  

Obviously not.

But even in his absence, William had been louder than anyone else. A constant stream of texts, photos, voice notes, and at one point even a shaky little video of Mochi batting at William’s guitar strings.

The apartment felt quiet when the phone wasn’t buzzing. Too quiet.

Est leaned back now on the couch, looking around. His new place wasn’t big—single bedroom, small kitchen, bathroom tucked away to the side. It had a balcony that overlooked the back garden of the building, which he liked, because it meant mornings would be full of soft light. The walls were plain, waiting for the posters or photos he hadn’t yet unpacked, and the couch he was sitting on was too new, the cushions still stiff.

It should have felt foreign. It did feel foreign. And yet—

His phone buzzed again. He didn’t even look at it before the corners of his mouth betrayed him and curved upward.

William 🎸: 

Did you eat yet?

Attached photo: William, squinting into the camera, hair messy.

Est rolled his eyes, but the warmth was immediate (Should he? Yes, he should. He thought to himself, saving the picture.).

He typed back one-handed.

Est 🦈: 

Yes. Stop fussing.

William 🎸: 

Not fussing. Just making sure Phi Est doesn’t forget to take care of himself 🫡

Est set the phone down on his thigh, looking at it like it might say more. His chest tightened in the way it had been doing all day, a knot of something he refused to name out loud.

Because every buzz reminded him—not just of William, but of William yesterday.

The couch wasn’t the same couch, but it was close enough. He remembered the quiet that had fallen in his dorm after Joong and Daou had left, after the chaos had stilled. He remembered William’s face, slack with sleep, glasses slipping down his nose. He remembered the way the boy had looked utterly, terrifyingly vulnerable for once.

And he remembered leaning in, against every better instinct, brushing his hair back. 

Remembered the almost magnetic pull of William’s face.

The thought that had come unbidden, fierce and startling enough that Est had pulled away as if burned. His ears had gone hot—he’d been sure William would wake up and catch him in the act of… of what, exactly? Wanting? Needing?

He shut his eyes now, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was pathetic, the way it kept coming back. Every time his phone lit up with William’s name, his brain threw him back to that image—William on his couch, breath soft and steady, the urge to lean in and—

Est stood abruptly, shaking it off. “Pathetic,” he muttered.

He busied himself with unpacking instead. One box for kitchen utensils. One for useless junk. But every so often, the phone buzzed again.

William 🎸: 

Mochi approves of your apartment 🐈‍⬛

Attached photo: Mochi standing on top of a folded blanket, looking like she owned it.

Est snorted. “You’ve never even been here,” he said under his breath.

Except—he thought about it, really thought about it—and the image of William in this apartment filled his head too easily. William sitting cross-legged on the couch, playing with his guitar. William crowding the tiny kitchen, opening every cabinet just to see what was inside. William leaning over the balcony, yelling something ridiculous down to the garden.

The ache came back. Sharp, but sweet.

He wasn’t supposed to let himself want this. He’d told himself that already. But the truth was unavoidable: William had carved out space in his life without even being here.

Est’s phone buzzed again, and he grabbed it too quickly.

William 🎸: 

Don’t stay up too late unpacking. Promise me.

Est stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. His mind flickered—William on the couch, the almost-thought of a kiss, the way his chest had gone tight.

He typed slowly.

Est 🦈: 

…Fine.

Almost immediately, the reply came back.

William 🎸: 

Good 😌 Sweet dreams Phi Est

Est let the phone drop onto the couch beside him, pressing both hands to his face.

Sweet dreams indeed.

The apartment smelled like cardboard. The couch was too new. The boxes were still stacked in corners. But it didn’t matter, because all Est could think of was that William had been the first person to make this place feel warm—without even stepping inside.

And worst of all—he wanted him here.

The next day, Est found himself back once again against the stiff couch, his phone buzzing. He didn’t even check before his lips betrayed him and curved upward.

William 🎸: 

Did you eat yet?

Est 🦈: 

No. Not yet. 

Est had just set the phone down when the doorbell rang.

He frowned. Joong and Daou had already yelled their dramatic farewells hours ago. Who—?

The doorbell rang again.

Frowning, Est stood and padded over and opened the door. 

William stood there. Grinning like he had just pulled off the heist of the century, a plastic bag dangling from one hand.

“Surprise, Phi Est!”

Est blinked once. Twice. “…William?”

William grinned wider, if that was even possible. “Yup. It’s me.” He held up the plastic bag triumphantly. “I brought food. Special delivery service edition: William-at-your-doorstep.

Est’s eyes flickered from the bag to him and back again. “What are you—how did you even know where I live?”

William’s grin widened. “I asked Phi Daou. Obviously.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Plus, I had to bring your housewarming gift.”

“…Housewarming gift?”

“Uh-huh.” William’s eyes sparkled as if that explained everything. Then, tilting his head, he added, “Also, you didn’t invite me. So I had to come on my own. Rude, Phi Est. Very rude.”

Est stared, caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. “…You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” William said cheerfully. “But aren’t you going to invite me in?”

It was only then that Est realized they were still standing at the door, William grinning at him expectantly while a neighbor’s television buzzed faintly through the wall. With a quiet sigh, Est stepped aside. “…Fine. Come in.”

William bounded in immediately, sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. He looked around with wide, curious eyes, like the apartment itself might spill all of Est’s secrets if he just stared hard enough. 

Est, suddenly aware of the faint smell of cardboard and the stiff couch cushions, found himself fidgeting—an unusual, uncomfortable tic.

“Wait,” Est said, voice a touch sharper than he intended. “You didn’t even text me that you were coming.”

“Because it’s a surprise obviously,” William said simply, as if that explained everything. He set the bag of food down on Est’s desk, already poking around for plates like he lived there. “You said you were busy unpacking, so I thought I’d come feed you.”

Est pressed his lips together. “…You texted me literally an hour ago a picture of Mochi sleeping.”

“Yeah,” William said without missing a beat. “Mochi was sleeping, so I had free time to come here.” He looked back at Est with a grin. “Keep up, Phi Est.”

Est rubbed at his temple. He should have known better. With William, logic was always flexible, bending in whatever way his whims took him.

But before Est could even muster a proper lecture, “I, uh,” William started, pushing his glasses up, “also brought you a gift as I said.”

Est arched a brow. “A gift.”

William’s mouth curled into a grin, but his voice was still a little too quick. “Yeah. Housewarming gift. Obviously.”

“You—what?” Est repeated, as if the sheer energy radiating from the younger boy had knocked the words right out of him.

“You heard me.” William finally pulled something out from his bag, wrapped carefully in brown craft paper, edges taped down with far too much enthusiasm. He turned it over in his hands once, then held it behind his back. “Ready?”

Est narrowed his eyes. “William—”

“Tada!” William whipped it out dramatically, as if he were unveiling a priceless painting.

It wasn’t a painting.

It was… his medal.

The gold medal Est had given William after the swim meet, the one he’d hung so casually around William’s neck—except now it was framed. 

Not just framed, but displayed against a background of soft blue that shimmered faintly under the light, with pressed daisies carefully arranged around it like a delicate crown. And in the corner, engraved in shining gold letters, was his full name: Supha Sangaworawong.

Est stared.

William beamed. “What do you think?”

The silence stretched so long that Est swore he could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator.

“…uh,” Est said.

William’s smile wavered. “Wait—you don’t like it?”

Est’s throat worked, but no sound came out. His eyes were still fixed on the medal, on the daisies, on the ridiculous care that went into every single detail.

“Was this… the errand you were doing yesterday?” he finally managed, voice quieter than he intended.

William’s face lit up instantly, the worry vanishing. “Yes!” He nodded so hard his glasses slipped, and he pushed them back up hurriedly. “It took forever. I had to find that exact shade of blue—you know, like the pool water after the lights come on? That kind of blue. I went to the pool to check the color like three times. I probably looked insane holding paint swatches up to the water.”

Est blinked. “You—what?”

“And pressing daisies?” William barreled on, not noticing the slight crack in Est’s voice. “Total nightmare. Do you know how many tutorials I had to watch? Like five. And then I messed up the first batch and the guy at the store laughed at me. But I finally got them right!” He gestured proudly at the frame, eyes gleaming. “And your name—took me forever to find a shop that would do the lettering in that gold foil, but I thought it matched the medal perfectly.”

Est could only stare.

William, undeterred, leaned in. “So? Do you like it?”

Est’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He was too busy trying not to let the chaos inside his chest show on his face. Because all he could think about—louder than William’s rambling, louder than his own heartbeat—was the image of William asleep on his couch, glasses slipping down his nose, hair falling into his face, and Est leaning close enough to almost…

This boy is mine.

He shut that thought down violently.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said finally, though it came out far weaker than he intended.

William gasped, clutching his chest. “Excuse me?!”

Est repeated, steadier this time. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Aha—no, no, no.” William wagged his finger, glasses glinting. “You’re ridiculous, Phi Est. For thinking this isn’t the best gift you’ve ever received in your life.”

Est closed his eyes briefly. “You—”

“—are ridiculous,” William finished for him, grinning triumphantly.

Est opened his eyes again, giving him a look sharp enough to cut glass. But it had no effect. William was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, still riding the high of his successful reveal.

And the worst part was… Est couldn’t even argue. Not really. Because the medal sat there, framed with more care than he’d ever imagined, and for a terrifying second, Est thought his chest might actually burst from how full it felt.

And behind it all, like a dangerous echo, was the thought that kept circling back:

William had made all of that. For him.

For Est.

And Est didn’t know what to do with that.

“Okay,” William clapped his hands, determination snapping back into his posture. “Give me a tour of your place, Phi Est. We need to decide where to put this.” He waved the frame.

Est raised a brow. “‘We’?”

“Yes, we,” William said without hesitation. “This is our project now.”

Est didn’t move. He crossed his arms, fighting the tug in his chest. “It’s my apartment.”

William only grinned wider. “Exactly. Which is why you’re giving me a tour. Come on, don’t be stingy.”

Before Est could argue further, William grabbed his wrist and tugged him along, Pooh bounding happily behind them as though this was the most natural thing in the world. Est let himself be dragged, sighing internally but unable to muster real resistance.

William peeked into the small kitchen. “Cute. Very clean. Good lighting—ah, Pooh’s food bowls are here.” He crouched to pat Pooh again, Pooh’s tail thumping happily. Then he tugged Est toward the living room. 

Finally, they reached the living room, where Est’s medals gleamed neatly on the shelf. William set the framed medal carefully among them, stepping back to appraise.

“Here,” he said decisively. “Middle shelf. Center. Spotlight.”

Est’s eyes followed the frame. Against the row of medals, polished and perfect, this one stood out immediately. Not because it was brighter or shinier—his other medals held just as much value. But because of the care, the detail, the way the daisies softened the blue background, the way his name glimmered in gold. 

It wasn’t just a medal. It was memory. It was warmth. 

It was William.

Est’s gaze stayed on it, throat thick. But William—William wasn’t looking at the frame.

He was looking at Est.

And Est felt it, like heat against his skin. That intensity, that unguarded affection. When he finally turned, William’s eyes flicked away quickly, almost guilty, cheeks flushed under the rim of those glasses.

Est swallowed, forcing his voice steady. “…It looks good there.”

William nodded quickly, still not meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Perfect spot.”

William forced himself to blink, to step back before he betrayed just how hard his heart was pounding. Instead, he clapped his hands together. “Okay! Tour, Phi Est. Show me around. Gotta know where everything is since, you know—” he shrugged innocently “—I’m clearly going to be a regular visitor.”

Est raised an eyebrow. “Regular visitor?”

“Obviously,” William said, completely serious. “I mean, I can’t leave Pooh unsupervised with you. He’ll get bored.”

Right on cue, Pooh’s tail thumped against the floor where he was sprawled lazily. William crouched down to scratch behind his ears, Pooh’s tongue lolling out happily.

“See? He agrees.” William looked up at Est, all bright eyes and that infuriating grin. “Now, come on. Tour time.”

Est opened his mouth to argue, but William was already tugging at his wrist, guiding him toward the small kitchen space again.

“This is where Phi Est makes his championship meals?” William teased, peering into the fridge. “Ooooh, very athlete of you. Chicken breast, vegetables, yogurt. Where’s the fun food?”

Est leaned against the counter, arms folded. “I buy what I need.”

William straightened, turning to him with a mock-serious expression. “That’s tragic, Phi Est. Don’t worry—I’ll save you from your boring fridge. Next time, I’ll bring snacks.”

“You already brought food today.”

“And tomorrow I’ll bring more. It’s called consistency.” William winked, then dragged Est toward the living room corner.

The apartment was simple but neat—bookshelves lined with business textbooks and a few trophies, a low couch, a small TV stand. Est’s medals hung in quiet rows along the shelf they’d just added to, the gold gleaming.

“Your place is cozy,” William said, genuine now. He ran a finger along the edge of a book spine. “It feels… like you.”

Est stilled. “…What does that mean?”

William turned back, grinning softly. “Calm. Clean. Organized. But also…” His gaze darted to Pooh, who was now flopping dramatically onto his back for more belly rubs. “Warm. Safe. It feels good here. Feels like home.”

The tug of a smile threatened at Est’s lips before he smothered it. He turned toward the kitchen instead. “You brought food, we should eat before it gets cold.”

William lit up like a child given free rein at a candy store. “Best idea you’ve ever had, Phi Est.”

Pooh wandered in, toenails tapping against the floor, sniffing at the bag William had carried in. His tail wagged once, lazily, like he’d already decided William was harmless.

“Pooh!” William dropped into a crouch instantly, holding his hand out. Pooh sniffed, considered, then shoved his head into William’s palm like he’d been waiting for this his whole life. “See, he loves me already. He knows I’m family.”

Est raised an eyebrow. “Family?”

William looked up from where Pooh was happily leaning into his touch. “Well, yeah. I brought food. That’s practically marriage material.”

Est nearly choked on air. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” William wagged a finger, still crouched by Pooh. “We agreed—I’m your ridiculous.”

Est pressed his lips together, fighting the smile threatening to slip. He didn’t answer, setting the glasses down on the small table instead. 

They set the takeout bags on the counter, the plastic rustling as Est began unpacking. He moved carefully, William noticed, slower than usual, favoring one arm in the smallest way that only someone paying close attention would catch. 

William’s lips pressed into a line. Phi Joong and Phi Daou were right. He had been pushing himself.

“Let me help,” William said quickly, already reaching into the bag before Est could protest.

Est glanced at him, amused but also a little exasperated. “I can handle—”

“You reopened your wound, Phi,” William cut in, gently but firmly. “I’m not about to let you play hero over a bag of pad thai.”

Est froze. For a moment, the kitchen was filled only with the clink of plastic containers being stacked against the counter. His ears tinged pink. “You heard about that.”

“Of course I did.” William’s tone softened, but his hands didn’t stop moving. He was lining the containers neatly, taking out the little bags of sauces, the bundles of plastic cutlery. “Phi Daou told me. And Phi Joong.”

Est grumbled under his breath, something about traitors, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he reached for the cupboard, opening it to grab plates. William was already there, sliding in next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

The air between them shifted. Neither pulled away.

“Big plates?” Est asked, pretending like his pulse wasn’t in his throat.

“Big plates,” William agreed. His fingers brushed Est’s as they both reached for the same one, and Est felt it—sharp and electric, like a static shock that lingered long after their hands parted. William didn’t even blink, just smiled softly like it was the most natural thing in the world.

They worked side by side, quiet but not awkward. Est took out bowls, William reached past him for chopsticks, their arms colliding, their fingers grazing. It should’ve been nothing. It was everything.

William stacked plates in his arms, balancing them with ease, and then turned to Est with that infuriating golden-retriever determination. “Phi, sit down. I’ll finish.”

Est raised an eyebrow. “This is my kitchen.”

“Exactly. Which means it’s my job to take care of you in it.” William’s grin widened, disarming and stubborn. “Couch. Now.”

Est blinked. “You’re ordering me around in my own house?”

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation in William’s voice, no sheepishness. Just certainty. That same certainty that had first knocked the wind out of Est at the swim meet, when William had looked at him like he hung the moon. 

Est wanted to argue. He wanted to say he wasn’t fragile, that he didn’t need fussing over. But his hand still ached faintly, and more than that, he realized—with a jolt that left him unsteady—that he wanted to see William moving around his kitchen like he belonged there.

Like this was normal.

Like this was theirs.

He liked William…fussing over him.

So he grumbled something noncommittal and shuffled toward the couch, pretending not to notice how William’s eyes softened at his reluctant obedience.

From the couch, Est watched.

Watched as William opened containers, transferring food onto plates with care. Watched as William frowned when the noodles stuck together, mumbling under his breath as he coaxed them free. Watched as William moved with a domestic ease that was both endearing and devastating, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, as his forearms flexed with the simplest of motions.

It hit Est like a quiet wave.

He had imagined this before. Too many times to admit. A faceless someone in his kitchen, laughter echoing against the walls, food spread out like a small celebration. Someone to share the quiet with. Someone who made the ordinary feel extraordinary.

And now it wasn’t faceless. It was William.

William, who hummed softly while arranging everything. William, who looked over his shoulder with a grin like he’d caught Est staring. William, who set the table like it mattered, like every detail was a love letter written in action.

William. William. William. 

Est swallowed hard and leaned back into the couch, masking his expression in neutrality. But his chest was loud with it—with the realization that this was the peak moment he hadn’t dared to want.

And then William appeared in front of him, balancing two plates with the ease of someone presenting treasure. “Dinner is served, Phi.”

Est watched everything silently from the couch where William had all but shoved him down, his elbow resting on the armrest, lips pressed into a line that didn’t quite hide how oddly… fond he looked.

“Alright,” William said, grabbing the rest of the plates from the kitchen counter like he owned the place. He crouched again, sliding one toward Est before the older one could move. “Phi, this one’s for you.”

“I can do it myself,” Est muttered, reaching as if to take the ladle from William’s hand.

William only grinned, the smile appearing like he’d been waiting for that exact line. “Obviously you can, Phi. But I like doing it for you.”

The answer was so simple, so matter-of-fact, that Est froze, fingers curling back before they touched the handle. He accepted the plate instead, quiet, eyes flicking over the food that had been portioned out for him. All his favorites. Every single one.

“You… How did you—” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“Obviously I know Phi’s favorites,” William cut in smoothly, answering before Est could ask. His tone was light, almost playful, but his gaze was steady, his mouth soft.

Obviously. 

Est’s throat worked as he swallowed. He set the plate on his lap, pretending to adjust it, but really trying to gather himself.

William plopped down cross-legged on the floor, his own plate in hand, leaning just close enough that their knees brushed when Est shifted. He dug into his rice with easy enthusiasm, already chewing before he said, “So. How was the big moving operation? I hope Phi Joong and Phi Daou followed all my instructions.”

That earned a snort. “Your instructions were more like threats.”

“As they should be,” William said around a mouthful of food. He pointed his chopsticks at Est like a commander issuing orders. “Handle every box with care. Especially the fragile ones. And no heavy lifting for Phi Est. I told them twice.”

“Three times,” Est corrected, rolling his eyes. But the corner of his mouth tugged upward despite himself. “They tried. I’ll give them that. But then Perth and Santa showed up afterwards.”

William froze, mid-bite. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Est said dryly, a spark of amusement in his tone. “Santa decided he was strong enough to carry the fragile boxes. Perth was busy following Santa. One vase nearly didn’t make it.”

“Nearly?” William demanded, horrified.

Est let himself chuckle. “Joong intercepted. He basically told them if they broke anything, he would tell you, and then you’d kill them. That made them behave.”

William’s jaw dropped. “Wait—what? I’m the scary one now?”

“You are especially after Joong and Daou told everyone how you got them working,” Est deadpanned, but his eyes were laughing. “After that everyone said the same thing. They’d swoop in to stop me from lifting anything, muttering about how William would kill them if I so much as picked up a box.”

“…Good,” William said after a beat, pretending to sulk but glowing inside. He shoveled another bite into his mouth to cover his grin. “They should be afraid. My Phi Est has to be protected.”

My Phi Est. 

Est hid his face briefly behind his chopsticks. He didn’t tell William that, every single time his name was invoked, he found himself giving in more easily than he wanted to admit. That he let Joong and Daou hover, let Santa snatch things out of his hands, let Perth complain—all because William’s name had been dropped like a command he couldn’t ignore.

Instead, he said, “You’re ridiculous.”

My ridiculous. 

William just beamed, eyes sparkling in a way that made Est’s chest feel too full.

They ate for a while, Est eventually loosening, sharing small bites of stories. William, in turn, leaned closer, elbow brushing Est’s knee, telling his own tales of the day.

“I spent the entire afternoon running across the city to get your medal framed,” William confessed, gesturing dramatically. “The shop guy said they couldn’t do it in one day. I begged. I may have cried a little.”

“You didn’t,” Est said flatly.

“I did,” William insisted. “Okay, maybe not cried, but I looked very pathetic. And then the security guard at the pool almost threw me out when I sneaked in. Can you believe that? Me!”

Est let out a rare, warm laugh, the sound tumbling out of him before he could stop it. “Good. You probably looked suspicious.”

William pretended to clutch his chest. “Phi! How could you say that? I was doing it for you!”

The laughter didn’t stop. If anything, Est tried to suppress it with a shake of his head, but his smile lingered. 

And William… William looked like he could live off that smile for the rest of his life.

The food dwindled between them. William stole a dumpling straight from Est’s plate without shame, and Est raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest. Instead, he asked quietly, “Why… music? Why Performing Arts?”

William blinked, caught off guard. He chewed slowly, considering. “Because… it’s where I feel most like myself. Not because I couldn’t do anything else. Not because it’s easy. It’s actually really hard, Phi. But it feels right.”

Est studied him, nodding once. He didn’t press further. William, in turn, tilted his head. “Why Finance? Business?”

Est smirked faintly. “Because it’s practical. Stable. Even if it isn't fun."

It was William who broke the silence that followed, his voice a little quieter. “Phi… are you going home now? You said before, after moving, you’d head back.”

The next words came out lighter than he felt. A joke laced in the middle: “Phi’s gonna leave me all alone, right?”

But Est saw through him instantly. He always did. He shifted his plate aside, voice quieter, almost hesitant. “Not yet. I’m staying for a while longer.”

William blinked, the mock-sulk slipping off his face. Est’s chopsticks paused midair. He looked down at his plate, “My parents called again,” he said after a moment.

William blinked. “Huh?”

“They… asked about you.” Est’s tone was steady, but his fingers tapped once against his knee. “If you wanted to come visit.”

Was this…an invitation? 

For a second, William froze, staring at him. His heartbeat kicked up, racing like he’d just run a sprint. “Wait—Phi, is this… is this an invitation? Because I will come. You don’t even have to finish the sentence.”

Est didn’t look at him. He shifted slightly, still focused on the food in front of him. “I’m just saying what they said.”

William leaned in closer, his voice dropping to something softer, steadier. “But… if you don’t want me there, I won’t come. I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable.”

That made Est glance up, finally meeting his eyes. There was something almost fragile in the way he held William’s gaze, like he was weighing the risk of letting someone step further in. The moment stretched, quiet and heavy, until Est finally said—low, almost offhand, but deliberate:

“You should come with me. When I go.”

And that was it. That one sentence detonated inside William’s chest like fireworks. He tried not to grin like an idiot, but his cheeks betrayed him, lighting up, his whole body vibrating with barely contained joy. “Phi… you can’t just say things like that and expect me to act normal.”

Est rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. “Then don’t act normal.”

William laughed, too giddy to stop himself, and for the first time since he’d met Est, he swore he could see something soft, something unguarded in those dark eyes—like an open door.

“You know,” William said after a pause, a teasing grin curling his lips. “Look at us now. Remember our first meeting? Phi Est was all serious, saying ‘I don’t drink juice before practice.’ Now you just invited me to your home.”

Est groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t remind me.”

“I will,” William teased mercilessly. “Because who knew we’d end up like this, huh?”

Est’s lips twitched, betraying the tiniest smile. “…Who knew,” he echoed softly.

And William, sitting there on the floor with his heart so full it might burst, thought that maybe this — this exact moment, quiet and ordinary and impossibly precious — was better than any medal, any performance, any dream he’d ever chased.

“You make me feel calm.”

That made Est pause. His chopsticks hovered for a second, then he set them down neatly. “Calm?”

William nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I don’t know why. Normally I’m all over the place—chaotic, Nut says. But when I’m with you… it feels different. Like… quiet. The good kind of quiet.”

Est looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment William was sure he’d gone too far. But then Est’s gaze softened, like a ripple in still water. “…You’re not as chaotic as you think.”

William’s heart practically somersaulted.

After a few beats of silence, Est spoke again—quieter this time, almost like he wasn’t sure he should. “I… might do nationals.”

William nearly dropped his spoon. “Wait, what? Nationals? Like—you already got selected?!”

Est shook his head. “No. Not yet. Coach said it’s possible. It’s… the national-level trials. Basically, the big competition where they pick swimmers for international events like the SEA Games or Asian Games. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.” He fiddled with his chopsticks, eyes on the food. “…You’re the first person I told.”

William froze. Out of everyone—his friends, his teammates, even his family—Est had told him first.

His grin grew so wide it almost hurt. “Phi Est… that’s incredible. Seriously. You’re amazing.” His voice softened. “Thank you for telling me.”

Est’s ears went a little pink, and he quickly reached for his water. “It’s not that important.”

“It is to me,” William said simply.

For once, Est had no comeback. He just sat there, eyes flickering between William’s smile and the plate in front of him, like he wasn’t sure where to look.

William leaned his chin into his hand and sighed dramatically.

“You know,” he said, voice full of mischief, “if only I had a certain pro swimmer in my life who could teach me their ways…”

Est didn’t even look up from his noodles. “No.”

William gasped. “You didn’t even let me finish!”

“I don’t need to.”

“You’re cruel,” William said, clutching at his chest. “Heartless. Here I am, a poor helpless freshman who can barely stay afloat—”

“You’re not helpless,” Est cut in flatly. “You just don’t try.”

William grinned. “Exactly! That’s where you come in. My hero. My savior. My—”

“Stop.” Est finally looked up, unimpressed, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

William leaned closer, eyes wide, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Coach Phi Est.”

Est groaned. “Absolutely not.”

“Coach Est,” William sang, delighted with himself.

“William.”

“Okay, okay. But come on—you have to admit it fits.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does,” William said immediately. “I can see it now. You with a whistle, yelling at me every time I mess up. Terrifying. But also kinda…” He hesitated, then shrugged casually. “Hot.”

Est choked on his water. “What—”

“I said honest!” William interrupted quickly, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. “Honesty is important, right?”

Est gave him a long, flat look. “…You’re insane.”

“Insanely dedicated,” William shot back, shameless. “So. When’s my first lesson?”

Est set his chopsticks down, exhaled slowly, and muttered, “Fine. One lesson.”

William lit up so bright Est almost regretted it immediately. Almost.

“One lesson! YES. I won’t let you down, Coach Phi.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Okay, Phi Est.”

Est shook his head, resigned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re amazing,” William said without hesitation. His tone was lighter than the weight of the words, but something about it made Est glance at him, startled.

There was a beat of quiet. Then Est looked away, poking at his food. “…One lesson. That’s all.”

William leaned forward eagerly. “One lesson can become two. And two can become three. And before you know it, I’ll be beating you.”

Est snorted. “You would sink after the first lap.”

William gasped. “Phi, have some faith in me.”

“I have faith in your ability to make a fool of yourself.”

“Ouch. Brutal. But fair.” William grinned anyway, then softened, voice slipping quieter. “Still. I just… want to spend more time with you.”

Est’s chopsticks froze midair. He didn’t turn his head, but William caught the faintest shift in his expression—something flickering, something softer than Est usually let anyone see. 

“…You already spend too much time with me,” Est muttered, almost under his breath.

“Not enough,” William said easily.

And maybe it was the way he said it—without pushiness, without expectation—just simple and sincere. Est felt something in his chest loosen, even as he shook his head. “…Fine. We’ll see.”

William beamed. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

Est rolled his eyes, but this time, he didn’t bother hiding the small curve of his lips.

William, basking in victory, leaned back smugly. “And in return, I’ll teach you something.”

That caught Est’s attention. He raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Anything you want,” William said instantly. “Guitar, drums, piano. Or, you know—how to be the life of the party.”

Est gave him a look. “…I don’t need lessons in that.”

William grinned. “True. You’re already effortlessly cool. But still—deal? You teach me swimming, I teach you something back.”

Est hesitated, then let out the faintest laugh, quiet and reluctant but real. “…Deal.”

William leaned back, grinning like he’d just won something monumental.

“So it’s settled,” he said, smug. “Swimming lessons in exchange for… something amazing from me. Perfect deal.”

Est hummed, eyes still on his noodles. A simple sound, low in his chest. Noncommittal.

Something about the hum made William pause.

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Wait. Phi…When’s your birthday?”

Est didn’t hesitate. “May nineteenth.”

William nearly dropped his chopsticks. “MAY nineteenth?!” His voice shot up in sheer disbelief. “Phi—that was ages ago! I missed your birthday?”

Est looked up, expression maddeningly calm. “Apparently.”

“Apparently?!” William’s hand flew to his chest as though Est had just stabbed him. His brown eyes were wide, stricken. “Phi, that’s—no, that’s unforgivable! We’ve hung out, like—what, hundred times since then? You let me ramble about my birthday, and you didn’t say a word about yours?”

Est slurped another noodle, deliberately avoiding his gaze. “…Well. Now you know.”

William sat there, mouth open, staring at him like the world had tilted. Then, with another gasp, even louder this time, he leaned so fast Est had to pull back slightly. “Wait—oh no. I didn’t give you a gift. I didn’t even say happy birthday.” His voice cracked, almost theatrical but tinged with real regret. “Phi Est, this is officially the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Est exhaled, long-suffering, setting his chopsticks down with a quiet clink. “You’re being dramatic.”

William shook his head furiously, hair flopping into his eyes. “No, I’m being responsible. Phi, what do you want? Tell me, anything at all. I’ll get it for you.”

Est froze. For a second—just one second—the truth rose, sharp and insistent in his chest.

I want you. Here. With me. Forever.

But the words stayed locked in his throat. He turned his gaze to the table instead, forcing his voice steady. “I missed your birthday as well. You teach me something, I teach you something. That can be our belated gift.”

William groaned, collapsing forward onto the table like the world was ending. “That’s not enough! I need to make it special. Like—the best gift you’ve ever gotten.” His leg bounced under the table, restless energy vibrating off him in waves. “What do you like? Books? Music? Food? Plants? Dogs—no, wait, you already have Pooh. But I could—Phi, I could write you a song.”

Est blinked, caught off guard. “…A song?”

William’s head shot up, eyes bright. “Yes! I’ll write you a song! That way, it’s not just some random thing. It’s something you can keep. Forever.” His grin faltered just slightly, the edges softening into something shy. “Something that lasts.”

Est stared. Too long. Too hard.

Because William didn’t even realize what he was saying. Didn’t realize how dangerous those words were. Something to keep. Something that lasted. Est’s chest tightened painfully.

He had to look away before the thought burned through his skin. “…Didn’t we already agree?”

William pouted, lips pushed out just enough to make Est’s stomach twist. “Fine. But…” His grin came back, smaller but no less radiant. “I’m still gonna find something amazing. You won’t see it coming.”

Est shook his head, resigned but fighting a smile tugging at his lips. “…You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” William said instantly, shameless.

The words hung between them, thick with everything unspoken.

Est forced himself to breathe, slow and even, before the silence consumed him. “…Still impossible,” he muttered, the only shield he had left.

William’s grin softened, eyes gleaming in the low dorm light. “And still yours to deal with.”

Est turned away, but the burn in his chest didn’t fade.

Mine.

If anything, it settled deeper.

One day, Est would return all these words.

By the time they finished, the table was a battlefield of empty containers. William leaned back with a satisfied sigh, patting his stomach. “Best dinner ever. Ten out of ten. Phi Est, your apartment just makes food taste better.”

Est shook his head. “It’s the same food.”

“No,” William argued. “It’s different. Because I got to eat it with you.”

The words were so casually thrown out, so matter-of-fact, that Est didn’t know what to do with them, he busied himself stacking the containers.  

William fiddled with his chopsticks, trying to look casual but failing miserably. “You know… I was thinking of going to the arcade this weekend.”

Est looked up from his plate, unimpressed. “The arcade?”

“Yeah.” William leaned back, tapping his fingers on his knee. “It’s summer break, everyone’s gone home. Nut and Hong’s in Chiang Mai, Lego went to his grandparents’, Tui’s… I don’t even know where.” He exhaled, dramatic. “So it’s just me. Alone. Lonely. Tragic.”

Est gave him a look. “You’re not subtle.”

William smiled sheepishly. “Okay, fine. But like… do you like arcades?”

Est shrugged, dragging it out on purpose. “…They’re okay.”

“Okay?!” William sat up straighter, all mock-offended. “They’re fun! You get to play games, win prizes, eat terrible snacks—what’s not to like?”

Est’s lips twitched as though he was hiding a smile. “…Depends on who you go with.”

William froze, eyes wide, because was that—was that flirting? 

He scrambled, voice tripping over itself. “W-well, that’s the thing! I was thinking maybe… maybe you’d wanna go with me? Just us.”

Est leaned back, arms crossed, deliberately slow. He tilted his head, studying William like he was enjoying watching him squirm. “…You’re asking me?”

“Yes! Phi Est, I’m asking you!” William blurted, then laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “But, like… only if you want to. No pressure. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

There was a beat of silence. Est’s gaze softened in that way that always made William’s chest feel too tight. He let him stew for a moment longer, stretching it out just to see the way William’s leg bounced in anticipation. Then, in that low, calm voice that carried more weight than he probably realized, Est said, “I’ll go with you.”

William blinked. “Wait—really?”

Est nodded, eyes back on his plate like it was no big deal. “You asked. I said yes.”

William tried to play it cool, but his grin was so wide it practically split his face in two. Inside, though, his brain was on fire. 

Oh my god he said yes. He actually said yes. He agreed. He’s going to the arcade with me. Casual. Totally casual. Not a date. Nope. Definitely not. Except maybe a little bit. Oh my god, oh my god. I should’ve said it was a date. 

“Great!” William said, voice a pitch higher than usual. “Cool! Perfect. Awesome. Just—you wait, Phi Est. I’m like, a claw machine champion. You’re going to go home with an army of stuffed animals.”

Est allowed himself the smallest smile. “…We’ll see.”

William left Est’s apartment that evening with his hoodie sleeves pulled down low over his hands. He tried to act normal when he said goodbye—something casual like, “See you soon, Phi”—but his voice cracked on the last syllable, and he practically bolted down the hallway before Est could notice.

By the time he stumbled back into his dorm, he was a mess of nervous energy, bouncing between his bed and desk like a golden retriever who couldn’t sit still. 

Mochi was curled up on the couch, glaring at him as if to say, you’re being loud.

“Mochi,” William gasped, collapsing onto the cushions and scooping the cat into his arms despite the swats of disapproval, “I asked him. I actually asked him. And—and he said yes. Do you hear me? He said yes.”

His voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper as if Mochi were the only creature on Earth who could be trusted.

“But why didn’t I say it was a date? Why did I chicken out? I should’ve said it. I should’ve said, ‘Phi Est, do you want to go on a date with me to the arcade.’ That’s not even hard to say, right?”

Mochi yawned in his face.

William flopped backward, the cat sprawled on his chest like a judgmental paperweight. “I’m pathetic. You’re right. But also—” His smile crept back, unstoppable. “He said yes. He didn’t even hesitate. He just… looked at me like… like that. Mochi, it was like everything stopped for a second. And then he said yes.” He groaned into the cat’s fur, muffled and dramatic. “Why didn’t I say it was a date?”

Meanwhile, across the city, Est stood frozen in his living room, Pooh’s head heavy against his lap. The quiet hum of the fridge and the faint city sounds through the window made the place feel almost alive now that boxes were unpacked and shelves were lined with his things. But Est’s mind wasn’t on any of that.

“He asked me,” Est murmured, running his fingers through Pooh’s fur. The dog tilted his head up, tongue lolling in doggy encouragement. “He asked me to go to the arcade.”

Pooh gave a happy snort, as if approving.

Est’s chest tightened, warmth flooding his ears. “But he didn’t say it was a date. He just… he just said it like—like we’re just going somewhere. Like friends.” He frowned, rubbing at the crease between his brows. “But then… why did it feel like something else? Why did it feel… different?”

Pooh nudged his arm, demanding more pets, and Est obliged absentmindedly, lost in his own storm of thoughts. “Does he want it to be a date? Does he not? If he wanted it to be a date, wouldn’t he say it? But maybe he didn’t because… he didn’t want to scare me off? Or maybe…” He stopped, staring down at Pooh’s soft fur. “Maybe he doesn’t think of it like that at all…I wish he had said it was a date.”

The thought made something pinch sharply in his chest

He hadn’t been like this since he was a teenager. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

The following days stretched taut, like strings tuned just a little too tight, buzzing with an anticipation neither boy could quite name.

For William, it showed in the strangest ways. He lingered longer than usual at shop windows, frowning at jackets and shirts he wouldn’t normally give a second glance. “Would Phi Est think this looks good? Is this too much? Too little? What if he dresses nice and I look like I just rolled out of bed?” he muttered to himself, earning a curious glance from the store clerk. 

At home, Mochi stared at him with imperious disinterest while he took mirror selfies and deleted them one after another, only to shove his phone away in despair.

By nighttime, he buried all his nerves under messages to Est—random pictures of Mochi, dramatic captions about how his cat had more modeling skills than him, overuse of emojis that masked how badly he wanted Est to just say something more.

Est wasn’t much better.

He found himself in front of his wardrobe more often than he liked, shirts hanging limp and ordinary, mocking him with their lack of answers. “It’s just an arcade,” he told himself firmly, rifling through the hangers. “It doesn’t matter what I wear.” 

Yet his pulse jumped at the thought of William seeing him. He folded and refolded the same black t-shirt three times before discarding it, pulling out a beige cropped sweater instead. It wasn’t special. Just soft, easy to wear. But when he held it against himself in the mirror, the quiet thought whispered in: William will like this.

From his spot on the bed, Pooh tilted his head, tail thumping softly against the floor, as if silently amused by Est’s ritual.

The air felt different that day.

William couldn’t explain it exactly, but it was like the whole world had decided to conspire in his favor. 

The heat wasn’t unbearable, the sky wasn’t threatening rain, and even his usually stubborn hair seemed to have settled in a way that didn’t make him look like he’d lost a battle with his pillow. 

For once, he wasn’t running late. For once, his heart wasn’t doing the usual golden-retriever panic of oversleeping, tripping over his guitar case, or bolting out the door with a half-buttoned shirt.

Instead, he was early. Early.

He leaned against the railing outside the arcade, pretending to scroll through his phone, though his eyes kept darting up at every person who passed. 

The buzzing neon sign above hummed faintly in the afternoon light, and the occasional opening of the glass doors sent waves of sound spilling onto the street—electronic jingles, triumphant bells, the chatter of kids tugging at their parents. The air smelled faintly of sugar, popcorn, and warm metal.

William’s heart thumped harder with every passing minute. He tugged at his sleeves, smoothing the light blue button-up he’d picked after forty minutes of indecision. Casual but not sloppy—that had been the goal. The sleeves were rolled high enough to show off his forearms, his sneakers were spotless, and his hair—miracle of miracles—wasn’t doing its usual stubborn sticking-up thing. He had aimed for effortless charm, but the effort had nearly killed him.

Don’t mess this up, William. Just… be normal.

And then Est appeared, and “normal” ceased to exist.

Beautiful, was the only word that came to mind.

He walked with that unhurried stride that always made William’s chest ache—confident, composed, like the world bent quietly around him. His hair fell into his eyes in a way that looked maddeningly unintentional, and that beige cropped sweater hung loose and soft over his frame, short enough that William’s brain short-circuited imagining what might happen if Est lifted his arms. Black jeans, clean sneakers, posture straight. He looked like he hadn’t even tried, and he was devastating.

“Hi,” Est said, calm as ever, though William swore he caught the tiniest flicker of nerves in his eyes.

“Hi,” William echoed, voice embarrassingly dry.

He wanted to say a dozen things at once. 

Wanted to tell Est he looked incredible. 

Wanted to say thank you for showing up. 

Wanted to confess everything right there. 

But what came out, stupidly, helplessly, was the truth, and his lips moved before his brain could intervene. “You look beautiful, Phi.”

Est stopped short, eyes wide. For a second, William wondered if he’d gone too far. Then Est cleared his throat, trying to cover the faint flush creeping up his ears. “Don’t you mean handsome?”

“No,” William said firmly, without hesitation. “I mean beautiful.”

Est wanted to protest — he wasn’t beautiful, he was… sharp, maybe, or strong, or composed. Beautiful was William, with his wide smile and bright eyes and ridiculous energy. But the word lodged in his chest, warm and dizzying. 

He looked down, unable to stop the smile tugging at his lips.

As soon as they went inside, chaos greeted them immediately. Lights flashing, coins clattering, electronic music and jingles blending into an overwhelming roar. The smell of fried food wafted in from the snack counter, mixing with the faint ozone tang of machinery. Kids darted between machines, dragging their parents, while groups of college students shouted over each other at racing games.

William’s eyes widened like he was stepping into a holy temple. Est, on the other hand, arched a skeptical eyebrow.

And then William gasped. Loudly. Dramatically. The kind of gasp that made two kids at a nearby machine turn their heads.

“Phi!” he cried, grabbing Est’s wrist like they were about to run for their lives. “Look!”

Est stiffened, alarmed. “What? What happened?”

William pointed furiously at the claw machine near the entrance. “Sharks. Shark plushies.”

Est followed his gaze. Sure enough, the machine was filled with light blue and gray plush sharks, their dopey little faces pressed against the glass. He blinked. “…That’s it? You scared me for—”

“Phi. They’re sharks. You don’t understand.”

“I understand that it’s rigged,” Est muttered.

William turned to him slowly, betrayal written all over his face. “You don’t believe in me.”

Est folded his arms, unmoved. “I believe you’ll waste money.”

William clutched his chest as if mortally wounded. “Phi. Watch and learn. You’re about to witness greatness.”

Three tries later, William let out a whoop as the claw miraculously managed to grip one of the sharks and drag it to the chute. He crouched, pulling it out with a grin so bright it could power the entire arcade. “See? Expert.”

He then held it up proudly, presenting it to Est like it was the crown jewels. “For you.”

Est hesitated. He hadn’t expected that. For a second, all he could do was stare at William’s outstretched arms, at the ridiculous plush shark, at the veins standing out on his forearms as he held it steady.

Est stared at him, then at the ridiculous plush, then back at him. “Why?”

“Because it looks like you. Quiet, intimidating… but secretly soft. Shark Est” William shoved it into his arms before Est could argue.

Est clutched it to his chest, ears burning. “…Idiot.”

And he didn’t let go of it for the rest of the day.

The basketball hoops were next. William bounded from side to side, launching shots like his life depended on it, while Est started off reserved—focused, precise. 

But when William yelled, “Nobody’s judging you if you have fun, Phi!” and threw a ball underhand, ridiculous and grinning, Est broke. He laughed. Bright, unguarded, the sound echoing louder than the machine’s beeps.

And then—it happened.

Est bent his knees, flicked the ball up, and raised his arms for another shot—

—and the hem of his beige cropped sweater lifted with the motion.

It wasn’t much. Just a sliver. 

A fleeting glimpse of pale, smooth skin, the soft dip where Est’s waist tapered narrow before disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. 

But for William, it might as well have been the earth splitting open beneath his feet.

His breath stuttered in his chest.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

His eyes went wide before he could stop them, then immediately squeezed shut as if that would erase what he’d seen. He rubbed at the back of his neck like maybe that would ground him, but it only made his pulse race harder.

Est didn’t notice. He was already going for another shot, body moving fluidly, his focus absolute. His sweater lifted again, and William nearly dropped to his knees.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Why was this affecting him so much, when he had seen that man practically naked?

William dragged a hand over his face, willing himself to breathe, to calm down. But every time Est raised his arms, that sweater betrayed him again, flashing William with the soft curve of his waist, the delicate lines of his abdomen, the faintest shadow of muscle that came with swimming.

He was going to die here. Right here in this arcade. 

Cause of death: Phi Est’s waist.

And Est? Completely oblivious. He made another clean shot, focused, serene. 

Beautiful.

The arcade buzzed around them, a kaleidoscope of lights and noise, coins clattering, electronic jingles spilling from every machine. 

William’s eyes darted from one game to the next, bright and restless, but something caught his attention near the back: the air hockey tables. Sleek, white surfaces gleaming under the overhead lights, pucks and paddles waiting like a challenge.

“Phi,” William said suddenly, tugging at Est’s sleeve, “look at that. Air hockey.” He pointed, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. “We have to play. I insist. It’s tradition, obviously. Mandatory.”

He dragged Est toward the nearest air hockey table, practically bouncing on his heels. “Okay, Phi Est, you need to prepare yourself. This is serious. The ultimate test of skill, reflexes, and grace under pressure. Are you ready to lose?”

Est’s competitive self taking the bait, glanced at the small puck that rattled across the table. “Alright. I’ll play.”

“Phi, what do I get when I win?”

Est raised his eyebrows. “When or if?”

“Obviously when.”

Est smirked. “What if I win?”

“Then what do you want?” William shot back, leaning close over the table.

For one terrifying, exhilarating second, Est’s brain betrayed him. 

You.

But he swallowed it down, masking it with a careless shrug. “…We’ll see.”

The game began. Pucks clattered, ricocheted, sped back and forth. Est’s reflexes were razor-sharp, every movement honed from years of swimming and training, while William’s strategy was mostly “grin a lot and pray.”

The table vibrated with every strike, the air whooshing under their hands, the sound of kids cheering nearby fading under their own laughter and shouts.

“Are you—are you training for this?” William gasped, dodging Est’s lethal smacks.

Est shrugged. “Hand-eye coordination.”

And to William’s horror, Est won.

Every. Single. Round.

William collapsed against the side of the table, groaning. “Note to self: never challenge an athlete to anything requiring competition. My ego is crushed.”

Est leaned on his side of the table, smug. The faintest playful gleam lit up his usually composed eyes. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “So. I won. What do I get?”

William’s brain imploded. The closeness, the tone, the teasing smile. 

Too close. 

Too teasing. 

Too much.

Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out: “Me. You get me.”

What?

He…did not just say that.

Est blinked, caught completely off guard. “…What?”

“Yes.” William straightened, deadly serious despite the flush climbing his cheeks. “Me. This day. Everything to do with me. I’m the full deluxe reward package. Limited edition. Comes with endless compliments, daily juice boxes, and my undivided attention—”

Est exhaled, half a laugh, half disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

“—and occasional musical performances if you’re lucky,” William continued shamelessly. “Would you like a receipt?”

Est covered half his face with his hand, but the smile pulling at his mouth betrayed him.

They played more games after that, losing track of time.

William won a tiny keychain at a token machine and pressed it into Est’s palm like it was priceless treasure. Est’s fingers brushed William’s when he took it, and he didn’t let go right away.

Est nearly doubled over laughing when William tried the dance game and failed spectacularly, arms flailing off-beat. William, unbothered, grabbed Est’s arm and tried to drag him on. “Come on, Phi, dance with me!”

“No way,” Est said instantly, though his cheeks burned when William didn’t let go of his arm right away.

The first time William saw it, he almost walked into a passing group of students. His head turned so fast that Est nearly bumped into him.

“Careful,” Est muttered, steadying him with a hand at his elbow.

But William wasn’t paying attention to anything else. His entire face lit up, eyes wide like he’d just spotted a miracle. 

A tiny neon sign buzzed above the booth, pulsing faint pink and blue. PHOTO TIME! it screamed in cartoon letters, an exaggerated smiley face next to it.

A photo booth. In the middle of the arcade.

William inhaled sharply, as if he’d discovered a treasure chest.

“Phi,” he whispered, reverent, “look.”

Est followed his gaze, unimpressed. “No.”

William turned to him, mouth already dropping open in a wounded gasp. “You didn’t even let me say anything!”

“You don’t have to,” Est replied flatly. His hand dropped from William’s arm, crossing over his chest instead. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. The answer is no.”

William pressed a hand to his chest as if struck. “But why? It’s destiny, Phi! The universe placed this booth here for us today—”

“No.”

“—on this exact date—”

“No.”

“—while we’re dressed in our absolute finest arcade couture—” William gestured at Est’s cropped beige sweater with exaggerated flourish. “That’s fate. You can’t just spit in fate’s face.”

Est pinched the bridge of his nose. “You sound insane.”

“I sound right,” William countered, undeterred. His smile curved into something softer, less dramatic, as he looked at Est with pleading eyes. “Come on, Phi Est. Please. Please. Please.”

“William—”

“Please,” William cut in, his tone changing. Softer now, quieter. His voice barely reached above the clamor of basketball machines and 8-bit music flooding the arcade. “Please, Phi. For me?”

The world around Est seemed to pause. 

He hated—absolutely hated—that William knew how to do this, how to switch from loud chaos to gentle earnestness in a breath. 

Est could handle drama, handle whining, handle William pouting like a child. But this… this quiet plea, warm and genuine, eyes turned up at him with something close to devotion—

He felt his resolve snap with a sharp, invisible crack.

Est exhaled, long-suffering, and turned toward the booth. “Two minutes. That’s it.”

William grinned so hard it looked like it might hurt. “Knew you’d cave.”

“I didn’t cave,” Est muttered. His ears felt hot.

“Caved!” William sing-songed, skipping the last two steps until he reached the curtain. He held it open with a flourish. “After you, Phi.”

Est grumbled something about regretting every life choice that led him here but ducked inside anyway.

The booth was smaller than either expected. A cushioned bench barely wide enough for two people pressed them close together the second they sat down. Est scooted an inch toward the wall; William, naturally, filled the space right back in, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.

The screen in front of them lit up with cheerful instructions, counting down from sixty seconds until the first picture.

Est became hyperaware of everything—the warmth of William’s sleeve brushing his arm, the faint smell of William’s cologne (fresh, clean, something sweet), the low hum of the machine vibrating under their legs.

William noticed the closeness, too. 

How could he not? His shoulder was touching Est’s, and he could feel the heat radiating from his skin through the thin fabric of their shirts. His heart had picked up a rhythm of its own, thudding steadily but harder than before, each beat loud enough that he was sure Est must hear it.

He glanced sideways. Est was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, the faintest crease between his brows. Beautiful, William thought. The word rose unbidden, the same way it always did around Est, like a mantra he couldn’t silence.

“Phi,” William said softly, almost a whisper.

Est turned, just barely. “What?”

“Smile for me,” William murmured, his voice almost tender. “Please.”

It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t teasing. It was a request wrapped in quiet sincerity.

Est’s chest squeezed again. He wanted to roll his eyes, to tell William to stop saying things like that, but instead, the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

Slowly, hesitantly, he smiled.

The kind of smile William knew was rare—the one that reached his eyes, softened everything about him, made him look younger, freer.

William forgot the camera entirely. He forgot the countdown flashing on the screen in front of them. He only saw Est smiling at him, and suddenly, the booth felt even smaller, even warmer.

Their eyes caught and held.

Est’s thoughts tumbled. He noticed the curve of William’s lips, soft and parted slightly like he might say something else. The way his lashes framed his eyes, the damn jawline. 

For the first photo, they didn’t even look at the camera. The shutter clicked, freezing the moment of William and Est lost in each other’s gaze.

Shutter.

Both of them jolted slightly at the sound, heat rushing to their faces. William laughed under his breath, but it came out a little shaky. Est turned his head toward the screen as if the machine deserved his full attention, but he could feel the warmth crawling up his ears.

The second photo was chaos. 

William nudged Est with his elbow, whispering, “Let’s do a pose. Come on, Phi, make a heart with me.”

Est frowned. “A heart?”

“Yes!” William leaned closer, guiding Est’s hand into place with his own. His fingers brushed against Est’s, light and warm, and Est tried not to flinch at the spark that jolted up his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” Est muttered, but he didn’t pull away.

Shutter.

The screen displayed a lopsided heart formed by their hands, William grinning, Est scowling but with his ears glowing crimson.

The third photo almost didn’t happen. William leaned closer, wanting to catch Est off guard. “Phi, look at me. Let’s do this.”

Est did.

Yet, William didn’t expect to be caught off guard himself.

This time they were closer—much closer than in the first picture. So close that if either of them leaned forward even slightly, their lips would have brushed. William froze, forgetting entirely about the pose he’d been planning to show off.

For a split second, everything slowed. Their faces were so close that William could see his reflection in Est’s irises, the way his pupils dilated just slightly. He could hear the rhythm of his own pulse in his ears.

Est noticed things he had no business noticing: the curve of William’s jaw, the soft sheen of his skin, the faint pink on his lips. 

He noticed how close they were, how the air between them felt thin, how his gaze betrayed him for the briefest second—slipping down to William’s mouth.

Then—

Shutter.

They both jumped again, faces turning forward with nervous laughter.

The final countdown ticked down. Est faced forward, determined not to get ambushed again. William, of course, ignored that plan entirely.

William didn’t bother posing; he just turned to Est with the softest smile, so gentle it almost ached. He didn’t even realize the camera had caught it. 

Shutter.

And it was over.

The machine whirred, the strips sliding out with a faint mechanical buzz. William snatched them up immediately, holding them like they were precious treasure. His grin spread so wide it lit up his entire face.

“Look, Phi!” he said, waving them gently, as though Est wasn’t right beside him to see. “We look—” He stopped himself, chest tightening unexpectedly. “Perfect.”

Est rolled his eyes, but when William handed him one strip with careful fingers, he didn’t hesitate to take it. He looked at the small glossy photos, at his own face caught in expressions he didn’t usually let slip, at William’s unguarded brightness. 

They looked perfect together. 

His throat tightened, and without saying a word, he folded the strip neatly and slipped it into his pocket.

William noticed.

And his heart stuttered so hard he thought he might combust.

He kept looking at his own strip, eyes lingering on the last photo where he was smiling at Est. He held it like it was the most important thing in the world, like it belonged in a frame, like it was proof of something he couldn’t yet name out loud.

When they stepped out of the booth, the sounds of the arcade rushed back around them—clattering tokens, shrieks of laughter, the whir of machines. But for William, it felt like the world had shifted. Like something quiet but permanent had taken root in the small, dim space of that booth.

And for Est—his pocket suddenly felt heavier than it should.

The bright spill of late afternoon followed them out of the arcade, a golden wash that seemed to linger on their shoulders as if unwilling to let them go. 

Est blinked against the sudden shift, his ears still faintly ringing with the chorus of game sounds and William’s laughter bouncing around his head. 

The noise outside was gentler—passing scooters, the hum of chatter, the rustle of leaves overhead—but inside Est, everything still buzzed.

William stretched as they stepped onto the street, rolling his shoulders like he’d just won another round at basketball, hair catching the sunlight in a way that made Est’s throat tighten. His sleeves were still rolled up, forearms veined and loose, and there was this bounce in his step like his whole body hadn’t caught up to how happy his heart was.

“So, Phi…” William said, voice casual, but his grin far too wide for it to be casual. “I hope you’re hungry. Because I know this cutest café. Like—it’s small, cozy, very good desserts, and… yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “I think you’d like it.”

Est opened his mouth. He was used to saying no. To deflecting. To reminding himself not to give in so easily. But the word didn’t come. 

Not this time. 

His lips just pressed together, and something in his chest stuttered when he realized he didn’t want to protest.

Because if William wanted to keep walking with him, wanted to stretch this day even longer, then maybe… maybe Est wanted that too.

No. Not maybe. But… definitely. 

“…Okay,” Est said simply.

William turned so fast his eyes widened, like he hadn’t expected to hear that word. “Wait. Really?”

Est let his gaze slide away, pretending to watch the scooter zipping past them. “Do you want me to change my mind?”

“No, no, no!” William almost tripped over himself with the force of it. He laughed, shaking his head, ears pink, like he’d just been handed the universe. “I just—wow, okay. You don’t even know, Phi. This is… yeah. Okay. Café time.”

They started walking side by side, their steps falling into a rhythm. Est’s hands stayed tucked in his pockets, but every so often, his shoulder brushed against William’s—not on purpose, not really, but enough that heat pooled under his skin each time. 

William’s arm swung freely, loose and easy, but his fingers twitched sometimes, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

They didn’t talk much at first. The silence wasn’t heavy though. It was… comfortable, in a way that Est wasn’t used to. He felt William’s presence like sunlight filtering through blinds—soft, steady, warming the edges of everything. And every now and then, when he dared a glance to the side, he caught William already looking at him.

William would whip his gaze away, pretending to notice a random sign or someone selling skewers at the corner. But his ears gave him away every time. Bright pink, traitorous. Est knew his own ears weren’t much better. He could feel the heat creeping up, and he hated how obvious it must look.

And yet… he didn’t hate it.

Because William was smiling too.

Twin smiles, hidden, blooming in secret and yet entirely, entirely obvious.

By the time they reached the café, William felt lightheaded.

The place was as charming as he remembered — warm fairy lights strung across wooden beams, shelves lined with potted plants and mismatched trinkets, soft indie music playing from unseen speakers. The smell of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries wrapped around them like a hug.

Est hesitated at the entrance, taking it all in with a rare look of wide-eyed curiosity. William caught it instantly, storing it away as one of his favorite Est expressions — the one that made him look younger, softer, like the world still had little ways to surprise him.

They settled into a corner table, menus in hand.

The menu, listed a dizzying variety of drinks, cakes, and small plates. Est’s eyes darted from one thing to another—strawberry shortcake, lemon tart, honey toast, cream puffs, croffles stacked high with whipped cream and fruit. 

Est’s brow furrowed almost immediately. 

There were too many options — sandwiches, pancakes, parfaits, a dozen coffee blends, fruit teas, desserts topped with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle. 

William watched him scan the pages back and forth, lips parting slightly, almost overwhelmed.

The sight was so endearing William had to grip the edge of the table to stop himself from reaching across and brushing his hand over Est’s.

“Too many choices?” William asked softly, teasing just enough.

Est gave him a look — not annoyed, just caught. “…A little.”

William leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Then let’s order one of everything.”

Est turned his head toward him so fast it almost startled him. “One of each?” he repeated, his tone flat but with the faintest tremor of surprise.

William nodded eagerly, grinning like he’d just solved a world problem. “Yeah. You wanna try everything, right? Then we should try everything.”

For a moment, Est just stared at him. Then — it happened. That rare, unguarded smile. The kind that made his eyes soften, his whole face brighten. It was small, but it was real, and it was directed at William.

William’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He forced himself to stay casual, but inside he was screaming.

“Okay,” Est said quietly, almost shyly.

William had to look down at the menu to stop himself from combusting.

They ended up ordering more than the table could reasonably hold — a stack of fluffy pancakes drizzled in syrup, a fruit parfait, a chicken sandwich, two kinds of pasta, a mango smoothie, an iced americano for Est, and a caramel latte for William, and more dessert that would give even a dentist cavities. 

The waiter gave them a dubious look, but William just beamed, and Est hid another smile behind his coffee straw.

They ended up with a bigger table by the window, sunlight spilling across their little mountain of food: layered cakes, mousse cups, fruit tarts, a tower of macarons, iced lattes with swirled cream, even a strawberry parfait that looked far too tall for just one person.

Est stared at it all in disbelief. “…This is insane.”

William slid another tray onto the table with a flourish, grinning like a proud magician. “No, phi. This is genius.” He plopped down into the chair opposite Est, leaning forward with both elbows on the table. “Look at it! It’s like a dream.”

William rolled his sleeves again, leaning forward eagerly. “Okay, phi. Dig in.”

But Est didn’t move.

William blinked. “…Phi?”

Est was sitting very still, eyes on the table. He was biting the inside of his cheek like he was holding back.

William tilted his head. “You’re not eating.”

“…Can I take a picture first?”

The words were so unexpected William almost dropped his spoon. “A picture?”

Est’s ears flushed again, and he cleared his throat, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “Of the food.” He didn’t look at William as he said it, as if embarrassed by this admission.

William just… blinked. He’d never, in all the time he’d known Est, seen him do something like this. There was something almost shy about it. Careful. 

And then — slowly, almost reverently — Est started arranging things. He adjusted the angle of a plate, slid the parfait so the colors layered just right against the sunlight, shifted the macarons until they formed a soft curve.

William froze. Not because of the food — but because of the way Est leaned slightly forward, fingers precise, expression focused. His lashes cast long shadows over his cheeks, his lips pressed together in concentration. The picture of quiet intensity.

God. William swallowed hard, gripping his own spoon just to ground himself. 

How is he this beautiful doing something this simple?

Est finally lifted his phone and began snapping pictures. Click. Adjust. Click. He angled his phone a little higher, then lower, then closer, with that same meticulousness he seemed to apply to everything he cared about.

And William… just stared. He couldn’t help it. His chest was a mess of warmth, of awe, of something he couldn’t name but could feel in every inch of his skin.

By the time Est was satisfied, William had barely moved. Est lowered his phone, coughed into his hand like nothing had happened, and muttered, “Okay. Now you can eat.”

William blinked, then let out a laugh that was far too soft, far too fond. “You’re… unbelievable.”

Est shot him a look. “What now?”

“Nothing,” William said quickly, hiding his grin behind his spoon. Everything, his heart supplied instead. Everything, phi.

William reached across the table like it was second nature, holding out a forkful of strawberry shortcake. No big show, no teasing smirk—just that easy, sunlit grin he seemed to carry everywhere with Est.

“Here, Phi try this first.”

Est blinked, caught off guard. “What are you—”

“Just try it,” William interrupted gently, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “You’ll like it.”

And because William said it like that—like sharing dessert between them was already normal—Est leaned forward before he could stop himself. He accepted the bite straight from William’s hand, lips brushing against the edge of the fork in the briefest, most accidental contact.

The touch was nothing, barely there. But William’s entire nervous system went into meltdown anyway. His heart was hammering, his skin buzzing, his brain screaming casual, be casual while every part of him was already spiraling.

Across the table, Est chewed in silence, lowering his gaze. The faintest pink dusted his ears. “…It’s good.”

William’s grin spread helplessly, bright and boyish, betraying him completely. “Told you.”

Est wasn’t sure why he did it. Maybe it was because William had fed him so shamelessly a minute ago. Maybe it was because William’s grin lingered in his mind like sunlight. 

Or maybe—just maybe—because some traitorous part of him wanted to see what would happen.

So, without looking up, he pinched a small piece of honey toast between his fingers and held it out across the table.

“…Your turn.”

The air between them shifted.

William blinked, not moving at first. His brain went static. 

Phi Est. Offering me food. With his own hand. This is illegal. This is—

The hesitation was barely a second long, but Est noticed. His throat tightened. His hand faltered. 

Already regretting it, he began to draw back, muttering, “Forget it—”

But William’s hand shot out fast, catching Est’s wrist before he could retreat.

Their skin met. Warm. Alive.

Est froze, eyes snapping up, and suddenly the café felt too small, too bright. William’s fingers wrapped firmly but gently around his wrist, steadying it, grounding it—and pinning him in place.

William leaned forward, the space between them collapsing in slow motion. His gaze locked onto Est’s, unwavering, dark with something that made Est’s pulse stutter. And then—without breaking eye contact—he parted his lips and took the toast straight from Est’s hand.

His lips brushed Est’s fingertips. Barely. But it was enough to set off fireworks under Est’s skin.

The sweetness of honey filled William’s mouth, but it wasn’t the taste that made his head spin. It was Est—the way his breath hitched, the way his lashes fluttered, the way his hand tensed under his hold like he didn’t know whether to pull away or stay.

William chewed slowly, deliberately, still holding Est’s wrist, still looking at him like the whole world had narrowed to just this single act.

Inside, his brain was combusting.

He’s so close. His skin is so soft. His lips are parted. Oh my God, I can see the curve of them, heart-shaped and unfair. THE MOLE. He’s staring at me like that—stop, stop, stop, I’m going to lose it—

But outside? William managed to swallow, lean back the tiniest fraction, and let a small, maddeningly calm smile tug at his lips.

“Delicious,” he murmured, his voice low enough to curl straight into Est’s chest.

Est forgot how to breathe. The word sank into him, dragging goosebumps in its wake. His wrist was still tingling where William was holding him, his fingertips burning where William’s mouth had brushed. His ears turned hot, his lips parting slightly as if he meant to answer—but nothing came out.

Because all he could think was: He touched me. He looked at me. He said that like it meant more than food. Why does it feel like it meant more?

William finally released his wrist, casual, like it hadn’t just wrecked both of them. He leaned back in his chair, popping another bite into his mouth with the ease of someone who hadn’t just lit himself on fire.

But inside, he was spiraling. 

Calm, William. Calm. You fed him. You just ate from his hand. You just touched him. You didn’t imagine the way he looked at you. He has heart shaped lips. His lips. His lips—don’t look again. Don’t. Phi Est is going to kill me. I’m already dead. I’m a ghost pretending to eat honey toast.

And yet, with all that chaos in his chest, he only smiled at Est with that same boyish brightness. “You’ve got good taste, Phi.”

Est stared, his ears glowing red. He hated how easily William said it. How easily William made him feel like his chest was both heavy and light at the same time.

And the worst part? He couldn’t stop rewinding the moment in his mind—the firm grip on his wrist, the deliberate lean-in, the brush of lips on his fingers, the word delicious said like a secret.

And he hated—no, loved—that his body was betraying him, warmth rushing to his ears, his pulse thundering as if William had just said something far more dangerous than a single word.

The silence broke when William finally leaned forward, voice softer than anything, asking, “Did you have fun today, phi?”

Est didn’t hesitate.

“…That was the most fun I’ve ever had,” Est said honestly.

William’s grin nearly split his face. His chest swelled, warm and impossibly full, and he thought, God, please let me have a forever with him.

The food between them had been steadily disappearing, plates and mugs leaving little rings on the wooden table, but William wasn’t paying attention to that anymore. He’d lost track somewhere around Est’s second bite of the pancakes.

It was ridiculous, honestly—how something so ordinary, something he had seen thousands of times in his life, could feel so completely new just because Est was doing it. 

William’s chin rested lightly on his palm, elbow on the table, watching Est lift his fork with deliberate neatness, chew in that composed way of his, then sip quietly from his cup. 

And William, despite having food in front of him, found himself smiling into his own plate for no reason other than the sheer fact that Est Supha Sangaworawong was sitting here. 

With him. 

Sharing food.

It didn’t feel like real life.

His gaze flicked up again just as Est lowered his fork. That was when he noticed it—something small, glistening, caught right at the corner of Est’s lips. 

Syrup. 

Just the tiniest smear, glimmering golden in the soft café light.

William’s chest gave a little stutter.

He could have said something. He could have laughed, pointed it out, teased him gently like he would anyone else. But the thought barely crossed his mind before he was already leaning forward, already lifting his hand without thinking twice.

His thumb brushed across Est’s lower lip in the gentlest sweep, wiping away the sticky sweetness like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Not careful, not calculated, just… instinct.

And then—he glanced at the smear now clinging to his skin, and without hesitation, he brought his thumb to his mouth. 

A quick flick of his tongue, a soft chuckle in his throat.

“Mm,” William murmured lightly, smiling as though nothing at all had happened, as if he hadn’t just touched Phi Est’s mouth and put his fingers between his own lips after. “Sweet.”

And then, with the same ease, he dropped his hand back to the table and continued eating. 

Like it was normal. 

Like it hadn’t just shifted the entire atmosphere of the café table in less than three seconds.

But Est—who had finally calmed him heart down.

He froze.

It was like every wire in his brain short-circuited all at once. One second he was chewing, the next he was sitting statue-still with William’s thumb ghosting across his lips in replay. His fork hovered uselessly above his plate, his mouth suddenly dry, the taste of syrup forgotten entirely.

He hadn’t even processed the touch before William had already licked his thumb.

Licked. His. Thumb.

Slow motion, his brain insisted, showing him the moment again with cruel, merciless clarity: William’s fingers brushing his lip, the curve of William’s mouth opening to take his own skin between it, the faintest glint of moisture when his tongue swept across.

It was obscene how detailed his memory became in an instant. The heat of William’s skin against his mouth. The way William’s lips had curved in a smile right after.

The soft, content little sound he had made.

Sweet. 

And Est just sat there, blinking, completely malfunctioning.

His lips—god, his lips were tingling. He could feel the exact spot where William’s thumb had been, a phantom warmth that spread wider and wider, like his mouth itself remembered better than his head did.

His eyes dropped automatically to William’s hand. The same hand that had just touched him. The same fingers that had just been in William’s mouth. His throat tightened.

That… just… happened.

His mind replayed it again. And again. And again, because it refused to move on.

Across the table, William was still eating, still smiling in that soft, absentminded way, like the entire world hadn’t just flipped sideways. His gaze lifted briefly, and when he saw Est staring at him, his smile only deepened, warm and unhurried.

Est’s ears went hot instantly. Burning. He could feel the color crawling up his neck, into his face, all the way to the tips of his ears. He ducked his head quickly, staring very hard at his pancakes like they held the answers to his survival. His fork trembled slightly in his grip.

What—what was that? 

Why was William so calm about it? 

Why did it feel like Est was the only one losing his mind, the only one sitting here replaying the brush of skin against skin in agonizing detail?

He swallowed, throat tight, trying to breathe evenly, trying not to think about how his lips still felt strange, buzzing, alive. But then—god, his eyes betrayed him. They flicked up again, and once more landed on William’s fingers.

The same fingers.

On Est’s lips. 

The same fingers.

In William’s mouth.

His stomach flipped.

His mind was starting to take a very dangerous turn. 

William noticed nothing—nothing except maybe Est’s silence, which he probably read as normal. And in a way, Est was grateful. 

Because what would he even say? 

William, I can’t stop thinking about your thumb? 

William, my lips won’t stop tingling? 

William, I am having very impure thoughts about the sound that just came out of your mouth???????

Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

So instead he stayed quiet, forcing himself to chew, forcing himself to look away, forcing himself to keep breathing.

But William… William just kept smiling at him. Not teasing. Not smug. Just soft. Gentle. Like Est was the only person in the room.

And somehow—that made it worse. 

Because if William had teased him, Est could’ve scowled, rolled his eyes, hidden behind irritation. But with that smile… Est had nothing to protect himself with. Nothing to do but sit there with his heart pounding too hard, his lips still burning, and the memory of William’s fingers between his own lips playing over and over and over again in his mind.

And when the bill came, William snatched it up before Est could even shake himself out of various scenarios his mind had cooked up in the short time. 

William reached for his wallet, and Est frowned. “We should split.”

“Nope,” William said instantly, sliding his card to the waiter before Est could move.

“William—”

“Nope.” William leaned back in his chair, smug grin in place. “My treat.”

Est narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t even let me—”

“Exactly,” William cut in, his grin softening as he looked at him. “Because I wanted to.”

Est went quiet, staring at him for a long moment. His lips parted like he had something to say, but in the end, all he did was shake his head, eyes softening in a way William couldn’t mistake.

The table between them was cluttered with empty plates and half-drunk lattes, but neither wanted to move. They sat in the golden afternoon light, sneaking glances at each other, both with the same secret tug of a smile on their faces, both too caught up in the quiet, overwhelming joy of this is us, together, just us.

⸻

The air was heavy with warmth, cicadas buzzing in the trees, and the faint amber wash of streetlamps stretched their shadows long across the pavement.

The street was quieter here.

Est’s apartment was out of William’s way—his dorm was in the opposite direction—but he hadn’t hesitated when he offered to walk Est back. Est hadn’t argued either. 

Maybe because it was easier to pretend the detour was for William’s sake, not his own. 

Maybe because neither of them, in their own ways, were ready for the day to end.

William walked a step behind, carrying the shark plushie because it gave him an excuse to glance at Est without being caught. The excuse didn’t work. 

He was staring anyway.

Every few seconds, his gaze darted sideways, catching the way Est’s hair shifted when the breeze touched it, the way his jawline looked sharper under the lamplight, the way his shoulders relaxed more with every step away from the crowded arcade. 

William’s throat felt dry. He kept swallowing, as if that would push the words up, the ones he’d been rehearsing since the moment he asked Est to come with him today.

Say it. Say this was a date. Say it. Say it. Say it. 

But when he opened his mouth, nothing came out except some stupid comment about how quiet the street was. Est hummed in response, not looking over, and William immediately wanted to hit himself.

By the time they reached the front of Est’s apartment building, William’s resolve was caught between buzzing at full voltage and fraying like a live wire.

They stopped together, neither moving to say goodbye.

The building loomed above them, tall and muted, its windows glinting faintly in the night. Est lingered on the bottom step, turning half toward William. 

For a moment, neither of them said anything. It was just the sound of the cicadas, the faint hum of traffic a few streets away, and the rush of blood in William’s ears.

Est was the first to break the silence, his voice low. “Thank you… for inviting me.” His eyes flicked upward, almost shy. “I had fun.”

The words were simple, ordinary, but something about the way Est said them—measured, careful, like he meant each syllable—struck William right in the chest.

William swallowed the grin threatening to break out, forcing it smaller, steadier. He shoved his free hand into his pocket, rocking on his heels like it was casual. “Good. That’s… good. I’m glad.”

Another silence stretched.

Est didn’t move. 

Neither did William. 

They lingered there, caught in the quiet like it tethered them together.

Est’s gaze lingered on William’s face for longer than usual, steady and searching. Inside, his thoughts tangled into knots.

Should I ask? Should I say it? Was this… was this a date? No, don’t be ridiculous. But he looked at me like—no. Don’t overthink it. Just… just wait. Maybe he’ll say something. Maybe he’ll—

Across from him, William was having his own silent implosion.

Say it. Say it now. Tell him you asked him out. Tell him this was a date. Just say the words: Phi, this was a date. Come on, William, you’re literally holding a shark you won for him, you fed him cake, you—oh my God, say it!

But neither spoke. 

Instead, Est gave a faint nod, as though sealing the evening, and stepped backward toward the entrance. “Goodnight, William.”

William’s throat tightened. He wanted to stop him, wanted to blurt something, but his tongue locked up. So all he managed was, “Goodnight, Phi.”

Est disappeared through the glass doors.

William stood rooted to the spot, heart hammering against his ribs. He stared at the closed doors as if sheer willpower might make them reopen. His legs refused to move, though his chest ached with the weight of everything he hadn’t said.

Idiot. Why didn’t you say it?

He lingered for a minute, maybe two, trying to convince himself to turn and drag his feet back toward his dorm. 

But just as he shifted, the doors opened again.

Est stepped out, expression composed, but his pace a little too brisk, like he hadn’t planned this far ahead.

“Phi?” William asked softly, blinking in surprise.

Est’s voice was casual, too casual. “The plushie. You’re still holding it.”

William glanced down at the shark in his arms, startled. “Oh. Right.” He offered it, and Est reached out. Their fingers brushed in the handoff—light, fleeting.

But Est didn’t leave.

Not yet.

He stood there, plush tucked against his side, gaze flicking up to William’s face and lingering just long enough to betray hesitation.

Waiting. Hoping.

Say it. Say something. If he says it now, I’ll…

Est should have left, but his feet refused. And William, pulse thunderous in his ears, acted before he could lose the moment. His hand shot out, catching Est’s wrist.

Est froze, eyes widening slightly as William’s grip tightened—not harsh, but firm, steady, as though anchoring him in place.

Beneath William’s fingers, Est’s pulse leapt, quick and betraying, thudding in sharp contrast to the calm mask on his face. William felt it, every beat, and it made his own chest stumble.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. The city fell away—the streetlights, the distant traffic, the faint hum of life around them. 

There was only this: William’s hand warm against Est’s skin, Est’s breath uneven, both of them teetering at the edge of something they didn’t have words for yet.

Then Est’s gaze betrayed him. 

It dropped, fast, unthinking—straight to William’s mouth. Gone in a blink, but not fast enough.

William forgot to breathe. He felt the air between them shift, heavy, charged. 

He stepped closer, closing the distance until there was barely a breath between them. Est’s mind prickled with awareness, a memory surfacing unbidden: the medal, William stepping into his space, placing the gold around his neck. 

But this was worse. 

This was unbearable. Because now there was no medal, no excuse, nothing at all between them except William himself.

Just William. And Est. 

William. 

And. 

Est.

His voice came out low, rough around the edges. “You remember air hockey?”

Est’s throat bobbed. “Mm.” His composure was paper-thin. He could barely think with William this close.

“You won,” William said, lips twitching faintly at the corners. “So… what do you want for winning?”

Est’s thoughts betrayed him instantly, shamelessly. 

You. I want you. Here. Forever. 

His eyes flickered once more, against his will, to William’s lips before he forced them back up.

“I thought…” His voice came out quiet, too quiet. “…I thought you said you were the prize.”

The world tilted.

William blinked, startled, then let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. He leaned a little closer, enough that the air between them felt electric. “Are you sure? Because this prize comes with a strict no return, no exchange policy.”

The words hit Est like a blow. His pulse jumped again, frantic beneath William’s fingers. His chest ached with the force of everything he couldn’t say aloud.

Yes. Exactly that. You. I want you with me. You’re mine.

He held William’s gaze instead, steady but trembling inside.

William took a slow, deliberate breath, like he was gathering every ounce of courage left in him. Then his lips curved faintly. “What if I told you… I didn’t just wanna hang out with you. What if I wanted it to be a date?”

Est’s breath hitched. The word lodged sharp in his chest. 

Date. 

Inside, he was a storm. 

Say yes. Don’t let him take it back. Please—

And then, almost inaudibly, Est replied, “What if I told you I wanted you to say it was a date all along?”

The world split open in William’s chest. His grin burst free, unstoppable. 

His hand slid down from Est’s wrist to his palm, threading their fingers together.

The fit was immediate, natural—like puzzle pieces that had always been meant to lock in place. Est’s hand was warm, trembling slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“Phi Est,” William whispered, courage trembling in his voice, “what if I asked you on a real date? Not just hanging out. A real one.”

Est finally lifted his gaze fully, unguarded, soft in a way William had never seen before. “…Ask me.”

William’s throat tightened. He squeezed Est’s hand, his thumb brushing across his knuckles. “Go on a date with me. A real one.”

A beat. 

And then Est’s small, fragile smile deepened, steady and sure. “…Okay.”

The word lit William up from the inside, bright and consuming. He didn’t move, didn’t dare break the fragile magic strung between them. He only held on tighter, because Est wasn’t letting go either.

And then Est shifted, just slightly, like he might step back—but his fingers twitched instead, holding tighter, not looser.

William’s chest clenched. He couldn’t let Est walk away, not yet. Not when every part of him was begging for more.

So he leaned in, close enough that their breath mingled, and whispered, raw and unguarded:

“Stay.”

It wasn’t just a word. It was a plea, a confession, a prayer.

Est froze, lips parting as his eyes found William’s. The rest of the world blurred—streetlamps, buildings, cars—until there was only William, staring at him like he was everything.

William’s gaze lingered on him greedily, on the faint shine of his mouth, the small mole above his lip, the one beneath his left eye—tiny constellations, coordinates, proof that Est was here, real, his.

God, William thought, he’s so beautiful. Too beautiful.

And Est, pulse quick and unsteady, thought: God, please don’t take this away from me.

So they stayed.

Hands threaded like a promise, the air between them electric, the silence loud with everything they weren’t yet brave enough to say.

Chapter Text

William sat cross-legged on the floor of his dorm, guitar balanced over his lap, pencil stuck between his teeth. The neck of the guitar pressed warm against his palm as his fingers fumbled through a familiar progression. He strummed once, let the chord ring, then bent over the page nearest to him. Scrawled words filled the margins—half lyrics, half nonsense—some crossed out, some circled three times like they might mean something if he stared at them long enough.

Mochi, curled up on the bed, flicked his tail as if annoyed by the noise.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” William murmured around the pencil, pulling it free. His voice came low, almost a whisper, carrying only to himself. “Too loud, too off-key. Sorry, boss.”

The cat didn’t move, only twitched an ear. 

William took that as permission to keep going. He strummed again, quieter this time, murmuring lines under his breath. The kind of lines that weren’t meant to be full songs yet—just thoughts that spilled out when he was too full of them to keep still.

And God, was he full of them.

Papers sprawled around him like a storm had swept through, little fragments of heartache and hope scribbled onto whatever he could grab—lined notebook paper, the back of a class handout, even a receipt from 7-Eleven. He couldn’t sit still without putting something down. 

Couldn’t let himself forget the way it had felt.

Because William, to this day, had no idea how he had made it home that night.

He remembered watching Est disappear through the glass doors, remembered his own hand still tingling from where Est’s fingers had been laced with his. Untangling from that touch had felt like tearing something important away, like part of him was still outside on the street while the rest stumbled back toward campus. He should’ve been exhausted, but adrenaline had burned hot in his veins, carrying him down sidewalks he didn’t remember taking.

What he did remember: calling his friends.

Nut had picked up first, then Lego, then Hong joined in half-asleep, and Tui—bless him—answered with his hair sticking out in five directions.

“What do you want at—” Nut squinted at the screen, “—two in the morning?!”

William hadn’t even given them time to protest. He just launched in. “HE SAID YES.”

That woke them up.

Within seconds, he was pacing his dorm on video call, hands flying as he reenacted every detail—the wrist grab, the almost-kiss tension, Est saying okay. The others cheered, teased, asked him to repeat lines, Lego even mimed fainting dramatically onto his bed.

“Bro, you’re glowing,” Lego said, pointing at the camera. “Like, literal glow. You look like you swallowed the sun.”

“Yeah, that’s called being in love,” Nut deadpanned.

William groaned, face flaming. “Shut up—”

But he couldn’t stop grinning, couldn’t stop circling the room as if standing still might kill him. He’d stayed on with them until his phone battery screamed for mercy, talking himself hoarse, his friends both the audience and the chorus to his joy.

And yet, after that night, the date hadn’t happened as quickly as William wanted it to.

Because Mochi had other plans.

The very next morning, his cat started refusing food. By afternoon, Mochi had thrown up twice and curled into the tightest ball William had ever seen him make. Panic set in fast. He’d bundled Mochi into his carrier, hailed a cab, and spent the rest of the day at the vet, his heart lodged firmly in his throat.

Every little thing—the sterile smell of disinfectant, the cool tile under his sneakers, the too-bright fluorescents overhead—lodged in his senses. William stroked Mochi through the carrier grate, whispering, “You’re okay, baby. Please be okay.”

The vet assured him it was nothing catastrophic, probably an upset stomach, but that didn’t stop William’s chest from squeezing every time Mochi turned his face away from the food bowl. He hovered for days, measuring out portions, coaxing him with soft words, even Googling late into the night until his brain throbbed.

At one point, he had broken down and called Aunt Mui.

Her voice, warm and practical even through the static, soothed him more than the vet had. “Boil some chicken, take the skin off. Small pieces. And don’t hover too much—you’ll make him stubborn. Cats know when you’re worried.”

William listened. He tried the chicken, sat with Mochi quietly instead of hovering, and eventually—finally—the cat began keeping food down again. Relief hit him so hard he had to sit on the floor, head tipped back against the bed frame, eyes stinging.

He hadn’t even texted Est properly through all of this. Stress had him in a chokehold, and by the time he thought about reaching out, it felt too late, like too many hours had piled up between them.

It was Est who texted first this time.

A video of Pooh barking furiously at a squirrel on the balcony. 

William had replayed the clip twenty times, not because of Pooh—though the dog’s fluffy tail was hilarious—but because Est’s laugh was in the background. Low, unguarded, catching at the end like he hadn’t meant to let it out.

Mochi had barely blinked at the video, unimpressed. But William? He sat in his bed at two in the morning, phone pressed to his ear, listening to that laugh over and over until his grin hurt.

He was so far gone. Completely, hopelessly gone.

William once again started sending Mochi pictures out of habit—Mochi sulking under the blanket, Mochi glaring at a medicine dropper, Mochi ignoring the boiled chicken. And Est, in his perfectly Est way, had responded with quiet consistency.

And through all of it, neither of them mentioned the elephant in the room. Neither said a word about what had happened after the café, about dates or almost confessions or hands laced tight like lifelines.

It hung there, unspoken, like a chord left unresolved.

Which brought William here.

Nearly a couple of weeks later, finally breathing easier now that Mochi was keeping food down, finally strumming again because his hands needed somewhere to put the ache.

He plucked a chord, scribbled a word, crossed it out. The room smelled faintly of chicken broth and pencil shavings, his fingers ached from pressing too hard against steel strings, but he didn’t stop.

Because if he stopped, he’d think too hard. He’d replay Est’s eyes in that streetlight glow, the sound of okay leaving his lips, the softness in his hand when he’d held on.

And William wasn’t sure his heart could take that right now.

Still, it bled into the music. He strummed once more, let it fade into the quiet, then whispered to the empty room:

“Soon. I’ll ask him. Soon.”

Mochi sneezed in his sleep, unimpressed.

William smiled faintly, bent over the paper again, and let the strings carry him back into the mess of yearning that refused to leave him alone.

He had been so deep in the rhythm — scribbling a line, strumming, humming under his breath — that at first, he didn’t notice the sound.

The buzzing.

William’s pencil stilled against the page, the faint graphite line smudging under his thumb. His guitar hummed in his lap, the last chord still vibrating faintly through the wood. 

It started soft, distant, blending into the hum of his AC and the muffled city noise through his dorm window. Only when it persisted — insistent, pulsing — did William blink back into the present. He frowned, looked around, and realized his phone was the source.

His phone was somewhere in the mess of papers and notebooks scattered across the bed. He patted one side, then the other, still half-focused on the chord progression echoing in his head. By the time he fished it out from under his pillow, the buzzing stopped.

Missed call.

William froze. His eyes went wide, heart stuttering like he’d skipped an entire measure of music. On his screen, in clear, neat text, was a name he hadn’t expected to see.

Est 🦈

For a second, William thought he was hallucinating. He blinked, rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, but the name didn’t disappear. Not only a missed call, but above it, a little notification bubble — 1 unread message.

His brain short-circuited. Est had called him. Est had messaged him. And William had been too busy humming to notice.

Before he could even think, his thumb hit the green button. Call back. Instinct. Muscle memory. Or maybe just that ache in his chest that had been there since the arcade — since Est’s hand in his, since the almost-confession that still looped in his head like his favorite chorus.

The line rang once. Only once.

“Hello?”

Est’s voice. Immediate, warm, and steady, like he’d been sitting with the phone in his hand, waiting.

William’s breath caught.

“Phi—hi,” he blurted, at the same time Est said, “Are you busy?”

They both stopped. Silence stretched, thin but not uncomfortable, like a held note.

“You—” William started.

“No, you first,” Est said at the exact same time.

Again, they stopped. William pressed his lips together, heat curling in his stomach. His pulse was too loud, his hands too restless, his guitar slipping against his thigh. He wanted to laugh, but his throat felt tight.

Est saved him. “I… messaged you,” he said, quieter this time. “But you didn’t reply.”

William blinked. For a moment, he thought maybe he’d fallen into an alternate universe, one where Est Supha Sangaworawong actually chased after him. He felt dizzy with it, lightheaded in the way only Est could make him.

For months, he had been the one pressing, the one inserting himself into Est’s world, waiting for the smallest scraps of acknowledgement. Now, Est was checking if he’d seen his message.

It was dizzying. It was unfair. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He opened his mouth, closed it again. A beat passed before Est’s voice broke through, firmer now:

“William.”

His name. God. He could get addicted to hearing Est say it like that, low and steady, like he was grounding him.

William snapped back. “Oh! Phi, hi! No—I didn’t realize, I mean, I was—uh—” His guitar wobbled as he shifted, and the neck of it clanged against the bedframe. He scrambled to catch it before it slid to the floor. “I didn’t see my phone. Is everything okay?”

On the other end, there was a pause. Not hesitation exactly, more like Est was weighing his words, measuring if they’d sound too much if he said them out loud. When he did speak, it was steady, deliberate.

“Why?” A breath. “Does there need to be something wrong for me to call?”

William’s brain blanked. His heart hiccupped, then surged forward in double time. “No! No, that’s not what I meant, I just—” His fingers fumbled against the guitar strings, producing a sharp, off-key twang. He winced. “I wasn’t expecting—well, I mean, I didn’t think—”

He cut himself off, pressing his palm to his forehead. Brilliant. Smooth as always.

On the other end, he could hear the faintest chuckle. Not mocking — softer. Almost fond.

“William,” Est said again, this time with the gentlest sigh. “Did I call at a bad time?”

William jolted upright, shaking his head so fast his hood slipped back. “What? No! No, no, no. Phi, what—absolutely not.” He squeezed the words out like they might erase every clumsy note from before. “Not a bad time. Never.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was charged. William could feel it in the way his hand tightened around his phone, in the way his chest swelled and refused to settle.

And then—his phone screen lit up.

Incoming request: Video Call.

William blinked. 

His first thought: Oh my God. 

His second thought: Wait—what do I look like right now?

He glanced down at himself. Dark gray hoodie, hood half-slipped, the sleeves bunched at his wrists. Black shorts. The AC hummed at full blast, his room a little too cold but comforting. His hair as usual in a center part, with thin frame glasses perched on his nose. 

Not exactly first-video-call material.

His thumb hovered. He hesitated for a breath, then—accepted.

Est’s face filled the screen, and for a split second, William forgot how to breathe.

The lighting on Est’s side was dimmer, softer, like he was sitting near his desk lamp. His hair was slightly damp, probably fresh from a shower, curling faintly at the ends. He wore a plain black T-shirt, simple but devastating in the way Est always was.

And he was smiling. Just barely, the corner of his mouth tugging upward like he hadn’t meant for it to.

“Hi,” Est said.

William melted. “Hi.” His own voice came out softer than he intended. He tugged his hood up again, as if the cotton fabric could shield him from how warm his face felt.

Est tilted his head. “Cold?”

William blinked. “What?”

“You’re in a hoodie,” Est pointed out, eyes flicking briefly over the fabric. “It’s summer.”

“Oh. Right.” William laughed nervously, tugging at the drawstring. “Yeah, but my AC’s on full blast. So it’s, uh, like—winter in here.”

Est hummed. Not disapproving, just… acknowledging. The sound sent a shiver down William’s spine, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the AC or Est.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Est’s gaze was steady on the screen, and William felt like every second of it was unraveling him. He wanted to say something — anything — but his words were caught somewhere in his throat.

Finally, Est broke the quiet. “So… what were you doing before I called?”

William glanced down at his lap, at the scattered papers and the guitar resting against his leg. He hesitated. “Just… music stuff.”

William adjusted the phone in his hand, the faint weight of it grounding him more than he wanted to admit. Est’s face filled the small screen, and it was still jarring, still surreal, to see him like this — not across a pool, not on the walk home, not at a café table, but right here, looking directly at him.

“Music stuff,” Est repeated, his tone unreadable but not dismissive. Just watching. Just listening.

William rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to laugh it off. “Yeah. Scribbling lines. Strumming. You know, my usual chaos at work.”

Est hummed. A low, thoughtful sound that wrapped itself around William’s ribcage.

And then — quiet. Not awkward, not strained, but something heavier. Different.

And Est looked different too. Not closed-off, not withholding. Since that night, something in him seemed… settled. Like a cat deciding, at last, that its chosen human had proved worthy.

William was entirely thrown off balance.

He was the one who usually did the chasing, who blurted invitations and cracked jokes and shoved his way into Est’s orbit with stubborn persistence. But now, with Est calling him first, leaning into the camera like it was the most natural thing in the world, it almost felt like the roles had shifted.

Like Est had quietly taken the reins while William sat there blinking, hoodie hood half-fallen over his hair, wondering if he’d accidentally stepped into an alternate universe.

It rattled William in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Est was looking at him like he already had him, like the effort was no longer needed.

He needed his hands free, if only to stop fidgeting. With a little shuffle, William lowered the phone, balancing it against a makeshift stand — a stack of books and an upturned shoebox that he’d turned into a “table” on the floor. He leaned back, cross-legged, trying to look casual even though his heart wouldn’t stop sprinting.

Est’s face shifted slightly with the new angle, but his gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t look away, not once, even as William adjusted his hoodie or shuffled his papers.

William felt it, that weight of attention. Like being under a spotlight. Except this time, instead of nerves, it sent a warm shiver through him.

Was this how Est felt under William’s gaze?

Then Est’s focus shifted. His eyes flicked past William, toward the shadow moving at the edge of the frame. A small curve touched his lips — the kind that was barely a smile but made William’s chest ache anyway.

“How’s Mochi?” Est asked.

William blinked. “Huh?” He followed Est’s gaze, turned his head — and there he was. Mochi, tail swishing, glaring like he was the star who’d been left out of the scene.

“Oh my God, I didn’t even notice you snuck in,” William said, reaching behind him to scoop the cat up. Mochi made a tiny, disgruntled sound but allowed himself to be lifted. William held him up toward the camera. “Phi, look! Say hi.”

Mochi blinked slowly, unimpressed, then let out a short, gravelly meow.

Est’s faint smile curved deeper, and he lifted a hand in a small wave. “Hello, Mochi.”

William grinned, far too wide for such a tiny exchange. He settled the cat in his lap, cross-legged on the floor, and began to stroke behind his ears. Mochi kneaded at his thigh once, then curled himself into a ball, already making himself at home.

“He’s still recovering,” William explained, his hand gentle against Mochi’s fur. “Got me stressed out of my mind. I think I even ignored you  for a bit without realizing.” His gaze flicked guiltily to the phone screen. “Sorry about that.”

Est shook his head, the movement small, steady. “You don’t need to apologize. I understand completely.” His tone softened just slightly, almost imperceptibly. “Pooh is the same. Diva when he’s sick.”

William’s grin turned rueful, his eyes fixed on the small rise and fall of Mochi’s breathing. “Yeah, but… our Mochi was so patient with me. Just… quiet. Waiting.” His voice slipped softer, affectionate, unconsciously tender. “He’s a good boy. Aren’t you, grumpy face?”

Mochi flicked his tail in response, unimpressed as always.

William didn’t notice the silence on the other end at first. He was too focused on smoothing Mochi’s fur, on murmuring to the cat. But then he glanced up at the phone, and Est was just… staring.

Not at Mochi. At him.

Est’s gaze was steady, his expression unreadable but heavier than before, weighted with something William couldn’t quite name. Like he was seeing something William himself didn’t realize he was showing.

William’s fingers stilled against Mochi’s back. “What?”

Est didn’t answer immediately. His lips parted slightly, then pressed together again, as if whatever he wanted to say wasn’t meant for the air just yet.

William blinked, flustered. He ducked his head, burying his face in Mochi’s fur to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Don’t look at me like that, Phi. You’re gonna make me think I’ve got something on my face.”

Est huffed a faint laugh, the sound low and brief. “You don’t.”

“Oh.” William glanced back up. His chest squeezed, too tight, too warm. Est was still watching. Always watching.

It should’ve felt suffocating. But instead, William thought he could drown in it.

The call stretched on. Not loud, not busy. Just steady — Mochi’s quiet purrs, William’s hoodie sleeves brushing against the fabric of his shorts, Est’s voice occasionally breaking the silence with something simple, grounding.

Est had called him. Est had asked. Est had stayed.

And William… he didn’t ever want this call to end.

They talked about small things. Easy things. William rambled about Mochi finally eating again, about the way the rain had made his dorm smell damp, about how his aunt’s remedy actually worked because Mochi had perked up within a day. Est listened, occasionally humming, his lips quirking at William’s dramatics.

Neither of them mentioned the elephant in the room. 

They both yawned within seconds of each other. William laughed softly, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Maybe we should sleep before Mochi fires me as his pillow.”

Est didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze lingered on William’s face through the screen. Steady. Unwavering. There was something in his eyes—something William couldn’t name, but felt all the way to his ribs.

A glint, a softness. Like Est was committing every line, every shadow, to memory.

William, oblivious to the weight of it, picked up Mochi’s paw and waved it clumsily at the camera. “Say goodnight, Phi Est.” Mochi let out a tired, offended meow, which only made Est’s smile deepen.

And then Est spoke. His voice was quieter than before, a little more deliberate.

“This weekend, I’m going back.”

William blinked, mid-wave, lowering Mochi back to his lap. He tilted his head instinctively, brows knitting, confusion plain across his face. The kind of look so open, so unfiltered, that it struck Est like a memory of Pooh tilting his head at a strange sound.

“To my parents,” Est clarified.

William’s lips parted in an oh. He opened his mouth again, about to say something polite—safe trip, Phi, have fun, rest well—but Est’s voice cut in, fast, rushed, like if he stopped now he wouldn’t start again.

“Come with me.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Not uncomfortable, but charged, thick with a current William could feel in the back of his throat. His heartbeat jumped, then sprinted, pounding against his ribs like it was trying to break free.

His eyes widened, slow realization blooming into something warmer, brighter. A smile crept across his face, unstoppable, curling until his cheeks ached.

His mind flickered back, unbidden, to the arcade. To Est leaning against the machine, arms folded, watching William fight the claw machine like it had insulted his family. To the way they’d both laughed so hard their shoulders brushed without either of them pulling away.

And then—God, then—the night outside the Est’s building. The way Est had stepped back out with that shark plushie, pretending it was casual. The way William had reached out, holding his hand. The way their faces had hovered just a fraction too close, the tension thick enough to drown in. And then Est’s words—I thought you said you were the prize.

William’s breath caught at the memory, his chest tightening with the echo of almost, almost, almost.

And here Est was now, telling William come with him.

On screen, Est looked calm in the way only he could. Shoulders squared, expression neutral. But his ears betrayed him, flushed crimson against the strands of black hair falling over them.

William wanted to laugh—not at Est, but at the sheer wonder of it. Est Supha Sangaworawong, Phi Est, just asked me to go home with him.

Est didn’t let him speak. He pressed forward, words tumbling faster now that they’d started. “You can bring Mochi with you. Pooh’s already back home, and I—” He swallowed, his gaze flicking down, then back up. “I already asked my mom. She said it’s okay. With her. With them.”

The room around William seemed to blur, fade. It was just the phone screen, just Est, just the faint tremor beneath his calm.

And then—almost immediately—Est fumbled, reaching for cover. “You know my parents keep asking about you,” he said, tone steadier than his ears looked. “They wanted to thank you properly. For… helping me move, and taking care of all that.”

William nearly laughed out loud. Not because it was funny, but because it was so transparent. He wanted to tease—wanted to say, Phi, you don’t have to pretend—but the sheer wonder of it, the fact that Est had invited him without a single nudge, warmed him from the inside out.

Est added, with a small tilt of his chin, voice low but carrying the faintest edge of play:

“You’ll be all alone. Who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into.”

William—he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t interrupt. Couldn’t even tease, though the temptation itched in his throat. He just looked, soft and certain, his smile blooming quiet and real.

His fingers stroked down Mochi’s fur, grounding him, while his heart felt ready to take off without him. Mochi gave a sleepy rumble, oblivious to the fact that William’s entire life had just shifted an inch closer to everything he’d ever wanted. 

He could have said a thousand things. He could have teased, could have flirted, could have played it off.

But what came out was softer, quieter, unshakably real.

His voice was rough with something he didn’t want to name yet, but the words came anyway.

“Phi…” He paused, smile tugging helplessly wider. “Okay.”

On the other side of the screen, Est inhaled sharply, almost too quietly to hear. His gaze flickered away for a fraction of a second, then returned. He didn’t say anything, not right away. Just looked back at William with a small, unguarded smile, one he hadn’t meant to give away.

The kind of smile that belonged to no one else.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of the lamp, the faint buzz of summer cicadas, Mochi’s tail tapping against William’s hoodie—those were the only sounds.

The call had ended, and the quiet of his dorm filled the air again, humming faintly with the low whir of his AC. For a moment, William just sat there, staring at the black screen of his phone as if it might flicker back to life and bring Est’s face with it.

Then, slowly, almost absently, he looked down. Mochi had curled himself in William’s lap during the call, warm and heavy, paws tucked in, tail flicking in mild annoyance at being jostled. William let out a shaky breath, more of a laugh really, and stroked down Mochi’s soft fur. The cat let out a tiny grumble of a meow but didn’t move, as if he could feel that his human needed this moment more than he did.

William’s smile hadn’t left since the call ended. It was small at first, then grew wider, blooming across his face until his cheeks ached. His mind was buzzing, racing so fast he could barely keep up with the stream of thoughts colliding in his head.

He asked me. Phi Est asked me. To go home with him. Me. William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong. To be with him. He didn’t want me alone. His parents wanted to meet me. Me.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands as though he needed something tangible to ground himself in reality. He almost wanted to laugh, or cry, or roll around on the floor. 

And then, on instinct — maybe because his heart was too full, maybe because he didn’t know what else to do with it — William picked up his phone again. His thumb moved almost without thinking, scrolling through his contacts until he found Aunt Mui.

He pressed call.

It only rang twice before she picked up.

“William?” Her voice was sharp, alert, and immediately full of worry. “Are you okay? Is everything okay? You never call this late at night. Is it Mochi? Is he sick again?”

William blinked, pulling the phone slightly away from his ear in surprise. Then he glanced at the time glowing at the top of his screen. Past midnight. His heart dipped.

“Oh—Aunt Mui, I didn’t even realize how late it was,” he said quickly, guilt flooding him. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. You should go back to sleep, I’ll call you some other—”

He was already pulling the phone away to end the call when her firm voice cut in.

“William. Don’t you dare hang up on me. What is it? Tell me.”

He froze, lips pressing together, caught between wanting to gush and wanting to hide. His chest squeezed tight.

Finally, he let out a long breath and said, very softly, “I… like someone.”

Silence. A heartbeat.

And then, Aunt Mui’s voice, gentler now but threaded with curiosity: “Oh? And who is it? Is it someone I know? Maybe someone from your band?”

William’s laugh tumbled out, nervous but bright. “No, no, not Nut or Lego or any of them. It’s… it’s a senior. His name’s Est. He’s a swimmer.”

And that was it. The floodgates opened.

William leaned back against his bed frame, still stroking Mochi, and began to talk. Really talk. His words came in waves, eager and unstoppable, painting picture after picture of Est until the whole room felt full of him.

He told her about going to the arcade, about how Est had rolled his eyes but still indulged him, about how his serious facade cracked every time William grinned too wide. He told her about the café, about the way Est’s dry comments made his chest feel warm instead of cut. He even told her about helping Est move things in his apartment, how Est had gotten injured, and how he had to take care of Est. 

“And then when I got sick, he panicked,” William said, voice quick and almost breathless. “He called his mom. His mom, Aunt Mui. Just for me. He made food for me. And he stayed by my side the whole time, like I was—like I mattered.”

On the other end of the line, Aunt Mui laughed, the kind of warm, full-bodied laugh that William had grown up with, that always made him feel like a child again, safe and loved. “Oh, Will,” she said fondly. “You sound absolutely gone for this boy.”

“I am,” William admitted, a little helplessly. “I really am.”

He talked until the words started to slow, until the giddy rush dimmed into something softer, steadier. His heart was still racing, but his voice dropped, quieter.

And that was when Aunt Mui said, gently but firmly: “So ask that boy out. Tell him you like him.”

William’s throat closed. He shook his head even though she couldn’t see it. “I’m scared.”

“Sweetheart. Will.”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, rubbing at his forehead. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But the fear sat heavy in his chest, coiled and sharp.

“Remember when you liked that boy who was our neighbor?” Aunt Mui said suddenly.

William’s head shot up. “Auntieeee,” he whined, groaning. “Why would you bring that up?”

“Because,” she said with a laugh, “you cried the entire night when he rejected you. And I told you then, didn’t I? That boy was stupid for not liking you. Too stupid to see what was right in front of him.”

Despite himself, William smiled. His chest tightened with the memory—his first real crush, the sting of rejection, how utterly crushed he’d been. How Aunt Mui had held him while he sobbed like the world was ending, whispering comforts into his hair.

He sighed, eyes fluttering shut.

Finally, after a long silence, he whispered, “He’s taking me home with him. Because he doesn’t want me to stay alone.” His voice was small, almost childlike. “And I don’t know—what if his parents don’t like me? Or what if… what if he starts hating me because I do something embarrassing?”

Aunt Mui didn’t interrupt. She just listened, like she always did, her steady presence filling the quiet. And when she spoke, her voice was calm, patient. “William, sweetheart. His parents will see exactly what I see. A boy who’s full of life, who loves deeply, who would do anything for the people he cares about. That’s more than enough. And as for him hating you—if he’s already doing all this for you, then he’s already chosen you. Believe that.”

William pressed his lips together, eyes stinging faintly. He nodded, even though she couldn’t see.

But then—Aunt Mui’s voice turned just a little sharp. “Wait. Didn’t you tell me your friends were staying with you? What do you mean alone?”

William’s eyes flew wide. He sat bolt upright. “Oh—uh, no, I mean—not like that, I just—uh—okay, okay, Aunt Mui, it’s too late, you need your beauty sleep. Goodnight! Love you!”

And before she could press further, he hung up, dropping the phone onto the bed and covering his face with both hands.

“God,” he muttered. “To tell one lie, you have to tell a hundred more.”

As if to soothe him, Mochi shifted in his lap, nudging his hand. William let out a helpless laugh, scratching behind the cat’s ears.

A second later, his phone buzzed. A message from Aunt Mui lit up the screen.

William, you called me like this after so long. I’m so happy for you. I’m always here for you, no matter what. I love you. And you better come visit me soon, or I’ll come find you myself.

William’s chest squeezed, warmth blooming like sunlight under his ribs. He smiled, even as his eyes prickled.

Because despite everything—despite his fears, despite the lies he’d told—he felt loved. Rooted. And that love only made him fall harder for Est, because maybe, just maybe, he deserved this kind of happiness after all.

The morning William was supposed to leave with Est felt like a fever dream.

William had packed, unpacked, and repacked his small suitcase at least four times.

He sat cross-legged on the floor of his dorm room, surrounded by the wreckage of his own indecision — shirts tossed onto the bed, jeans folded, unfolded, and folded again, shoes lined up like contestants waiting to be judged. His suitcase lay open in front of him, bulging slightly from the force of his last attempt to zip it.

Mochi, in perfect contrast, lounged on top of one of William’s discarded hoodies, grooming himself with utter indifference, as if to say: You’re losing your mind, and I don’t care.

Every time he thought he’d calmed down, his brain jolted awake with another wave of what-ifs.

What if I say something stupid? What if Mochi scratches his parents? What if Est realizes halfway through the drive that he doesn’t actually like me at all?

William groaned, falling backward onto the floor with a dramatic flop. “This is a bad idea. Such a bad idea. Why did I agree to this? I should text him and say I can’t go. Or fake my own death. That’s an option. Mochi, what do you think? Should we run away? Move to another city? Start fresh?”

Mochi blinked at him, unimpressed, before curling into a ball.

“Right,” William muttered, dragging his hands over his face.

He had already called Nut, Lego, Hong, and Tui a hundred times each. At first, for advice on whether he should go at all. Then for input on what outfits to bring. Then for feedback on how he should act in front of Est’s parents. And finally, for a mix of emotional support and chaos venting.

He’d video-called them, too — holding up shirts against his chest, doing spins in his dorm, waiting for their verdicts. The last call had ended with Lego shouting, “Just wear clothes, Will! Clothes are fine!” while Nut tried to to give real advice, and Hong and Tui cackled in the background.

Somehow, though, despite all that noise, William had finally settled on an outfit. A cream-colored polo shirt — clean, classic, not too formal, not too casual. Dark brown-black jeans. White sneakers. Hair parted neatly in the middle the way Tui once said suited him. Sunglasses hooked onto his collar. It was the closest he could get to “meet the in-laws” chic without overdoing it.

Because that’s what this was. Meeting the in-laws.

William sat on the edge of his bed now, suitcase zipped, a separate small bag packed for Mochi — food, toys, treats, even a tiny blanket. Mochi’s carrier sat open on the floor, waiting for its grumpy occupant.

The dread settled heavy in his stomach, even as excitement buzzed under his skin. He was actually going with Phi Est. Not just anywhere. To his home. To the people who had raised him.

And the car ride. God, the car ride.

Apparently, Est’s parents lived outside the city. William had panicked when he learned this, texting Est late at night: Phi, what should I bring? Like… is this fancy? Do I bring a suit?

Est had replied, calm as always: Just clothes you’re comfortable in. And Mochi’s things.

Then, after a pause, Est had sent another message: I’ll drive us.

That was when William discovered three more things about Est in rapid succession:

He could drive.
He had his own car.
He had an older sister, who had taken Pooh with her.

Est had also let slip — through the most casual of texts, punctuated with actual emojis — that his family was excited to meet William. His parents and his sister.

William had stared at those texts for ten whole minutes, heart hammering, before blurting into the LYKN group chat: HE USED EMOJIS. THREE DIFFERENT TIMES. HE’S EXCITED. RIGHT? THAT’S WHAT THIS MEANS?!

Hong had replied with seventeen crying-laughing emojis.

Nut had typed: Yes, Will. He’s excited. Calm down.

William had not calmed down.

Now, early morning, he had dried his hair until it was fluffy and soft, checked the stove three times despite never using it, and stuffed Mochi gently into his carrier. Mochi protested with a low, offended meow but settled soon enough, tail flicking.

William’s phone buzzed.

Est was here. 

His heart lurched, then raced. He took one last look in the mirror. He smoothed his hair down, then ruffled it again. He could do this. He had to do this.

A knock sounded on his door.

William’s throat went dry.

He opened it — and there was Est.

Standing casually, sunglasses in hand, sliding them off to hook them onto the collar of his shirt. A shirt that was… oh no. Oh no.

They were matching.

William’s eyes widened. His brain stuttered. 

This is fate. This is meant to be. Matching clothes? Meeting the parents? God is handing me the script of my own love story.

The cream-colored shirt Est wore was thinner than his own, a mesh-like fabric that caught the light, falling loose enough to highlight his tiny waist and the broad shoulders. The sunlight filtering down the dorm hallway kissed Est’s skin, traced the sharp line of his jaw, made him look like he’d stepped out of a dream.

He needed to look away before he did something risky. 

William’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.

He hadn’t seen Est in person since that day. The day of the arcade, the café, the walk home. The day their hands had lingered together, fingers intertwined until the last possible second. The memory pulsed in his chest like it had happened only moments ago.

Est gave a small smile. William, overwhelmed, looked down, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey, Phi,” he managed, voice soft.

“You ready?” Est asked.

William nodded, fumbling with his bag, scooping up Mochi’s carrier. But before he could protest, Est reached for it, their hands brushing.

A spark shot up William’s arm, fast and electric.

Est, unfazed, lifted the carrier easily and tilted it slightly, peering inside. “Hey, Mochi.”

The cat blinked at him, tail swishing. William swore Mochi gave Est a judging once-over, as if weighing his worth. Est just smirked, amused.

William followed Est outside, heart still tumbling in his chest.

The morning air was fresh, tinged with the faint smell of dew and exhaust from the street below. Est opened the trunk, setting William’s suitcase and Mochi’s carrier inside with practiced ease. William hovered a few steps away, clutching the strap of his bag, hardly believing any of this was real.

“Phi,” he blurted suddenly, anxiety bubbling over. Est looked back at him, eyebrows raised, and William’s words tumbled out in a rush: “Are you sure this is okay? You don’t have to take me just because you feel bad I’m alone. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or force you, or—”

His voice cracked, his wide eyes searching Est’s face desperately.

Est stilled, watching him. And then—he smiled. Slow, quiet. He leaned casually against the car, folding his arms across his chest, the picture of ease.

“If I didn’t want you there,” he said simply, “you would know.”

William blinked. The words hit him like a stone skipping across a pond, rippling out.

A memory flashed — that first real conversation on the bench near the dorms, when he had felt scared that he was  being a pest to the elder. He’d been so worried about being annoying, about intruding.

This moment felt like an echo. Like proof that Est meant what he said, always.

Est’s voice pulled him back. “You’re my…” He hesitated, the word catching, reluctant. Finally: “…friend. Why would I be uncomfortable.”

He said it almost begrudgingly, like friend wasn’t the word he really wanted to use.

William swallowed, his chest twisting. Part of him lit up — Est had claimed him, even if only as a friend. But another part of him sulked. 

Friend? Really? You could have said boyfriend. Or fiancé. Or husband. But no, friend.

He wanted to sulk. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to bang his head against the nearest tree.

Instead, he swallowed, forcing a crooked smile. “Okay.”

Est, oblivious to William’s internal sulk, opened the passenger door, tilting his head toward it. A clear signal.

William hesitated a beat, then slid inside.

The seat was cool against his legs, smelling faintly of leather and faint traces of Est — clean soap, a hint of his cologne, something warm and grounding.

His thoughts, however, spiraled. Friend. Just friend. I’ll take it, but still…

The door shut, pulling him out of his storm. Est slid into the driver’s seat with smooth, practiced ease. He glanced sideways, eyes flicking briefly over William — and caught.

William’s breath stuttered.

Est leaned forward.

What? 

What was happening?

Was Phi Est going to kiss him? 

The motion was smooth, unhurried. Est reached across him, one hand pulling the belt, the other guiding it over William’s chest. The faint brush of Est’s arm against him, the closeness of his body, the scent of his cologne wrapping around him—it all stole William’s breath.

He could feel every beat of his pulse.

The buckle clicked. Est leaned back, sliding into his own seat with the faintest smirk curving his lips, as if he knew exactly what he’d just done.

William sat frozen, breath caught, still trembling faintly from the contact.

Est started the car.

And just like that, they were on their way.

And William, golden retriever heart and all, knew this was only the beginning of something he might never recover from.

But seriously, friend?

Est was not supposed to visit his home this week.

That was the first truth he had thrown into the fire.

He had simply lied to William. Lied about already asking his mom. Lied about permission. Lied about everything—clean, steady-faced, not even blinking when he said it. He had never done something like this before, not to anyone, and certainly not to William.

But then again, William wasn’t just anyone.

It was true, yes, that his sister had taken Pooh back home because she missed the dog too much. But that was a coincidence, nothing more. 

Est had seized on it like a lifeline, desperate to anchor his rash words in something tangible. Because the reality was, the second William ended the video call, Est had panicked. His composure had cracked right down the middle, and he had dialed his mother’s number before he could stop himself.

The call connected on the first ring.

“Est?” His mother’s voice was warm, familiar, grounding.

“Mae,” Est began, and already he hated how unsteady his voice sounded. He forced his throat clear. “Can I… can I come home this week?”

There was a pause on the other end, the faint rustle of fabric, like his mother had straightened in her chair. “This week? That’s earlier than planned. Is everything all right?”

Est’s fingers tightened around the phone. His knuckles went pale against the plastic. “It’s fine. I just thought…” He hesitated, then rushed it out before he could second-guess himself. “…I was thinking of bringing William with me.”

There was another pause—longer this time. Est swore he could hear the knowing smile forming on his mother’s face through the silence.

“William,” she repeated, tasting the name like it wasn’t new to her. It wasn’t.

“Yes,” Est said, sharper than he meant. He softened quickly. “He’s… he’s alone on campus. Everyone’s gone for the break. I thought it would be good for him to—”

“To come home with you?” his mother finished smoothly. “Mm. And can he bring the cat too?”

Est nearly choked. “You knew—”

“Of course I knew,” she interrupted, and there was laughter now, easy and teasing. “You think I didn’t see him with your medal around his neck? You think I didn’t notice you panic-cooking for him when he was sick? You thought I forgot your ramblings about him?”

Heat flooded Est’s face. He pressed his palm hard against his eyes, wishing he could hang up and bury himself under the covers instead. “Mae—”

“No, Est.” Her voice gentled, firm but kind. “You better bring him home. And the cat too, if William wants. If you don’t, I’ll come up there and fetch both of them myself.”

The line went quiet after that, but the damage was done. His mother had seen straight through him—stripped every flimsy excuse bare until all that was left was the truth he couldn’t say aloud:

He wanted William.

Wanted him close, wanted him safe, wanted him where Est could look at him without needing a screen between them. Wanted to stop pretending like William wasn’t already stitched into the rhythm of his days.

So yes, Est had lied. 

He had lied to William’s face, spun a whole story about permission already granted when in reality, he had only just earned it through his mother’s amused mercy.

And now here he was, driving with William sitting beside him in the passenger seat.

It should have been simple—just a drive home, nothing out of the ordinary. But no matter how much Est tried to keep his features neutral, his smile betrayed him. The corners of his mouth kept tugging upward without permission. His fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel, each beat too fast, too uneven, as though they too were drunk on the fact that William was right there, close enough to touch.

William, oblivious, was quietly staring out the window. The late summer light spilled across his profile, catching on the soft curve of his jaw, the veins in his forearms. He looked… unreasonably handsome. Too much for Est’s already strained composure.

Est’s throat worked as he forced his eyes back to the road. Focus. Drive. Don’t look.

But he wanted to. God, he wanted to. Every instinct screamed to turn his head, to memorize every line of William’s face in real time instead of through a blurry phone screen. He had spent the entire time staring at that screen, watching William’s sleepy smile, the way he waved his cat’s paw in a clumsy farewell. And Est, against his better judgment, had memorized it all like he was stockpiling for famine.

And now the real thing was sitting next to him. The real William. 

Est’s chest ached.

He was in trouble.

Because when William had leaned towards him  days ago, a smile tugging at his lips, voice low and teasing—What if I told you… I wanted it to be a date?—Est had almost shattered on the spot. He hadn’t been able to hide it. Not when William’s hand slid into his, not when that word—date—lodged itself so deep into his chest it still echoed there now.

He had expected William to follow up the next day. To confess properly. Maybe even to kiss him. 

His mind had spiraled further than he cared to admit: imagining marriage jokes, late-night whispers, futures that stretched far longer than one arcade date should justify.

But William hadn’t said a word.

Not a text. Not a hint. Only silence.

And Est’s insecurity had bloomed like a weed, choking every rational thought. 

Until he found himself doing the unthinkable: messaging William first. Calling him. Using emojis. 

And when even that hadn’t been enough to quiet the ache, he had lied. Lied just to pull William closer. Lied just to make sure William came home with him.

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

Est Supha Sangaworawong did not lie. He did not fumble. He did not fall apart over anyone.

Until William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong happened.

And now, with William beside him—handsome, radiant, utterly unaware—Est wasn’t sure how much longer his paper-thin composure would last.

Because all he wanted was to reach out, thread their hands together again, and never let go.

It took 10 minutes into the car ride, for William to realise that a car ride could feel this intense.

It was stupid, really. They were just driving. Just the two of them in a car, sunlight spilling in through the windshield, the road humming beneath them. 

Just the two of them in this intimate space. 

It was perfectly normal. 

Nothing extraordinary, nothing out of the ordinary — except Est was the one behind the wheel, and William was fairly certain that should count as a crime.

Because God.

He kept his eyes locked on the blur of scenery outside, not because the fields were interesting, but because if he so much as glanced at the driver’s seat for more than a second, he was finished. It should’ve been illegal to look that good while doing something as simple as driving.

Est had sunglasses perched on his nose, one hand loose on the steering wheel, the other resting carelessly on his thigh as if time itself bent for him. His shirt was thin, too thin, loose but not baggy — the kind of fabric that shifted with every small move, betraying glimpses of the body beneath. And the sun — that treacherous, shameless sun — poured over him, turning him into a portrait William could never afford to look at for long.

And yet he wanted to.

He wanted so badly it hurt.

This was torture. 

Every nerve in his body screamed to lean over, to beg Est to stop the car, to drag him into his lap and kiss him until they both forgot their own names. 

He wanted his hands on Est’s waist — that impossibly narrow waist that called to him every time Est moved — fingers digging in, anchoring, claiming. William’s palms twitched at the thought of gripping it, caging him in, feeling how narrow it was while pulling Est across the console into his lap. He wanted to pin him there and not let go.

He wanted to map the slope of his neck with his mouth, bite down hard enough to leave bruises that would bloom for days. 

He wanted to kiss him senseless, wanted to kiss the tiny mole above Est’s lips until it was raw from his mouth.

And those hands—fuck. 

William wanted them on him. Wanted to hold them, wanted to drag them across his chest, his throat, lower. He wanted to lace their fingers together until Est realized he wasn’t allowed to take it back.

The images wouldn’t stop. 

Bruises blooming under his mouth, across the line of Est’s throat, under his jaw, until Est couldn’t hide the fact that he was his.

Friend. Friend. Friend. 

The word looped through his thoughts  

He wasn’t supposed to lose control like this. However trapped in this car, every breath filled with Est’s quiet presence, William could only hold himself back so much longer. The word ‘friend’ had lightened a fuse that burnt brighter than the sun. 

He was supposed to know restraint. 

Yet nothing about this felt controllable. Nothing about Est made sense, except for the fact that William wanted him more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

His mind was betraying him, pulling him into darker, hungrier places with every mile. The thought of Est’s shirt riding up if he stretched, baring that slim waist, had William’s throat tight and his pulse thundering.

It was too much. All of it. The quiet, the intimacy, the nearness. After months of restraint, one word had unraveled William.

William had almost asked him to stop the car. Just pull over on the side of the road so William could lean over and kiss him senseless until neither of them remembered their own names. Either that, or William would have to open the door and throw himself onto the highway to preserve what was left of his dignity.

And somewhere, buried beneath the ache, a sharper promise bloomed: William was going to make him regret calling him ‘friend’.

But first he had to charm the parents. After all he was a gentleman.

The thoughts looped, relentless, until a gentle tap against his arm broke him out of it.

William turned his head, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Est was looking at him, brows drawn together behind those sunglasses, mouth pressed in quiet concern. His voice was low, calm, but edged with worry. “You okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Fuck. Even concerned, he looked devastating.

William managed to tilt his head, leaning it against the cool glass of the window like it could ground him. He forced himself to meet Est’s eyes—or at least the place where his eyes should’ve been behind the tinted lenses. 

“I’m fine,” William said softly, lips twitching with a faint smirk. “Just lost in my thoughts.”

Est hummed at that, a small sound in his throat, and turned back to the road. His profile was carved against the sunlight, sharp and effortless.

William’s heart thudded painfully. Say something Phi, he thought, irrationally desperate. Talk. I don’t care what about. Just keep talking so I have an excuse to look at you.

So he did the only thing he could: he asked questions. Simple, easy ones. “How long will it take? Where do you live? Have you been there since you were young? When did you start driving?”

Basic, maybe even boring, but William didn’t care. 

Every answer was another excuse to focus on Est’s mouth when it moved, on the slight purse of his lips when he was thinking. 

He tried to listen—really, he did—but his attention kept slipping. Back to the slope of Est’s jaw. The way his arm flexed as he turned the wheel. The sunglasses hiding his eyes, which only made William want to tear them off and see them properly.

The halo of sunlight behind him. 

Was that real, or just William’s imagination? He couldn’t tell anymore.

It was his delayed reaction—half a beat too slow to one of Est’s answers—that gave him away. 

Est turned his head briefly, just enough for a quick glance, and William knew he was caught. The look he was giving must’ve been dangerous, because Est’s ears went bright red before he quickly faced forward again.

William bit back a grin. He leaned closer, fingers brushing the side of Est’s ear, light enough to be a caress. “Phi,” he murmured, voice playful but warm, “are you blushing?.”

The effect was immediate. Est’s grip on the wheel tightened, his throat bobbed once, and his voice came out in a blur, almost tripping over itself: “Music. Let’s—uh—play music. You can connect your phone.”

William blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. It took him a second to process, then he chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. Phi Est really thought he could cover it up like that.

Still, William plugged in his phone. Soft music filled the car, a low thrum beneath the hum of the engine. It should have eased the tension, but it didn’t. If anything, it heightened it, turned silence into something charged, every beat of the bass syncing with the thud of William’s pulse.

He leaned back in his seat, trying to breathe past the thoughts crowding his head. Kiss him. Hold his hand. Touch him.

Est—to further distract William—reached for a bag beside him, dropped it onto William’s lap. “Snacks.”

William perked up, grateful for the distraction. He tore open a bag of chips, the smell immediately filling the car. He offered it to Est out of habit.

“I’ll eat when we stop to refuel,” Est said smoothly, eyes never leaving the road.

“Suit yourself,” William muttered, popping a chip into his mouth. He was halfway through the bag when an idea sparked—ridiculous, dangerous, but too tempting to resist.

He picked out a single chip, held it delicately between his fingers, and leaned forward, nudging it lightly against Est’s lips. “Here,” he said, voice low but teasing.

Est’s lips curved into the faintest smile. Without breaking focus on the road, he leaned in and bit the chip straight from William’s fingers.

William’s heart nearly stopped.

And that was it. That was how the rest of the ride turned into something unbearable and intoxicating all at once. One by one, he fed Est chips, cookies, even candy from the bag. 

Sometimes Est accepted with a quick glance and a small smile; sometimes he shook his head, lips twitching as if amused by William’s persistence. But William kept going, unable to stop himself, addicted to the tiny intimacy of it all.

The sight of Est chewing calmly while William’s fingers hovered dangerously close to his mouth was enough to make his stomach twist with butterflies. It was domestic in the simplest way, yet it left William dizzy. 

He imagined doing this a hundred times over: in dorm rooms, on couches, in kitchens, in cars. Feeding him, teasing him, sharing every mundane part of life until it wasn’t mundane anymore.

At one point, their fingers brushed as Est reached for the bag himself, and William’s breath caught. Est pulled back instantly, ears red again, but William only smiled—soft, full of something he couldn’t name.

By the time the bag was empty, William’s chest felt too tight, too full. The air between them was heavy with everything unsaid, every thought William bit back, every kiss he imagined but couldn’t take.

And all the while, the road stretched endlessly ahead, carrying them forward.

The air changed as soon as they left the main road.

The hum of the highway faded into the hush of waves and the rustle of palms bending lazily toward the shore. Afternoon light slipped through the windshield in wide gold bands, dancing across William’s face as he stirred awake. His cheek was stuck to the window, leaving a foggy patch on the glass. He blinked groggily, rubbed his eyes, and then froze.

The ocean was right there. Vast. Alive. The sun slipped over its waves like spilled paint. He blinked rapidly, pushing himself upright, his hair a rumpled mess.

“Oh—” His voice came out in a half-whisper, half-gasp. “We’re… we’re next to the beach?”

Est glanced at him, amused, one hand steady on the wheel. “You just noticed?”

For William, who had only ever known the cramped heartbeat of the city, this sight felt like a prize—like winning something he hadn’t even entered a contest for.

“What’s your house like? Is it near the beach? Do you walk here all the time? Did your parents always live here? How was it—”

“William.”

He stilled instantly, biting his lip. “Too much?”

Est shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. “No. I’ll answer.”

And he did. Patiently.

“My house is walking distance from the beach,” Est said, eyes flicking between the road and the horizon. “Two streets down. You can hear the waves if you leave the windows open.”

William hummed reverently, already picturing it. “That’s so unfair. Do you go every day?”

“Yes. Every day I’m here.”

William turned his head so fast his hair fell into his eyes. “Every single day?”

“Yes.” Est’s tone was casual, but something in it carried a certainty that made William’s heart skip.

“What about when you were little? You must’ve grown up surfing or… or running along the sand with Pooh as a puppy, right?”

Est’s lips quirked. “I actually grew up in the city. My parents only moved here after I started university. I didn’t have this when I was young.”

“Oh.” William blinked. “So… you discovered the beach later. That’s… that’s kind of perfect, Phi. Like you get to fall in love with it as an adult. Like finding something you didn’t know you needed.”

Est’s gaze lingered on him for a second longer than necessary before returning to the road. “Something like that.”

The closer they drew to Est’s house, the quieter William became. His palms pressed against his jeans, damp with sweat. His mind spun in anxious loops. Don’t trip. Don’t stutter. Don’t embarrass yourself in front of the in-laws. First impressions are everything.

Mochi’s carrier sat on his lap, the cat glaring through the slits as if sensing his spiraling. William whispered to her, “Okay, you have to behave, alright? No claws. No drama. If I faint, cover for me.” Mochi blinked slowly, utterly unconcerned.

The car turned down a narrow lane, flanked by palm trees and bursts of pink bougainvillea. Then Est slowed, pulling up in front of a two-story house that looked like it belonged in a postcard.

It wasn’t ostentatious. Whitewashed walls, sloping tiled roof, shutters painted a deep ocean blue. Wide windows glowed warm from the inside, lace curtains fluttering in the salty breeze. The front garden was a blend of neat hedges and wild tropical flowers, as if someone had tried to tame nature but still let it spill over in color. Beyond the house, William could hear it—the steady hush of waves, as though the sea itself breathed close by.

William swallowed hard. It’s beautiful. Too beautiful. What if I don’t belong here?

Est parked smoothly and unbuckled his seatbelt. William copied him with shaky fingers. The moment their car doors clicked shut, the front door burst open.

His parents.

It was as if they had been waiting, listening for the sound of tires on gravel. They stepped out together—Est’s father first, tall and broad-shouldered, his profile so like Est’s that William nearly did a double take. His mother followed, elegant and graceful, her beauty softened by warmth. And in that moment, William realized Est looked like both of them—his father’s height, his mother’s eyes.

“Mae, Paw,” Est said, his voice gentling as he strode forward.

William froze. His knees locked. He clutched Mochi’s carrier like a lifeline. Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Smile. Wai properly. First impression—oh god.

He followed slowly, heart thudding. Est hugged his parents easily, and then they turned toward him.

This was it.

William bent slightly, palms pressed together in a wai, voice low. “Sawasdee krub, Mae, Paw.”

He didn’t even get to finish before Est’s mother bypassed every ounce of formality and enveloped him in her arms.

William melted. Instantly. It wasn’t just a hug—it was warmth, safety, a grounding he hadn’t realized he’d been craving. He sagged into her embrace as if he had been waiting for it all along. Oh. Oh. So this is what it feels like to be welcomed.

“William,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “It’s so nice to finally see you. Come, come, you must be hungry. We cooked so much—we didn’t know what you liked, so we made everything.”

Est, anticipating the chaos, smoothly took Mochi’s carrier from William’s trembling hands.

His father gave a firm nod, but even that felt approving rather than intimidating. “You’re welcome here, William.”

And just like that, the anxiety evaporated.

William straightened, grin breaking free, eyes shining. “Really? Thank you! Everything smells amazing already—wait, can you really hear the ocean from inside the house? Is that true?”

His mother laughed, linking her arm with his. “You’ll see. Come inside and find out.”

They swept him along, a golden retriever finally let loose in a garden he’d dreamed about, answering their questions with enthusiasm, already asking his own in return. His voice carried bright and easy, his laughter bouncing against the whitewashed walls.

Est lingered a step behind, the late sun casting his profile in gold.

He watched William—how quickly he slipped into place, how his mother’s hand stayed at his back, how his father asked him about music and William lit up in answer. He could already hear them calling him “our William” by tomorrow.

And Est smiled to himself, small and certain.

He’ll be okay here. He’ll fit just right.

The house smelled like sunlight.

That was William’s first thought as he stepped through the doorway behind Est’s parents, his sneakers squeaking softly against polished wood. Afternoon light poured in from wide windows, stretching across the floor in golden ribbons, catching on framed photographs and vases of fresh flowers. It was so different from his own small, city-bound apartment. Here, every corner seemed open, breathing, alive.

“Wow,” William whispered before he could stop himself. “It’s so… bright. And warm.”

Est’s mother smiled over her shoulder. “We built the windows wide for that reason. I like when the house feels full of light.”

William nodded, still wide-eyed.

Then—a blur of golden fur.

“Pooh!” Est said just as his dog came bounding across the hallway, tail wagging furiously. But Pooh didn’t go to him.

He barreled straight toward William.

“Whoa—!” William laughed breathlessly, dropping fully to the floor and scratching behind Pooh’s ears. “Hey! Did you miss me?”

Est’s parents exchanged amused glances behind him.

Pooh barked once, happily, and pressed his snout against William’s cheek. William melted instantly, hugging the retriever.

Est lingered by the doorway, arms full—Mochi’s carrier in one hand now, their bags in the other. He was half-pouting, half-breathless. “I’m your son,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for no one but William to hear. “And no one even looked at me.”

William glanced up, catching his expression. For a moment, his chest softened—because yes, Est was carrying everything, huffing quietly, invisible while his dog betrayed him and his parents doted on someone else. William stood quickly, brushing Pooh’s fur from his jeans, and walked back toward him.

“Here, Phi.” His voice was gentle. He reached for Mochi’s carrier, careful fingers brushing Est’s wrist as he took it. “I’ll take this one. You already have the heavy stuff.”

Est blinked, caught off guard. Then, slowly, he shook his head, lips twitching like he couldn’t quite hide the joke. “I’m fine.”

But the warmth in his eyes said thank you.

They gathered in the living room. Est’s father leaned slightly forward, eyes fixed on the carrier William set on the floor.

“So this is Mochi?”

“Yes,” William said, a little nervously. He straightened his shoulders, determined to sound confident. “He’s very well behaved. Just… a little grumpy sometimes. But he won’t bite, I promise. If you’d like, I can keep him in a separate room so he doesn’t disturb anyone.”

“No, no,” Est’s father waved his hand, eyes bright. “I’m very excited to meet him.”

William exhaled a laugh, relief spilling out of him. He crouched again, unlatching the door of the carrier. “Alright, buddy,” he murmured. “First impression time. Please don’t embarrass me.”

The carrier door opened. Mochi slinked out, sleek black fur gleaming under the sunlight. His tail flicked once, his golden eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar space. His expression screamed annoyance: You woke me up for this?

William braced himself for the inevitable sulk.

Instead, Mochi turned—and walked straight to Est’s father.

“What—” William blinked. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait—Mochi?!”

Est froze, watched the normally aloof cat rub himself shamelessly against his dad’s leg. His father chuckled, crouching down to scratch gently behind Mochi’s ears. Mochi purred. Loudly.

William’s jaw dropped. “He doesn’t—he never—” His voice cracked with disbelief. “Phi Est, he doesn’t even do that for Phi Santa, and he bribes him with snacks every time he visits.”

Est could only stare, equally baffled. “I… don’t know what to say.”

They stood side by side, watching the impossible unfold—Mochi choosing his father as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

William muttered under his breath, “Traitor.”

Est huffed a quiet laugh, the sound curling warm in his chest despite the absurdity.

“Come,” Est said at last, tilting his head toward the stairs. “I’ll show you everything.”

William followed eagerly, Pooh trotting behind them, tail swishing. Every step was another distraction—photographs on the wall, shelves lined with books, the faint sound of waves threading in through open windows.

“Wait—wait, Phi.” William darted suddenly to the side, hair bouncing as he skidded to the nearest window. He pushed it open and leaned out, the breeze catching in his hair, making it flutter like golden silk.

“I can hear the ocean from here,” he whispered, awe thick in his voice. “This is so cool.”

Est stopped on the stairs, gaze fixed on him. For a moment, everything else faded—the brightness of the house, the sound of Pooh padding softly behind them, even the sea itself. All Est could see was William, bathed in sunlight, smiling like the world had just handed him its biggest secret.

He looks so happy, Est thought. And he’s in my house.

By the time they reached the upstairs hallway, William was practically vibrating with curiosity, pausing at every door like he wanted to peek into each one. Est finally stopped in front of a white door and pushed it open.