Chapter 6

Keen screamed.

Not metaphorically.
Not internally.

Actually screamed.

“HE-” Keen slapped both palms on William’s dining table, eyes blazing like he had just uncovered a national conspiracy. “-WIPED YOUR FACE.”

William, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his laptop open and his soul barely intact, stared at the screen like it might save him.
“It was ice cream,” he said weakly. “There was… yogurt involved.”

“That is NOT THE POINT,” Keen said, already pacing. “Do you understand how intimate that is? That’s not friend behavior. That’s romantic lead behavior. That’s-“

Sea reached out without looking and gently hooked a finger into Keen’s belt loop, anchoring him before he could ascend into full delusion.
“Sit,” Sea said calmly.

Keen sat.
Immediately.
Like a well-trained feral cat.

William watched the exchange with tired fondness. This-this-was why he trusted them. And also why he feared them.

They were sprawled in William’s recreation room on a lazy Sunday afternoon, notebooks open, iced drinks sweating onto coasters. Upcoming final exams were technically the reason they were here. Technically. In reality, William had barely survived twenty-four hours with this information alone.

He had cracked sometime between breakfast and his third cup of tea.

“So,” Keen said, leaning forward again, calmer now but only marginally less unhinged. “Tell it again. Slowly. With details.”

William sighed, pressed two fingers to his temple, and tried to sound like a person who hadn’t been emotionally rearranged by a man with good lighting.
“We went to the movies. He chose an action film because I kept staring at the poster. We shared popcorn. He flipped the armrest up. We ate dinner. We walked around. He-” William paused, heat creeping up his neck. “-called me his fiancé. Casually.”

Keen made a noise like a kettle reaching its breaking point.

Sea, meanwhile, tilted his head slightly. Observing. Always observing.

“And how did he say it?” Sea asked.

William blinked. “What?”

“The word,” Sea clarified. “Fiancé. Was it heavy? Formal? Or… natural?”

William thought back to Est’s voice. Calm. Even. Like he was talking about the weather. Like the word belonged there.

“…Natural,” he admitted quietly.

Keen’s eyes went feral again. “I TOLD YOU.”

“Not yet,” Sea said, squeezing Keen’s knee with just enough pressure to keep him grounded. Then he turned back to William. “And the flirting?”

William hesitated.

That hesitation said everything.

“He teased me,” William said softly. “But gently. Like… like he was enjoying it. Not mocking. Just-” He searched for the right word. “-present.”

Sea’s mouth curved. Just a little. Smug, but earned.

Keen leaned back, arms crossed. “Okay. So let’s review. Est Kaewpanpong. King of emotional restraint. Man who barely touches people. Wipes your face. Calls you fiancé. Picks movies based on your eyes sparkling.”

William groaned. “Please stop listing it like that.”

“That is LIST-WORTHY behavior,” Keen insisted. “Conclusion: He’s in love with you.”

Sea sighed. “Keen.”

“What? Let me have this.”

Sea leaned back, voice calm as still water. “He may not be in love. Not yet.” William’s heart dipped. Then Sea continued, “But he is opening something. You don’t do those things casually if your heart is locked.”

William stared at his hands.

Sea’s tone softened. “Think about it, Will. Est doesn’t rush. He doesn’t perform. If he’s stepping closer-slowly, carefully-that’s not politeness. That’s intention.”

Keen nodded furiously. “A cautious man opening his heart is way scarier than a dramatic one.”

William laughed despite himself. Quiet, breathy. “You two make it sound like a prophecy.”

Sea smiled. “We’re not prophets.”

Keen grinned. “We’re narrators.”

Silence settled-not awkward, just thoughtful.

William leaned back against the couch, gaze drifting toward the window, where afternoon light spilled gold across the floor. His chest felt lighter than it had in weeks. Hope still scared him. It always would. But now it felt… less sharp. More gentle.

“I don’t want him to accept this because he feels obligated,” William said quietly. “I want him to choose me.”

Sea’s voice was steady. “Then let him.”

Keen softened, reaching over to flick William’s shoulder. “And stop underestimating yourself. You’re not some inconvenient obligation.”

William smiled. Small. Real.

Outside, the day moved on. Inside, something shifted. William thought-

Maybe this wasn’t a cage.
Maybe it was a door.

~*~

The house barely had time to settle after Keen and Sea left.

William was halfway through reorganizing sheet music he had already reorganized twice when his phone buzzed.

Earn:
I’m coming over.

No greeting. No explanation. Just inevitability. William smiled anyway.

William:
You usually pretend to ask first, P’.

Earn:
I did. In my heart.
Bring snacks. And your opinion.

William:
That’s two things.

Earn:
Exactly.

Before he could reply, the distant sound of the front gate opening drifted through the house, followed by familiar footsteps-unhurried, confident, utterly at home. The staff greeted her by name, voices warm and fond. Unlike Est, Earn had come to William’s house regularly, not only for the family’s monthly gatherings. Slipping between the two estates like a shared secret. Thus why William had such a close relationship with her.

Earn appeared in the doorway moments later, sunglasses perched on her head, tote bag threatening structural failure from the weight of sketchbooks and fabric samples.

“BABY!” she announced brightly. “I brought my future.”

William leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Does your future always look like it needs its own assistant P’? And please stop with the baby.”

“Don’t be rude. Why, now that you have my brother you don’t want anyone else calling you ‘baby’ anymore?” Earn said, grinning as she stepped closer-and promptly wrapped her arms around him in a hug that was quick, tight, and familiar. William hugged her back just as easily, the motion instinctive, practiced over years of shared meals, shared jokes, shared silences.

“Don’t tease me P’. You eat?” he asked automatically.

Earn pulled back, eyebrows lifting. “Wow. You’re officially old.”

“You’re older than me,” William shot back.

“By a year,” she said proudly. “Which makes me wise.”

“And loud.”

“And charming.”

She breezed past him into the sitting room, already kicking off her shoes. A maid appeared as if summoned by habit, offering tea. Earn accepted with a cheerful thank you, William with a nod.

Earn dumped her bag onto the coffee table and sat cross-legged on the rug, immediately pulling out sketches like a magician with an endless scarf. William joined her on the floor, back against the sofa, peering over her shoulder.

“Okay,” she said, serious now. “Graduation collection. I’m stuck.”

William hummed, eyes scanning the pages. Clean lines. Bold silhouettes. Confident colors. Very Earn-and yet. “What’s the theme?” he asked.

“Becoming,” she said. “That in-between. When you’re not who you were, but not who you’ll be either.”

William tilted his head. “Then why does this look so sure of itself?”

Earn frowned. “It does?”

“Yeah,” he said gently, tapping a pencil against one sketch. “It’s beautiful, but it already knows where it’s going. That stage you’re talking about? It should hesitate a little.”

She stared at the page, then back at him. “Hesitate how?”

“Looser stitching. Unexpected layers. Something that looks like it could change its mind halfway through.”

Earn’s eyes lit up-not dramatically, but with that quiet spark that meant something had clicked. “You always do this,” she muttered.

“Do what?”

“Say things that sound like feelings but somehow turn into clothes.”

He smiled. “You say things that sound like clothes but are actually feelings, P’.”

She laughed, leaning into his shoulder without thinking. “That’s why I like you. P’Est thinks in straight lines.”

William snorted softly. “He does.”

They worked like that for a while-Earn sketching furiously, William offering comments, suggestions, the occasional dramatic gasp when she showed him a particularly daring idea. The room filled with the sound of pages turning, pencil scratching, and the distant clink of teacups being collected.

“You know,” Earn said suddenly, not looking up, “I still think you should double major in fashion not management thing.”

William raised an eyebrow. “Well, quite late for that now isn’t it P’? Besides you know I had to take over the company someday, that’s why Dad wanted me to double major in Art Management. And between music and fashion you know exactly where my heart always inclined.”

“Yeah, I know.” Earn sighed, “It’s just.. you’re such a natural fashionista, it’s a waste to not have you in a fashion world.”

“What can I say, apparently I’m good at everything.” William grinned, in which he earned a light punch from a giggling Earn.

“You and your confidence. Still a mystery to me how you seem so unsure whenever you’re around my brother.”

“Come on P’, we are talking about the perfect P’Est.” William gave Earn a meaningful gaze.

They were still on the floor when Earn leaned back on her palms and tilted her head, studying William with a look that was far too sharp for comfort.

“So,” she said lightly, sing-song almost. “Your date.”

William’s spine went straight. “You’re very persistent for someone who came here to talk about hemlines.”

“I multitask,” Earn replied. “It’s a designer skill.”

He opened his mouth-probably to deflect, probably to lie gently-when his phone vibrated against the floor.

Once.
Twice.

His eyes flicked down before he could stop himself. Earn noticed immediately. “Oh,” she said. “That face.”

William frowned. “What face?”

“That face,” she repeated, pointing. “The one where your soul temporarily exits your body.”

He sighed and picked up his phone.

Est:
Do you have morning class tomorrow?
I need to go to campus to hand in some documents. I can pick you up if you want.

William stared. The room felt suddenly too bright. Too warm. His ears burned-an actual, physical heat that crept upward without permission.

He hadn’t replied yet when Earn leaned closer, peering at the screen upside down.

“Oho.”

“Don’t,” William warned weakly. Earn gasped dramatically. “He’s offering to pick you up? Voluntarily? Without a parental committee present?”

William locked his phone and pressed it to his chest like it might leap away. “It’s practical. He has to go anyway.”

“Mhm,” Earn hummed, eyes sparkling. “And your ears are red because?”

“It’s hot.”

“It’s air-conditioned.”

“…I hate you,” he muttered. She laughed, the sound warm and fond, then-unexpectedly-softened. The teasing drained from her expression like a tide pulling back, leaving something gentler behind.

“You know,” Earn said quietly, “I noticed.”

William looked at her. “Noticed what?”

She nudged his knee with hers. “You.”

He blinked.

“Way before the engagement talk,” she continued. “Before the adults decided to play chess with your futures.” Her smile was small, knowing. “You always watched him differently.”

William swallowed. “I wasn’t obvious.”

“You were,” Earn said kindly. “Just not loud about it. You’re not loud about anything important.”

He looked down at his hands, fingers loosely tangled together. “I don’t want him to do this because it’s… expected.” he admitted.

Earn reached out and squeezed his hand once-quick, grounding. Very her. “That’s why I’m happy for you,” she said. “Because you care about that.”

William looked up.

“And,” she added, voice softer still, “I hope-with you-that my brother learns how to return a feeling, not just honor it. Well, I think he has a good direction as of now.”

The words settled gently between them. William breathed out, something in his chest easing. “Thank you.”

She grinned again, mischief returning like it had only stepped out for tea. “Now,” she said, standing and grabbing her bag, “text him back before you combust.”

He hesitated. “What should I say?”

Earn slung her tote over her shoulder. “Say yes. Say thank you. Be you.”

She paused at the door, glancing back with a smile full of affection.

“And William?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m rooting for you. Loudly. Even if you’re not.”

When the door closed behind her, William looked down at his phone again-heart steady, hopeful-and finally typed a reply.

William:
Sure, I’d like that.
As long as it’s not troubling you.

William pressed the send button after quickly typed the last sentence, ears as red as his favorite car. He then went back upstairs slowly, the house breathing around him in its familiar, careful way.

The second floor was quiet in the way only very large houses could be—soft footsteps of staff somewhere far below, the faint hum of air-conditioning, doors opening and closing like polite secrets. His parents were still away on a business trip, two days and counting, which meant no cheerful voice calling his name, no calm questions from his father at dinner. Just space. Just time. Just thoughts with nowhere to hide.

He pushed open the glass door to his room and stepped onto the balcony.

The sun was already lowering itself toward the horizon, the sky bruised with orange and soft rose, clouds stretched thin like brushstrokes left unfinished. From up here, the city looked quieter than it really was—rooftops glowing, windows catching light like small held breaths.

William sat down, back against the railing, one knee drawn up, the other stretched out. He rested his forearms on his knee and let the evening settle over him.

His phone lay face-down beside him.

Est, his mind supplied anyway.

It always did.

Yesterday replayed itself with cruel clarity. The cinema lights. The way Est had noticed his eyes before William himself had realized he was staring. The calm, deliberate way Est chose the action movie—not teasing, not indulgent, just… attentive. The word couple said like it belonged to them, not like a joke. The way Est wiped ice cream from his face without thinking, then paused, as if the instinct surprised even him.

Small things.

Dangerous things.

William exhaled slowly.

Est had been different this past month. Not dramatically so—Est wasn’t a dramatic person—but enough that William noticed. Enough that it lodged itself under his ribs and refused to leave.

He asked questions now. Not the polite kind meant to fill silence, but the ones that lingered: about William’s classes, his music, why he liked certain colors, what kind of space made him feel calm. He listened, really listened, with that steady focus that made William feel like he mattered in the moment. He remembered things. He adjusted, subtly, like someone learning the shape of another person by touch alone.

It felt like effort.
And that terrified William.
Because effort could mean kindness. Because acceptance could grow from responsibility.

He pressed his head lightly back against the cool railing, eyes closing.

Was Est trying because he wanted to accept him—him, William, with all his chaos and warmth and too-much feelings—as a fiancé? Or was this simply Est being responsible, careful, preparing himself to fulfill an arrangement with as much grace as possible?

Both explanations fit Est too well.

That was the problem.

William laughed softly under his breath, a humorless sound. Everyone on campus knew him as confident. Charismatic. The kind of person who could walk into a room and bend it slightly around himself without trying. He negotiated deals for student projects, perform in front of crowds, smiled like he owned the world.

But Est—

Est dismantled him down to something smaller. Quieter. A version of himself that waited, hesitated, second-guessed every heartbeat. Around Est, William was suddenly all doubt. He wanted to believe so badly that the gentle teasing, the careful choices, the offered rides and quiet messages meant something more than obligation. He wanted to believe that when Est looked at him—really looked—it was not just because he was supposed to, but because he wanted to.

Yet a cautious voice in him whispered: Don’t assume. Don’t rush. Don’t turn kindness into promise.

William opened his eyes again, watching the sun slip lower, the light thinning. “If you’d just tell me,” he murmured to the sky, to Est, to the space where answers refused to live.

His phone buzzed again.

Once.

William’s heart jumped, traitorous and immediate.

He didn’t pick it up right away. Instead, he watched the last edge of the sun disappear behind the buildings, the sky deepening into gold and blue. He breathed in. Breathed out. Then—finally—he reached for the phone.

He glanced down.

Est:
It’s not a bother.
There’s also the end-of-year sports tournament tomorrow afternoon. You’ll be done by then, right?
We could watch together.

William forgot how to breathe.

The city below him blurred, lights smearing into soft gold as his pulse climbed too fast, too sudden. Pick him up. Watch together. Not an obligation. Not a family arrangement. Another invitation.

His thumb hovered, traitorous, trembling. This—this—was different. Because Est didn’t have to ask the second part. Could’ve simply offered a ride, kept things neat and polite and safe. But he didn’t. He extended the day. Claimed the hours after. Wanted time that wasn’t required.

William swallowed. He typed slowly this time, choosing honesty over composure.

William:
I have Theory at nine.
I’d like that. Both of it.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Est:
Good.
I’ll be there at 8:15.
And… I heard the finals might be loud. You can leave early if you get tired.

William let out a breath that turned into a quiet laugh, one hand coming up to cover his mouth like that might hold his heart in place.

He texted back—

William:
You’re assuming I won’t be cheering.

A pause.

Then—

Est:
I wouldn’t mind seeing that.

William dropped the phone onto his lap and stared at the darkening sky like it had personally betrayed him.

Effort.

There it was again—unmistakable this time.

Not grand. Not dramatic. Just deliberate. Gentle. Est noticing where William would be, what he might enjoy, what he might need. Est offering space beside him instead of standing a careful distance away.

Tomorrow, Est would come for him. Tomorrow, they would sit side by side in the stands, watching something loud and uncomplicated, shoulder to shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tomorrow, William would smile. Joke. Cheer. Be himself, hopefully.

Tonight, alone beneath the stars, he allowed himself one fragile truth:

He was scared.

And he was hopeful.

And somehow—both felt like love.