Chapter 10
PART 2 – EST
Est had always understood structure.
Not just in the architectural sense—but in the quiet, underlying way systems held themselves together. Cause and consequence. Risk and return. The delicate balance between vision and execution.
The office on the top floor of the company’s headquarters reflected that understanding perfectly—glass walls, clean lines, a view that stretched across the city like a living blueprint. Everything had its place. Everything served a purpose.
Including him.
“Projected return over five years?” Est asked, eyes scanning the documents in front of him without missing a beat.
“Conservative estimate—twelve percent,” one of the directors replied.
“Too optimistic,” Est said calmly. “Adjust for market volatility in the second quarter. And factor in zoning delays—we’re underestimating regulatory friction.”
There was a pause.
Then quiet agreement.
Pens moved. Tablets lit up. Notes were taken. Est didn’t raise his voice. He never needed to. Authority, for him, had never been about volume. It was about clarity.
The meeting continued—figures, projections, timelines layered over one another like a carefully constructed composition. Est listened, spoke when necessary, corrected when required. His mind moved quickly, efficiently, mapping possibilities and outcomes before they were fully formed on the table.
Chief Strategy Officer.
The title had settled onto him seamlessly.
Not because it was easy—but because it was expected. Because he had prepared for it long before it was officially his. Because responsibility, like structure, was something he had learned to carry without complaint.
When the meeting ended, the room emptied gradually, leaving behind the quiet hum of air conditioning and the distant pulse of the city below.
Est remained seated. For a moment—just a moment—he let the silence exist.
Then his phone buzzed.
He didn’t need to look. He already knew.
William:
I parked slightly crooked because there is only a small space available, but i think it’s still socially acceptable
Est’s gaze dropped to the screen. A pause. Then—without thinking—his mouth curved. Just slightly.
Est had always believed that people could be placed into categories. Not in a cold or dismissive way—but in a practical one. It made things easier. Clearer. Efficient. There were colleagues, acquaintances, family, obligations. Each came with a set of expectations, a range of responses, a structure he could rely on.
For years, William had belonged to one of the simplest categories.
His mother’s best friend’s son.
Younger. Bright. A little too expressive for Est’s preference.
Someone who hovered at the edges of family gatherings—laughing too loudly, speaking too quickly, tripping over things that weren’t there. Someone Est acknowledged politely, occasionally entertained out of courtesy, and then set aside without much thought.
There had never been a need to think further.
Not then.
Not before the word engagement entered the conversation and quietly dismantled the boundaries Est had placed around him. Because William, once easily defined, refused to remain that way.
He hadn’t entered Est’s life like a disruption. He had entered like light.
Unpredictable.
Warm.
Impossible to ignore once noticed.
Someone who felt things openly—too openly, perhaps. Someone who stood in contrast to everything Est had learned to be.
And yet—
William had never been difficult to understand.
Est stepped out of his office, moving through the corridor with the same composed rhythm he carried everywhere. Employees greeted him politely; he acknowledged them with small nods, brief words, a presence that was steady without being distant.
But his thoughts—
They were already elsewhere. Downstairs. In the parking area. Where a car was, apparently, slightly crooked.
William leaned against the vehicle when Est found him, arms crossed, posture trying very hard to be casual.
Failing. Spectacularly.
“Define ‘socially acceptable,'” Est said as he approached.
William straightened immediately. “It’s within the lines.”
“Barely.”
“It’s technically correct.”
Est glanced at the car, then back at him. “You’re improving.”
William blinked. “That sounded like praise.”
“It was.”
“…Wow.”
Est opened the passenger door. “I don’t give it often.”
“I’ll frame this moment,” William said, sliding into the driver’s seat. “First official compliment from CSO Est Supha.”
Est closed the door, settling into his seat with quiet ease. “Don’t exaggerate.”
“I’m not exaggerating. This is history.”
Est looked at him. Really looked. At the way William’s eyes brightened when he spoke. At the way his hands moved—expressive, unfiltered. At the way he filled space without trying to control it.
“…Drive,” Est said.
The car moved steadily through the late afternoon traffic, the city glowing in soft gold and muted shadows. Est sat in the passenger seat, hands resting loosely against his thighs.
Across from him—William.
Still the same, in many ways. Still tapping the steering wheel when he thought too much. Still pretending to be composed while his ears betrayed him. Still speaking in bursts—either too fast or not at all.
But no longer easy to categorize.
Est watched him—not obviously, not in a way that would disrupt the quiet—but with the same attention he gave to things worth understanding.
William had made his feelings clear. Not through grand confessions, although he did sliped out. But more through persistence. Through presence. Through the simple, undeniable act of staying.
Est understood intention. He recognized effort when he saw it. And William’s had never been subtle—not in emotion, not in action. It was there in every early morning drive, every careful attempt at conversation, every failed but sincere effort to meet Est halfway.
It would have been easy to dismiss it. To accept the engagement as obligation, to maintain distance, to let things unfold according to expectation rather than choice.
But Est had chosen otherwise. Not because he was certain. But because William deserved that much.
William talked. About a professor who had confused an entire class. About a new composition idea that refused to resolve properly. About Keen doing something dramatic (again) and Sea pretending not to encourage it (but absolutely encouraging it).
Est listened. He always listened. Not passively. But attentively.
He noticed patterns in William’s words the same way he noticed patterns in market data—what repeated, what shifted, what mattered.
“You’re quiet,” William said suddenly, glancing at him.
“I’m listening.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“You say that often.”
“Because it is.”
Est’s gaze softened—barely. “Why?”
William hesitated. Then shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “Because when you listen, you… notice things.”
Est held his gaze for a second. “Yes,” he said simply.
William looked away first. Of course he did.
There was a time when Est believed relationships—especially ones arranged, structured, expected—were things to be managed. Defined Contained.
Executed correctly.
Now—
He wasn’t so sure.
Because William didn’t fit into structures. He disrupted them. Bent them. Lit them differently. And somehow—Est found himself… adjusting.
Not losing control. But allowing space.
The car slowed at a red light. William tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, then—without looking—said, “You had a long day?”
“Yes.”
“Tired?”
“A little.”
A pause.
Then William reached into the cup holder, picked up a bottled drink, and held it out.
“For you.”
Est looked at it. Then at him. “…You planned this?”
William shrugged. “Maybe.”
“…Maybe.”
Est took the bottle. Their fingers brushed. William stilled—just for a second. Est noticed.
“Thank you,” Est said. Simple. But meant.
William smiled.
Bright. Unfiltered.
Like light finding its way through something carefully built.
The light turned green, and the car moved again—slow, steady, slipping back into the rhythm of the city. William’s fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel again, then stopped, then started again.
“You’re thinking,” Est said, voice calm.
William huffed softly. “That sounds like an accusation.”
“It usually is.”
“…Rude.”
A pause. Then—”There’s this thing,” William said, a little too casually.
Est glanced at him.
“On campus,” William continued, eyes fixed very deliberately on the road. “End-of-year stage. Like… performances. Music department, arts, everything combined.”
Est hummed. “Mm.”
“I got picked for the main stage.”
Est didn’t react immediately. Then—quietly—”I know.”
William blinked. “You—what?”
“It was in the internal bulletin,” Est said. “Top performers. Your name was there.”
William stared at the road, then groaned softly. “That’s embarrassing.”
“It’s an achievement.”
“Same thing,” William muttered.
Est’s gaze lingered on him for a second longer than necessary.
“…You’re proud,” Est said.
William scoffed. “I am stressed.”
“That too.”
A few seconds passed, then a few more—William clearly circling something in his head. Est let him. He had learned, over the past month, that William would speak when he was ready. Pressing only made him spiral faster.
“…So,” William tried again, “it’s next week.”
“Mm.”
“I’ll be there all day.”
“Of course.”
“And—uh—” William’s fingers slipped slightly on the wheel before he corrected himself. “It’s open audience.”
There it was. Est almost smiled.
Almost.
“…You’re informing me,” he said, tone even.
“I’m just saying,” William replied quickly. “In case you… happen to be free.”
“I see.”
A small pause. Then, gently—”You want me to come.”
William immediately stiffened. “But, I’m not forcing you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll come,” Est said after a moment.
William blinked. “…You will?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No added weight. Just a decision.
William’s shoulders relaxed—just slightly. “You’re busy.”
“I can adjust.”
“Oh.”
Est glanced at him briefly. “Is that a problem?”
“No—no, it’s just—” William exhaled. “Thanks.”
A beat.
Then Est added, lightly, “You’re easy to read when you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You are.”
“I’m driving perfectly fine.”
“That’s not the point.”
William huffed under his breath, but Est could see the corner of his mouth lifted anyway.
They drove a little further before William spoke again, this time softer. “I haven’t picked the song yet.”
Est leaned back slightly in his seat. “You usually decide early.”
“I know.”
“So?”
William hesitated. “Nothing feels… right.”
Est didn’t interrupt.
“I try something,” William continued, eyes fixed ahead, “and it sounds fine. Technically good. But it doesn’t… stay.” He tapped his chest lightly. “It doesn’t feel like me.”
Est watched the small, unconscious gesture. “…Then it isn’t,” he said.
William frowned slightly. “That’s not helpful.”
“It is,” Est replied calmly. “You’re choosing based on what sounds good, not what fits.”
William sighed. “I want it to mean something.”
“Then choose something you won’t have to pretend with.”
William went quiet. The car filled with a softer silence this time—one that lingered, thoughtful rather than empty. The sky outside the car has turned completly dark. Not only because it was nighttime already, but because the weather suddenly choose to flip its mood. Est could see the light drizzle was starting to touch the car.
“…You make it sound simple,” William said after a while.
“It isn’t,” Est said. “But it’s clearer.”
William let out a breath, leaning back slightly. “You’re always good at this.”
“At what?”
“Making things make sense without actually explaining them.”
Est’s lips curved faintly. “That’s called efficiency.”
Another pause. Then—because he was still William, still himself despite everything—he added, “If I completely mess up, you’re legally obligated to pretend it was good.”
Est raised a brow. “Legally?”
“Yes. Fiancé contract clause number twelve.” Ears red. Est noticed.
“I don’t remember signing that.”
“You implied consent.”
Est smiled slightly. “Then I’ll revise it,” he said. “I’ll tell you the truth.”
William groaned. “You’re the worst.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I might not.”
“You will.”
“And, I won’t laugh,” Est said finally.
William nodded, satisfied in a way he didn’t quite hide.
As the car moving forward, the rain that was ones only a hesitant drops, was now crashed into the world. Water slammed against the windshield in sudden, relentless sheets, so loud it swallowed the city whole. The road blurred instantly, lights dissolving into streaks of gold and red, the rhythm of the wipers struggling to keep up with the sky’s decision to fall apart all at once. Thunder rolled somewhere far off, low and distant.
William flinched. Not dramatically—just enough for Est to notice. He let out a soft, startled laugh. “Okay—wow. That escalated quickly,” tightening his grip on the steering wheel.
Est sat in the passenger seat, one arm resting loosely against the door, gaze steady on the storm ahead. “You’re okay?”
William huffed softly, forcing a small, confident tilt to his voice. “Please. I’m a perfectly capable driver.”
A beat.
Then—
“…In normal weather,” he added.
William drove. Est sat in the passenger seat, watching.
He had seen William in many versions by now—flustered, bright, deflecting, bold in bursts and then immediately undone by his own courage—but this version was… different. Hands steady on the wheel. Shoulders slightly squared. Eyes focused, sharp despite the chaos outside.
There was still sunlight in him.
Just… steadier now.
“You handle it well,” Est said, almost absently, gaze shifting from the rain to William’s profile.
William blinked, startled. “Handle what? The rain or—uh—this very dramatic near-apocalyptic driving condition?”
“Both.”
A beat.
Then, quieter—because it felt true—
“You’re steadier than people think.”
William didn’t answer right away. No immediate joke. No deflection. Just a small, thoughtful silence that settled between them, wrapped in the rhythm of the wipers and the roar of rain. Est leaned back slightly in his seat, watching the way William’s fingers adjusted subtly on the wheel, the small flick of his gaze toward mirrors, the careful control beneath the chaos.
Est had been noticing more lately.
How William wasn’t just bright—but deliberate. Not just chaotic—but careful in ways people didn’t look long enough to see.
The entrance to Est’s condominium appeared ahead—sleek, discreet, guarded. William turned in smoothly, the car gliding down into the underground parking. The storm vanished the moment they passed beneath concrete. No rain. No wind. Just the soft echo of tires against polished floor.
Quiet. Contained. Safe.
William parked, exhaling softly like he had been holding his breath longer than he realized. “Wow,” he muttered. “That rain came with personal vendetta energy.”
Est hummed faintly. “It tends to.”
William unbuckled quickly—too quickly. “So—uh—like always—I’ll just drop you here—”
“Come up,” Est said.
Simple.
Calm.
Like it wasn’t a sentence that could rearrange someone’s heartbeat.
William froze mid-motion, blinked. “What?”
Est turned his head slightly, meeting his eyes. “You’ll just drive back in that?” he nodded faintly toward the direction of the storm above, still faintly audible through layers of concrete. “The rain’s not stopping anytime soon,” Est said calmly. “Come up. We can wait it out. I’ll make something warm.”
A pause.
William’s ears turned red in real time.
“…You’re inviting me to your condo,” he said, like he needed to hear it again to believe it.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No correction. Just that.
William swallowed. “That’s—very… efficient. Weather-based decision. Safety first.”
Est’s subtle smile sliped out.
They stepped out of the car together, the underground parking stretching wide and quiet around them. The lighting was soft, the air cool, the space too pristine to feel entirely real. Everything about it was… expensive. Not loud about it. But undeniable. The kind of wealth that didn’t need to prove itself.
They walked side by side toward the private lift lobby, their footsteps echoing faintly. William glanced around once—quick, subtle—but Est caught it anyway.
“Too much?” Est asked lightly.
William shook his head immediately. “No—no, I mean—” he gestured vaguely, “it’s just… very you.”
Est raised a brow. “Is that supposed to mean something specific?”
William hesitated—then, because he had been trying (failing, but still trying) to be braver—
“…Refined,” he said. “Calm. Slightly intimidating. Expensive taste.”
A beat. Then, quieter, almost under his breath—
“…Attractive.”
Est heard it. Of course he did. The corner of his mouth lifted—just barely. “Come,” He cut in gently, pressing the elevator button.
The doors slid open with a soft chime. They stepped inside. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting them from every angle—William, slightly disheveled but trying to stand straighter; Est, composed as ever, hands relaxed at his sides.
Too close. Not touching. But close enough to feel it.
William noticed the reflection—and immediately looked away.
Est didn’t. He watched. Studied the quiet picture they made. Something about it lingered. Something that didn’t feel… temporary anymore.
The elevator began its smooth ascent. Outside, rain streaked faintly down distant glass—barely visible from this height. Inside, the air was still.
William shifted slightly. “Your place is… high up, right?”
“Mm.”
“Like—’watch the whole city suffer in aesthetic silence’ kind of high?”
Est let out the faintest breath of amusement. “Something like that.”
William nodded, as if that made complete sense, even though his fingers were fidgeting slightly at his side.
Est noticed that too.
The door clicked open with a soft, precise sound. Est stepped in first, slipping off his shoes with practiced ease. “You can come in,” he said, already reaching to place his keys in the tray by the console.
William hovered at the threshold for half a second too long. Est turned. William was still there—one foot inside, one foot out—like he had accidentally wandered into a museum exhibit labeled Do Not Touch Anything.
“…It won’t bite,” Est said.
William blinked. “You don’t know that. This place looks like it has security clearance.”
Est smiled. “Shoes off,” he added instead, nodding lightly toward the side.
“Oh—right.” William scrambled a little too quickly, nearly losing balance as he tugged off one shoe, then the other. He caught himself at the last second, one hand landing briefly against the wall.
A pause.
“…I meant to do that,” William muttered.
“Of course,” Est replied calmly. He turned away before the smile fully reached his mouth.
The condo was quiet. Not empty—never empty—but quiet in the way space becomes when it is carefully kept. Soft lighting traced along the ceiling edges. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, revealing a rain-washed city glowing under blurred lights. The furniture was minimal, clean-lined, intentional.
Everything had a place.
Everything was in place.
William stood in the middle of it like a misplaced exclamation point.
“…Wow,” he breathed.
Est watched him take it in—not the expensive fixtures, not the view, but the feeling of it. William turned slowly, eyes bright, steps light but cautious like he was afraid he might disrupt the air.
“It’s… very you,” William said again, softer this time.
Est leaned slightly against the counter, arms loose. “You’ve said that already.”
“I’m saying it again for emphasis,” William replied, then immediately walked two steps forward—
—and bumped his knee lightly against the edge of the coffee table.
“…Ow.”
Silence.
“You’re okay?” Est asked, tone neutral.
William straightened instantly. “Yes. Absolutely. That was—intentional spatial awareness testing.”
Est let the corner of his mouth lift this time.
“I see.”
William rubbed his knee discreetly, then immediately tried to recover his dignity by turning toward the windows. “The view is amazing,” he said, voice just a little too bright.
Est watched him. The way he redirected. The way he refused to sit still inside embarrassment. The way he tried—earnestly, disastrously—to hold himself together. It was… entertaining. More than that.
It was—
Comfortable.
“I’ll make tea,” Est said, pushing himself off the counter.
“Tea is good,” William replied, already drifting a step closer to the glass wall. “Tea is safe. Tea doesn’t judge.”
Est moved quietly through the kitchen, filling the kettle, the soft sound of water threading through the space. Behind him, William continued to orbit—looking, observing, existing in small bursts of energy.
“I know you only started living in the condo full-time after you became a graduate student, even though Uncle gifted it to you when you were undergraduate’s. But, do you always live alone?” William asked.
“I see you are fully informed. I guess the gossips every month with Earn works.” Est teased.
William’s ears has turned crimson red.
“And… Yes.”
“No secret roommate? Hidden chaos? Emergency emotional support plant?”
Est glanced over his shoulder. “There’s a plant.”
William perked up immediately. “Where?”
Est nodded toward a corner near the window.
William walked over—carefully this time—and crouched slightly to inspect it. “Oh. It’s… thriving.”
“It survives,” Est corrected.
“That’s thriving in adult terms.”
Est exhaled a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.
The kettle clicked. Steam curled into the air. Est poured the tea with steady hands, letting the rhythm settle him. Behind him, William had stood back up—and was now examining a shelf.
A mistake.
Est knew it the moment he saw the trajectory.
“Don’t—” he started.
Too late.
William reached for a small decorative object—a smooth, abstract sculpture—and immediately fumbled the grip.
“—touch that,” Est finished calmly.
The sculpture slipped—
William caught it—
barely—
held it like it was a newborn life form.
“I SAVED IT,” William whispered urgently.
Est walked over, took the object gently from his hands, and set it back in place. “…Thank you for your service,” Est said.
William placed a hand over his chest. “I risked everything.”
“I could see that.”
A beat.
Then Est handed him a cup of tea. Their fingers brushed—brief, warm. William stilled. Just for a second.
They moved toward the living area, sitting opposite each other—but not too far. Close enough for conversation. Close enough for quiet to mean something. Rain tapped faintly against the glass now, softer than before.
William cradled the cup in both hands like it grounded him. “…You do this often?” he asked.
“Invite people over during storms?” Est tilted his head slightly. “No.”
“Oh.”
Another pause. William looked down at his tea. “…Special weather privilege,” he added, trying to sound casual.
Est’s gaze lingered on him. “You could say that. And well, you are my fiance.”
William’s ears turned red again. Est looked away first this time. Not because he had to. Because something about that—about William sitting there, warm light catching on his features, trying and failing to be composed inside a space that wasn’t built for him but somehow fit him anyway—
—it settled too easily.
Too naturally.
Est leaned back slightly, lifting his own cup. He had invited William up because of the rain, and like he said, William is his fiance. He couldn’t just let the boy go in a such bad weather. Beside, Est thought it was about time he introduce his comfort place to the one that if everything go smoothly, will start living with him in months later or so.
That had been the reason. Practical. Simple.
But now—
Watching William attempt to sit properly, only to accidentally sip too quickly and burn his tongue—
“…hot,” William hissed under his breath, eyes squeezing shut.
—Est found himself… glad.
Quietly.
Unreasonably.
Glad the rain had come all at once.
__________________________________________
Hello guys! first of all, thank you for reading my story. I don’t know if the story serves well, but I have strong urge to improve my writing skills. I hope you enjoy the plot and the characters.
Second, I just want to inform you that I wrote this story into 4 parts. The previous 9 chapters in William’s pov was Part 1. This chapter will mark Part 2 which is in Est’s pov. I have so much fun writing in both characters’ pov, I hope you like it too.
Last but not least, please kindly leave a comment and vote if you enjoy it. It would mean so much to me.
Again, thank you for your support!