Chapter 19
The strange thing about happiness, William discovered, was that it didn’t always arrive loudly. Sometimes it arrived on a Tuesday morning. Sometimes it sat in the passenger seat of his car. Sometimes it wore expensive suits and drank coffee before sunrise.
And somehow—life continued afterward.
Classes started too early. Assignments still appeared from nowhere. Sea still sent campus notification messages at five in the morning. Keen still treated every problem as a potential comedy routine. The world hadn’t changed. Yet William found himself smiling more often these days. Not because everything suddenly became perfect. But because Est had quietly become part of his daily life. The realization still surprised him sometimes. Especially during mundane moments. The ones nobody wrote songs about.
Like waiting at traffic lights. Or standing outside Est’s condo building before work. Or receiving random messages throughout the day.
Eat lunch.
Meeting running late.
Drive safely.
Simple things. Small things. Yet somehow they mattered. A lot.
The semester had officially started two weeks ago. William’s final year. His final year. The thought still felt slightly unreal.
Years of classes.
Projects.
Performances.
Exams.
Now suddenly he could see the finish line.
Unfortunately—because the universe apparently enjoyed suffering—William happened to be pursuing two majors. Meaning while everyone around him complained about normal assignment loads, William received approximately double the academic violence. Every professor seemed determined to prove their course deserved exclusive ownership of his remaining free time. None of them appeared aware that other professors existed. Or that students required sleep. Or happiness. Or basic human rights.
Meanwhile, beyond campus life—there was Est. His fiancé. The word still occasionally short-circuited William’s brain. Not because the engagement was new anymore. But because the reality of it kept settling deeper.
Especially after Singapore.
Something had shifted there. Nothing dramatic. No grand confession. No life-changing declaration. Yet afterward, their relationship had begun moving forward naturally. Steadily. Like two people finally walking in the same direction instead of cautiously circling around each other.
William found himself becoming bolder too. Not intentionally. It simply happened. One morning while dropping Est off at work, he had kissed Est’s cheek before thinking. Immediately regretted it. Prepared for embarrassment.
Instead—
Est had merely looked at him for several seconds. Then calmly adjusted his tie and left the car.
Five minutes later, William received a message.
You almost made me late.
Attached underneath: a rare smiling emoji.
William had nearly driven into a pole.
After that, things escalated. Not dramatically. Just naturally. A brief kiss before separating for work. An arm around shoulders during family gatherings. Casual touches. Moments that would’ve been impossible months ago. The most shocking part? Est initiated some of them now.
Not often.
But enough.
Enough to leave William staring at walls afterward.
Singapore had done something to both of them. Perhaps because it had been their first trip together. Perhaps because it was their first time together. Whatever the reason—William liked the result. Very much. Of course—some consequences had followed. Specifically: Earn. The human embodiment of curiosity.
Three days after returning from Singapore, Earn had cornered William during a family dinner. Literally cornered him. Kitchen. No escape route.
Terrifying.
“So.”
William immediately knew he was doomed.
“So?” he repeated weakly.
“Singapore.”
Dangerous topic.
William attempted retreat. Failed. Earn blocked him.
“Something happened.”
Not a question.
A statement.
William remembered staring at her in complete disbelief. Because honestly—how did she keep doing this?
“You’re scary.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’ll accept it anyway.”
Then somehow, through increasingly aggressive questioning and William’s complete inability to lie convincingly, Earn had extracted enough information to confirm her suspicions. Not details. Absolutely not. William valued his continued existence. But enough.
The moment realization appeared on Earn’s face, she had grabbed both of his shoulders dramatically.
“I KNEW IT.”
William remembered wanting the floor to swallow him whole. Then Earn had immediately started celebrating. Actually celebrating. As if she personally achieved something. She had looked genuinely happy. Happy for him. Happy for Est too. And somehow that memory still warmed William’s chest whenever he thought about it.
Life moved on afterward.
Campus.
Family.
Work.
Relationships.
The ordinary rhythm of everyday life. And for the first time in a very long time—William found himself looking forward to the future instead of merely imagining it.
Two weeks later.
William dropped his forehead directly onto the restaurant table.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Across from him, Est continued eating calmly. Unmoved.
“I submitted two assignments yesterday.”
“Hm.”
“I received three new ones today.”
“Hm.”
“One of them has a presentation.”
“Hm.”
William narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m listening.”
“No you’re not.”
“I am.”
“No.”
Est finally looked up from his food. The corners of his mouth lifted faintly. There. That smile. William still wasn’t entirely accustomed to it. Before Singapore, smiles from Est had always been rare. Subtle. Easy to miss. Now? They appeared more often. Not constantly. But enough. Enough that William had learned how different versions meant different things. This one meant amusement. Very specifically: William is being dramatic again.
“You’re smiling.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“See?”
“You’re proving my point.”
William sighed heavily. Then stole one of Est’s fries. Because justice needed representation.
The restaurant around them buzzed quietly with evening conversations while Bangkok traffic glowed outside the windows. It was already after eight. Both of them looked tired. Not exhausted. Just busy. Lately, finding time together had become surprisingly difficult. William had university. Est had work. And apparently every company in Thailand suddenly wanted meetings. Their schedules rarely aligned perfectly anymore. Most weekdays consisted of quick lunches. Coffee breaks. Late-night calls. Short drives. William fell asleep in Est’s bed so fast out of exhaustion. Small moments squeezed between responsibilities.
William missed Singapore a little. Not because he wanted another vacation. But because they had spent almost every day together there. Now real life had returned.
“How’s the entertainment project, Phi?” William asked eventually.
Est leaned back slightly.
“Moving forward.”
“Tired?”
“Always.”
William nodded knowingly. Then after a pause, “We should take another trip someday.”
The words slipped out naturally. Not a proposal. Not a plan. Just a thought. Yet Est didn’t dismiss it. Didn’t ignore it. Instead he looked like he considered it seriously.
Then said:
“We should.”
Simple answer. But something warm settled inside William immediately. Because months ago—Est would’ve said maybe. Or later. Or we’ll see. Now? Now he said we should. Like there would be future trips. Future plans. Future time together.
William smiled before looking down at his drink. Trying not to look too pleased. Failing completely. Across the table, Est noticed anyway. Naturally. And for a brief moment—while assignments, meetings, responsibilities, and adulthood waited patiently outside—they simply enjoyed dinner together.
Ordinary.
Comfortable.
William continued complaining. Naturally. “…and then Professor Narong said the first draft isn’t really a draft unless you’ve rewritten it three times.”
Est looked unimpressed, “That sounds reasonable.”
William stared.
“You’ve been corrupted by the corporate world, Phi.”
“I was born into the corporate world.”
“Exactly.”
Est smiled gently. “By the way,” he said.
Dangerous opening. William immediately became suspicious. “What?”
“There’s an event next Saturday.”
William nodded. Several major conglomerates rotated hosting duties every year for companies met gala, he remembered. The event itself wasn’t unusual. His family had once attended regularly. The Sangaworawongs attended regularly. Everyone with enough influence attended regularly. And they had even been the host once.
“What about it?”
“I want you to come with me.”
William blinked. Then blinked again. Because the wording mattered.
Not:
Will your family be attending again?
Not:
See you there.
Not:
Let’s meet there.
But,
I want you to come with me.
The difference settled quietly between them.
Est continued calmly, “Our families will be there.”
William nodded, “Obviously.”
“But I’d like you to attend with me.” A pause. Then, “As my fiancé.”
The restaurant suddenly felt much warmer. Not because the statement surprised him. The engagement had been public for months. Everyone knew. The news had already happened. The photographs already existed. The rumors had long since died. And yet—this would be different. This wasn’t an engagement announcement. Or a family gathering. Or Singapore. This would be the first time they entered one of those rooms together. Not as heirs. Not as family friends. Not as the children of powerful families. As a couple. Officially. Openly. Naturally.
William looked down at his glass. Then back toward Est.
“…Okay.”
Est studied him briefly, “That’s all?”
“What else am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know.”
William smiled. A little helplessly.
“A week from now you’ll probably regret asking me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll spend the entire event overthinking.”
That finally earned a small smile.
“There it is.”
~*~
The invitation rested quietly for couple of days in William’s mind before it exploded. The problem with having best friends was that they eventually learned things. The mistake happened on Friday. Specifically during lunch. More specifically during the exact moment William forgot that Keen and Sea knew him far too well.
The three of them occupied their usual corner table at the cafeteria. Sea was eating peacefully. Keen was stealing food from both trays despite owning his own lunch. William was attempting to finish an assignment while eating. A difficult task. Mostly because Keen existed.
“…I have an event next Saturday.”
Sea hummed. Keen stole another shrimp.
“Okay.”
William continued typing.
“Est invited me.”
Sea nodded. Still normal. Keen stole another shrimp. Then William added: “As his fiancé.”
Silence. Sea stopped chewing. Keen froze mid-theft. The shrimp remained suspended between tray and mouth. William immediately regretted everything.
Keen slowly lowered the shrimp. Then, “YOU’RE GOING AS WHAT?”
William sighed. The university cafeteria echoed. Several students turned around. Keen ignored them completely.
“As his fiancé.”
Sea continued eating. Unbothered.
“As opposed to?”
William looked at him. Sea looked back. Calm.
“As opposed to attending as a Kaewpanpong heir.”
Sea nodded, “There it is.”
Keen pointed dramatically, “See? Sea gets it.”
“I always get it.”
“Which is annoying.”
“I know.”
William suddenly understood why those two worked as a couple. They were equally terrible. Just in different directions.
Keen then slapped the table like he remember something important, “THIS IS HUGE.”
“It’s really not.”
“William.”
“What.”
“You’re entering the event together.”
“So?”
“So?”
Keen looked personally offended, “SO?”
Sea sighed. “He’s right.”
William pointed at Sea, “No. Explain yourself.”
Sea looked completely unbothered. “Normally people attend with their families, yes?.”
“Yes.”
“Or their companies.”
“Yes.”
“Or because they happen to exist.”
“…Yes.”
Sea took a sip of his drink. Then delivered emotional damage. “This is the first time you’ll attend as part of Est’s immediate future.”
Silence. William hated when Sea did that. Because somehow he always found the exact sentence that mattered.
Keen pointed aggressively, “SEE?”
“I saw.”
“NO, REALLY SEE.”
William buried his face in his hands. Immediately. Unfortunately, Keen wasn’t finished. Not even close.
“There will be photos.”
Sea nodded, “There will definitely be photos.”
Keen leaned forward, “Photos.”
“I heard you.”
“Of you.”
“I HEARD YOU.”
“Standing beside Est.”
William considered dropping out of university.
Sea calmly continued, “And business magazines.”
“Oh no.”
“And society pages.”
“Oh no.”
“And online articles.”
Keen looked thoughtful. Then suddenly gasped. “Oh my God.”
William immediately became concerned, “What now?”
“What if they call you the power couple of the year?”
Sea nearly choked.
William stood up. “I’m leaving.”
Keen grabbed his sleeve.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“We haven’t finished.”
“We absolutely have.”
“You need preparation.”
“For what?”
“The event.”
“I’m not preparing.”
“You are.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Sea looked up, “Actually.”
William felt dread. Pure dread. Whenever Sea started with actually, suffering followed.
“You should practice.”
William frowned, “Practice what?”
“Standing beside P’Est.”
“…What?”
Keen immediately agreed.
“YES.”
“No.”
“YES.”
“No.”
“Stand up.”
“I’m not standing up.”
Two minutes later—William was standing. Against his will.
Keen shoved Sea toward him, “You’re P’Est.”
Sea looked horrified.
“I don’t want to be P’Est.”
“You have the same emotional range.”
Sea stared. Keen stared back. William nearly laughed.
“Fine.”
Sea stood. Then immediately slipped into a perfect Est impression. Calm posture. Straight face. Minimal movement. An aura of expensive professionalism. It was disturbingly accurate.
William pointed, “That’s creepy.”
Sea ignored him. As usual. Then Sea extended an arm. Just slightly. Like a businessman greeting someone.
“William.”
The voice wasn’t even different. Which somehow made it worse. Keen immediately transformed into an imaginary executive.
“OH WOW.”
The entire cafeteria turned again.
“KHUN EST.”
Keen bowed dramatically.
“AND THIS MUST BE YOUR FIANCÉ.”
William wanted to disappear. Immediately.
Sea gestured toward him.
“Yes.”
Keen grabbed William’s hand. Violently. Shook it. Far too much.
“SO WHEN ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED?”
William screamed. Not verbally. Emotionally.
Sea nodded thoughtfully, “Reasonable question.”
“NO IT ISN’T.”
“It is.”
“It absolutely is,” Keen agreed.
Then both of them looked at him. Simultaneously. Like predators.
“…What?”
“When are you getting married?”
William grabbed his tray. And left. Immediately. Unfortunately, Keen followed. Sea followed too, more slowly. Because unlike Keen, he possessed dignity. A little.
“COME BACK.”
“No.”
“WE NEED ANSWERS.”
“You don’t.”
“WE DO.”
Students openly watched now. Some even filmed. By the time they finally settled down again, William’s face hurt from laughing. Keen was still talking. Sea was still quietly making things worse. And despite everything—William felt lighter. Because beneath the chaos, the teasing, and Keen’s inability to behave in public—his friends were happy for him. Genuinely. And perhaps that was why William didn’t mind being bullied quite so much. Only a little. Just a little. Probably.
~*~
The annual gathering itself wasn’t new. William had attended these events since he was seventeen. First beside his parents. Later as one of the Kaewpanpong heirs. He knew the rhythm by heart. The arrival photos. The endless handshakes. The familiar faces of presidents and chairmen who had known him since childhood. The quiet politics hidden beneath polite smiles. None of that was new.
And yet—standing in front of the mirror that evening, William felt twenty times more nervous than he had during his first attendance five-six years ago. Ridiculous. He wasn’t entering unknown territory. He knew these people. He knew this world. So why was his heart beating like this?
The answer stood five minutes away.
Est.
Because tonight wasn’t about the event. Tonight was about them. For the first time in their lives, they weren’t attending as sons of influential families. Not as childhood acquaintances. Not as heirs. Not even as family friends. Tonight— William would proudly stand beside Est Sangaworawong as his fiancé. And somehow that realization made his hands cold.
“You’re overthinking.”
William looked up. And forgot what overthinking even was. Because Est stood at the doorway. Dark suit. Silver watch. Hair neatly styled. Annoyingly gorgeous. Completely unfair.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“A minute.”
“A minute?”
“You were fighting your tie.”
“I wasn’t fighting.”
Est’s eyes softened. “Sure.”
“Has Mom and Dad gone yet?”
“Yeah, Aunt and Uncle jumped to the car the moment I stood at the front door.”
William sighed. He would never be able to stop his mom’s excitement over his relationship progress with Est.
The ballroom was already alive when they arrived. Major companies. Some lucky minor companies who got the invitation. Subsidiaries. Partners. Investors. Presidents. Chairmen. CEOs. The entire country’s important business ecosystem gathered under crystal chandeliers. The hosting company this year was one of the major conglomerates, which meant nearly everyone important had appeared.
This had been William’s world for many years. So why—
“Oh.”
A camera flash. Then another. Then another. William blinked. Not because photographs were unusual. But because this time, the photographers called: “Khun Est! Khun William! Over here please!”
Together. Not separately.
William almost laughed. Because somehow—that simple difference made his chest warm.
The first half hour passed in greetings. And congratulations. So many congratulations. Apparently, there were quite a lot of people who hadn’t attended the engagement party. Or simply weren’t invited.
One chairman from a partner company laughed warmly after shaking William’s hand. “Congratulations, both of you.”
Another president smiled. “I saw the news months ago. Finally, I get to congratulate you in person.”
A CEO William remembered from his childhood nodded approvingly. “A beautiful couple.”
William nearly combusted. Immediately. Meanwhile Est remained annoyingly calm. As though being called a beautiful couple by billionaires happened every Tuesday.
“Thank you,” Est answered politely.
The introductions continued. And William noticed something. People still recognized him as a Kaewpanpong. Of course they did. But now—there was something else.
“Khun William.”
“Khun Est’s fiancé.”
“Your engagement made quite the news.”
“The two of you will make a formidable team.”
The two of you. Not you. Together. Again. And again. And again. Until William finally realized—Oh. People see me differently now. Not less. Not smaller. Not like he’d lost his identity. But differently, like someone who entirely steps into adulthood’s complicated life. They saw him not only as a Kaewpanpong heir. They saw him as Est’s future spouse. As someone who would stand beside Est. As part of the Sangaworawong future too. And somehow—that realization weighed heavier than he expected. Because with that came expectations. Responsibilities. Assumptions. Pressure. Enough that he quietly excused himself toward the balcony area. Not to run away. Just… to breathe.
“Thinking too much again?”
William smiled weakly. Of course Est found him. Est always found him.
“Am I that obvious?”
“A little.”
“Liar.”
“You’ve been squeezing your glass for three minutes.”
William stared. “That’s creepy.”
“You’ve been doing it since university.”
“Oh.”
“Mm.”
And just like that—the tension inside William’s shoulders loosened. Because Est understood him. Always. Even when William didn’t say anything.
They stood quietly beside one another. The city lights stretching below. Warm wind brushing past. And suddenly—Est’s hand found his. Natural. Simple. Like breathing.
“No need to carry everything alone.”
William sighed. Because lying to Est had never worked particularly well. Est glanced toward the crowd. Then back toward him.
“Stay with me.”
Simple.
Easy.
Natural.
Yet somehow those three words settled the nervousness immediately. So William did. For the rest of the evening. Conversations. Introductions. Executives. Investors. Photographs. Through all of it—Est remained beside him. Not because William needed protection. Not because Est thought he couldn’t handle himself. Simply because they were there together. As they were supposed to be. And somehow—that made all the difference.
The dance floor opened two hours later. Not unusual. These events always had dancing. Marked as the event draws to a close. William knew that. And yet—he found himself staring at Est. Then staring longer. Then making a terrible decision. A very terrible decision. He approached. Trying. Desperately trying. To appear confident.
“P’Est.”
Est raised an eyebrow.
“Mm?”
William extended a hand. “Would you like to dance?”
Silence. Oh no. Too much. Too formal. Too weird. William wanted death. Immediate death. Until—Est smiled. A genuine one.
“I’d love to.”
The ballroom lights reflected softly above them. Slow music. Quiet conversations. Laughter in the distance. And Est. Close. Too close. Warm hand in his. Another resting lightly at his shoulder.
And suddenly—William became painfully aware of how long it had been. Three weeks. Three very busy weeks. Assignments. Meetings. Deadlines. Family obligations. Barely enough time for dinner dates. Barely enough time to sleep. Much less anything else. Their first night in Singapore remained their last. Not because he—they—didn’t want more. Life simply refused to cooperate.
And now, with Est this close—wearing that suit—looking at him with eyes that softened only for him, William’s thoughts became increasingly unprofessional. Very unprofessional. Which was unfortunate. Because apparently Est was having similar thoughts. William noticed it immediately. The way Est’s gaze lingered. The slight redness appearing on the tips of his ears.
Cute.
Very cute.
And incredibly rare. Which made William smile. Because perhaps—for the first time since Singapore—they finally had an actual free night. And perhaps—judging from the warmth in Est’s eyes—neither of them intended to waste it. For now, however William rested his head lightly against Est’s head, under the chandeliers, surrounded by the most influential people in the country.
~*~
By the time they left the ballroom, the city had already fallen into the quieter hours of the night. The kind of hour Bangkok wore beautifully. Less traffic. Softer lights. Buildings glowing against dark skies while the world itself seemed to exhale after an entire day of movement.
William leaned back against the leather seat with a long sigh the moment the car door closed. And immediately regretted it. Because now that the event had ended—he was aware of everything. His tired feet. His slightly stiff shoulders. His social battery, which had officially left his body somewhere around the eighth chairman and third vice president. Most importantly—he became aware of Est sitting beside him.
Still beautiful.
Still annoyingly handsome.
Still wearing that dark suit.
Unfair. Completely unfair.
William blamed the lighting. And the dancing. And the fact that they hadn’t really had much time to themselves lately. Definitely those things. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing else.
Beside him, Est loosened his tie slightly. The movement itself shouldn’t have been attractive. It was just a tie. Human beings removed ties every day. There was nothing extraordinary about it. Yet somehow—William found himself staring. Immediately. Unfortunately. Hopelessly. Which apparently didn’t escape Est’s attention.
“You’re doing it again.”
William blinked. “Doing what?”
“Staring.”
“I’m observing.”
“That’s my line.”
“No, yours is professional observation.”
Est smiled. And somehow that tiny smile felt more rewarding than it should. Singapore really had done something to Est. Not enough for strangers to notice. But enough for William. Enough that William knew the difference between the smile Est wore for anyone else and the smile reserved for him. Enough that he knew which sigh meant exhaustion and which sigh meant contentment. Enough that he noticed how naturally Est’s hand sought his nowadays. Small things. Simple things. The kind that slowly built a life together.
The city lights passed outside the windows. Neither spoke for several minutes. Not because they had nothing to say. But because silence between them had long stopped being awkward. Comfortable silence. The sort built from familiarity. And trust.
Eventually—William broke it. “…Thank you.”
Est looked over. “For what?”
“For staying beside me.” The answer came immediately.
“As if I’d be anywhere else.” Simple. Natural. Spoken with the same tone Est used when discussing tomorrow’s weather. And somehow—that made it infinitely more dangerous. Because Est said things like that so casually. As though William’s place beside him had become obvious. Expected. Permanent.
William smiled to himself. Then quietly intertwined their fingers together. Est’s thumb moved unconsciously over his hand almost immediately. Natural. Again. Simple. Again. And somehow— William found himself falling a little deeper every time.
When they arrived at the condo, neither rushed to move. The world outside had settled into that comfortable hour of the night where Bangkok finally seemed to slow down. Their jackets disappeared onto the sofa. Shoes were abandoned near the entrance. And within minutes, the elegant image they had maintained throughout the evening dissolved completely. Naturally. Because no amount of billionaire galas could survive William’s existence. Currently, he was sprawled dramatically across the couch. Emotionally exhausted.
“Business socializing should be illegal.”
Est loosened his cuffs while sitting beside him. “Interesting proposal.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’ve proposed banning many things.”
“Because society keeps disappointing me.”
That earned him one of those tiny laughs. Small. Brief. Beautiful. William immediately looked up. Because Est laughed more these days. Still not often. But enough that William treasured every single one. Enough that he sometimes found himself saying ridiculous things just to hear it again.
The room slowly fell into comfortable silence. Neither reached for their phones. Neither turned on the television. The night itself felt enough. Perhaps because the event had gone well. Perhaps because three weeks of busy schedules had finally given them an uninterrupted evening. Or perhaps because they had spent the entire night standing beside one another under crystal chandeliers while the rest of the world acknowledged something William himself had been quietly treasuring for months.
Us.
Not separately.
Us.
William shifted until his head rested naturally against Est’s shoulder. And just like always, Est adjusted himself slightly without even thinking, making the position more comfortable. Natural. Easy. Like breathing.
Home. Their home.
…
Funny.
Because somewhere along the way, William had stopped thinking of it as Est’s condo. Not entirely. Not when his clothes gradually occupied one closet. Not when some of his books lived on the shelves. Not when he knew where the tea leaves were. Or how Est liked his coffee when he worked late. Home had changed shape. Quietly. Gradually. And somehow—without realizing it—William had begun imagining himself returning here everyday after long days, not only occasionally.
Returning to Est. Returning home.
Dangerous thought.
Soft thought.
Very William thought.
“You know,” William mumbled softly against Est’s shoulder.
“Mm?”
“I think I’ve spent too much time here.”
Est glanced downward.
“Why?”
“I keep thinking this place feels like home.”
The words escaped naturally. Without embarrassment. Without overthinking. Because tired William had even no filter. Silence followed. Not awkward. Just quiet. Then Est’s thumb paused where it had been absentmindedly stroking William’s fingers.
“…William.”
“Hm?”
“I didn’t know how to talk about it,” Est said. “I’m not good at this, William.”
“At what?”
“At wanting something and saying it.”
William immediately lifted his head. Est sat a little straighter, his eyes searching William’s with a depth that stole the breath from his lungs. In them, William saw a thousand emotions colliding—hesitation and yearning, uncertainty and resolve, desire and quiet devotion. They swirled together like waves beneath a calm surface, impossible to ignore.
A flush crept over William’s ears, then his cheeks, before settling warmly along his neck. Surely, he wasn’t mistaken. Surely, he wasn’t the only one who had returned to Singapore in his dreams, replaying those precious memories in the solitude of night.
Three weeks had slipped by since they had first crossed that sacred threshold together. Yet their days since had been filled not with urgency, but with gentle affection—a stolen kiss here, a lingering embrace there, and the occasional evening when weariness overtook William, leaving him asleep in Est’s bed, content simply to remain close to him.
William’s chest hurt. Not in a bad way. In the way that something hurts when it’s been held too tight for too long and is finally being let go. All those years of loving Est quietly—at dinner tables, at family gatherings, in the backseat of cars while their parents talked upfront—and now Est was sitting in front of him saying I want something and I don’t know how to say it, and William understood with sudden, painful clarity that they had both been starving in the same room for the same thing.
[WARNING!!! If you are uncomfortable with intimate scenes, then you can skip this part.]
He closed the distance.
Cupped Est’s face with both hands. His palms were sweating—god, his palms were sweating—but Est didn’t pull away, and William tried not to think about that because if he thought about it he’d lose whatever thread of steadiness was keeping him upright.
“Then don’t say it,” William whispered. “I’ll say it for both of us.”
He felt Est’s jaw tighten slightly under his fingers. Felt the breath that passed through Est’s nose—controlled, measured, the way Est breathed when he was trying very hard not to react.
“I’ve wanted you specifically like this since Singapore, Phi. And every night for three weeks I’ve been going to sleep on my bed or next to you feeling like I’m starving.”
Est made a sound. Small. Broken. The kind of sound that William had never heard from him—not in all the years of watching, of memorizing, of cataloging every sigh and shift and sideways glance.
That sound is mine, William thought, and the thought was almost too much. “Can I?”
Est nodded once.
William kissed him.
Not the forehead kisses. Not the door-frame presses. Not the careful, abbreviated things they’d been offering each other for twenty-one days like scraps from a table when there was a feast right there—this. This was the kiss from Singapore. Except slower. William took his time because he could, because Est was letting him, because Est’s mouth was opening under his and Est’s hands had found the front of his shirt and were gripping.
William kissed the corner of Est’s mouth. The line of his jaw. The spot just below Est’s ear that he’d discovered in Singapore—the one that made Est’s fingers twist tighter in his shirt.
“William—”
“Yeah?”
“Stop being gentle.”
William pulled back. Looked down at Est. His face was flushed. Just barely. Just enough that anyone else would miss it. But William wasn’t anyone else. William had memorized the exact shade of Est’s skin in every possible state—annoyed, amused, bored, cold, professionally pleasant—and this wasn’t any of those. This was new. This was a color William had only seen once before, and it had been haunting him for three weeks.
“Are you sure?”
“If you ask me that one more time—”
William smiled. He couldn’t help it. He leaned down and kissed Est again—harder, deeper—and his hands found the buttons of Est’s shirt and undid them with a focus that surprised even himself. One. Two. Three. His fingers brushed bare skin and Est shivered beneath him, and William felt it against his mouth like electricity.
“You’re trembling,” William murmured against his neck.
“Shut up.”
There it was. The edge in Est’s voice that William loved—the one that only surfaced when Est was being pushed past what he could control. William pressed his smile into the flush at Est’s throat and felt the vibration of a swallowed sound.
I did that, William thought. I made that happen.
They kiss again and it remained unbroken as they stood, moving toward the bedroom with awkward grace, laughter hidden between stolen breaths and hearts beating far too fast. He pressed Est down against the pillows. Est went—not reluctantly, not passively, but with a kind of release, like he’d been holding himself upright for three weeks and was finally allowed to fall. His hands came up to William’s face, pulling him into another kiss, and this one was messy and desperate and nothing like the careful Est that the world knew.
“I missed you,” Est said against his mouth. Quiet. Almost angry. “We slept on the same bed and I missed you.”
William’s heart stuttered.
“I’m here,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t think anything else existed that was more true. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Est pulled him back down.
William’s vest went first — shrugged off impatiently, dropped somewhere he’d never find it. Then his shirt, because Est’s hands were pulling at it with an urgency that made William’s breath catch. Est had never touched him like this before — not in Singapore, not in the years of almost-nothing that came before. This was hunger, and it was coming from Est, and William felt his mind go blank and loud at the same time.
He got Est’s shirt open the rest of the way. Pushed it off his shoulders. And then his hands were on Est’s bare chest and he just — stopped. For a second. Because the last time he’d touched Est like this, it had been dark. The curtains in Singapore had been drawn, and William had been too overwhelmed to look properly.
Now the lamp was on. And Est was underneath him. And William could see.
“You feel the same,” William whispered, pressing his palm flat over Est’s heart. “Your heartbeat. It’s so fast. Just like in Singapore.”
Est turned his face away. His jaw was tight. The flush had spread down his neck, across his collarbones, and William leaned in and pressed his lips to it — right at the base of Est’s throat, where the flush was warmest.
“Don’t hide Phi,” William said.
“I’m not hiding—”
“You are.” William took Est’s chin—gently but firmly, the way he’d learned Est needed to be held when he was trying to retreat—and turned his face back. “Let me see you.”
Est looked at him.
And William’s throat closed up, because Est’s eyes were bright. Not tearful. Just — open. All the walls down. All the careful, collected distance stripped away. This was Est without his armor, and William had never seen anything so devastating.
“I’m here,” William said again, because it was still the truest thing he knew.
Est’s eyes moved down his body. Slowly. Not hiding it anymore. Not pretending he was just casually looking. Looking. Taking in the lines of William’s shoulders, the dip of his collarbones, the way his chest rose and fell faster than normal.
William had never felt so seen.
He leaned back down, and the moment their bare chests pressed together, they both exhaled — like something that had been locked for three weeks finally clicked open. Skin against skin. Warm. Almost too warm. Est’s arms came around him, one hand splayed across his back, the other gripping his shoulder, and William could feel Est’s heartbeat against his own. Fast. Faster than Est would ever admit.
“William.” Est said his name like a warning. Or a plea. William couldn’t tell which. Maybe both.
“I know.” William kissed his throat. Licked a slow line from his collarbone to just below his ear, and Est’s nails dug into his shoulder—sharp, involuntary—and the sound that escaped Est’s mouth was something William had been replaying in his head for three weeks and it was better than the memory, it was so much better live and warm and right against his ear.
William’s hand slid down Est’s side. Over the ridge of his hip. To the waistband of his trousers, where he paused—not because he needed permission anymore, but because he wanted to feel Est’s breath hitch. Wanted to feel the muscles of Est’s stomach tighten under his other hand.
He wasn’t disappointed.
William undid the button. The zipper. Pulled, and Est lifted his hips — just slightly, just enough — and then the trousers were gone and Est was lying beneath him in nothing, and William thought he might actually lose his mind. He’d seen this before. In Singapore. In the dark. But this was different. The lamp painted Est in gold and shadow — the length of his body, the muscles of his thighs, the way he was already half-hard and trying not to show it, his legs shifting restlessly against the sheets.
“You’re—” William started, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “You’re so—”
“If you say beautiful again I’m going to throttle you.”
William laughed. It came out shaky and breathless and nothing like confident, but Est’s mouth twitched — the smallest, most reluctant smile — and William thought there you are.
He kissed Est’s chest. Lower. His tongue traced the line below Est’s ribs, and Est’s hand flew to William’s hair — not pushing, not pulling, just holding, fingers tangled tight like he needed something to anchor him.
“William.” This time his name was a gasp.
William’s mouth moved lower still. To the soft skin of Est’s stomach. To the sharp cut of his hip bone, where he bit down gently and Est’s whole body arched off the bed—just an inch, just a fraction—and the sound he made was wrecked. That sound, William thought. I’d die for that sound.
“Wait—” Est’s voice was strained. His fingers tightened in William’s hair. “Wait, I— you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to.” William looked up. Met Est’s eyes — dark, wide, barely holding together. “I want to. I’ve been wanting to.”
Est’s mouth opened. Closed. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and for a moment he looked like he was going to argue, going to redirect, going to do the thing he always did where he took control of a situation just to avoid being vulnerable in it. But he didn’t. He let go of William’s hair. Let his hand fall to the sheet. His fingers curled into the fabric, and he nodded.
William leaned down.
The first touch of his mouth—slow, experimental—made Est’s hips jerk. William pressed a hand flat to Est’s stomach, holding him down gently, and felt the muscles there flex and quiver beneath his palm. He took his time. Licked a long, unhurried stripe, and Est’s broken moan filled the room like something that had been locked up for far too long.
“William—”
William hummed against him—couldn’t help it, couldn’t not respond to hearing his name like that—and Est’s hand shot back to his hair, gripping hard, and his hips pressed up into William’s mouth and he was shaking, actually shaking, and William had to close his eyes because the sight of Est falling apart above him was too much.
William found a rhythm. Slow at first—learning, relearning—then faster when Est’s breathing turned ragged and the grip in his hair turned almost painful. Est’s thighs were tense on either side of him, trembling, and the sounds he was making were nothing like the controlled, measured voice William had heard at the event tonight. This was raw. This was Est without edges.
“Enough—” Est gasped. “William, enough, I’ll— if you don’t stop I’ll—”
William pulled back. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Looked up at Est, who was lying there flushed and gasping and so thoroughly undone that William felt a surge of something almost violent go through him — want, pure and simple and terrifying in its intensity.
“Come here,” Est said. His voice was wrecked. Rough at the bottom. He reached for William, and William crawled back up his body, and Est pulled him into a kiss that tasted like need—all tongue and heat and Est licking the taste of himself from William’s mouth without hesitation, without embarrassment, and William groaned into it because god.
Est’s hand found the front of William’s trousers. Palmed him through the fabric, and William’s hips stuttered forward involuntarily.
“These,” Est said against his mouth. “Off. Now.”
William fumbled with his own waistband—his hands were shaking now, he was shaking, and Est watched him with dark, heavy-lidded eyes that made it worse, that made his fingers clumsier—and then finally, finally, he kicked free of the rest of his clothes and they were both bare, pressed together from chest to hip, and the feeling of Est’s skin against all of him was almost unbearable.
“Three weeks,” William breathed.
“I know.”
“I thought about this every single night.”
“I know.” Est’s hand slid between them. Wrapped around them both—an awkward angle, too dry, but Est didn’t seem to care and William sure as hell didn’t—and stroked once, twice, and William’s vision went white at the edges.
“Wait— wait—” William gasped. “I won’t last if you—”
“Then don’t last.” Est kissed him, swallowing the sound William made. “We have all night.”
All night. The words hit William somewhere deep and stupid and emotional, and he had to break the kiss to press his forehead against Est’s shoulder and breathe, just breathe, because he was twenty-two and in love and this was too much and not enough at the same time.
“The drawer,” Est murmured. “Nightstand.”
William reached over. Fumbled. Found the small bottle—left there since Singapore, he realized, and the thought that Est had kept it there, ready, made his hand tremble. He sat back on his knees, and Est watched him coat his fingers with an expression that was equal parts vulnerable and impatient.
William’s hand trailed down Est’s thigh. Hooked behind his knee. Pushed gently, and Est opened for him—legs falling apart, easy and trusting, and the sight of it made William’s chest physically ache. One finger. Slow. Est inhaled sharply—a controlled, deliberate breath—and William watched his face carefully, the way he always did, reading every micro-expression. Tension around the eyes. Jaw tight. But not pain.
“Okay?” William whispered.
“More.”
A second finger. Est’s hips shifted, adjusting, and William curled his fingers the way he remembered doing in Singapore—searching, finding—and Est’s back arched off the bed with a sharp, bitten-off sound.
“There,” William said. Not a question.
“Don’t— don’t be smug about it.”
“I’m not being smug, I’m being accurate—”
Est grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness, and William laughed into it—couldn’t help it—while his fingers kept moving, kept hitting that spot, kept reducing Est to a shaking, gasping thing that was so far from the composed man at tonight’s event that it was hard to believe they were the same person.
“Enough,” Est said against his mouth. “William. Enough. I need—”
“I know what you need.” William withdrew his fingers slowly, and Est made a sound at the loss — quiet, almost involuntary — that William filed away in the part of his brain reserved for things he would never, ever forget.
He slicked himself. Positioned himself. And paused — just for a heartbeat — looking down at Est, splayed beneath him, flushed and wrecked and waiting, and the weight of it hit him all at once. The years of wanting. The Singapore night that had cracked something open. The three weeks of careful, starving distance.
“William.” Est’s voice was soft now. The edge was gone. What was left was something raw and honest and barely above a whisper. “Please.”
William pushed in. Slowly. Inch by inch. The heat of it was overwhelming—tight and warm and Est—and William had to stop halfway, squeezing his eyes shut, because if he didn’t he was going to lose it right then. Est’s hands found his hips. Gripped. Not pulling him in, not pushing him back—just holding on. Anchoring them both.
“Breathe,” Est said, and the absurdity of Est telling him to breathe when Est was the one trembling beneath him almost made William laugh again. Almost.
“I’m trying,” William gritted out.
“I know.” And then — softer — “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
You’ve got me. William pushed the rest of the way in, and they both groaned—Est’s head falling back against the pillow, William’s forehead dropping to Est’s shoulder—and for a long moment neither of them moved. Just breathed. Just existed in the overwhelming reality of being connected like this again. Then Est shifted his hips. Just slightly. An adjustment. And William saw stars.
“Fuck—”
“Language,” Est murmured, but his voice was wrecked and his mouth was curved in the faintest smile and William wanted to kiss it off his face.
So he did.
He started moving. Slowly at first—long, deep strokes that made Est’s breath catch every time. The sounds Est made were incredible. Small, stifled things at first, like he was still trying to hold back, still trying to maintain some version of control. But William was relentless. He changed his angle, shifted Est’s hip higher, and found the spot that made Est’s control shatter completely. The sound that came out of Est then was loud—louder than anything William had heard from him, a moan that filled the room and echoed off the walls and went straight to William’s groin like a physical touch.
“There— there—”
“I know,” William said, and he was panting now, his rhythm faltering, the heat and the tightness and the sounds pulling him apart at the seams. “I know, I’ve got you—”
“Faster—”
William obeyed. His hips snapped forward, harder and faster, and the bed creaked beneath them and Est’s hands were everywhere—William’s back, his shoulders, his ass, pulling him closer, deeper—and Est’s mouth was against his ear, saying his name over and over like a prayer or a curse, William couldn’t tell anymore.
“Close,” Est gasped. “I’m—Willy—”
William reached between them. Wrapped his hand around Est and stroked in time with his thrusts, and Est broke—back arching, body going rigid, a long, broken moan tearing out of him as he came apart in William’s hand. The way he clenched around William was too much—way too much—and William buried his face in Est’s neck and followed him over the edge with a sound that was embarrassingly close to a sob.
He didn’t know how long they lay there afterward. Minutes. Maybe longer. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his teeth.
Est’s hand was in his hair. Lazy now, fingers moving without purpose, just touching because he could. William was still half on top of him, half beside him, their legs tangled together in the sticky warmth of the sheets.
“That was—” William started.
“Don’t ruin it with words.”
“I was going to say good.”
“It was better than good, and if you reduce it to good I will divorce you before we even marry.”
William laughed—full and loud and unguarded—and felt Est’s chest vibrate with a quiet, reluctant laugh of his own.
“You’re calling me Willy.”
“Everyone in the house called you Willy. Can’t I?”
William laughed again. Of course he wouldn’t protest. He’d been wanting Est to call him by that since the time they exchanged their couple necklaces.
He pulled back just enough to look at Est. Hair destroyed. Flushed from his cheeks to his chest. Eyes half-closed and soft in a way that made William’s chest physically hurt.
“You’re staring,” Est murmured.
“You’re beautiful, Phi.”
Est’s hand stilled in his hair. His eyes opened fully.
“You never stop saying things like that.”
“Because it’s a fact.”
Something moved across Est’s face. Something big and slow and irreversible. Then Est shifted closer—tucked his face into William’s neck, his arm draping heavy and warm across William’s waist—and William held him. His hand came up to the back of Est’s head, fingers threading through hair that was usually perfect and was now thoroughly wrecked.
By me, William thought. I did that.
“Can we not wait three weeks next time?” William’s voice came out muffled and smaller than he intended. He felt Est exhale against his collarbone. Heard the quiet, almost-laugh.
“No,” Est said. “We can’t.”
William smiled into Est’s hair.
He didn’t turn off the lamp. Est didn’t ask him to. They lay there in the warm, amber light, tangled together, and for the first time in three weeks, William fell asleep without feeling hungry.
~*~
[For those who skip the intimate scenes, you can continue from here.]
The television was on.
William didn’t know what was playing. Some weekend morning show — a woman in a blazer gesturing at a screen behind her, something about weather, maybe, or traffic. The volume was low enough that it was just noise, just texture, filling the apartment with sound so the silence wouldn’t have to.
He was sitting on the couch. Est was beside him. Not close. Not far. Their shoulders were about two inches apart, and William was acutely, painfully aware of every single one of those inches. They’d eaten breakfast ten minutes ago. William had made it — eggs and toast, nothing fancy, because it was the only thing he could reliably cook without setting off the smoke alarm. Est had sat at the kitchen counter in a sweater and loose pants, hair still damp from the shower, and eaten without comment. Which meant it was fine. Est only commented when things were wrong. Silence meant acceptable.
But then Est had moved to the couch. Turned on the TV. And William had followed, because what else was he going to do? Stand in the kitchen alone like some kind of stray dog?
So here they were. Side by side. Watching something neither of them cared about.
“Open the drawer,” Est said.
William blinked. “What drawer?”
“The one beside the television.”
Confused, William sat up. “What?”
“The drawer.”
“…Okay?”
Still confused, he obeyed. Inside—among some documents and neatly organized things—lay a key. A familiar silver key. William blinked. Once. Twice. Then slowly looked back.
“…P’Est.”
“Mm.”
“Besides the documents and books, there is only a key in your drawer.”
Est appeared strangely interested in the city outside. Which immediately made William suspicious. Because Est Supha only studied buildings when he was avoiding eye contact. Cute. Very cute.
“It’s the spare.”
William stared. His brain stopped. Completely. Wondering. Hoping.
“The spare?”
“Mm.”
“The spare key.”
“Yes.”
“To this condo.”
“Obviously.”
William’s voice became slightly higher.
“P’Est.”
“Mm.”
“P’Est.”
Finally, Est sighed softly and looked at him. The tips of his ears were pink. Very pink. And somehow—that sight made William’s heart beat even faster.
“You already leave dozens of your clothes here.”
William froze.
“You know where everything is.”
Another pause.
“You complain about the coffee machine like you own it.”
William opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
And then—with all the calmness in the world—Est said quietly, “So you should stop treating this place like you’re visiting.”
William stopped breathing. Immediately. Because those words—those simple words—Somehow carried more intimacy than anything else. Not because Est had said “move in.” Not because Est had said “stay.” Not even because of the key itself. But because—stop treating this place like you’re visiting. As though William belonging here had already become obvious. As though Est had already decided. As though—William had a place beside him. Here. Not temporarily. Not occasionally. But naturally. Permanently.
William stared. And stared. And stared. Until Est finally looked uncomfortable under the silence.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“…P’Est.”
“What?”
“…You know you’re unfair, right?”
“What did I do?”
William swear he could see Est’s subtle smirk even from meters away.
“Nothing.”
William smiled softly. “You did nothing.”
Then he stepped forward. Wrapped his arms around Est. And buried his face against his shoulder. The way he always did. The way that had somehow become instinct. Est’s arms circled him almost immediately. Natural. Warm. Home.
“…Thank you,” William whispered.
Est rested his cheek lightly against William’s hair. And after a moment, his voice came quietly above him. “You don’t have to thank me.”
A small pause. Then, softer still—”As far as I’m concerned…” Est’s arms tightened just slightly. “…you’ve been coming home for a while now.”
William decided right then and there, that perhaps nothing could compare to a simple silver key resting quietly in his palm. Because somehow—in the calmest, most Est way possible—Est Supha Sangaworawong had just given him a place in his life. And William thought—with overwhelming certainty—that he would treasure it forever.