Chapter 13

The city moved differently during work hours on Monday—sharper, faster, wrapped in expensive watches and carefully timed schedules. By ten in the morning, the headquarters of SS Corp. was alive with quiet ambition. Assistants moved between departments carrying documents and coffee. Digital screens glowed across conference rooms. The skyline beyond the windows looked silver beneath the afternoon heat.

And at the center of it all sat Est Supha.

Calm as ever.

The conference room on the thirty-second floor was cold with air conditioning and tension alike. Presentation slides reflected against the long obsidian table while executives discussed projected investment numbers, land acquisition phases, tourism forecasts, and brand partnerships.

At the center of the discussion sat a massive upcoming project:

A new luxury entertainment district along the riverside.

Concert venues.
Premium retail.
Performance halls.
Interactive nightlife zones.
Creative spaces meant to reshape the city’s modern cultural image. 

A project ambitious enough to attract international investors. And risky enough to make older executives nervous.

Est listened more than he spoke. But when he did speak, the room naturally shifted toward him.  

That had always been his kind of authority—not loud, not performative. Quiet competence. The sort that made people instinctively pay attention before they realized they were doing it.

“The entertainment section needs stronger cultural positioning,” Est said, eyes moving calmly across the projected layout. “If we market it only as commercial nightlife, it loses long-term value. We need performance infrastructure that attracts both tourism and local creative industries.”

One executive nodded immediately. Another hurried to take notes.

“The live venue placement also needs revision,” Est continued. “Traffic flow after large-scale events becomes a problem here.”

He tapped lightly at the screen.

“If concerts and sports events overlap, congestion spreads directly into the retail sector.”

The room fell thoughtful. Because he was right. Again.

Est leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping once against the document in front of him. The meeting had been running for almost two hours already. Final revisions before the investor presentation next month.

Normally, this level of pressure exhausted people. Est found comfort in it. Work was predictable. Logical. Clean. Unlike emotions, business rarely demanded vulnerability. Which was probably why his mind drifting toward William Jakrapatr in the middle of an investment forecast felt deeply unreasonable. Because while one executive discussed projected entertainment revenue, Est found himself remembering William sitting on his dining room yesterday morning, red-faced and emotionally devastated over breakfast.

Ridiculous.

And yet the memory lingered with quiet warmth. The kiss had changed something. Not dramatically. Not enough for the world to notice. But enough for Est to notice himself noticing.

William had become strangely present in his thoughts lately—not disruptive exactly, but constant. Like sunlight through curtains. Easy to ignore for a while until suddenly the whole room looked different.

“Sir?”

Est blinked once and looked up. The junior project manager looked mildly terrified at having repeated himself.

“My apologies,” Est said smoothly. “Continue.”

The poor man visibly recovered from near-death.

By the time the meeting finally ended, the afternoon sun had shifted across the windows, painting the room in softer gold. Executives filtered out one by one, conversations dissolving into smaller discussions outside the conference room. Est gathered his documents calmly.

“You handled that well.”

His father’s voice came from behind him.

Est turned slightly.

His father stood near the doorway beside another familiar figure—William’s father. Both still looked painfully authoritative even outside meetings. Years of leadership had settled into them naturally, though in different ways.

Mr. Sanan Sangaworawong carried quiet pressure.
Mr. Jawed Kaewpanpong carried easy charisma.

Together, unfortunately, they looked capable of financially destroying entire countries before lunch.

“Dad,” Est greeted politely.

“Uncle.”

William’s father smiled warmly.

“You’re getting more frightening every week.”

Est accepted this as normal feedback.

“The entertainment proposal was strong,” his father added, calm but approving. “Especially the venue integration.”

Est nodded once.

“Thank you.”

Praise from his father had always come like this—simple, measured, earned. Never excessive. Which perhaps made it matter more.

William’s father crossed his arms lightly.

“The JK Entertainment team is impressed too,” he said. “Your revisions actually made the performance side stronger.”

That made sense. Because the upcoming district wasn’t only a real estate project. It was also a collaboration between both families’ companies. 

JK Entertainment would oversee concert operations, media events, celebrity partnerships, and performance infrastructure once the district launched. A business partnership becoming family. Or perhaps family becoming business again.

With their engagement, the line between both had blurred even further.

“Speaking of upcoming schedules,” Mr. Sanan said, returning to business, “the Singapore trip next week is confirmed.”

Est nodded. Three-day overseas negotiations with international investors interested in the entertainment district expansion. Important enough that his father wanted Est leading alongside senior directors.

“You’ll head the presentation yourself,” his father continued. “Good opportunity.”

“And good experience before we hand over larger entertainment operations,” William’s father added.

Est understood the implication clearly. Responsibility was arriving faster now. Not just as heir, but as successor.

The engagement banquet had changed things publicly. People inside both companies now looked at him and William differently—not merely as sons of influential families, but as the future continuation of them. 

Strangely, Est didn’t dislike it as much as he once thought he would. Perhaps because lately, when he thought about that future, William was no longer an abstract obligation attached to it. He was simply William. Bright. Clumsy. Earnest. Someone Est had begun unconsciously making space for.

William’s father smiled suddenly.

“By the way, my son looked suspiciously happy this morning.”

Est remained perfectly calm.

“…Did he.”

“Oh, absolutely suspicious.”

His father looked mildly amused now too. Dangerous conversation.

“Should we be concerned?” William’s father continued.

“No,” Est replied smoothly. “He’s always like that.”

That was technically true. Mostly.

The two older men exchanged the kind of look parents shared when they clearly knew more than they pretended to. Thankfully, Est’s phone vibrated before the conversation could become emotionally catastrophic.

A message.

William:

I survived the opening act. barely. but survived.

Est looked at the screen for one second too long. Unfortunately, both fathers noticed immediately. His father grinned. William’s father sighed like a man exhausted by younger generations.

Est calmly locked the phone.

“I have lunch plans.”

Cowardice, perhaps.
Necessary cowardice.

~*~

The restaurant Pond chose sat high above the city, all warm lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking late afternoon Bangkok. Expensive enough that the menus arrived without prices on the front page. Loud enough that nobody cared if Daou laughed like a man trying to start a public incident.

Which, unfortunately, he often did.

Est arrived almost twenty minutes late. Not because work had truly delayed him that much—but because he already knew exactly what kind of conversation waited for him here.

Annoying.
Intrusive.
Emotionally exhausting.

His closest friends specialized in all three.

The moment he stepped inside the private dining area, Daou looked up from his phone dramatically. “There he is,” he announced loudly. “The nation’s slowest progressing fiancé.”

Pond nearly choked on his drink.

Est sat in front of his dramatic friends calmly.

“I can still leave.”

“No you can’t,” Pond replied immediately. “We ordered already.”

Daou pointed accusingly across the table.

“And you owe us emotional updates.”

Est sat down without hurry, setting his phone beside the untouched glass of water waiting for him. Lunch with Daou and Pond had always felt like this—somewhere between friendship and coordinated attack. Strange, really. Because from the outside, nobody ever understood how Est became close with them in the first place.

Pond was loud in a bright way, all easy laughter and shameless teasing. Daou was worse—dramatic, chaotic, socially fearless. Together they created the kind of noise Est usually avoided professionally. And yet. They had stayed.

Through undergraduate years.
Through postgraduate pressure.
Through the quiet loneliness wealthy families rarely admitted existed.

Friendship, Est thought sometimes, was less about similarity and more about who stayed long enough to understand your silence. Pon understood when not to push. Daou understood when to. Which unfortunately meant both of them now looked at Est with the dangerous excitement of men sensing gossip.

Pond leaned back against the booth dramatically.

“So,” he began. “How’s married life?”

“We’re engaged.”

“Boring answer,” Daou complained. “Try again with emotional details.”

Est picked up the menu.

“You’re both look unemployed. Find hobbies.”

“I have hobbies,” Pond defended immediately.

“Phuwin doesn’t count.”

“He absolutely counts.”

Daou waved a hand impatiently.

“Forget him. Tell us about William.”

And there it was. William. The name settled into Est’s thoughts with alarming familiarity now. Not disruptive anymore. Simply present. 

“Est.”

He looked up.

Daou narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“You’re thinking about him right now, aren’t you?”

“No.”

Too fast.

Pond slapped the table triumphantly.

“Oh, he’s finished.”

“I hate both of you.”

“No you don’t,” Daou replied cheerfully. “Now talk.”

The waiter arrived briefly with food, thankfully interrupting the public harassment. Plates settled across the table—grilled salmon for Pond, pasta for Daou, something lighter for Est because apparently years of athlete discipline permanently altered eating habits.

The moment the waiter disappeared again, Pond resumed immediately.

“So,” he said. “How far are you two now?”

Est took a sip of water first. Measured. Calm.

“We had breakfast.”

Silence. Pond stared. Daou blinked slowly.

“…That’s your answer?” Pond asked carefully.

“We also had dinner. In my house.”

Daou placed a hand over his chest.

“Scandalous.”

“Should we call the press?” Pond added. “Two wealthy heirs consume meals together repeatedly inside close personal space.”

Est ignored them professionally. Which never worked.

Daou leaned across the table suspiciously.

“No, seriously. Something’s different.”

Pond squinted at Est harder.

“You do look suspiciously peaceful.”

Peaceful. Interesting word. Est hadn’t thought about it like that before. But perhaps that was true. Because lately, being around William felt less tiring than expected. Less complicated than emotions were supposed to feel. Not because William was simple—he absolutely wasn’t. Beneath all the sunshine and dramatics lived someone surprisingly patient, surprisingly observant.

Someone who cared carefully.

“That expression means something happened,” Daou declared.

Est looked at him.

“What expression?”

“The one where you look emotionally compromised.”

“I always look like this.”

“No,” Pond said immediately. “Usually you look like a financially successful ghost.”

Rude.

Accurate, but rude.

Est reached for his drink again. Silence settled briefly. Then Pond’s eyes widened. Slowly. Horribly.

“No.”

Daou froze mid-bite.

“…No.”

Est continued drinking peacefully.

Daou slammed both hands dramatically against the table.

“YOU FUCKED?”

Several nearby tables looked over. Est didn’t react. Years of friendship had trained him well.

Pond looked genuinely betrayed.

“And you’re saying this casually? Like it’s quarterly business information?”

“We didn’t. It’s just a kiss. It happened on saturday.”

“A KISS ON SATURDAY?” Daou repeated. “And you waited until Monday—lunch to tell us?”

“I had work.”

“You kissed your fiancé, meditated all Sunday, and then casually attended investment meetings?”

“Yes.”

Daou stared like he had discovered something medically concerning.

“You’re terrifying.”

Pond leaned forward immediately.

“How?”

Est blinked once.

“How what?”

“The kiss,” Pond said impatiently. “How did it happen?”

Est considered whether silence could legally end friendships. Unfortunately, probably not. So he answered. “We were in the kitchen.”

Daou clutched his chest dramatically.

“Oh my god. Domesticity.”

“It was after dinner,” Est continued calmly, despite deeply regretting this conversation already. “He almost bumped into me reaching for a glass.”

Pond immediately pointed.

“And then?”

Est paused briefly. The memory arrived too easily. William standing too close. Nervous breathing. Eyes flicking down once toward Est’s mouth before immediately panicking about it.

Can I…?

That careful hesitation had mattered more than the kiss itself, perhaps. Because William had wanted him gently. Not greedily. Not thoughtlessly. 

Gently.

“…And then he kissed me,” Est finished.

Silence followed. Not teasing silence this time. Actual surprise. Because despite everything, despite the engagement and the obvious affection William carried around like sunlight, neither Pond nor Daou had truly expected Est to let someone cross his careful boundaries that easily.

Pond recovered first.

“And?”

Est looked down briefly at the condensation gathering against his glass. Interesting, how difficult honesty became when it mattered personally. He could negotiate million-baht projects without hesitation. Yet admitting feelings felt strangely vulnerable.

Not because he feared judgment. But because once spoken aloud, emotions became real in ways thoughts alone didn’t.

Still.

These were his friends. And the truth had already begun unfolding quietly whether he admitted it or not.

“…It was nice,” Est said finally.

The table went silent again. Daou blinked. Pond stared. Because Est rarely described emotional experiences positively unless he truly meant it. Not polite nice. Not acceptable nice.

Nice.

Warm. Wanted. Memorable.

Pond slowly lowered his fork. “Oh,” he said softly.

Daou looked personally offended.

“Oh, you’re doomed.”

“I’m not doomed.”

“You are,” Pond argued immediately. “Do you know how insane it is that you voluntarily admitted liking physical affection?”

“It was one kiss.”

“Wait. One kiss?” Daou repeated. “God, Est! You’ve been engaged for over a month, you are supposed to have some hot make out sessions!”

Pond groaned dramatically.

“Your relationship progression is actually painful to witness.”

“We’re taking things seriously.”

“You’re taking things archaeologically,” Pond complained. “At this speed your wedding kiss will happen in 2047.”

Est almost smiled despite himself. Because strangely enough, he didn’t mind the slowness. Perhaps because nothing about this felt rushed or artificial. Every step with William had unfolded naturally, even the awkwardness. Especially the awkwardness.

The breakfast conversation yesterday morning returned quietly to his mind.

I’d rather have something real than something fast.

Maybe that was why Est kept moving toward him carefully. Because William deserved sincerity. Not convenience. And because, increasingly, Est found himself wanting to give it.

Daou leaned forward again, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“So what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Daou said dramatically, “are we entering romance era? Are you finally falling in love? Will there be everyday hand-holding? Eye contact? Shared desserts? naughty night, maybe?”

“Shared desserts are normal.” Est stated, ignoring the last sentence. 

“Not when you’re emotionally repressed.”

Pond nodded seriously.

“True.”

Est sighed quietly. But underneath the exhaustion lived something warmer now. Something dangerously close to fondness. Not only for William. But for this too. For having people close enough to notice him changing before he noticed himself.

“I don’t know yet,” Est admitted after a moment.

That answer, at least, deserved honesty. The teasing softened slightly after that. Because Pond and Daou knew him well enough to understand what those words actually meant.

For most people, I don’t know sounded uncertain.

For Est, it meant:
I’m trying.
I’m considering it seriously.
I can totally see the possibility.

And perhaps that was why Daou smiled suddenly. Soft this time instead of teasing.

“You like him more than you realize,” he said simply.

Est looked out briefly toward the city beyond the glass windows. Traffic moved below like streams of light beneath the afternoon sun. And somewhere across Bangkok, William was probably causing emotional disasters at university without supervision.

The thought came naturally now.
Warmly.

Very dangerous.

“…Maybe,” Est answered quietly.

Which, coming from him, was practically a confession.

~*~

By the time lunch ended, the afternoon sky had begun softening into gold. Bangkok shimmered outside the restaurant windows—traffic flowing endlessly beneath elevated trains, sunlight reflecting against towers of glass and steel. The city never really slowed down. It only changed rhythm.

Est stood near the parking area for a moment after separating from Pond and Daou, one hand resting loosely inside his pocket while his driver brought the car around. His mind, unfortunately, hadn’t quieted. Which was annoying. Because usually after work meetings and strategic discussions, his thoughts remained orderly. Structured. Practical.

Today, however, his brain had apparently decided to replay William-related memories against his will.  The performance practice. William had told Est before he went home yesterday, that he will have performance practice ’till night today, hence he won’t be able to come fetch Est up from his office like usual.

Est exhaled softly through his nose.
An hour later, instead of returning directly to the office after lunch—he found himself arriving at his alma mater. William’s university. Unexpectedly. Even to himself.

The campus looked different in the late afternoon. Warmer. Students crowded open courtyards beneath flowering trees, conversations blending with distant music drifting from one of the faculty buildings. Posters about the university end-of-year festival decorated nearly every corner now—sports events, performances, exhibitions.

Youth, Est thought absently, always carried a certain brightness to it. Perhaps that was why William fit here so naturally.

Five more days until the event.

Five more days until William would stand on the main stage.

Interesting how naturally Est remembered that date.

Est stepped out of the car quietly, told his driver to head home early, adjusting the sleeves of his dark shirt once before heading toward the performing arts building William had mentioned before. He was recognized almost immediately. Which was unfortunate.

A group of students near the entrance suddenly froze mid-conversation.

“That’s P’Est, right?”
“The Est Supha?”
“Why is he here?”
“Oh my god—is he here for William? I told you, I saw their engagement news. It’s probably true!”

Est pretended not to hear any of it. Years of university popularity had taught him selective ignorance. Still, whispers followed him through the hallway anyway. Mostly because Est Supha appearing on campus after graduation was already unusual enough. Est Supha appearing at the performance arts department preparation specifically? Disastrous for gossip culture.

The music became louder as he approached one of the practice rooms near the end of the corridor. Not a large rehearsal hall yet—not this early in preparation week. Just one of the bigger mirrored practice studios students used before full-stage rehearsals began later in the week.

The door stood partially open. And through it—William.

Est paused briefly. The practice room glowed warm beneath overhead lights. Bags and water bottles scattered carelessly near the walls while students practiced choreography positions in smaller groups. And near the center of it all stood William. Bright. There was no other word for it.

He wore loose black pants and an oversized gray shirt damp slightly at the collar from practice, sleeves pushed carelessly toward his elbows. His hair looked messier than usual, probably from repeatedly running his fingers through it while frustrated. Nothing particularly formal. And yet Est’s eyes found him immediately anyway.

William laughed at something another performer said, silver necklace shifting lightly against his collarbone when he moved.

Their necklace.

Strange how naturally Est thought of it that way now.

Then the music started again. And William changed. Not personality—Presence. Confidence unfolded through him beautifully during practice, effortless in ways it rarely was around Est. His posture straightened naturally. Expressions sharpened with rhythm and emotion alike. He looked alive there.

Not clumsy.
Not flustered.
Not internally collapsing over accidental hand contact.

Just William.

And unexpectedly, Est found himself watching longer than intended. Because this version of William felt unfairly attractive.

Dangerous realization.

Someone inside the room eventually noticed him first. Then another. Then suddenly the whisper spread through the practice room like wildfire.

“P’Est?”
“Wait—is that Est Supha?”

William turned mid-conversation. And froze instantly. The transformation was immediate. Stage confidence disappeared. William returned. His eyes widened. His ears turned red aggressively fast. Est had to look away briefly to hide amusement.

Cute.

Ridiculously cute.

“P’Est?” William repeated weakly, stepping away from the others toward the door. “Wh—what are you doing here?”

“You invited me.”

“I—I didn’t invite you.”

“You did.”

William blinked rapidly.

“I said you absolutely didn’t have to come. And… I was talking about the main stage.”

“Mm,” Est replied calmly. “And I decided to anyway, before and at the actual performance too.”

Which, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Because William visibly short-circuited.  

Behind him, several students were now openly pretending not to stare while very obviously staring. Est ignored them. Mostly.

“You’re practicing?” he asked.

William looked at him like his brain had temporarily resigned.

“Yes,” he answered eventually. “That’s usually how practice works.”

Progress. William recovering enough to joke back meant survival chances were improving.

Est’s mouth curved faintly.

“I’m aware.”

William stared at that tiny smile like it personally attacked him. 

Again—cute.

One of the music coordinators approached then, clearly trying not to look overly interested. “P’Est,” the junior greeted politely. “Nice to meet you, P’, I’m Gemini. Didn’t know you’d visit.”

“I was invited,” Est answered smoothly. William made a strangled noise beside him. 

The coordinator’s expression immediately gained dangerous gossip energy.

“We’re still polishing transitions this week,” the coordinator explained. “The full stage rehearsal starts Thursday.”

Est nodded once. Then glanced briefly toward William again. William was already looking at him. And immediately looked away the second their eyes met. 

“You can stay if you want,” William mumbled eventually. “I mean—not that you have to. If you’re busy…”

“I know,” Est said calmly.

And he did stay. Longer than intended.

Originally, Est planned to watch for maybe twenty minutes before returning to work emails and investor calls. Instead, nearly an hour passed unnoticed. Because watching William practice turned out strangely easy. Between songs, William became chaotic again almost instantly—complaining dramatically about choreography, arguing with friends over music choices, accidentally dropping his water bottle twice within ten minutes. At one point, he tripped over his own bag strap. Nobody else seemed surprised. 

Est had to lower his head slightly to hide a smile. Because lately, he had begun noticing these small things automatically—the rhythm of William’s energy, the shift between confident performer and disastrously clumsy person offstage.

And somehow neither version felt fake.

That was rare too. Most people changed themselves depending on the room they entered. William simply became more himself.

During another short break, William approached him again carrying two bottled drinks.

“You’ve been sitting there forever,” he said carefully, handing one over. “Don’t you have giant-company-heir things to do?”

“I finished work early.”

William looked suspicious immediately.

“That sounds fake.”

“It’s not.”

“You voluntarily came here after work?”

“Yes.”

William stared at him for a full second too long. Then his ears turned red again. Est accepted the drink calmly while watching William attempt—and fail—to recover composure.

“Th-thanks for coming,” William mumbled eventually. 

The words were quiet. Honest. And unexpectedly, Est felt something warm settle softly in his chest again. Not dramatic. But present.

He looked toward the practice room where students were beginning another run-through beneath warm fluorescent lights. Then back at William. Still flustered. Still bright. Still looking at Est like his presence here genuinely mattered.

“…You look good onstage,” Est said before thinking too much about it.

William stopped functioning immediately. It happened so fast and so completely that Est almost wondered if he should apologize. Almost.

William’s eyes widened. The tips of his ears turned red first, then his cheeks followed with alarming commitment.

“…Wh—what?”

Est took a calm sip of his drink.

“You heard me.”

“No, I didn’t actually,” William replied weakly. “My soul temporarily left my body.”

The practice room behind them buzzed with movement and music, students adjusting positions while someone complained loudly about timing counts near the mirrored wall. Late-afternoon sunlight filtered through the long windows, painting soft gold across polished floors. And in the middle of all that noise and ordinary campus chaos, William looked at Est like one simple compliment had personally rewritten his DNA. 

Because Est hadn’t intended to say it aloud. The thought simply came naturally while watching him.

You look good onstage.

True in more ways than one, perhaps.

William belonged in places filled with light and people. He drew attention effortlessly—not in the sharp commanding way Est did professionally, but warmly. Comfortably. Like sunlight people naturally leaned toward. 

William cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well,” he managed after visible internal suffering, “you look good literally all the time, so.”

Est looked at him. William realized what he just said. Then immediately looked ready to pass away peacefully.

“I mean—your face is… statistically attractive.” he corrected rapidly. 

Statistically attractive.

Amazing recovery. Truly incredible.

Est had to lower his gaze briefly toward the water bottle in his hand because smiling too openly would only make William worse. Though admittedly, watching William self-destruct in real time had become daily-wise entertaining.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Est said calmly.

William groaned quietly into his hands.

Unfortunately, that was also the exact moment two familiar voices entered the practice room.

“Oh,” Keen said immediately from the doorway. “So this is where our nation’s engaged celebrity disappeared to.”

Beside him, Sea looked toward Est first before his gaze shifted slowly toward William’s burning face. Then, with the calm expression of someone about to become annoying deliberately, he said:

“Interesting situation. The fiancé came personally.”  then proceed, “Hello, P’.”

William looked seconds away from collapsing, “How come you guys finished eating so quickly?” he said weakly. 

“News has come to us faster than lightning.” Keen said smugly.

Est watched the interaction quietly from his seat near the windows while the two approached. Keen carried his usual chaotic energy into every room like an unavoidable weather condition. Sea, meanwhile, remained calmer beside him, though Est had already learned that Sea’s quiet expressions usually hid the more dangerous observations.

Together, they were deeply fortunate people for William to have as close friends.

Keen crossed his arms dramatically. “You know,P’Est,” he announced loudly enough for nearby people to hear, “ever since the engagement banquet made the news, this campus has become unbearable.”

Several students nearby immediately looked over. Which was understandable. Because the engagement between the Kaewpanpong heir and the Sangaworawong heir hadn’t stayed private for very long. Not with two influential families involved. Not with the banquet attended by half of Bangkok’s business elite.

Photos of William and Est exchanging silver necklaces had circulated online for days afterward. Elegant. Beautiful. Painfully expensive-looking.

The internet had predictably lost its mind. And apparently, the university had too. Even though William had told him, he never really confirmed directly about their engagement news, mostly because he didn’t want—“…your fans to kill me.” Est just laughed then and said, “whatever suits you.” which made William turn red. 

Someone whispered near the mirrors:

“That necklace is literally the engagement necklace, right?”
“Oh my god it is.”
“William wear it every day.”
“That’s actually insane.”

William visibly heard them and immediately malfunctioned again. “It’s not insane,” he muttered weakly.

Sea glanced toward him calmly.

“You drove your fiancé to work every morning for the past month.”

“That’s normal fiancé behavior!”

Keen gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, he admits fiancé behavior now.” and then proceed to look smugly satisfied. 

The room burst into laughter.

William nearly died.

If Est had to guess, someone like Keen must have repeatedly urged William to confirm the news of his engagement to Est directly to their college friends.

One of the dancers suddenly whispered loudly to another:

“I can’t believe P’Est really came just to watch William practice.”

Another answered immediately:

“If my fiancé looked like William onstage, I’d come too.”

William made a sound of pure suffering. 

Keen placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “Ah yes. True love and public humiliation.”

“There is no public humiliation,” William argued weakly.

Sea looked around the room slowly.

“Half the department is staring at you.”

William glanced around. Unfortunately—Sea was correct. Students kept sneaking looks toward Est sitting near the windows, then toward William looking like a flustered disaster. Because objectively speaking, the image was unfairly attractive.

The calm wealthy heir quietly watching his younger fiancé practice beneath fluorescent lights like this was the most natural thing in the world? Campus gossip would survive on this for months. 

Interesting how little Est minded. A few months ago, this much public attention around his personal life would have exhausted him. Now, however—watching William combust repeatedly was admittedly entertaining.

Keen suddenly turned toward Est, while walking backward, pulling Sea with him. “P’Est,” he called dramatically after couple of steps away, “please tell William he’s handsome so we can all go home early after he explodes.”

William gasped in horror.

“KEEN.”

Est looked toward William calmly. Then, because perhaps he had started enjoying this too much lately, he answered loudly:

“I already did.”

The room erupted instantly. Several students screamed. Someone hit the floor dramatically. Keen physically grabbed Sea’s shoulder like he had witnessed divine revelation. William himself looked moments away from spiritual ascension.

“Oh my god,” he whispered weakly toward Est. “Why would you say that in public?”

Est tilted his head slightly.

“It’s true.”

That somehow made everything worse. 

William covered his entire face with both hands while the room dissolved into chaos again. And unexpectedly—Est laughed softly. Real this time. Not just amusement hidden behind composed expressions. The sound drew several startled glances immediately because Est Supha wasn’t exactly known for public displays of emotion. But Est barely noticed. Because in front of him, William peeked through his fingers toward him with burning cheeks and helpless laughter. 

Gemini, the music coordinator eventually clapped loudly for attention again.

“Alright! Enough gossiping! Back to positions!”

From inside the room, someone suddenly shouted, “William! Stop flirting and come practice!”

The entire room erupted into laughter again. 

William nearly died on the spot. “I hate all of you!” he yelled back without turning around. Then, after one painful second of silence, he glanced carefully toward Est.

Est raised one eyebrow. William combusted further.

“You should go,” Est said finally, merciful for once.

William pointed accusingly.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Always.”

“Always,” William repeated like the words personally betrayed him. “You used to be mysterious and intimidating.”

“And now?”

“Now you’re still intimidating,” William admitted. “Just… emotionally dangerous.”

“I’m fairly certain you were born dramatic.”

William stared at him for a second. Then, unexpectedly, laughed. Soft and helpless and bright enough that Est felt that now-familiar warmth again somewhere beneath his ribs. Very dangerous. Because moments like this had started becoming natural between them. 

Easy.

The realization unsettled Est sometimes—not because he disliked it, but because he liked it more than expected. He had entered this engagement intending honesty. Responsibility. Careful effort. Not this strange growing comfort. Not wanting to see William after long workdays. Not unconsciously looking for his messages during meetings. Not remembering little things like favorite movie genres and nervous habits and preferred coffee sweetness.

And certainly not voluntarily spending his afternoon watching university practice sessions. Yet here he was. 

William sighed dramatically before stepping backward toward the practice area.

“If I embarrass myself during practice now, it’s your fault.”

“Mm.”

“You agreeing means you know it’s true.”

“I’m simply accepting responsibility.”

“That’s worse somehow.”

Their eyes met again briefly. Not exactly tension. Not entirely romance. But something quieter. Closer. William seemed to feel it too because he suddenly looked away first, clearing his throat before retreating toward the others.

 The moment he stepped back closer to the crowd, several students attacked him immediately.

“Did he seriously come just to watch you?”
“You are so lucky! He is insanely hot—”

William made strangled protesting noises while trying to shove them away unsuccessfully. Est watched the scene quietly from the far side of the practice room. And unexpectedly—He felt fond.

The thought arrived so suddenly that it almost caught him off guard.

Fond.

Not obligation. Not patience. Something warmer. Something personal.

On the other side of the room, William finally escaped his friends and moved back into formation, though his face still carried traces of pink beneath the practice lights. The music started again. And once more, William transformed. Confidence unfolded naturally through movement and expression. His voice carried through the room smooth and clear while choreography sharpened around him.

Beautiful performer. Chaotic human being. Strangely compelling combination.

Est crossed his arms lightly, watching in silence.

____________________________

Hi guys! really sorry for the late update. Hopefully this long chapter makes up for it.