Chapter 7

Est Supha waiting in front of William’s classroom should have been illegal.

William realized this the moment he stepped out and the hallway—usually loud, careless, alive with end-of-day exhaustion—shifted its gravity toward one single point. Est stood near the window, back half-leaning against the wall, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, phone forgotten in his hand. Calm. Collected. Entirely too composed for a place that smelled faintly of chaos and academic despair.

And, apparently, for William’s heart.

“Oh,” Keen breathed beside him, voice pitched perfectly for violence. “Oh wow. This is the first time he waited in front of our class right?”

Sea hummed, low and smug. “So this is how campus rumors are lit up.”

William froze halfway through the doorway, bag slipping off his shoulder. He bent down to catch it and nearly head-butted the doorframe instead.

“William,” Keen said gently, hand on his shoulder. “Breathe. The post-grad prince is not here to execute you.”

Sea leaned closer, eyes sharp with amusement. “Yet.”

Est looked up then, gaze landing on William with the kind of quiet certainty that made the rest of the hallway feel like background noise. His expression softened—just a fraction, but William caught it, because of course he did.

“There you are,” Est said, voice steady, familiar now in a way that felt dangerous. “Your class ended on time.”

William straightened far too fast. “Y—yeah. I mean. Yes. Theory classes are… punctual. Sometimes. When they want to ruin your life efficiently.”

Est’s lips twitched. Keen made a sound that could only be described as feral delight. Students began to slow as they passed. Whispers followed like ripples: 

That’s him. 

Is that Est Supha? Wait, isn’t that William—the music major? 

Was the rumor true? 

They often seen eating together at the main canteen lately—

Some people said they were also seen at ICONSIAM, probably on a date!

OMG! Someone finally managed to break through P’Est’s ice wall?

William felt it all at once—the attention, the heat crawling up his neck, the impossible contrast between Est’s composed stillness and his own barely contained chaos. “You didn’t have to wait,” William said, attempting casual and landing somewhere near nervous sincerity. “I could’ve come to find you.”

“I didn’t mind,” Est replied easily. “I was early.”

Of course he was.

Sea nudged William’s elbow. “We’ll… disappear,” he said, voice sweet and dangerous. “Before Keen says something unholy.”

“Too late,” Keen said brightly. “So, P’Est—are you here to steal him, or are you here to escort him?”

William made a noise. Something between a cough and a prayer. Est glanced at Keen, then back at William. “I was thinking more along the lines of walking together.”

Together.

The word echoed.

William swallowed, then—summoning every scrap of resolve he’d been quietly collecting since two days ago—tilted his head slightly, smile crooked. “Careful P’,” he said. “People might get ideas.”

Est looked at him fully now. Really looked. His eyes softened, amused, curious. “Let them,” he said. William’s brain shut down for a full three seconds.

The hallway, meanwhile, had fully surrendered to gossip. Phones were out. Murmurs grew bolder. The contrast was impossible to miss—the calm and cool Campus Moon, athlete, post-graduate bussiness major’s perfection, standing beside William, the clumsy sunshine, chaotic performer, all warmth and barely restrained nervous beagle energy.

William adjusted his bag strap, fingers brushing Est’s sleeve by accident—or maybe not entirely. “So,” he said, voice lighter than he felt, “are we watching the tournament like civilized people… or are you planning to explain every rule to me like I’m five?”

Est chuckled, low. “I wouldn’t dare. I’ve heard you’re competitive.”

William grinned. “Only when I care.”

Keen clutched Sea’s arm. “He’s flirting.”

Sea nodded solemnly. “Poorly. But bravely.”

Est gestured down the hallway. “Shall we?”

William nodded, then promptly took half a step in the wrong direction before correcting himself. Est waited without comment, matching his pace when he finally moved, not too close, not too far—like he was learning William’s rhythm in real time. As they walked, the whispers followed, but William didn’t shrink this time. His heart still raced. His palms still sweated. But when Est glanced at him again—calm, attentive, present—William lifted his chin just a little.

They didn’t make it five steps into the sports complex before William tripped. Not dramatically—no flying limbs, no heroic fall—but enough that his foot caught the edge of the walkway and his body lurched forward with a very undignified, “—Whoa!”

Est’s hand shot out on instinct, steady and sure, fingers wrapping around William’s wrist before his brain could catch up. “I’ve got you,” he said. William froze. The crowd noise swelled around them but all William could hear was his own heartbeat and the calm certainty in Est’s voice.

“…I meant to do that,” William said weakly.

Est raised an eyebrow. “Trip?”

“Yes. To test your reflexes.”

Est huffed a quiet laugh as he released him, fingers lingering a half-second too long. “You passed.”

William’s ears burned. Great. Five minutes in and he was already a disaster. 

They continue to walk little bit more before the noise shifted—classroom chatter melting into open-air cheers, the distant thud of balls hitting court, whistles cutting through the afternoon heat. The campus tournament had spilled beyond the sports complex, energy buzzing through the pathways like electricity. 

William felt it in his chest before he fully saw it.

“So this is where you disappear to sometimes,” he said, hands sliding into his pockets as they approached the stands. “When everyone’s looking for you and you’re… mysteriously unavailable.”

Est glanced at him, amused. “Disappear?”

“You know,” William shrugged, attempting nonchalance and mostly succeeding this time. “Legend behavior.”

Est scoffed softly. “You exaggerate.”

“I’m a music major,” William replied. “Drama is a requirement.” 

That earned him a quiet laugh—brief, real. William stored it carefully in his heart like something fragile.

They found seats near the middle bleachers. William sat down too fast, misjudged the height, and nearly missed the bench. Est caught his elbow again—this time without surprise, like it had already become habit.

“You okay?” Est asked, lips curved.

“I swear I’m normally very coordinated,” William said, straightening his jacket. “I just… malfunction around important people.”

“Important?” Est echoed, amused.

William swallowed. Abort mission. Abort. “I mean—uh—sports facilities. Very intimidating architecture.”

Est’s smile grew, softer this time. “Mm. Sure.”

The game started. The crowd roared. William clapped along half a beat late, enthusiasm high, accuracy questionable. William tried—truly tried—to pay attention, but his awareness—just like last Saturday—kept drifting sideways: the way Est leaned forward when the play got intense, the way his jaw tightened and then relaxed, the faint crease between his brows that only appeared when he cared.

“You’re not watching,” Est said without looking.

William blinked. “I am.”

“Hm.”

“Okay, I’m not,” William admitted, smiling. “But it’s not my fault. You’re explaining nothing, P’Est.” 

Est turned to him fully this time. “You want an explanation?”  William hesitated. The memory of being mansplained anything by Est felt… oddly intimate. “Maybe just the highlights.” he said softly, ears burning red. 

Est leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Alright. See number twelve? He’s fast but reckless. Number seven’s playing safe—waiting for mistakes.”

William nodded seriously. “Like chess.” Est’s mouth curved. “Exactly.”

Their shoulders brushed—barely. The contact sent a quiet shiver up William’s arm. He didn’t pull away. Neither did Est. A cheer erupted from the crowd. Est straightened, clapping once, eyes bright. William watched him instead, thinking—this is new. Not the cheering, but the moment. Sports was one of Est’s comfort things. The fact that Est was here with him and not across the court where his close friends were, choosing this shared moment deliberately. His heart melted. 

William gestured at the court. “So, hypothetically, if I were a player here, would you cheer for me P’?”

Est leaned back, considering. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you’d trip running onto the field.”

William gasped. “Rude.”

“But yes,” Est added easily. “I would.”

William’s brain blue-screened. “Oh.”

Est glanced at him, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You didn’t expect that?”

“I—no—I did—I just—” William waved his hands uselessly. “I thought you’d tease me more.” Est leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only William could hear. “I can tease you later.”

William stopped breathing.

The crowd erupted in cheers as someone scored. William jumped up instinctively, forgot where his feet were, and nearly knocked his knee against the bench. Est caught him again—this time by the waist.

Too close.

Too warm.

William stared at him. Est didn’t move away immediately. His thumb pressed lightly at William’s side, grounding. “Careful,” Est said softly. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

William swallowed. “You keep saving me. People will talk.” 

Est’s gaze dipped briefly to William’s lips—so fast William almost imagined it. Almost. 

“Let them,” Est said.

William sat back down like his legs were made of jelly. He coughed, “I look good in school colors, don’t I?” he said instead, gesturing to his outfit. “Very… supporter-coded.”

Est hummed. “You look good in most things.”

William’s soul left his body. “That was—” he coughed again. “That didn’t count. You weren’t supposed to flirt back.” Est turned to him fully now, expression softer than William had ever seen it. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not emotionally prepared.”

Est smiled, small and genuine. “You’ll adapt.”

They shared a bag of snacks William immediately dropped. Half of it spilled onto Est’s shoe. “I’m so sorry,” William said, horrified. “I swear I’m not like this.”

Est looked down, then back up—amusement dancing in his eyes. “You are like this.”

William deflated. “Is that bad?”

Est shook his head. “It’s… kind of endearing.”

William stared.

The game faded into background noise—cheers, whistles, sunlight slanting across the court. William leaned back, laughing softly at himself, heart racing in a way that felt dangerous and hopeful all at once. “If I flirt one more time,” William said, half-joking, “I might actually combust.”

Est leaned closer, voice warm and low. “Then maybe you should stop.” 

William nodded solemnly. “Good idea.”

A beat.

“…Or you could keep doing it,” Est added. William made a strangled noise and promptly knocked over his drink. Est laughed again—open, real—and this time, he didn’t bother hiding how much he enjoyed William’s chaos.

The final whistle cut through the air sharp and triumphant.

The crowd surged to its feet. Cheers crashed like waves, the kind that rattled your ribs and left your ears ringing long after the sound faded. The scoreboard glowed with victory and on the court, Est’s juniors collided into laughter and tangled limbs, jerseys darkened with sweat, faces bright with triumph.

William clapped until his palms stung, heart buzzing with leftover adrenaline and Est-shaped problems. “That was fun,” he said, turning toward Est. Est smiled, satisfied and relaxed in a way William was starting to recognize—victory softened him, loosened something in his shoulders. “Yeah. They played well.” 

Then, casually, like it wasn’t about to rearrange William’s internal organs, Est said, “They’re going to celebrate. You want to come?”

William blinked. “Oh. Uh. Me?”

“You,” Est confirmed. “You can ask Keen and Sea too, if you want.”

William fumbled for his phone, fingers suddenly clumsy again. He dialed Keen. Straight to voicemail. Sea—no answer. Traitors, both of them.

“They’re… dead,” William said solemnly. “Or ignoring me.”

Est hummed. “Then come anyway.”

And because William was apparently incapable of saying no to Est Supha, he nodded. “Okay.”

The celebration spilled into a nearby open-air café near campus—long tables pushed together, laughter already loud, plates clinking, someone shouting about defense strategies like it was still halftime. William followed Est in, suddenly aware again that he was—technically—the only outsider. Well. Mostly. William felt… very visible.

Pond was the first face he recognized—grinning wide, arm slung securely around Phuwin, who looked entirely unfazed by the chaos like a man who had long since accepted this as his natural habitat.

“EST!” Pond shouted, practically tackling him. “You disappeared before the game, what the hell—Oh… so this is why…”

“Hi, William!”

“Hey,” William said, relief immediate. “Congrats on the win. P’Est told me, you helped the team with the practice.”

Pond laughed. “You were watching, right? Est didn’t scare you with his serious face?”

Phuwin smiled softly. “Nice to see you again. How’s the ice cream survivor doing?”

William’s ears warmed. “I survived. Barely.”

Pond snorted. “Barely is generous. I still think it was a date.”

William choked. Est cleared his throat lightly. Pond raised his hands. “I’m just saying.”

William shook his head, trying—and failing—to hide his smile. He’d shared lunches with them before, casual ones at the main canteen, and somehow even that accidental ice cream detour last Saturday. Familiar faces helped ground him.

Then—

“WAIT.” Daou Pittaya’s voice arrived before the man himself—loud, dramatic, unstoppable. 

William straightened instinctively. For someone always looking at Est from afar, William knew Daou well enough—he had often seen him at Est’s side, back when Est and Pond were still undergraduates. Daou Pittaya—sharp eyes, wild grin, energy like a live wire. He looked exactly the same now, minus the student ID and plus the confidence of someone who had survived graduation. Daou belonged to the same inner circle, as close to Est as Pond himself. William even remembered a time when jealousy had quietly taken root in him, before he learned that Daou’s heart was already claimed elsewhere.

Unlike Pond, Daou was a year ahead of Est, yet the gap had never mattered. Somehow, they had fallen into an easy, unbreakable friendship. The three of them shone with the same effortless brilliance on campus—admired, envied, and endlessly spoken of. They were known not only for their looks, but for the way excellence seemed to follow them everywhere. Est, crowned Campus Moon and chosen to represent the university in national swimming competitions. Pond, the basketball captain who carried his team to victory season after season. And Daou, the volleyball captain who, a year before Est, had claimed the title of Campus Moon.

William suddently felt so tiny around them. He was never a shy person and always taking the lead in his departments, especially the stages, but Est and his friends was so out of reach.

Daou stared between William and Est. Then gasped. “No,” he said. “No way.”

Est sighed. “P’Ou.”

Daou ignored him entirely. “You brought a civilian.”

William stiffened. “I—what?”

“A handsome civilian,” Daou continued, circling William like he was inspecting fine art. “Est Supha doesn’t bring civilians.”

Pond laughed so hard he nearly dropped Phuwin. “Here we go.” Phuwin patted his back. “Breathe.”

Daou leaned in. “So,” he said to William, “what are you?”

William opened his mouth. Closed it. “Confused?”

“Correct answer,” Daou said immediately. Then he turned to Est, eyes sharp with something ambiguous. “Is he special?”

William’s ears went red instantly. He cursed himself for it. Est, infuriatingly composed, answered, “He’s my friend.”

Daou tilted his head. “The kind you sit next to for an entire game?”

“Yes.”

“The kind you invite to celebrations?”

“Yes.”

“The kind you stand suspiciously close to,” Daou continued.

Est glanced at William—just a glance, quick but grounding. “Yes.”

William swallowed, forcing himself to straighten, shoulders back, chin up. Shy didn’t mean spineless. William exhaled slowly, gathering courage. “For the record,” he said, trying to sound casual, “I came willingly.”

Daou’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, he talks back. I love him. Est, where did you find him?”

Est answered without hesitation. “He’s always been there.”

Something about that landed softly—and heavily—inside William’s chest.

“William, this is P’Daou, currently COO of Pittaya Inc. I think you must have seen him at some corporate dinners.”

William simply noded his head and put a big smile in his face. “Nice to meet you, P’.” He offered his hand, and in that brief pause, Daou seemed to catch on to something unseen. Polite courtesy flickered across his face, gave way to sudden surprise, and then softened into a knowingly flirtatious smile—all in the span of a heartbeat. When he finally took William’s hand, he did so with almost exaggerated enthusiasm, as though the greeting itself had become a quiet, playful challenge.

“Oh! so… you are William Jakrapatr. About time we finally met!” Daou said with a mischievous grin one can see even from meters away.

“Huh..?” William was about to ask what Daou meant by that, but Phuwin cut in “Come on. Let’s eat before P’Ou scares him away.” 

Daou slung an arm around Est’s shoulder. “Too late.”

“You’ve got a good taste, Est.”

Est shot him a warning look. “Just eat your food P’. It’s rare for you to join us in campus’s event.”

Daou laughed, unbothered. “Bossy. Still the same.”

As everyone settled around the table, noise rising again, William found himself sitting beside Est without quite remembering how it happened. Their knees brushed under the table—brief, accidental, devastating. William focused on his drink. His thoughts lingered on the quiet weight of Daou’s words, curiosity curling deep in his mind. Had Est spoken of him to those in his inner circle? Did they already know—about the engagement waiting just beyond the turn of the month?

Est leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only William could hear. “You okay?”

William nodded slightly. “Yeah. I just—wasn’t expecting this.”

Est’s gaze softened. “You fit in fine.”

William smiled despite himself, nerves easing just a fraction. He glanced at Est, who met his eyes—steady, reassuring, quietly present. It struck William then, standing there among Est’s loud and familiar people, that he wasn’t being hidden. He was being introduced. And Est—cool, unreadable Est—was letting it happen.