Chapter 9

The banquet hall shimmered like it had been holding its breath all along. William stood just outside the tall ballroom doors, the faint echo of music slipping through the seams—strings warming up, glasses clinking, voices braided together into something celebratory and serious all at once. Two days. It hadn’t been long, but somehow it felt like the world had tilted just enough for everything to look different now. 

Engagement banquet. The words still didn’t sit quietly in his chest. His suit was immaculate—cream-toned, tailored perfectly, soft fabric catching the warm light—but William felt like he was wearing a moment borrowed from the future. His hands were clasped too tightly, knuckles pale, shoulders squared with determination and nerves fighting for dominance.

Beside him, Keen looked entirely too alive for this moment. “Okay,” Keen said, eyeing William with exaggerated seriousness. “Two days ago, Est graduated. Today, you’re officially being launched into high society fiancé territory.”

“I am standing right here,” William muttered. “And I am aware.”

Sea, on his other side, adjusted his own cufflinks calmly before glancing at William. “You look fine.”

“That pause before ‘fine’ was suspicious.”

Sea smirked. “You look… very fine.”

Keen leaned in, straightening William’s tie for the third time. “I just want you to know,” Keen said, “if you pass out, I will scream first, catch you second.”

Sea swatted Keen’s hand away with practiced fondness. “Stop touching him. He already looks like a nervous groom from a romance drama.”

“I am not fainting,” William muttered, though his fingers trembled anyway. “And I am not a groom.”

“Yet,” Keen sang.

William exhaled, long and shaky. Beyond those doors waited chandeliers, silk-draped tables, family friends, close business partners—people who would smile knowingly, people who would measure him with polite eyes. People who already knew his name, his family, his future.

And Est.

Somewhere inside, Est Supha would be standing calm and composed, probably already greeting guests, probably wearing that quiet confidence that never cracked. William’s chest tightened at the thought—at how different they were, and how Est had still chosen to stand here with him.

Sea leaned in slightly, voice lower, steadier. “You’re doing fine.” William glanced at him. “I feel like I’m about to be perceived by three hundred very important people.”

“That is exactly what is happening,” Keen said cheerfully. Sea ignored him, “You’ve done harder things than this.”

William glanced at him. “Name one.”

“Liking Est quietly for years without exploding.” Keen laughed. “A miracle, honestly.”

William pressed his lips together, ears warming. “I did explode. Just… internally.”

“And you lived,” Sea said. “This is just… love, contracts, and social expectations.”

Keen grinned. “And Est.”

William’s heart did that thing again—tightening, brightening, betraying him. Est.

The music inside shifted—softer now, deliberate. A cue. A staff member approached and bowed politely. “Mr. Jakrapatr. We’ll begin shortly. The President wants you inside.”

William nodded, then immediately forgot how to breathe.

Two days ago, Est had stood in academic robes, accepting his master degree with steady hands. Today, William was about to step into a room where the future would be acknowledged, toasted, sealed in silk and smiles.

Keen clapped his hands together. “Alright. Final pep talk.” He grabbed William’s shoulders dramatically.

“You are handsome. You are rich. You are beloved. And you are engaged to a man who despite having hundreds of suitors, chose you.”

Sea nodded. “And you’re not alone.”

William smiled at them—small, grateful, a little crooked. “Thank you. Both of you.”

The doors opened. Light spilled out—warm, golden, alive with voices and music and possibility. The banquet hall waited, dressed in flowers and silk, in promises that had been whispered long before they were spoken aloud.

William stood near the edge of the stage, heart thrumming in his ears, when two figures stepped forward together—his father and Est’s father, side by side. The sight alone stilled the room. They were men cut from the same cloth of quiet authority, different in temperament but equal in steadiness, shoulders aligned not by chance but by history.

William’s father took the microphone first.

His voice was calm, warm, practiced in rooms like this—but tonight it carried something softer beneath the polish. He spoke of years, of shared tables and shared trust. Of how the relationship between their families had begun not with contracts, but with friendship. How three generations ago, two men had chosen to believe in each other—and how that belief had endured, patient and strong, through time.

Est’s father continued seamlessly, his tone thoughtful, grounded. He spoke of continuity, of values passed down like heirlooms—integrity, respect, the understanding that partnership was not ownership, but care. The engagement, he said, was not an obligation, but a promise to try. To grow. To walk forward together, even when the road was uncertain.

William listened, chest tight. This wasn’t just about him and Est. Part of it, yes, but it was more about history leaning gently into the future.

When the speeches paused, Est’s father smiled and lifted the microphone again.

“And now,” he said, “we invite Est and William to join us on stage.”

Applause rippled gently through the hall.

Est turned first, extending his hand. Palm open. Waiting. William hesitated—just a heartbeat—before placing his hand in Est’s. Est’s grip was warm and steady, grounding in a way William desperately needed. Together, they stepped into the glow of the stage lights.

The stage lights were brighter than expected. The room blurred into soft shapes and sound. He could feel his pulse in his fingers, in his throat, everywhere. Their mothers stood beside them—William’s mom radiant with emotion, Est’s mom composed but glowing. Earn bounced slightly on her heels, eyes bright, practically vibrating with pride.

A velvet tray was brought forward. 

Upon it lay two matching silver necklaces. Not loud. Not ostentatious. Just… right. The chains were fine but strong, catching the light with a soft gleam. Each pendant was slightly different—mirror designs, crafted to fit together when placed side by side. A quiet symbol of choice, not possession.

They had chosen necklaces instead of engagement rings after a long, unhurried conversation that felt more important than the jewelry itself. Rings, they agreed, would come once—only once—and that single ring would be the wedding ring, worn not out of obligation but certainty, if the path they were stepping onto did not turn sideways somewhere along the way. They didn’t want layered symbols or backup promises. Just one circle meant for forever, not rehearsal. The silver necklaces were their compromise with the present—something close to the heart, visible yet gentle, a token that said we are trying, without claiming we have already arrived. Silver, because it was steady without being loud, resilient without demanding attention. A promise that could rest against their skin quietly, learning its shape, until the day a single ring would replace it—or until they chose, honestly, to let it go.

William swallowed. He reached for Est’s necklace, fingers trembling despite his best efforts. The cool silver contrasted sharply with the warmth of Est’s skin as William stepped closer, lifting the chain carefully to settle it around Est’s neck. His hands brushed the back of Est’s collarbone—brief, accidental, devastating.

When it was Est’s turn, his movements were calm, deliberate. He stepped in, lifting William’s necklace with practiced ease, fastening it gently behind William’s neck. His fingers lingered for half a second too long. 

William forgot how to breathe.

The pendants rested over their hearts—silver catching the stage lights like something quietly sacred. Applause filled the hall, warm and full, but William barely heard it. All he could feel was the weight of the necklace against his chest—and Est standing beside him.

Then came the speeches.

William was handed the microphone first. He stared at it for a second too long. “…Hi,” he said, voice cracking slightly, and the room laughed gently with him, not at him. He smiled, nerves spilling into honesty. “I’m—uh—I’m not very good at speeches.”

Est’s mouth curved at the edge.

William continued, words tumbling out simpler than expected.

He spoke about trying. About learning. About how he was grateful—to his parents, to Est’s family, to Est. He didn’t say love. He didn’t promise perfection. He just said he would do his best to be someone worthy of standing here.

It was enough.

When Est took the microphone, the room quieted in a different way.

His voice was steady, clear, thoughtful. He spoke of responsibility—not as a burden, but as a choice. Of partnership as something built day by day. He thanked both families, acknowledged the path ahead, and said he was ready to walk it—with sincerity, patience, and respect.

No grand declarations.
No dramatic vows.

Just commitment, spoken calmly, like truth.

The applause was longer this time.

Then Est’s father stepped forward again, microphone in hand, smile gentle but proud. “One more thing,” he said. “As today marks a new chapter for our families, it also marks one more for Est.”

William’s breath caught.

“Beginning next week,” Est’s father continued, “Est will officially begin his role within the company.”

A murmur of approval swept the hall. Est nodded, accepting it with the same quiet composure he carried everything else.

William glanced at him—at the necklace, at the future unfolding so casually beside him—and felt something settle in his chest.

Not certainty.
Not answers.

But a promise—cool and steady—learning how to stay.

~*~

The banquet didn’t end all at once. It unraveled slowly—like a song reluctant to reach its final note.

Laughter softened into quieter conversations, glasses emptied and refilled, hands clasped in congratulations that lingered just a little longer than formality required. The chandeliers still glowed above them, but then the night had shifted—less ceremonial now, more bussiness-like, there are more company’s CEOs present than families after all.

William stood beside his parents, smiling, nodding, answering, existing—barely aware of how many people had spoken to him. Everything felt slightly distant, like he was walking through a dream he had agreed to but not fully woken into.

And then—

Est.

“Uncle, Auntie,” Est said, voice calm as ever, stepping into the circle of their families with quiet certainty. “I’ll take William home tonight.”

William blinked.

His mother’s eyes lit up immediately, far too delighted. “Oh? That’s good. Very good.”

His father simply nodded, the hint of a knowing smile hidden behind composure. “Drive safely.”

William opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t sure what—but Est had already turned slightly toward him, just enough for their eyes to meet.

“Ready?” Est asked.

William nodded. Of course he was. Or at least—he would try to be.

The hotel lights faded behind them as the car pulled into the quiet rhythm of the city at night.

William expected the familiar route home. The one he could map without thinking. The one that would end this night cleanly, neatly, safely. But Est didn’t take that road.

William noticed after three turns.

“…P’Est?” he asked, careful.

Est didn’t look at him immediately. “The night’s still long,” he said simply. “I thought we could talk a bit.”

William’s heart stuttered.

“Oh.”

The car turned again, then slowed, then stopped in front of a small café tucked between two quiet buildings. Warm light spilled from the windows, soft and golden, like an invitation meant only for those who noticed it.

It wasn’t grand.

It wasn’t formal.

It was… gentle.

Est unbuckled. “Come on.”

Inside, the world felt smaller.

The café hummed softly with low music and the scent of roasted coffee. A few late-night customers lingered in corners, voices hushed, time stretching differently within those walls.

They chose a table by the window.

Not across from each other.

Side by side.

William wasn’t sure if that made it easier or harder.

Their drinks arrived, americano for Est and something sweeter for William. Steam curled lazily into the air. Silence settled—not heavy, not awkward, but waiting.

Est spoke first. “Tonight,” he said, fingers resting lightly against his cup, “was… important.”

William nodded. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

Then Est turned slightly, his expression calm but more serious than William had ever seen it.

“I meant what I said before,” Est continued. “About trying. About understanding you. About building something real.”

William’s chest tightened—not painfully, but sharply, like truth had weight.

“I’m not treating this as an obligation,” Est said. “Or a performance for our families.”

He held William’s gaze now.

“I’m choosing to try.”

William swallowed.

“That’s enough for me,” he said quietly.

Est watched him for a second longer—like he was measuring something, or maybe just making sure William understood.

“But,” Est added, voice still gentle, still steady, “I won’t lie to you.”

William’s breath hitched.

“If, at some point, this doesn’t feel right,” Est said, “I won’t force it. And I won’t pretend.”

The words weren’t harsh. They were careful.

Respectful.

Honest.

“I think your feelings deserve better than that,” Est continued. “If this doesn’t become something real… something mutual… then it shouldn’t continue just because it was arranged.”

William stared at his hands. At the faint reflection of light on the silver necklace resting against his chest.

“If that happens,” Est said softly, “you’ll have to accept that the wedding won’t happen.”

There it was.

Not a threat.

Not a rejection.

Just truth, laid gently between them.

William inhaled slowly. Then nodded. “I understand,” he said.

And he did. More than he expected to. Because beneath the fear, beneath the quiet ache of uncertainty—there was something else.

Relief.

Est wasn’t promising something he couldn’t feel. He wasn’t trapping them in a future built on politeness. He was choosing honesty.

And somehow—

That made William want to stay even more.

“I don’t want you to lie,” William added, lifting his gaze. “Even if it… hurts.”

Est’s expression softened, just slightly.

“It won’t be my goal to hurt you, William.”

“I know.”

A small silence followed.

Then—like a shift in weather—something lighter slipped back in.

Est leaned back slightly, studying him. “You handled tonight well,” he said.

William blinked. “I did?”

“You didn’t trip on stage.”

“That was the bare minimum.”

“You also didn’t drop the necklace.”

William narrowed his eyes. “I almost did.”

“But you didn’t.”

William huffed. “Are you complimenting me or grading me?”

Est’s mouth curved. “Both.”

William groaned, dropping his head briefly into his hands. “This is why I get nervous around you.”

“Because I have standards?”

“Because you notice everything.”

A beat.

Then Est said, softer—

“I notice you.”

William froze.

…Oh.

“Oh,” he echoed, very intelligently.

Est smiled—small, quiet, devastating.

And just like that, the tension loosened.

They talked after that. About small things. About how ridiculous the banquet speeches felt from the inside. About how Earn had almost cried three times and then pretended she didn’t. About how William’s mom was already planning three different wedding themes.

(“There will be chaos,” William said solemnly.)

(“I’m prepared,” Est replied.)

William tried to flirt again.

Of course he did.

“You know,” he said at one point, attempting confidence, “driving me home after making me your fiancé… that’s a bold move.”

Est glanced at him. “Is it?”

“Very,” William nodded. “You’re committing to… post-event interaction.”

Est hummed. “I’ll take the risk.”

William’s heart did something ridiculous.“…Good,” he said, quieter.

Est’s eyes lingered on him for just a second longer than necessary. Then he looked away. And the night continued—soft, steady, unhurried.

~*~

Time didn’t rush after the banquet.

It settled.

Like silk finally laid flat after being carried,
like music finding tempo after the opening note.

A month later, the world hadn’t changed loudly—but it had changed enough for William to feel it in the way mornings began.

Est was busy now. Not in the distant, untouchable way William had once feared—but in a real, grounded, adult way. Meetings that stretched too long. Calls that came too early. Documents stacked like quiet responsibilities waiting to be answered.

And yet—
Every morning, without fail, Est would be there.

Or rather—William would.

Because somewhere between nervous hope and stubborn determination, William had decided he would drive Est to work.

And, somehow, Est had said yes.

The first time had been a disaster.

William had shown up ten minutes early, five minutes too nervous, and entirely too dressed for someone just dropping someone off at work before they need to head straight to campus. He had nearly stalled the car twice, forgotten where to look while talking, and waved goodbye at the wrong moment.

Est had watched him through all of it—calm, amused, quietly patient.

Now, a month later, things were… better.

Not perfect.

Never perfect.

But better.

“Seatbelt,” Est said, already buckled, voice low with the faintest trace of a smile. “I know,” William replied, already reaching for it—only to fumble it on the first try.

Est didn’t help.

He never did.

He just watched, head tilted slightly, eyes warm in that quiet way that made William’s fingers even more useless.

“…It slipped,” William muttered.

“Mm,” Est hummed. “Of course it did.”

William shot him a look, trying for sharp and landing somewhere near flustered. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

“Wow. I see how it is.”

Est didn’t deny it.

The car pulled out smoothly this time—no stalling, no panicked braking. Progress. William allowed himself a small, internal victory.

They drove in comfortable quiet for a while, morning light slipping through the windows, soft and golden. The city moved around them—busy, alive, indifferent—but inside the car, everything felt contained. Familiar.

“Did you sleep?” Est asked.

“Enough,” William said. “You, P’?”

Est nodded. “Late meeting. But manageable.”

William glanced at him briefly—at the faint shadow of tiredness beneath his eyes, at the way he still carried himself so steadily despite it. Something in William’s chest softened.

“You should rest more,” he said, quieter.

Est looked at him, just for a second. Then—softly—“You sound like my mom.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

A pause.

Then Est added, almost absentmindedly, “You’re taking care of me.”

William’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.

“I’m just… driving,” he said, voice lighter than his heartbeat.

Est didn’t respond immediately.

But when he did, it was with a small, almost invisible smile.

.

Afternoons were different.

William would wait outside the company building—sometimes sitting in the car, sometimes leaning against it, pretending he wasn’t checking the time every thirty seconds.

He always told himself he was being casual.

He wasn’t.

Employees passed by, some recognizing him, some whispering, some smiling politely. William smiled back when necessary, then immediately forgot how his face worked.

And then—

Est would appear.

Every time.

Walking out of the building like the day belonged to him—tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled just enough, expression calm but softer when his eyes landed on William.

Always that small change.

Always noticeable.

“You’ve been waiting long?” Est would ask.

“No,” William would lie. “Just got here.”

“Mm,” Est would say, clearly unconvinced.

And then he would get into the car like it was the most natural thing in the world.

.

“You’re staring,” Est said one evening, not looking up from his phone.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

William huffed. “I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” Est replied automatically.

William smiled despite himself. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s always true.”

William rolled his eyes, then—because he was nothing if not persistent—leaned slightly closer.

“Maybe I just like looking at you,” he said, attempting smooth.

He failed.

Spectacularly.

Est paused.

Then slowly turned his head.

“…Maybe?” Est echoed, one brow lifting.

William immediately regretted everything. “Hypothetically.”

“Ah,” Est nodded. “Hypothetically.”

A beat.

Then, very softly—

“I don’t mind.”

William forgot how to drive for half a second.

“Eyes on the road,” Est added calmly.

“THEY ARE—”

Est laughed.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

But real.

And William—still clumsy, still chaotic, still entirely himself—felt something settle again.

Days folded into each other like this.

Morning drives.
Afternoon waits.
Soft conversations.
Small teasing remarks.

William still tripped over his own confidence.
Still talked too much when he was nervous.
Still burned red at the smallest things.

Est still watched him.
Still teased him.
Still softened, little by little, in ways only William seemed to notice. Or so he hope.