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William had just stepped out of the shower when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Steam still clung to his skin as he towel-dried his hair lazily before reaching for it.
Est: Are you going to sleep already?
A small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips. He sat down on the edge of his bed, hair still damp and sticking to his forehead. His fingers were already moving fast across the screen.
William: Nah, just got out of the shower. You?
Est: On bed already. btw, are you free tomorrow?
William: Yes. What do you have in mind?
Est: Horror film. My place. I’ll make lunch.
William froze mid-breath. Est’s place. Just the two of them.
The image that flashed in his head wasn’t the movie or the food—it was the impulsive kiss on Est’s cheek earlier that day in the library. The one that was supposed to be for show, except it hadn’t felt like one.
William: Sure. What time should i be there?
Est: 12 noon. Unit 1202. Don’t be late!
William: Always so demanding.
Est: Fine! Come anytime you want. I’m going to sleep.
William chuckled softly, thumb hovering before replying.
William: 12 it is. Good night.
Est: Good night.
He set the phone down and turned off the lamp. The room fell into soft darkness. He lay back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts replayed the day on loop.
The kiss. Est’s startled expression—the small breath he took right after.
He’d done it to make Joong back off, yes. It was necessary. A move to protect Est and to make their act believable. But beneath that was something messier, something he didn’t want to name. Because the truth was, the moment he saw Joong sitting across from Est, something hot and territorial had clawed its way up his chest.
And when he kissed Est, it wasn’t just to sell the lie. It was to mark a line. To remind Joong that Est wasn’t someone he could play with.
The thought made his stomach twist. He exhaled, dragging a hand over his face. He wasn’t jealous. He couldn’t be. That wasn’t what this was. He was protective. That was what he kept telling himself. He was just being a good fake boyfriend—committed to the part, right?
Except… why did it feel less like acting and more like wanting?
He could still feel the warmth of Est’s skin against his lips if he let himself think too long. And that strange ache in his chest? The one that started as confusion and now burned quietly whenever he thought about Est? That didn’t feel like performance at all.
He turned onto his side, staring at the faint outline of his phone on the nightstand.
Tomorrow, he was going to Est’s apartment. He told himself it was just for the movie. For the friendship. For the pretend relationship.
But deep down, he already knew that wasn’t true.
He wanted to see how Est looked when he was comfortable—unbothered, in his own space. He wanted to hear that unguarded laugh again. To cook beside him, even if he’d probably mess up. He wanted to be close—not because he had to—but because lately, the distance between them had started to feel too loud.
And maybe that was the part that scared him the most.
—
Est had just finished cleaning his place and was folding laundry when a knock came at the door. He frowned, glancing at the clock—10:45 a.m.
When he opened it, William stood there—freshly showered, hair still a little damp, grinning, and holding up a paper bag like it was an offering.
“It’s quarter to eleven,” Est said, eyebrows lifting. “You’re early. I said twelve.”
William shrugged, stepping inside like he’d done it a hundred times. “Figured I could help you cook.”
Est gave him a look caught between disbelief and amusement. “You do know lunch prep doesn’t take more than an hour, right?”
“I brought dessert,” William countered, shaking the bag with a hopeful smile, as if that would soften Est’s frown.
Est crossed his arms. “You’re impossible.”
William was ready with another comeback—but it caught in his throat when he finally looked at Est properly. Barefoot, hair slightly messy, wearing a faded tank that clung to his shoulders and gray sweatpants that looked too soft for public decency.
Something in William’s chest stuttered. He looked away quickly, pretending to admire the plants by the window instead.
Est, catching the shift, felt heat creep up the back of his neck. “Wait on the couch. I’ll take a quick shower. And don’t touch anything,” he muttered, disappearing into his room.
William grinned but obeyed. As he waited, his eyes roamed the apartment—small, tidy, surprisingly warm. No trophies, no framed medals, no glossy proof of Est’s reputation as their school’s golden boy. Just books stacked neatly on shelves, a PlayStation console, a few games, and a single framed photo of him with his parents. Est was smiling wide, a medal around his neck, his parents beaming with pride beside him.
It was the only trace of that world. Everything else felt real.
He bent slightly to read the spines of the books—self-help, thrillers, a few adventure novels. He smiled. They had similar taste.
The bedroom door creaked open. Est stepped out in fresh clothes—navy sweats, a loose white shirt, hair still damp. He smelled faintly of shampoo and soap.
William’s voice came softer than he meant. “Where are your trophies and medals?”
“At home,” Est said as he moved toward the kitchen. “My mae keeps them in their room.”
“Their room? Not yours?”
Est shook his head, pulling out vegetables from the fridge. “I don’t really like looking at them. They just remind me of everyone’s expectations.” He shrugged lightly. “I want to swim because I love it. Not because people expect me to win.”
Something about the quiet honesty in his tone made William’s chest warmed.
“Can I say something?” William asked. “And you not get weird about it?”
Est snorted. “What is it this time?”
William’s mouth curved, gentler this time. “I admire that about you. You’re passionate, and you do things for the right reasons. Not to prove anything. It’s… rare.”
For a moment, Est didn’t say anything. Then, without looking up, he said softly, “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not,” William said simply.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
Est broke it with a small, bashful grin. “Fine. So, are you going to help me cook or just stand there moral-supporting?”
William straightened, matching his smile. “Of course I’ll help, chef.”
He rolled up his sleeves and joined Est at the counter.
__
A while later…
“I’m done!” William announced proudly, stepping back from the counter.
Est turned—and froze. His smile evaporated. “What… is this?”
William blinked, confused. “What do you mean what?”
Est stared at the chopping board in disbelief.
“I said mince the garlic, julienne the carrots and bell peppers, and slice the onions.” He lifted the board for emphasis. “Why is everything in tiny cubes? Even the broccoli!”
William looked sheepish. “Uh… I thought smaller was better? Like… bite-sized?”
Est groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Have you ever cooked before?”
“Nope,” William said without shame. “We have a helper who does that.”
Est closed his eyes for a second, muttering something under his breath that sounded like a prayer for patience. “Please. Just sit down and don’t touch anything else.”
William frowned, half-offended. “Hey, why are you mad? I was trying to help.”
“Because now I have to redo all of this and I’m starving!” Est snapped.
William’s expression softened at that. He set the knife down quietly, leaning a hip against the counter. “Okay. Deep breath, chef.”
Est shot him a glare. “Don’t call me that.”
“Alright, alright.” William lifted his hands in surrender, tone gentler. “How about this: I’ll order food. No stress, no cooking. You sit, I’ll handle it.”
Est hesitated, the fight draining out of him. His shoulders sagged. “Fine.”
William gave a small, lopsided grin. “See? Problem solved.”
Est exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
Est tried to look annoyed, but his lips twitched—just slightly. He sank into a chair, watching as William scrolled through his phone.
He was hopeless in the kitchen. Clueless, even. But the sight of him standing there, trying anyway, made something in Est’s chest ease.
They ended up eating burgers and fries on the couch.
“I’m sorry I ruined lunch,” William said after a quiet moment.
Est glanced at him, chewing the last bite of his burger.
“I’m sorry too—for raising my voice. I was just hungry and…” He trailed off, rubbing his neck. “Next time, if you’re not sure or need help with something, just ask me first, okay?”
William smiled faintly, the guilt in his eyes easing. “Okay.” Then, almost shyly, he added, “Text me the vegetables you need for the Pad Pak Ruam Mit. I’ll order them online so we can still cook it later—for dinner.”
Est blinked, surprised. Then his lips curved, slow and genuine. “You’re staying till dinner, huh?”
William shrugged, trying to play it off. “I mean… might as well finish what we started.”
Est’s smile deepened. “Alright then.”
They settled in for a movie marathon—The Conjuring, Annabelle, The Nun. Somewhere halfway through the first film, Est leaned in. Not abruptly—just gradually, as if gravity itself was pulling him closer—until his head found William’s shoulder.
William froze mid-bite of his popcorn, heart thudding a little too loud. He risked a glance—Est’s eyes stayed on the screen, calm, relaxed. Like this was nothing. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
William swallowed, forcing himself to breathe normally. Slowly, he let his shoulder soften under Est’s weight. The warmth pressed against him was quiet, steady, grounding. It felt… right.
By the third movie, they’d both drifted off, their heads tilted toward each other, breaths syncing.
The peace broke when William’s phone buzzed. He blinked awake, disoriented, Est’s hair brushing his jaw. Carefully, he eased away and answered.
“Okay, I’ll be downstairs,” he murmured.
He hung up and stretched. “The vegetables are here. I’ll grab them.”
Est, still groggy, nodded. “Okay.” His voice came out rough, sleep-heavy.
By the time William came back, Est was already in the kitchen, the counter cleared. He looked more awake now—focused, calm, in his element.
“Let’s try again,” Est said, with a faint grin.
This time, William really tried. He watched Est’s hands closely, followed every motion. When Est reached over to adjust his grip on the knife, their fingers brushed—once, then again.
“Like this,” Est murmured.
“Got it,” William said quietly, though his pulse said otherwise.
When they finally plated everything, the kitchen smelled warm and savory. William stared at the dish like it was a masterpiece. “We actually did it.”
“You did fine,” Est said, unable to hide the pride in his tone.
William grinned and grabbed his phone. “I’m taking pictures. My mae’s going to be so proud.”
Est laughed, leaning back against the counter, watching him fumble for a good angle. He looked so genuinely happy that Est reached for his own phone without thinking.
He snapped a photo quietly.
__
They watched one last movie after dinner — the kind that wasn’t really about the movie anymore, but about staying in the same room a little longer, neither of them wanting it to end.
By the time William finally left, it was late. Est stood by the door as he slipped on his shoes, then waved until the elevator doors closed.
When William got home and reached his bedroom, he fell onto his bed still smiling and grabbed his phone.
William: I’m home already
A few seconds later, his screen lit up. Incoming video call. Est.
William blinked, surprised—but answered immediately.Est’s face filled the screen.
“You got home fast,” Est said. “I told you not to speed.”
William chuckled, lying back against his pillows. “I didn’t. No traffic.”
Est hummed approvingly. “Good.”
For a moment, neither spoke. They just… looked. The silence wasn’t awkward—it felt warm, alive. William could hear the faint hum of Est’s air conditioner, see the soft light from his bedside lamp. It felt oddly intimate, like he was still there.
“Thanks for inviting me today,” William said, voice low. “I had fun.”
Est’s lips curved into a small smile. “No problem. Thanks for coming.”
“Let’s do it again?” William asked, trying—and failing—to sound casual. “We still need to finish the rest of The Conjuring series.”
Est chuckled. “Next weekend then?”
William grinned, bright and boyish. “For sure.”
“Alright,” Est said, shaking his head but smiling. “Good night, William.”
“Sweet dreams, Est.”
The call ended, but William didn’t move for a while. He replayed the day piece by piece—the way Est leaned against him during the movie, the quiet laughter in the kitchen, the way his eyes softened when he smiled.
Something about it all felt… easy. Too easy. Like it wasn’t supposed to be this natural, this comfortable—but it was.
Then his phone buzzed again.
@est_rvp mentioned you in their story.
Curious, he opened it.
It was a candid photo—him, phone in hand, taking a picture of the food they’d made. Est must’ve snapped it without him noticing.
The caption read: Saturday well spent.
For a second, William just stared. His chest felt too full, something warm and unsteady unfurling inside him. He smiled to himself, small and helpless, then reposted the story.
Sleep came easily that night, gentle and slow. And when it did, Est’s laugh was the last thing echoing in his mind.
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