Chapter 9: The Collision

Est.

The mansion was quiet in a way that made Est uneasy. It wasn't peaceful, wasn't calm. It was just... unsettling.

The kind of quiet that stretched too long between each sound, like the walls were listening.

When he'd arrived that day, William didn't act, didn't speak.

He just stood there, with that blank, impenetrable gaze, his presence cold and unbothered, studying Est like an old book he'd gotten bored of.

Predictable. Unimpressed.

And then... nothing.

He just turned and walk away, vanishing like smoke in the big house.

Est stood there for a moment, before being returned to the same room that had held him prisoner.

There, he spent the next day locked inside. And this time, he didn't even have the energy to feel trapped, to feel regret.

So he just... stayed.

Accepted his fate.

When the maid came in, she carried a tray.

It was the same old torment— rice, vegetables, and a glass of water.

However, this time, she came in without a guard.

Est noticed immediately.

She noticed him noticing, and with hurried movements, she dropped it on the table by the wall and left, shutting the door close with a soft click.

He waited for the other sound that would follow, the faint lock of the latch.

It never came.

Pulling himself from bed, he approached the door. Slowly, quietly, he pressed his ear against the wood, listening for sounds.

There was nothing.

No footsteps. No movement. No small chatter. Just distant voices and the faint hum of air conditioning.

He hesitated.

Every instinct in him burned a warning, told him this could be a test— another cruel mindgame of Williams. A cold, calculated way to measure his fear, his desperation to escape.

Or just another ploy to torture him.

To see if he would submit... to this... cage.

The thought made his throat tighten.

Not in anger. But in defeat.

He stepped back slowly.

He wasn't going to run. Wasn't going to fight back.

Not this time.

He couldn't.

They knew who he was. They knew Nut. They knew his mother.

So running wouldn't save him.

Est returned to the bed.

And he stayed put.

The hours that followed blurred into one another. Then the days.

He read, he lay awake, he paced.

The food always came at the same time, the same dish and it irritated him. The quiet grew heavy as lead, pressing on him. The air became too thick to breathe easy.

By the third day, Est's patience wore thin, weary. And his stubborn nature won.

Again.

He picked his languid body up from its decaying spot on the bed, stepped towards the door, and twisted the knob with sweaty, shaky fingers.

The latch unhooked.

He peeked his head out and glimpsed at the sunlit hallways. There was no one in sight.

No armed men, no frightened ladies.

Nothing living or breathing.

Just tall windows that spilled in bright sunlight, and the faint groan of the mansion's roofing.

Est pushed the door slightly ajar and stepped outside, his movements hushed, careful not to make a big noise.

The house was larger than he remembered— grand and quietly imposing.

The wooden floors were polished, gleaming under the afternoon light. The cream walls bore faint, golden swirls, as though someone had traced the intricate patterns by hand. The corridor was spacious, lined with tall vases and delicate antiques, each piece carefully placed, as though a small shift would take away from its rich history.

Everything reeked of old wealth.

Blood money.

The thought shot ice through his spine.

Est walked down the stairs carefully, slender hand sliding against the smooth wooden railing, each step careful, deliberate, as though he was walking in a field of landmines.

At the bottom, he stood before the front door.

It was tall and majestic— 12 feet of solid mahogany, carved and polished to a dark, gleaming shine. It stood before him like a beast, daunting, almost intimidating, as though waiting to pass judgment.

Est felt a slight shudder crawl through him. Something about it reminded him of... Will.

His brooding, nightmarish persona.

He reached for the handle and pushed, but the door didn't budge.

It was locked.

Est almost groaned. Sighing instead, he turned and looked around. And then he just kept moving.

Searching for any means of escape.

Every door or hallway that looked like it could lead to something promising was either locked, a dead end or just curved back into the front of the mansion.

The house was a maze.

Beautiful, cold.

Inevitable.

He wandered aimlessly for a few long minutes until he heard the faint hum of a wheel— rhythmic, purposeful.

The sound led him through a dark, narrow hall and into a spacious studio. Sunlight flooded the room, catching the faint dust that drifted lazily in the air.

William was sat inside, back turned against the door, shoulders relaxed underneath his black tank top. Every small movement made his muscles shift, the serpent inked across his skin seeming alive, menacing, its dark scales rough and beautiful under the sunlight.

He was working. Shaping... something.

Est couldn't see what, but one look at the rows of shelves lined with pots and vases told him exactly what it was.

He was a potter?

It was a baffling sight. But it wasn't exactly surprising.

Dangerous as he seemed, he always radiated quiet elegance in the way he spoke, the way he moved. This wasn't any different.

Est's gaze fell back on William's back, studying him carefully.

What he saw was simple precision with which he worked— the way he moved with focus so sharp, so controlled. And yet, at the same time, it also seemed... gentle. Tender.

It stirred a memory in Est.

That night.

The rough, calloused hands that had wrecked him. The same hands that soothed his bruises after.

The same night he'd touched himself to...

Over and over.

And over.

Est felt heat spread through him, warming his blood. But he swiftly pushed it away. Swallowing deeply, he stood there, unsure of what to do.

Leave? Speak?

He didn't do either.

He just remained there, feet planted against the floor, silently watching him.

After a long moment of quiet, William spoke up, still focused on his task. "Do you need something?"

The question wasn't harsh. It was calm, curious even.

But the words caught Est off guard.

He didn't know his presence had been obvious, felt. He blinked, clearly startled. "No— I wasn't— I just...." He choked out.

Then silence.

He didn't know what to say. Didn't know why he didn't know. So his lips remained sealed.

William didn't say anything then.  He just kept working, throwing.

Est stood still, watching him.

Then William said, his tone low. "If you're going to stare, at least do it from the front... I don't like eyes behind me."

Est breath caught.

But he stood still, away from his empty, piercing gaze.

That way, he knew he was still safe.

His mouth opened, but he hesitated. Taking a deep breath, he asked. "What do you want from me? Why won't you just kill me?"

Silence.

The wheel kept spinning, William kept working, Est kept breathing. Barely.

The quiet stretched on for far too long, sharp and cutting as a blade.

Then. "Kill you?" William asked quietly, still not looking back. "Why would I kill you?"

"Because it's easier... Less strenuous, le-less expensive..." Est pressed, the words stumbling out. He stepped forward then. "Than whatever this is."

William's hands lifted slightly and Est could see the clay streaking his skin like red paint. "I have money..." He answere, voice a low hum.

Est couldn't help the way his gaze lingered on Will's back, the way his heart slowed. "You— you can't watch over me forever..." The words didn't hold weight.

He was clearly distracted.

A thin sheen of sweat slicked William's skin, catching the sunlight. His forearms flexed with each careful movement, and the red of the clay bled into the black curves of his tattoos. The sight, the odd beauty of it, it  made the room tilt.

Est didn't know why his pulse quickened, why the blood rushed behind his ears, why his throat went dry.

He just knew he couldn't look away.

"Watch me." Came William's reply, voice thick with humour.

He lifted his foot from the pedal then, and the spinning slowed until the clay stilled beneath his hands. He reached for the wire tool beside the wheel, and in one smooth, practiced motion, he slid it underneath the base, separating the finished piece from the mound of clay below.

He slipped his hands underneath the vase, thumbs steady, palms cradling the fragile weight. Lifting it free, he turned it slightly in the light, inspecting the smoothness of its curve.

A small, satisfied exhale left his lips as he set it gently on the wooden board to dry.

Then he stood, reaching for a towel, before he finally turned to Est. He wiped the clay from his fingers, slow and deliberate, eyes finally meeting his.

Est looked at William, really looked at him then.

Maybe even for the first time.

And he was almost terrifyingly beautiful.

His face was unreadable— the kind that could look kind or formidable depending on the light.

Now he looked kind, softly amused. "You're a guest here..." He said simply. "Get comfortable... you'll be here for a while..."

Est heart dropped at the words.

He went on, stepping forward now. "You can explore the grounds, write your book. Eat. Sleep. Do whatever you want... Anything you need, you'll get."

There was no threat in his tone, just fact.

Which somehow made it worse.

"I want to leave." Est said quietly. The words sounded like pleading.

William didn't answer. Just stepped even closer.

Est backed away a few steps. "You're— you're never gonna let me go... are you?" His voice was small, almost afraid.

"I will."

Est's heart jumped with uncertainty. His voice shook when he asked. "W-when?"

This time, William actually smiled, a cold spread of lips.

"When I feel like it..."

~~~

The mansion never slept.

It just breathed differently at night— slow, watchful, aware.

Est had grown used to the sound of the cicadas outside the open windows, the faint rustle of wind through the curtains, and the quiet groan of the roof that seemed to follow him no matter where he went.

He didn't know how many days had passed— 4, maybe 5. The clocks here all ticked at their own rhythm, and time moved like a fog.

He'd stopped asking for his phone. Stopped asking for anything.

The maid never spoke unless he asked for extra water or food. Even then, her replies were short, almost rehearsed.

By the fifth day, he'd already gotten used to walking the halls. He trailed his hand against the wall as he moved, a constant reminder that he was still a prisoner here.

That was when he heard it— the low, rumbling growl of a car engine pulling up at the large front yard.

It was deeper than the others, heavier, expensive.

He moved toward the window, peering through the curtains.

A black Rolls Royce. Tinted. New.

Est waited, listened carefully. He heard the creak of a heavy door push open and close, the light footsteps that echoed against the marble.

Something about the moment felt... off.

The house was usually silent.

It was still quiet but now the stillness seemed unnatural, like the house was it was holding its breath.

He hesitated, the air tightening in his chest.

He moved down the hallway, his steps soundless against the floor. At the stairs, he slipped down quietly, following the light chatter to the main foyer.

It came from behind the front doors.

It was sealed shut.

His ears caught another sound, a low hum coming from the living area. He walked towards it, his steps light as air. Leaning against one door, he peeked through the half-closed other.

A man was inside, dressed in a gray suit. He was good-looking and composed, with the kind of arrogance that came from old money or old power— or both. His hair was slicked back and his smile was tight, didn't reach his eyes.

He sat across from William on the black settee, his posture stoic and when he spoke, his voice was firm.

Will sat sturdy, clad in his usual tank top, tattooed arm draped over the rest of the settee, his posture radiating his usual cold confidence and unbothered grace. His gaze stayed fixed on the man before him, quietly imposing as ever.

Est could tell this wasn't a courtesy visit.

He stayed hidden behind the door, ears pressed close, heart thundering in his throat.

The visitor spoke then, voice smooth, deep. "You know why I'm here, Naga."

William didn't look amused. "I know alot of things Khun Jimmy"

The man smile then, nodding his head. "Thats good, that's good... we could use your young wisdom right now."

"I know alot of things Khun Jimmy..." William repeated, gaze sharpened now. "That doesn't mean I whisper secrets from ear to ear."

The man chuckled. "Funny... Because... I heard you usually have something to say... Especially when business shifts into something... less organized."

William turned away, and poured himself a drink, the amber liquid faintly catching the light. "You came all the way here to talk about gossip?" His tone was amused, unbothered. He downed his drink in one gulp, the brandy searing a trail down his throat.

"I came... because someone's trying to shake the foundation of our world." Jimmy said simply, watching him, voice a little tight now. Irritated.

"Your world..." William corrected, glancing at him as he put his glass away. "Not mine."

Est watched from the doorway, hardly daring to breathe.

The tension between them was tense— an uneasy calm before a storm.

The man shifted in his seat, fingers straining against the headrest, where William couldn't see, a grip of restraint. "There's talk that someone's trying to destroy us from the inside. Cause a rift. It's no new we've been trying to set up roots here in the south. You and I both know how dangerous that can be if left unchecked."

William's lips twitched, and he tilted his head slightly. "And... what makes you think it's my concern?"

"Because the Naga run this place—"

"Yes... you are correct. We run this place." William cut in, his tone dropping colder. "And blood was shed on my territory, Khun Jim. One of yours I heard."

The man went silent.

William's gaze darkened. "We let you have you little shithole in the south, all to keep the peace. But a little bird told me you've been recruiting Thais."

The man stiffened. "Careful with your accusations."

"I'm not accusing..." William's tone was almost lazy, but his eyes was sharpened like glass. "I'm just telling."

Silence. The kind that carried threat in its bones.

Then the man spoke again, voice lower now. "This isn't about me. There's someone stirring chaos, someone new. I don't know who— but they are good. Too good. Word is, they're working with the police."

Est felt a shiver slither through him. His mind worked quickly.

Could it be?

Nut?

William exhaled slowly, turned and poured another drink. "Then deal with it... I don't fight anybody's battles."

"You're making a mistake..." Jimmy said sharply. "If you don't stand with us, it'll look like you're standing against us."

William smiled faintly— the kind that didn't touch his eyes. Cold and calculated. Meant to rile rather than soften. "I let you and those Chinese fucktards sink your teeth into my country to avoid bloodshed... I think it's time you get out."

Jimmy hissed in his seat. "You'll regret this, Will." He spat the name out like a curse.

A brief silence followed, one that stretched as far as the heavens.

William's head slowly tilted to the side, eyes glinting with humor. "Funny..." He started, voice raspy. "That was the last thing my father ever said to me. Right there— in that very spot... before I killed him."

The earth turned still. Time stopped. The air snapped tight.

And Est froze.

From his pale expression, his widened eyes, so did Jimmy. Every trace of his arrogance bled out of him.

William didn't blink.

Didn't move.

Just stared, and for a long moment, shock seemed to rippled through the space like static.

The visitor swallowed eventually, his jaw tight. "You're playing a dangerous game."

"I don't play games Khun Jimmy." William said simply. "I kill anyone who tries to test me."

A tense pause.

Just silence and heavy breathing.

Jimmy's.

"Get out." William said lowly, voice ice, an obvious threat.

Jimmy hesitated— then stood and walked towards the door.

Est tried to move quietly, but his shirt caught on a splinter from the door carving. Ripping it lightly, he tucked himself into a small corner, back pressed against the wall, hoping his pounding heart wouldn't give him away.

The echo of his Jimmy's long, angry strides soon faded and moments after, the rumble of an engine followed.

And that too faded eventually.

Est stood there for a long moment, motionless, heart racing, processing all he'd just heard.

An imminent drug war was looming, and Nut and the police force were in someway involved.

Yet the one that struck him the most was William's confession.

The way he'd said it with such ease. Like it was something he was proud of.

Est felt bile rise up his chest. But he swallowed it down. Gathering himself together, he snuck back upstairs.

~~~

That night Est drifted into sleep with William's words still echoing in his head—low, steady, and dangerous enough to cling to his thoughts.

Right there— in that very spot... before I killed him.

Right there— in that very spot... before I killed him.

Before I killed him.

I killed him.

His dreams came then.

A plane crash.

A man shot in the head.

Another man— one who looked too much like William— dropping to the ground as William pulled the trigger without hesitation. Without a flicker of emotion.

Est jolted awake, breaths sharp, skin damp with sweat. His vision blurred from sleep, his chest pounded loudly and shadows swam before his eyes.

Eventually they cleared.

And there he was.

William.

He stood at the foot of the bed, watching him.

Est's chest still heaved as he met his eyes, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw worry in their depths. Trailing his gaze away, it lowered and his heart pounded even faster.

His torso was bare.

The serpent tattoo curled over his arm and slid down right half of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, and then even lower...

Even in just the low light, Est could see every sharp line, every defined curve of muscle as his eyes trailed lower, and lower. His silk pyjamas covered his lower half, hanging low on the v line of his hips, and as Est's eyes moved, he found he couldn't control where they landed next, drawn by an invincible magnet.

The outline of William's cock was visible through the fabric, even in the soft glow of the moonlight.

Shame and heat tangled in him, the ghost of the nightmare still clung to him, while the vivid recollections from that night haunted him.

Again.

William noticed of course.

Noticed him watching, noticed the way his throat bobbed, the way his eyes gleamed with barely concealed hunger.

His eyes flicked down once, unreadable as always but he didn't taunt.

He didn't tease. Instead he asked. "Nightmare?" His voice calm, enticingly deep.

Est swallowed at his dry throat. "Yes." He whispered.

William watched him for a long, unreadable moment before turning and placing something on the table by wall.

Then he was gone.

Est stood up with wobbly legs, moving to the table automatically.

Then he looked down.

It was his a loose button, probably torn free when the door caught his shirt earlier.

He looked at the door as if it was the ghost of William.

William knew he was there.

Knew he had listened.

Est stood in the dark alone, staring at door, his pulse racing and that single white button glinting like an admission on the table.

He spent the next few days restless— sleep evading him, thoughts circling around that conversation.

He didn't know who that man was, but he knew danger when he heard it.

And William— the way he'd spoken, cold and collected, it wasn't the voice of someone worried.

It was the voice of someone used to being the last man standing.

William.

William was throwing a new vase when the world cracked open.

His feet lifted off the pedal— a certain attempt to clarify what he'd already heard clearly, a sound that didn't belong.

The faint hum of the house broke under the sharp cutting noise of distant gunfire.

Then, a scream.

He didn't freeze.

Didn't break out in cold sweat.

He jusr stood, instinct sharp as ever as he reached for the gun tucked in the drawer by the workbench.

His movements were practiced, precise, mechanical— one breath, one motion, years of discipline condensed into reflex.

He moved fast.

The first burst of gunfire shattered the quiet— glass breaking, men yelling orders, the thud of boots against marble. Somewhere below, a woman screamed before being silenced.

The smell of smoke and gunpowder seeped through the vents, filling the air.

William stepped into the hall, the weapon steady in his hand.

His thoughts only flew to one thing.

Est.

With hasty, precise movements, he reached the master's wing. The door to Est's room was wide open.

He peeked inside. It was empty.

"Shit..." He muttered, moving to the balcony doors. It shattered in a rain of gunfire but William avoided it, backing a wall. Firing shots through the broken doors, he carefully scanned the balcony.

He wasn't there.

He rushed out of the room, back into the corridor.

There was more shots. Closer now.

He went down the stairs— two at a time, heart pounding— steady and unhurried, from exertion, not from fear of the chaos.

Smoke curled up the stairwell.

A shadow moved halfway through the hall.

William held his gun out, finger trigger ready.

But it was Pavel, his right hand-man. His arm was clapped at his shoulder, half-covered in blood and sweat.

"Boss!" Pavel's voice was hoarse, urgent. "They're everywhere!"

"Where is he?" William demanded, moving towards him.

Pavel's expression was grim. "Mond's got him. We need to get you out. The men are holding the front, but they're not gonna last long."

"Where are they?"

Pavel tilted his head. "Back of the house. Mond's taking him through the service door. We have to hurry."

William's jaw clenched. "Olay... Let's go."

William grabbed his arm, folding it over his shoulder and pulled the injured man down the stairs.

The air downstairs was one absolute chaos— bullets ripping through furniture, shards of glass and ceramic raining down like sharp rain.

Men in black moved through the smoke, yelling commands in a language William understood but hadn't heard in years.

But it wasn't what he'd expected.

Mandarin.

The Triads.

Of course it was.

It almost made him laugh.

He pushed Pavel behind a pillar, returning fire— two quick shots, both clean. A man fell. Another tried to flank him from the side, but William was faster. His movements were fluid, precise.

A dance of survival he hadn't forgotten.

He hit the man with a clean shot to the head.

He grabbed Pavel again, pushing forward, body low, gun steady. The smell of blood and gunpowder hung thick in the air.

At the back exit, gunshots came from both ends as his men held down the fort.

"Are you ready?" He asked the heavily breathing Pavel.

He only nodded weakly.

Pulling him even closer, grip firm, William half-carried him with raw strength, head ducked, turning every now at then to fire behind the house. The men hiding behind the cars covered him and he managed to cross the wide stretch of grass safely, crouching behind one of the many jeeps lined up.

There, he found Mond and a number of other slumped against the side, injured or just exhausted. The other men fired shots at the house.

Mond was pale as a ghost.

He clutched his stomach as blood seeped past his dark shirt onto his trousers.

William lowered Pavel carefully, before kneeling next to him. "Mond?" William called, his voice soft.

Mond's pale lips were trembling, lids struggling to stay open. "Boss..." His breaths came short.

William's eyes dropped to his wound.

It was a deep, gaping hole.

He cold already tell. Mond wasn't going to make it.

"Where is he?" William asked instead.

Mond raised a shaky arm, fingers slicked with blood and pointed toward the thick stretch of trees that lined the vast area.

William nodded once, and gently gripped his shoulder. "You did well."

Mond gave a weak smile, eyes glassy. "I— I tried to—"

William's voice softened. "It's okay... I know."

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead briefly against Mond's, a silent farewell.

Everyone held their breath.

Then he lifted his gun and ended Mond's suffering with one clean shot. The sound echoed like thunder, somehow even louder than the other rain of gunshots.

A heavy stillness followed as the other men looked down at Mond's now still body.

A man let out a broken sob next to Will.

Pavel patted his shoulder from behind him, panting, his wound still seeping out blood. "Boss, we have to go..."

William gave Mond's a long final look, eyes promising vengeance. Then, slowly, he stood and turned, eyes on the forest. "You go... I'm going after him." His voice was firm. Resolved.

Pavel caught his arm again. "Let me—"

William turned, gave him a pointed stare.

That single look made him falter. He exhaled shakily, letting him go. But he still pressed. "Then at least take—"

"Take the men and cover the front... Get the others out." William cut in. "Go to the farmhouse. Take the East Road. That's an order."

Pavel hesitated. But when he saw the resolve in William's eyes, he gave a tight nod. "Okay... Be careful, boss."

William didn't answer.

He was already moving, past the trees and into the thick of it.

The forest was alive with noise— gunfire crackling in the distance, the crush of boots against soil, the wind whistling through the trees. Branches scraped his arms as he pushed forward, bugs flew across his face, buzzing in his ears. 

But William didn't mind, didn't let it bother.

The world had narrowed down to just one thought.

Find him.

Est.

Est

Est was still running.

His lungs burned, his heart hammered. He didn't know how long he'd been moving.

But he kept moving.

The air was thick with iron and smoke. With sweat and dread. The trees blurred past him, large and endless.

He stumbled over a root, fell to his knees, gasping as he struggled to breath through his painic. His palms hit the dirt, and sweat poured of his trembling skin like a hot flood.

He turned his head and listened.

The faint thud of footsteps resounded somewhere behind.

They were following him.

And they were close.

He pushed himself up again, forcing his legs to move, even when they screamed for rest. The sound of gunfire cracked through the air— closer, closer.

Then another shot, this one louder, nearer.

He ducked instinctively, covering his head, ears ringing from the sound. His breath hitched— fear crawling up his throat like a living thing.

BANG!

Est flinched, halted in panic.

It was too close... too close to run. Too close to hide.

BANG!

A shout followed briefly.

Then another shot. Piercing.

Then quiet.

He stood frozen, hands clasped around his ear.

Waiting.

Heart thundering.

Then silence...

Then— footsteps.

Fast, heavy, closing in.

"Est." The man called his name, sharp through the static in his ears.

He turned, wild-eyed— and there he was.

William emerged through the trees, gun by his side, face set and pale.

Before Est could move, William grabbed him by the arm, pulling him forward.

"Don't—" Est struggled, trying to pull free, but William's grip was iron.

"Be still..." William ordered firmly, eyes scanning over him, searching for injuries. There was none. "You're fine. Move."

"Let me go!" Est's voice broke, but William only turned his gun on him, the cold muzzle brushing under Est's jaw.

"Move." He repeated, the word a cold warning. 

Est swallowed hard, trembling violently.

Then he turned and obeyed, forcing his feet to move trough his fear.

They walked past the trees, the sounds of gunshots fading behind with each step they took, swallowed by the forest.

Est's heart was still lodged in his throat, his pulse thundered with the gun pressed against his back.

He didn't know what happened. Didn't know how he ended up here.

How he kept getting caught up in someone elses web of violence.

Not long after, William's stumbled, his grip on the gun wavering. His body faltered and knees buckled. He caught himself against a tree, breathing sharp and shallow through his teeth.

"William?" Est turned, confusion cutting through his fear— then he saw it.

The blood.

Dark, spreading down his side.

He'd been shot.

William's breath hitched and he looked up at Est with bloodshot eyes. For a moment, he stayed upright, weakly, one hand braced against the tree trunk, the gun still in the other.

But then a jolt of pain shot through him and he gripped his side, wrist pressed against his would.

Est froze, his chest tightening. "Youre bleeding."

William said nothing.

His jaw clenched, eyes half-lidded with weakened focus. His gaze dropped to his wound— low on his left side— then back at Est. "It's nothing." His voice was strained.

He was in obvious pain.

"You're shot." Est repeated... this time slower. With clarity.

He stepped closer, hestantly.

He could see the way Williams shoulders sagged, the faint tremor in his hand. It wasn't a deadly wound. Not yet. But it could be... If he didn't stop moving.

"Sit down." Est said quietly.

William's eyes flicked toward him, cold and unyielding. "Move." He ordered.

"No..." Est shook his head, defiant, his voice firm. "You can't even stand properly—"

Before he could finish, William straightened and pointed the gun at him. The barrel caught the sunlight filtering through the leaves, shining like a cold warning.

"I told you..." William said, his voice weak but final. "Move."

Est froze.

The forest hummed around them, birds chirping above, wind brushing the leaves like a sigh, all a witness to this terrifying moment.

Est tools a steadying breath.

Then turned.

Obeyed.

But then... something in him snapped.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, the fear, the helplessness. Or maybe just because, for once, he knew he had the upper hand.

He spun quickly, lunging forward. Then he grabbed the gun.

The two of them wrestled for it— William, weakened by his wound but still strong, and Est, desperate, driven by something that was more tired than courage.

The gun twisted between them, their breathing harsh and uneven, bodies colliding against the tree trunk.

Est saw a chance and took it.

He went low, kicking William between his groin.

William grunted, and the gun slipped from his palms.

Est dropped to the ground and quickly picked it up, pointing it at Will with shaky fingers.

William slumped to the grounds, back against a tree, breathing hard, his hand pressed against his side.

A faint smile ghosted over his lips, bitter and exhausted. "You planning to shoot me now?"

Est's hands shook. The gun stayed fixed, but the weight of it felt too heavy, like it belonged to someone else. "You deserve to die." Est said coldly, voice trembling.

William gave a low, humorless laugh, then coughed in pain. "I know..." He said, voice rough. "I deserve worse."

Est's throat burned. "You killed people. You— you ruin lives. You—"

William's voice cut through him, quiet but sharp. "Then do it."

Est stared at him— the calm in his face, the way he didn't even flinch at the sight of the gun pointed at him.

"Go on..." William said, eyes daring now. "Im never going to let you go if you don't."

The word sliced through Est, hanging  between them in its heavy bitterness.

Est's fingers twitched against the trigger.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But something in him faltered.

Maybe it was pity, maybe it was fear.

Or maybe it was because he had too many nightmares that wouldn't let him sleep.

Maybe William deserved something worse than dying by his own clean hands.

Est's arm trembled, an inner wall growing inside him. Resolved, he exhaled deeply. And finally, he lowered the gun.

"You'll regret this..." William said coldly, taunting him.

Est gave him a harsh look of disgust, then turned away. "Maybe... But at least I'll never be you."

Then he started moving.

The forest stretched ahead of him, each step drawing to freedom from this endless nightmare. But each step he took felt heavier than the last.

And somehow, William weighed even more in his mind.

Est halted. Hesitated.

His breathing slowed.

He could leave him there. He should leave him there.

The air felt too quiet. The sound of his own heartbeat too loud.

He turned. Then he looked at him.

William was still sat there, slumped against the tree, one hand pressed to his side, watching Est with an unreadable blaze in his gaze.

Est gulped nervously.

He didn't understand the guilt pressing in his chest, didn't understand this sudden burden weighing his shoulders.

This man-- this monster.

He didn't deserve an ounce of his sympathy.

But the weight still remained, heavy and unmoving.

"Damn it.." He cursed under his breath,  walking back to him.

William's eyes followed him, until he was stood before him. His lips curved faintly, and his eyes held faint amusement. "You're a coward." He mocked, voice weak.

Est ignored him. "Save your breath."

Slipping the gun into the waistband of his trousers, he kneeled down and tugged his shirt over his shoulders.

William watchec him with curious eyes, his gaze burning a hole towards him. But Est was too nervous to be self-conscious.

Ripping the fabric between his hands, he folded the larger half into a small pad and pressed its against his wounds.

The scream that ripped out of Will stunned him, made him flinch.

It was low and impulsive... Human.

Est realized then, over the course of the last week, he'd come to actually see William as something less than.

Or maybe even more than, if he was being honest. God-like even.

He tied the ripped clothing around his torso, and letting Will take a steady breather, he fastened the knot with a strong pull.

William groaned loudly, the veins in his throat strained, the sound coming out strangled. Almost sobbing.

Sweat slicked his skin, blood drenched his clothes and his skin was pale as dread.

And as Est looked at him... like this, for a fleeting moment, he silently hoped he wouldn't make it.

Maybe then he could absolve himself of this responsibility.

This undeserving guilt.

Grabbing William's arm, he slung in over his shoulder. The smell of blood, gun residue and sweat hit his nostrils, heavy and metallic.

William didn't pull away, didn't resist.

Instead he leaned his weight against Est, and picked himself up with effort that made him groan in anguish.

Est, careful not to graze his side, slipped his fingers into the belt loop of his trousers and grounded him.

They slowly, unsteadily, they walked.

And walked.

And walked.

For long minutes.

They walked until the forest began to thin and the traces of the road broke through the trees.

"Almost there..." Est muttered, breaths coming in harsh bursts.

William didn't speak. Just kept moving.

The dirt path soon met asphalt, and in no time, they were out in the open, standing before the empty roadside, in the middle of no where.

William slumped to the ground, weakened beyond control.

His face was pale, his lips pressed thin, colored purple. His breathing slowed and his heartbeat weakened from blood loss.

Est watched him for a beat, heart pounding fast, from exertion or guilt, he couldn't tell.

He just thought the sight before him was a pathetic one.

They remained like that, the air around them darkening, a quiet gloom settling over what they both knew was inevitable.

William might not make it.

Est started to speak, lips parted—

But then, by some miracle, the sound of an engine echoed faintly— a car, approaching from the distance.

His heart leapt.

"Stay awake..." Est said quickly. "I'll get help."

William didn't answer. His eyes were heavy-lidded, drooping, gaze almost gone.

Est stood and moved into the middle of the road, waving his arms.

The car's light flickered, honking and eventually slowed to a halt.

A man stepped out of the car— mid-forties, confused, alarmed at the sight of both of them— one shirtless, the other bloodied and battered.

"What the hell happened?" He asked, voice thick with worry.

"He's hurt..." Est moved next to Will's side, picking his almost lifeless body up. "Please... he's been shot. We need to get to a hospital."

The man's eyes widened. "Shot? Jesus Christ—"

But before he could finish, William moved.He slid the gun from Est's back and aimed at the man, staggering away from Est's hold.

The man froze, hands instinctively lifting.

"Get in the car..." William said to Est, eyes and gun still fixed on the stranger.

"William—" Est started, eyes widened in panic.

William didn't look at him. His tone didnt shift. "Driver's seat... now." He ordered.

Est's pulse hammered. "We can't— He's just trying to help—"

William didn't speak, just straightened the gun in his grip, his stare pointed now.

Est could see the threat in the look. Heard the message in his unsaid words.

Go in... or he dies.

And with all he'd come to know about Will, all he'd witness, he knew he was the last person to play games with.

Left without a choice, Est's jaw tightened as he moved away, sliding into the driver's seat. Will followed suit, gun still aimed as the man stumbled backwards. He climbed in after Est.

Shutting the door, he turned to Est, pale as chalk, sweat glistening on his skin. "Drive."His voice was a low, weakened rasp.

Est started the car and the engine came to life, rolling forward. He gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles white, throat dry.

"Your place." William's coldly said.

It wasn't a request.

Est turned, eyes widened slightly. "We have to get you to a hospital. You're bleeding out—"

The gun turned slightly, the cold barrel pressing against his temple. "Don't test me."

The world stopped.

Est swallowed nervously, forcing a nod.

He turned the wheel, steering them down the winding road.

The air between them was heavy, filled with the low rumble of the engine and the unsteady rasp of William's breathing.

William lowered the gun to Est's side, watching him with that cold, empty gaze.

Est wondered why he didn't let the forest eat him alive.

Reaching in the glove compartment, he pulled the man's phone out and dialed a number.

"...Hello? Aou? I need your services." He handed the phone to Est. "Tell him your address."

Est took it without resistance and told the stranger. He returned the phone.

"Be there before I arrive."

Then he ended the call.

Est glanced at him as he drove— this pale, dangerous, half-dead man beside him. He was weak, broken... but somehow, he was still in control.

He turned his gaze back to the road, his hands further tightened on the wheel. Every breath felt shallow, every sound too loud.

The air stayed thick— charged with fear and suppressed fury.

He decided William wasn't human. He wasn't God-like either.

He was something worse. Something terrible.

And the thought terrified him.

~~~

Nut

The echoes of the gunfire stayed with them long after the sound died behind them.

Nut drove with both hands locked on the wheel, the muscles in his forearms drawn tight.

It was quiet in the car. Darker too.

The sun was setting.

They'd been driving for hours now.

Hong sat next him, still breathing too quickly, trying not to show it. His fingers trembled slightly against his knees where he rested them.

The smell of gunpowder and engine smoke clung to their drenched clothes, staining the air with the unsettling smell.

Finally Nut exhaled loudly, breaking the silence. When he spoke, it was low and even. "We have a snitch in the office.."

Hong swallowed. "I thought we already established that, since Earn's death?" His voice was calm, or at least tried to be. But it wavered at the edges.

Nut's eyes flicked to him, just for a second. "It means someone in there wanted us dead... not just Gun."

A shudder crawled through Hong.

Nut ran his gaze over him again. Then he quietened, focused back on driving. The road bent toward a row of dim lights ahead.

An old, dingy building laid ahead, a pile of old bricks glued together with a broken sign ahead. The letters M–TEL buzzed faintly, the O of the display light long burned out.

Nut turned the car to its parking lot, then slowed the car to a halt. The engine died with a exhausted groan.

For a moment neither of them moved.

Just sat still in the dark quiet.

Then Nut rubbed a hand over his weary face. "We'll stay here tonight."

Hong looked over at him, then nodded. "We should call it in." He suggested, voice hoarse.

"We will..." Nut said. "When I'm sure no one's tracing the call." He opened his door, and stepped out into the cool night air.  Gravel crunched under his boots as he stood, scanning the lot with the eyes of a man who had learned not to trust quiet places.

He'd learned not to trust too much of anything.

The inside of the motel filthy, a cramped cube for a office with stained walls and old furniture.

The clerk— a plus-sized woman with freckles— didn't look up when they stepped in. Just slid a form across the counter. "Only one room left..." She said with the kind of disinterest that came with getting paid pebbles. "Couple's suite. King bed. You want it or not?"

Nut hesitated.

Hong felt the weight of the pause and filled it with a quiet.. "We'll take it."

She handed over a key attached to a piece of plastic that said Room 6.

The corridor outside smelled of old carpet and faint traces of urine.

Inside, the room was simple— a bed, a small table, a single window overlooking the parked lot.

The air conditioning didn't work but Nut was to stressed to give a damn.

He slipped his jacket off, draping it over the chair before slumping on the bed, resting his eyes.

Hong glanced at him briefly before he stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

The sound of the shower filled the room and Nut's eyes came open.

He sat up quickly, suddenly self-aware.

He tried not to think about the man in the room a few feet away, naked, scrubbing sweat and grime off his skin.

He tried not to let his mind wander to unholy places.

It was an almost impossible feat.

But somehow, Nut managed, though his pulse quickened momentarily.

When the door opened, Nut looked up.

Hong was still wet and dripping, clad in his stained tank top and boxer briefs, that did nothing to hide his long, slender figure.

Hong was... alluring, distracting in a way Nut didn't need him to be. Not right now. He swallowed nervously, hiding the pull with a bow of his head and a scratch of his head.

Hong leaned against the wall, drying his hair as he looked at the clearly flustered Nut.

Nut felt his stare on him and unable to resist, returned the look, stunned at how impossibly sexy the simple sight of Hong running a towel through his hair was. His gaze lingered, lowered, admiring the way his pushed back sliver tresses defined the curve of his face. The way the exhaustion from today sharpened his pretty features.

Clearing his throat to hide his swallow, he asked to keep is straying thoughts in check. "You ever been in something like that before?"

Hong shook his head, still patting his hair dry. "No... not like that. I've had a few bad cases, sure, but..." He trailed off, remembering the sight of the bullet-riddled van. "Nothing of that caliber."

Nut studied him, eyes unreadable. There was something soft in the look. Respect? Maybe pity.

Hong couldn't tell.

"Well... you held your own out there."

Hong gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I mostly hid."

"You saved my life." Nut's voice came certain. "Twice now."

Hong looked away, warmth spreading through him.

The words hung there, and something in Nut's eyes shifted— something caught between gratitude and suspicion.

He didn't say anymore, just stood, tugged his stained shirt over his head.

Hong's heart stuttered.

The cut on his shoulder was shallow.

Thankfully, it was only a small graze.

Hong followed the line of dried blood tracing down the curve of his arm, and he caught the glimpse of his tattoos, the sharp outline of an eagle's wings staining his sleeve. The intricate details softened the feathers but in the low light of the lamp, the looked like they could cut. Like sharp knives, almost formidable.

It sent a rush through him.

His eyes trailed to the right, the chiseled abs, the light dusting of body hair that led... lower into the curve of his pants.

Hong's breath hitched.

Nut brushed past him, completely clueless he being eye-fucked and stepped into the bathroom. He turned towards the small shelf above the sink, rummaging for the first-aid kit.

Nut returned with it, setting it on the bed, before pulling it open. Inside he found a bottle of iodine, some cotton buds and a roll of gauze.

He poured a little of the liquid on a pad, and tried to work one-handed, reaching for the cut. But it was too far back on his shoulder, making it awkward to reach. He hissed low when the pad touched the cut, muttering under his breath.

Hong stepped forward. "Let me..."

Nut didn't answer right away.

He looked up at him, lips parting as if to say no, but the bottle slipped from his fingers at a sting, almost emptying its contents to the floor. He reached down to grab it quickly, wincing with the strain.

Resigned, he sighed deeply. "Fine. Just don't make it worse." He said begrudgingly.

Hong chuckled lowly.

He moved closer and the old rug ruffled under his bare feet. Then he dropped the towel aside and slid behind Nut on the bed, grabbing the pad from him. "Hold still." He said quietly.

Nut did.

The cotton pressed against his wound, making him wince with the cool burn. The smell of the antiseptic filled the air, sharp but clean.

Hong's fingers were steady, slower than they needed to be, careful in a way that strangely intimate. He dabbed at the blood and wiped along the edge of the cut.

Every touch left a faint heat in its wake.

"Does it hurt?" He asked softly, the words close, close enough that could smell the mint in his breath.

"No.." Nut murmured softly, gulping deeply at the feeling of Hong's slender fingers curled around his shoulders, keeping him still.

Hong looked at him briefly, then smiled a little, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Silence followed after, softened by the low lighting.

Hong reached for the roll of gauze, tore a strip with his teeth, and leaned forward to wrap it. His breath brushed the back of Nut's neck, making him shiver lightly. Hong's eyes flicked to his neck as his fingers worked—gentle but precise, and he wondered what it would be like to run his tongue over that strong, graceful curve.

His head dipped, to see clearer and the movement brought them close enough for Hong to notice the faint scent of smoke and rain that still clung to the Nut's skin.

Nut felt his warmth, his presence pressed close, and he felt even more aware. He shifted slightly on the bed, not away from his touch.

Just enough to catch a breath.

The bandage settled into place, and Hong smoothed it once with his palm, the gesture automatic, almost tender. "There..." He said softly. "You should be fine."

Nut turned slightly, met his eyes.

For a heartbeat the look stayed, didn't break, the air thick with something he wouldn't dare admit.

Then he gave a short nod, turning his gaze away, breaking the spell. "Thanks." He said, voice a little rough.

Hong shrugged casually, though his heart still pounded unsteadily. "That's what partners are for."

Nut's gaze flicked down, flexing his fingers. "Yeah... Partners." The word sat between them like something strangely fragile.

He stood, testing his shoulder, and walked into the bathroom, to the small mirror near the sink.

The light showed the bandage running across the curve of his shoulders, neat and even.

Behind him, Hong sat with his hands resting loosely on his knees, watching him.

The silence stretched again, this time heavier.

After a moment, Hong asked, voice unsure."What do we do now?"

Nut turned, settling over the sink. "Now? We wait. Gun is dead. No one is gonna want to talk now. We've got nothing."

Hong sighed loudly. "So its back to square one?"

"Yeah..." Nut's voice came deep, only slightly annoyed.

Hong nodded slowly.

His face became unreadable again.

Nut studied him for a moment.

There was something in the his eyes that made his suspicion stir again. He said. "I'll go through the list. The company owners, they shouod be connected somehow. That should be our next move."

"All right." Was Hong's only reply.

Nut's gaze lingered a second longer, before he reached for a towel and shut the door.

The stream of the shower started a moment later.

Hong fell on the bed, clasping his hand behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

His mind wandered, processing the days before today's... mishap, the mess they were currently in.

He thought about the bodies, the blood, the look on Nut's face when he realized their witness was gone.

He knew that look.

He was a suspect.

He truly was.

Rightfully so.

But somehow, Nut's mistrust stirred something discomforting in his chest.

When the shower stopped, Hong turned, closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Moments later, the mattress dipped as Nut came out, smelling of mild soap and chlorine.

The lights went off and the room fell into silence.

It was dark except for the red light from the motel sign filtering through the blinds, painting thin stripes across Hong's figure.

Outside, rain began to fall again— soft, hesitant, like it wasn't sure it wanted to be free.

Hong laid facing the wall, his back to Nut, who laid on his back with one arm tucked under his head.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't exactly easy either.

It carried everything they hadn't said in the car— the fear, the suspicion, the sharp memory of gunfire still ringing somewhere in the corner of their minds.

Hong spoke first, voice low. "You think I'm the snitch."

It wasn't a question.

It was just... factual.

Nut didn't move, but his eyes opened. "What makes you say that?"

"You have very honest eyes Nut... you've been looking at me like I'm a puzzle..." Hong said quietly. "And I'm starting to think I might be the missing piece."

Nut exhaled through his nose. "Well, you shouldn't take it personal Hong... I don't really trust a lot of people... It's just the way I am."

The words didn't bite.

But Hong just couldn't bring himself to accept it.

He didn't push though. Didn't try to prove himself. He wasn't the type to.

"Fair enough." Was his small response.

For a while, silence hung.

Then. "I can't sleep." Hong said...his voice low, almost childish.

Nut turned his head slightly amused. "You want me to sing you a lullaby?

Hong smiled faintly. "That won't work."

"Hmm." Nut's deep voice rasped. "Then what would?"

Hong almost chuckled. "If I told you, you'd call it inappropriate."

That pulled a grin out of Nut. "Try me."

Hong giggled then, a low, rumble of a sound. "Bite me." He said. He meant it. Literally. But Nut didn't need to know that.

For Nut, the words shouldn't have sounded suggestive.

But they did.

"Wow." Nut said, half-stunned, half-amused. He thought he was used to Hong's flirty antics by now. But apparently he wasn't. "Okay... tell me something, less inappropriate."

Hong actually laughed again. "Okay..." He said in thought. Then eyes softened with memory. "When I was a teenager... My best friend used to read those old novels to me. Stuff he barely understood himself. Then he'd pat my hair until I fell asleep."

Nut hummed quietly. "The same one you grew up with?"

Hong nodded. "Yeah. We don't see much of each other anymore, but... he's still around."

Nut nodded, thoughtful. "You two must've been close."

"We were... still are. But I guess growing older got in the way."

Nut blinked, silently taking in the words.

Hong pulled him from his thoughts. "How about you?"

Nut tilted his head against the pillow. "Me? Uhmm... I don't know. I never really kept friends."

"Not even one you were close to?" Hong asked, voice full of thinly veiled curiosity.

"Not at all... Well except, maybe, my baby cousin... does that count?"

Hong's heart stopped. He knew exactly who he was talking about.

Est.

"Yeah..." The word was a little shaky.

But Nut didn't notice. He kept taking. "Well, when we were younger, he was scared of thunder. So when he couldn't sleep, I had to stay up with him all night. It was very annoying."

Hong chuckled despite the lump in his throat.

"I found that he liked lullabies. Dumb little songs I barely remember now... So I sang them to him. And when I did, he'd fall asleep with his mouth open, drooling on my arm"

That made Hong laugh— soft but real, the kind that felt like the first bit of air after holding your breath too long.

The thought of a younger Est and a younger Nut made him oddly warm. "What song did you sing?" He pressed, ever so curious.

Nut thought for a moment, trying to remember... the song, the lyrics.

But he couldn't.

So instead, he hummed the tune.

His voice was low, deeper than speaking, and the melody so filled the room... like silk brushing against skin in slow motion.

It wasn't perfect— he missed a few notes— but it was still smooth. It wrapped around him in ways that felt right.

When he stopped, Hong had to remember to breathe. "That was... beautiful." He said, stunned breathless.

The word seemed appropriate. Right.

Nut's lips curved in a small, crooked smile. "Didn't work though. You're still awake."

Hong laughed again, the sound catching in his throat. "Maybe I lied... Maybe it's your voice keeping me awake."

Nut snorted a laugh. "Asshole."

They both laughed then, light and easy, the sound mingling naturally.

A comfortable silence followed.

Nut looked up at the faint light on the ceiling, studying the small shift of Hong's shadow on the pvc. "You said your friend's still around?" He asked casually.

"Yeah..."

"He doing okay?"

Hong hesitated. "Yeah... I think so." His voice lowered, uncertain. "How about you? Your cousin?"

Nut sighed heavily. "My cousin's... not doing great. Lost his partner a while back. He's been... isolated. Won't talk to me. Won't talk to much of anyone." His voice was heavy-ridden with guilt.

Hong's heart sank to the pits of stomach. "I'm sorry..." Hong said softly.

Nut blinked, shifting uncomfortably.

"I know I'm guilty of it sometimes, but I've never understood this part of sympathy. Never understood why people apologized for broken things they didn't shatter."

Hong's breath caught, stunned into silence. He'd never thought of it that way.

But he did shatter Est. Pulled him a little from his family. From the accustomed quiet he'd come to call life and filled it with threats and violence.

And though it was never his intent, he was still responsible. In more ways than one.

Pushing the dismal thought away, he said, feeling the need to absolve Nut of his guilt."It's not your fault either. But you still care..." He said, curling a hand on his pillow.

"I have to... he's my brother...."

A small silence hung.

Then hong said, voice warm in its honesty. "You're a good brother Nut..." Then as an afterthought. "Youre a good man."

Nut turned his head then, eyes falling on Hong's long back, shoulders slowly rising and falling, full of warmth and life. His gaze shifted to his shadow on the wall— dark and void of anything Hong didn't give.

It stirred something within him.

A heavy contrast.

His need to protect his brother no matter what dark hole he'd fallen into. His oath to enforce the law always— even against his own blood.

His mind went back to all the times he didn't do things by the book, all the times he'd been unscrupulous to get justice.

All the times it worked. Got the job done.

He wondered if, for just this once, bending the rules for selfish reasons would make him any less of a good man.

He knew it would. And he hated that he cared about that.

"Maybe that's the problem..." Nut answered darkly, mostly to himself.

Hong listened carefully, pressing his pillow tighter.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The rain kept its rhythm, the air felt cleaner, warmer.

Then Hong said, voice small. "Nut?"

"Hmmm?"

"I know you don't trust me..." He said again, but this time, it was small, like a confession.

Nut's jaw tightened. "I don't." He clarified, not harsh, just the truth.

"But you can..." Hong whispered. "You really can."

Nut didn't respond.

He laid there, staring at the ceiling, his mind running through everything that has happened— the list, the card, the leak, the gunfire, the blood, Earn's body in the lake, Gun's body in a van.

And through it all, Hong was the only constant.

But— he'd saved him.

More than once.

He sighed deeply.

He honestly didn't know what to believe anymore.

However when Hong turned to face him, looking at him, Nut didn't stray away from his gaze. Instead he turned to his side, taking in Hong's beautiful features.

Hong shifted closer, not touching, just near enough for his warmth to brush against Nut's.

Nut remained still... unflinching.

Outside, thunder rumbled somewhere distant. Inside, the world was just the two of them.

Their breathing fell in sync, their lashes fluttered in the silence, eyes full of unspoken, sincere feelings.

And for the first time since the Earn's death, Nut's eyes grew heavy.

Hong watched him drift, his lips parting slightly as he whispered a soft. "Goodnight, partner."

But Nut didn't answer.

He was already asleep.