Chapter 12: The Ins & Outs

Est

Est sat in his work desk in the corner of the living room, aimlessly browsing the internet, pretending to work, even though his mind was clearly miles away.

William and Hong had been upstairs for quite some time now.

Almost an hour, if he'd timed it right. He wondered what they were discussing that required such a long period of time.

'Were they just catching up?' He wondered.

Unlikely.

Though he didn't know either of them well enough, they didn't seem like the type of friends who indulged in casual chit-chat for long periods of time.

Maybe they were talking about him?

Possibly.

William was injured and currently holding him hostage in his own home. It wouldn't be far-fetched to assume he was the subject of their discussion.

But then his thoughts drifted somewhere darker, someplace he'd rather not think about.

The men who'd attacked the house— the ones responsible for William's injury, the one who had him hiding like a wounded animal...

Maybe William and Hong were plotting, hellbent on retaliating.

William definitely had a score to settle.

And he didn't seem like someone who accepted defeat easily.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe that was what kept them preoccupied.

But that did nothing to lighten the unease in his chest.

He almost flinched when he heard the thuds of the descending men on the stairs, pulling him from his thoughts.

He glanced up, fingers pausing above his keyboard.

Hong came down first, his slender fingers tracing the railing with such casual grace, it looked almost elegant.

Est didn't know why, but he felt a sting of jealousy at that— the way Hong carried himself, even when he was dressed in his black, plain clothes.

He quickly breathed it away.

William followed closely behind, head slightly lowered, hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweats.

No— Est corrected. 'My sweats.'

In the past few days William stayed in his house, he'd been shamelessly hogging his clothes.

Est hadn't offered.

William had just taken it, and thrown it on, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Est didn't know how he felt about it.

He just knew he couldn't wait for William to get better, so he could finally leave.

Est watched them reach the bottom of the steps, straightening in his chair as Hong turned to Will.

He didn't mean to stare... but it was impossible not to.

Hong said something to Will, words Est couldn't quite make out. Then he went quiet— a small smile curving his lips, and then he just... stared at Will, the smile slowly vanishing from his face.

Though Est couldn't see, he was sure William looked back at him with the same intensity, a message passing between them in that look. It was some kind of wordless conversation, the kind only people who shared something could have.

Est felt his stomach tighten.

He didn't understand it— them.

He hated that he didn't.

Still staring, Hong's gaze softened, in a way Est had never seen before. Something subtle shifted in the air, charged with... something that wasn't quite sexual... not exactly. Yet, somehow, it was still strangely intimate.

Est shifted in his chair, eyes burning with curiosity and maybe something else...

As if feeling the heat from his gaze, Hong's eyes flicked to Est, the sparkle in that secret look changing to something filled with guilt. William follow his line of sight and turned to look at him, his gaze as blank and impenetrable as ever.

Hong gave Est a small, acknowledging nod.

Est's face quickly darkened and he turned away, facing his computer once more.

Hong sighed deeply then— a sound that was more guilt-ridden than exhausted, before clapping William on the shoulder. He turned, walked the rest of the way to the door, before opening it softly and leaving.

The house felt strangely quieter as soon as he was gone. Lighter too, as if some invisible weight had lifted off Est's chest.

William stayed where he was for half a second longer watching the door as if Hong's figure was imprinted there.

Then he turned fully and looked at Est. Really looked at him.

It was an unreadable look, intense enough that Est felt it burn into the side of his face. Est didn't return it, pretended not to notice it.

Instead he held his breath, not daring to move.

William eventually pulled his gaze away and went upstairs, his steps slow but relaxed.

He was already halfway up before Est allowed himself to breathe again, looking up at the sound, wondering how long he had to bear this burden.

How long he had to keep pretending this was normal and he wasn't afraid.

~~~

Est spent the following days in perpetual worry, the dangerous man upstairs constantly lingering the front of his mind.

He tried to distract himself with anything— writing, watching movies, taking long walks.

But nothing ever seemed to work.

He thought about William even when he did those things.

To make matters worst, he found himself noticing things about William too, things he tried not to.

Maybe he wasn't trying hard enough, maybe he was.

However William's presence was just as powerful as he seemed, and for whatever reason, Est couldn't stop noticing him, drawn by an invisible pull.

He noticed how William spent his mornings, exercising or meditating, despite his injury.

One morning he stood in the corridor just outside his door, listening to him count as he did his push ups— his voice hoarse, his breathing heavy between each movement.

He listened to all 78 of them, feet planted on the floor, laundry basket in hand.

At the very end— when he heard William slump to the floor, groaning and cursing with effort and exertion, and probably the weakness from his injury— the invisible grasp on Est's feet finally loosened.

Then he blinked, realizing how abnormal this was.

He told himself he was just worried— that he only stayed close by incase William fell or he needed help.

Then he quietly walked away, his heart slowly filling with shame.

He also noticed that for someone as cold and mysterious as he was... William liked to eat.

Alot.

After their heated argument the other day, followed by William's unexpected sneezing, Est had driven downtown and gotten him the phone he requested.

William had taken it with a low "thanks" and a longer look Est couldn't decipher.

Things after that became... odder, if that made sense.

During the day, while he expected loud curses, hisses, threats and fierce orders, William made phone calls to order food instead.

The first day, he ate what Est made him— cereal or maybe a light breakfast of bread, eggs and bacon, Est couldn't remember.

What he did remember was within the next hour, the door bell rang.

A delivery man was standing outside, a huge parcel of food in hand.

Est took it, brought it in and dropped it by the door, before returning back to his room.

By afternoon another knock came.

Then another by evening.

And each time, Est simply left it by the door.

When he returned to the kitchen to make himself some late dinner, the trash can was filled with neatly discarded food boxes and the large paper bag.

For the days that followed, Est had to receive food delivery three times a day. One day, he received it four times.

It made him kind of... sulky.

Not upset, no. Just... maybe...slightly ticked?

Maybe Will didn't like his cooking.

Maybe William didn't trust him.

Either ways he stopped cooking for him.

William didn't say anything about it, didn't even act like he noticed.

And that was that.

Still Est couldn't help his curiosity.

One day he opened the bag, just to know what William liked to eat. Maybe that would explain the sudden change, maybe it would ease the slight, persistent disdain in his chest each time he had to deliver food to William's door.

His door—! he silently cursed himself.

It was his door! His house!

William was quietly taking up space, not just in his head, but in his house.

He didn't like that.

Not one bit.

He pulled out each plastic dish, carefully accessing them.

Rice, some stir fried basil, spicy sour soup... etc.

Est felt a vein pop in his head.

These were the same dishes he made for William. And these weren't just small plates— they were huge servings, enough to feed at least three people.

So William really didn't like his cooking?

He didn't know why, but it pissed him off.

His mind drifted back to the mansion, the bland nonsense Will had his maid serve him while he held was in captivity.

And now he had the audacity to be picky?

Est opened the soup and poured in a generous amount of salt. He did the same to the rice, using a spoon to carefully mix it without being too obvious, before neatly closing each container. Setting the dishes in place back in the paper bag, he took it upstairs.

He dropped them off by the door and walked away.

When he went downstairs, William was in the kitchen— in his sweater, spooning food straight into the trash.

He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge Est or his presence. Just neatly discarded each dish, before brushing past Est and returning upstairs.

Est realized William probably knew what he'd done by now. Heat flooded his cheek immediately and he wished the ground would open up, swallow him and grind him to gruesome pieces.

He didn't sleep for most of that night.

But that wasn't anything new.

The next day, William didn't order any food.

Est noticed, as he always did when it came to William.

Feeling something between guilt and vindication, he made him a huge breakfast— eggs, bacon, sausages, pancakes, coffee, all in generous batches.

William accepted it with his usual low thanks. And when Est looked at him, there was no anger in his eyes, no grudge.

He wanted to say he was sorry, wanted to explain himself.

But he decided against it.

Saying anything would show he cared too much. And that was the last thing he wanted.

If he was being honest to himself, he also didn't know what he could say. He honestly didn't know why he did what he did.

So he just let it be, turned and walked away.

William didn't order food after that.

Not anymore.

The days that followed were a blur.

Est realized that William couldn't sit still for long periods of time.

He liked to move around the house silently, especially when he knew Est wasn't watching.

When he knew he was, he would pace the bedroom or simply just fall asleep.

Est could hear every creak of the floorboard above, or every heavy drop on the bed.

He didnt know why, but he found it strangely fascinating. Funny sometimes, maybe even... endearing.

And then he would blink away the thought, reminding himself that the man above was a cold blooded killer.

Est also noticed that William didn't sleep much at night... but that was probably because he slept alot during the day.

At night, rather than order food— as he did before Est 'put him in his place'— he did what Est expected him to.

He spoke coldly, and though his voice was hushed, it spilled past his door, across the corridor and into to the room Est was occupying.

Est wondered if he heard it because his ears were too sharp or if it was because the house was too quiet.

He couldn't make out the words but he knew they were precise and calculating. It filled him with dread, made him wonder how many more people were going to die in his scheming and plotting.

He wondered if he would one of those people, another indispensable casualty in William's chaos.

Est never slept.

Not until William had finally fallen quiet.

Only then could he.

As the days passed, he realized that since their confrontation, William hadn't really said much to him. Not more than 50 words in the week and half he'd been staying here, excluding their argument.

Only a quiet Thank You for each time Est brought him some food or the occasional times he help cleaned his wound. 

For some reason, it bothered him.

But as always, he never said a word about it.

Aou came once to check on him one day.

William had mostly just scowled and laid back, looking like a naughty child during Christmas.

Est had to bite back a smile, all the while replaying the words over and over in his head, a necessary reminder.

Cold hearted killer.Cold hearted killer.Cold hearted killer.

When Aou was done, he looked down at William, lips pursed in a scold. "Your wound is slowly healing, probably because you keep straining it, you knuckle head."

William only shrugged on his sweat— 'no my sweater on!' Est reminded himself. William shrugged his sweater on, not even sparing the older man a glance.

"Don't come here anymore." William said, his tone cold as always, but this time it was also very annoyed.

"Maybe take care of yourself, you idiot, and I won't have to." Aou shot back.

Est's breath hitched, waiting for the glare, the cold, cut warning that he thought would come.

But William didn't say anything, didn't even clench his stupidly, sharp jaw. Instead he folded his arms and kept staring at the wall, as if it were more important than whatever Aou was saying.

Aou turned then, hand on his hip, and faced Est. "Don't let him exert himself, don't let him move around. Fucking chain him to the bed if you have to."

William scoffed then.

Aou leveled another glare at him. "If he tries to resist, Est, you have my permission. Fucking punch him in his gut, right where the wound is. That will teach him, fucking sadist."

Est's eyes widened.

He didn't know what shocked him the most— the fact that this doctor was openly threatening his patient, or the fact that Aou was this sassy— a stark contrast from the detached persona he saw the first time they met. Or maybe it was simply just the fact that Aou knew he was a sadist.

He wondered if he meant it— the threat— literally or figuratively.

What type of weird doctor-patient relationship did this two have?

Est decided he was better off not knowing.

Aou grabbed his kit and hastily left him with instructions... and with Will.

Est didn't like the latter much.

But there was little he could do about that.

William didn't exercise after that.

Maybe he didn't want Est to punch him in the gut.

~~~

Est spent the next few days in an even more worrisome state.

Not because of the man upstairs— well not entirely because of him, not right now at least.

Or maybe it was slightly related to him... right now.

It was just— he hadn't heard from Tui.

Not since that day he'd left with that fierce promise in his tone.

It wasn't like he'd been hopeful Tui could do anything about Will and their very unusual living situation.

He just hadn't expected him to just fall off the face of the earth right after he left.

He wanted to call, wanted to pay a visit to his apartment, or just go to his book store.

But he thought the better of it.

Tui was better off not involved. Safer.

His life would be easier, his air would be cleaner.

And he would still be alive.

That was what mattered most to Est.

That he'd be okay, faraway from all this.

But he was still curious about what happened to him, and sometimes that curiosity grew into something a little frightened.

He thought of the hushed but sharp conversation he heard at night. Thought of William's chaos and ruin.

What if William had done something to him?

Best case scenario, he had only been scared off.

Worse case...

No— he shut it down.

He couldn't bring himself to think that.

If he did, he would actually call and things would be even more complicated. And maybe things would go from worst to something even more terrifying.

He desperately prayed it wouldn't.

Overall, nothing settled within him.

None of his thoughts did these days.

That night, his nightmare returned.

That same bone-chilling, stomach churning one that had been haunting him since that night at the Citadel.

A man on his knees, covered from head to toe in blood. Begging.

But this time it wasn't the stranger.

It wasn't the father.

It wasn't Thame.

It was him— brown hair, deep endless eyes behind his glasses— pleading.

Tui.

Will stood before him— imposing as ever, gun and tattoo catching the moon light. And that gun— that cold, cruel barrel— pressed against Tui's head.

Before Est could scream, he pulled the trigger, the sound ear-splitting.

Est jolted awake, sweat soaked, gasping for air as if he needed an extra lung. His heart pounded against his chest like it wanted to rip its way out. He looked around but he couldn't see much beyond the gloom settling over him.

When his vision finally cleared and his heart slightly eased its racing, he looked in front of him, and his breath was almost forgotten again.

William was stood there, at the foot of the bed, eyes eerily bright in the dark. But Est could also see the worry in their depths.

Est drew his gaze away, still trying to steady his breathing, his once again racing heart.

A quiet moment passed, broken only by the sound of his sharp breathing.

William broke it first. "Are you thirsty?" His voice was... kind. Not bored, not blank, not cold. Just hushed and... kind.

It drifted through the thin quiet of the room.

Est wasn't sure he heard it, wasn't sure he even believed it.

He shook his head sharply, too surprised to speak.

William hummed softly, a sound so small, it made Est wonder if he heard it because the house was too silent— or if his ears were too sharp.

All his senses seemed heightened, every nerve alive, with William's presence.

William came closer, sitting on the end of the bed, studying Est from his side. One leg bent under his knee and his hand pressed down to the middle of the mattress, just a few inches from where Est's hips were hidden beneath the sheets.

He didn't look like he sat like this to hold himself up, but simply because it was... comfortable.

Something about the way he was sitting was strangely humble? Nothing like the cold, formidable presence Est had come to know.

It made his breath hitch in his throat.

When William spoke again, his voice came quiet. "You have nightmares?"

Est didn't want to answer, not at first.

But maybe his voice— or that one secret part of him that wanted William to say more to him, betrayed him. "Sometimes..." He answered softly.

"Did they start with me?" Still hushed, still far from bored.

"No..." Est confessed. "Long before that."

It wasn't a lie.

Yes, it was still the same dream that haunted him since that night at the abandoned construction site.

But his nightmares had begun long before that... right after the plane crash that had taken Thame.

A short silence stretched between them and Est felt the air grow thick.

William studied him, eyes shining through the moonlight spilling through the window.

It still held worry, but there was something there now.

Curiosity?

Est wasn't sure.

"What do you do when you can't sleep?" William asked, low and soft.

Est gulped nervously.

'Burn myself.' He thought miserably.

But he couldn't say that.

Yes, it was true William already knew about the burn scars, the reason he'd hurt himself.

But back then— when he'd told him about it— William had just been a nameless, faceless stranger.

Talking to him about it now, felt... intimate.

Like a secret being shared.

He didn't want that, didn't him to want to get too close.

But he was still drawn by that invisible urge, the one that wanted to talk with William. So Instead, he lied. "I just... lay down until it works."

William looked away, as if processing the words. Then staring back. "Okay..." He murmured. "Then lie down."

It wasn't firm, wasn't an order.

But Est's body reacted like it was one.

His blood grew warm, his mouth went dry, and his breaths came out long and slow.

His long, slender fingers bunched around the fabric, and he pulled his blanket over his chest, laying back down, eyes never leaving William.

William watched him, eyes growing darker, flickering with something like desire, something Est didn't want to think about.

His gaze lifted away from Will's, and he stared up at the ceiling, his heart still racing in his chest. He tried to calm it down by tracing invisible lines on the white boards, the small curves, connecting the imaginary dots together, begging sleep to quickly take him.

But it didn't.

So he just kept waiting... and waiting.

He expected William to leave over the minutes that followed.

But he didn't...

He just... stayed, in that same sitting position, watching Est try to fall asleep, his eyes mildly entertained.

It made Est very self-aware. The seconds bled into minutes. The minutes bled into an hour, and the air grew tenser with each slip of time.

William eventually spoke, finally breaking the quiet. "It's not working." His voice was calm, not surprised.

Est let out an exhausted sigh. "I can't..."

"Why?" His voice only held curiosity.

Est hesitated, wondering how it would sound if he said it. Then deciding there was no harm, he shrugged. "I can't— not with you watching me."

William chuckled lightly, the sound echoing in the room, his hair falling across his face with his movements.

Then it was quite again.

Another stretch of tense silence.

But still—William didn't leave.

Est couldn't stand it.

He cleared his throat. Then. "What about you? Trouble sleeping?"

William paused before answering, as if pondering on the question. Then he shook his head slightly. "No... not really. I'm just not tired."

"Really?" Est asked, stunned.

He'd expected someone with a lifestyle like Will's, a history like his own to have sleep troubles.

But apparently that wasn't the case.

To Est, that was far from fair.

"Most nights..." William answered then, the words strangely like a confession.

Est hesitated, letting the words sink into him. Then, curious in a way that unsettled him, he asked, voice small. "What about the nights you don't?"

William's smile grew darker. But the gleam in his eyes were still there. "I mostly just... get drunk?" He sounded unsure.

Est thought he knew the reason why.

He knew the nights he spent at The Citadel probably wasn't spent getting wasted on the bottle.

He wondered why William wasn't being honest, wondered if he wanted him to be.

He couldn't decide on an answer.

Another moment passed in speculative silence.

Then Est suggested, voice just as unsure, somewhat resigned. "We should get drunk then."

William didn't move at first.

He just stared at Est— unblinking and unreadable as always, as if he were trying to decide if Est was being serious or if it was just a nervous joke.

Or maybe he was just staring at him, peeling him apart with his eyes, as he did most times.

Est felt heat creep into his face, and he slid his gaze to the side, then back up to the ceiling, anywhere but at William.

The silence stretched for a beat. Thick. Tense.

Finally— after what felt eternal, William murmured. "Alright."

That one word sealed everything. It dropped like a mallet on wood, sending a ripple went through Est's chest.

He swallowed nervously, nodded, and pushed the blanket off himself.

The cold air hit his sweat–damp skin immediately, making him shiver. He sat up slowly, trying not to look as unsteady as he felt.

William glanced up at him as he moved away from the bed.

His eyes followed him in a way that made Est painfully aware of every inch of himself— how his shirt clung damply to his back, how his breath stuttered, how his fingers tugged his sleeves nervously as he passed William to the door.

'Stop thinking about it.' Est told himself.

But his body refused to listen.

William eventually slid off the bed too, and followed closely behind, so close Est could feel the heat roll of him, the burn of his stare on his back.

Est hated how aware he was. Hated how his nerves heightened.

He hastened his steps, descending the stairs, trying not to be too obvious. Then he took a turn and walked towards the kitchen. When he reached the warm space and flicked the light on, he exhaled shakily.

It almost felt like a safe haven.

William didn't follow as he expected, which was kind of a relief.

Shaking his head to clear his growing nerves, he walked to the cabinet, perusing his stock of alcohol before grabbing a forgotten bottle of brandy he bought months ago. The brown looked strong enough to knock a man out.

He also pulled two glasses from the cupboard next to it.

When he turned, his eyes fell on the man in the living room.

William was there, moving around with that slow, effortless grace, the same one that made everything he did look deliberate. His fingers brushed the back of the couch as he passed it, tracing the headrest lightly.

The simple gesture looked intimate in a way it shouldn't have, as if he was touching the couch the way some people touched skin.

Est felt his throat tighten.

How could someone radiate this much... whatever this is?

He didn't know the word for it.

He only knew it made his stomach twist, knew it did certain things to him.

William eventually stopped at the table's end and when he looked up, his eyes fell on Est, who was still frozen in the kitchen.

He cocked a brow in question, and Est blinked, clearly flustered.

He quickly told himself this wasn't as crazy as it seemed, that it was... fine.

It was just some drinks.

Something to help him take the edge away. Something to quiet the night.

He didn't believe himself.

Taking another deep breath, he forced himself to move, walking back into the living room, before settling the bottle and the glasses on the table.

William looked down at it, then him, before asking. "Do you have ice?"

Est met his eyes briefly, before nodding.

He returned to the kitchen, and opened his freezer. Grabbing a bowl from a nearby drawer, he filled it neatly with the cubed ice, before grabbing a picker from the dish rack.

He returned with both in hand, before settling on the couch.

To his surprise, William didn't fall into the couch next to him, or the smaller chair by the side of the table.

Instead, he sank to the floor, legs crossing calmly beneath him, back straight, hands relaxed on his knees.

Est stared before he could stop himself, finding the sight... startling, almost baffling.

'Was he a monk before?'

The thought came out of nowhere, abruptly, but Est quickly shoved it aside, finding it ludicrous.

He didn't know why William sitting like that unnerved him so much, but it did.

It seemed William preferred sitting this way.

It was puzzling.

Like this he looked... grounded, humbler, softer, though still not submissive.

If anything it made him a little more scary, intimidating. Like a still moving river with hidden current.

William didn't look up, even though he knew Est was staring. He didn't say anything even. Rolling up his sleeves, he just reached across, and pulled the bowl closer. Picking a tumbler up, he started filling it with ice, his movements precise, graceful.

Est watched him carefully, curiously, maybe a little captivated— if he'd ever dare admit it himself.

He watched the flex of his strong, thickly-veined forearms, his tattoo half-covered underneath another one of Est's borrowed hoodies. He watched the way his eyes blinked slowly, as if the task required strict attention, watched the way his dark tressses fell across his face in the way that so inviting, he wanted to reached out and tuck them away.

Est felt the attraction hit him like a wave.

But he kept his hands firmly pinned to his sides, took a deep breath and reminded himself again.

Cold blooded killer.Cold blooded killer.Cold blooded killer.

William neatly filled each glass with ice, before placing them on the table. Then grabbing the bottle, he rolled the cap open and poured in the amber liquor, almost filling it to the brim.

When he was done, he passed one to Est.

Their fingers brushed as Est took it— electricity shooting through them at that small touch.

Est's breath caught, and he quickly withdrew, almost dropping the glass, the cold liquid sloshing over his fingers.

But he didn't thankfully.

He prayed William didn't notice the way he flinched, the way his stomach flipped.

If he did, he clearly didn't show it.

William only gave him another unreadable look, before lifting his glass silently.

Est held his drink in his other, waved the wet hand slightly to air dry it, before tapping his against Will's, making a soft clinking sound.

Then William downed his drink in one long swallow, hissing at the burn.

Est tried not to watch, tried not to listen to the loud swallowing noise he made, tried not to notice the way his throat worked, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as the alcohol glided down his throat.

But he did.

When William looked at him, he flicked his gaze away, staring down at his drink, the ice cubes looking like broken shards of glass in the brown liquid.

Feeling William's expressionless stare pierce into him, he spoke first. "Should you even be drinking...?" Est asked, looking down at him. "Seeing as you were shot?"

William only shrugged, turning his gaze away, before reaching for the bottle again. "Doesn't matter."

"It does." Est said quickly, grabbing his wrist to stop him, his thumb brushing against his bone.

A current shot through him at the touch, sending a ripple through him. It felt like touching a live wire.

William froze as well, halting his motion, his eyes slowly lifting to Est. But they was dark, steady, unnervingly calm.

Gave nothing away as always.

Est's breath stuttered, his pulse quickening then.

He almost jerked his hand away, but he forced himself to stay still, swallowing nervously. "If you're going to drink..." He said, voice dry but still soft. "Then you should at least take small sips."

William studied him with that same empty, unreadable stare.

Est could feel his heartbeating unsteadily in his throat.

Then, slowly, William nodded, filling his glass again. Using his free hand, he lifted it to Est.

Est's breath hitched.

Brushing the glass back against his lips, William took a small sip. Just one, before lowering it again.

Est almost smiled, a small satisfaction glinting in his eyes. But then he realized his hand was still on William's other wrist.

Startled, he pulled it away gently, his palm hot with the memory of the touch, almost like he'd been burned.

William looked at him then...

He didn't smile, not really.

But something in his eyes warmed... just a little. A flicker. A spark.

It made Est want to sink into the ground.

William leaned forward on the table then, arms bent on the smooth surface before resting his chin on it, looking at something invisible in front of him.

Est thought it made him look smaller, adorable even, he admitted to himself.

William broke through his thoughts. "I don't like drinking this way." He said. His voice was small, almost inaudible, like a confession.

Est stared at him, then down at where he was sat on the rug.

He realized he seemed somewhat far away from Will, too far it made him a little uncomfortable.

Exhaling softly, he slid from the couch, joining him on the floor. "It's best to be careful." He said, setting his own glass on the table.

William's head tipped towards it. "I don't like drinking alone..." He added. "And I also don't like drinking in silence."

"We're talking now..." Est murmured, resting his elbows on the table as well, shoulders hunched forward slightly. "And— I don't really like drinking... I don't do it often." He confessed.

William's head lifted then, tilting to the side. "Hmm... okay." An arm raised and he rested his head at the heel of his palm, looking at Est, a flicker of something in his eyes, something that looked like mischief. "Let's play a game... Since I don't like taking drinking slowly, and you don't like drinking at all."

Est's brows drew together, mildly curious. "What game?"

William smirked, slow and wicked. "Truth or drink."

Est blinked, startled at first.

He hadn't expected... that.

The last time he'd played such a game was in college— though it had been truth or dare. And he'd ended the night in regret.

He didn't think he wanted that.

But then he thought about it...

He'd been a teenager then, barely even 20. He was 24 now. A grown adult.

What was the harm in trying?

It would be just the two of them.

If he answered everything, he wouldn't have to drink. And if William didn't want to answer— he could get drunk.

It was a strange, poetic twist.

And maybe— just maybe, if the universe could be kind to him for once, he might get some answers from William as well.

He looked over at William, who was waiting patiently, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

"Okay..." Est said softly, nodding his head slightly.

"Okay..." William echoed, equally soft, smirk still in place. "You start."

A small silence settled. Anticipatory.Est's mind blanked.

What could he ask Will?

Before this, he was sure he had a million questions, thought he needed answers.

But now he came up empty.

He scratched his head nervously, racking his brain.

That pulled a low chuckle out of Will.

Est leveled a glare at him, only slightly annoyed.

But that didn't pull Will's smile away.

Est studied him carefully, his eyes gliding down his body, past his inked forearm until they stopped at his fingers— the crosses and letter tattooed on them.

Without hesitation, he nodded at them. "When did you get your tattoos?"

Not 'where' but 'when'.

It was a simple question, but it was the only one he could think of. And Est thought it had a little more depth. Unlike a 'where did you get tattoes from?' question.

That was more... boring.

A boring question like that would probably get a bored, sarcastic response from Will.. Like an obviously amused 'a tattoo parlor...' answer, while he still sipped his drink anyways.

Est didn't want that.

And for some reason he couldn't understand, he didn't want William to think he was boring... or unintelligent... or predictable.

Despite all of that— the overthinking, the rambling in his head— he hadn't expected William to answer him. He honestly didn't seem like someone who would give away any personal details.

So imagine his surprise when he actually did.

William stared down at his fingers, his expression bored— disinterested, as if he were staring at a picture he'd seen too often.

But he still stroked them lightly, humming in thought. "Hmm... the crosses on my fingers— I got them back in 2019, when I joined the military."

Est eyes widened, but only slightly. It took everything in him to stop his jaw from hitting the floor.

The military...?

That was the last answer he'd expected.

It explained alot.

But somehow, it left him with even more questions.

William didn't give him time to gather his thoughts. He slid forward on the table, hand still pressed against his jaw, and said. "My turn..."

Est hesitated.

What would he ask?

Est wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

But a game was a game. And he'd already started playing it. "Okay..." He breathed out the word.

William smiled— slow, mischievous. Then. "Why do you sleep on the left side of the bed?"

The question dropped like stone on glass.

He hadn't expected that one, hadn't expected something so... personal.

Est's eyes flicked to the corner where Thame's picture used to be.

He'd hidden it in a box in the attic, the same night he'd invited Tui over.

For the same reason he'd hidden it then was the same reason he couldn't say it now.

Not to William.

He wasn't ready... to share that. With anyone.

Not right now.

But honestly, he didn't think he'd ever be ready for that.

He picked up his glass and finally, he took a small sip of the already melting drink, the amber liquid searing a small spot in his throat.

William smirked, nodding his head.

At the very least, he didn't look disappointed.

Est put the the glass down, the small clink echoing in the quiet space.

Then suddenly, he thought of the one question that had burned in his mind for the longest. Swallowing nervously, he asked. "Were you— were you the one who took care of me that night?"

That night.

The same night William had fucked him into unconsciousness, the morning that followed, when he'd woken up with his beaten down body balmed up and a little less broken.

William didn't speak at first. Just stared at his glass with keen interest, as if it held something entertaining. Then, without looking up, he answered with a low. "Yes..."

Est heart lurched.

He'd somehow always known he was the one, but now hearing it made it even more real... if that made any sense. "Why?" His voice was shaky, low.

William's answer was simple, faintly laced with humor. "Aftercare."

The words, the way he said it, seemed to hold a deeper meaning.

But Est didn't push, didn't think he wanted to know.

He just simply nodded.

That made enough sense for him to let it go.

William's next question still sounded disinterested. But Est knew that was just how William knew how to speak. "When was the last time you hurt yourself?"

Est's breath caught.

William's questions so far managed to feel intrusive, even when they should have had very simple answers.

Did he want to answer that?

He decided he didn't.

He drank again.

William smirked slowly, lifting his glass in mock cheers and drank with him.

Est swallowed nervously.

'William was good at this.' He thought. Too good.

The way he drank told Est he was probably bored.

Maybe he actually thought Est was too predictable.

That didn't sit well with him.

Est needed to regain footing.

Needed to show him otherwise.

So he asked a nosy question, his voice sharp and blunt at the same time. "Are you and Hong fucking?"

That landed.

William paused mid-sip, glass already brushing his lips. Then as if accepting defeat, his lips curved into a slow smile, almost a laugh.

He tilted his glass up, took a gulp, a quiet hiss escaping his throat at the burn.

Est frowned then.

William ignored it. "My turn..." William said.

Est braced himself, hoping this time it wouldn't land as harshly.

William leaned forward, head propped on his palm, eyes glinting with mischief. "Did you ever..." He smiled then. "..touch yourself to me?"

It didn't land. It crashed.

Est froze, his breath catching so quick he had to cough to clear his throat.

His skin flushed immediately.

The world tilted a little more, not from alcohol but from the humiliation welling in him.

William dropped his elbow on the table, chin resting on his arm, staring at up Est, very amused.

It wasn't smug, wasn't cocky— just deeply entertained by Est's reaction, watching the way he unraveled before him.

Est felt cornered.

He didn't want to answer.

But he also knew not answering was an answer.

He couldn't let William see that, think that of him.

So he settled for a lie. "No..."

William laughed then, a low, rumbling sound that sounded like it didn't believe him. It sent a shiver through Est.

Not his disbelief, but something else.Had he ever heard William laugh before?

He didn't think so.

The other times before didn't count.

It had always been mocking sound.

But this wasn't that, this was just very entertained.

He wanted to feel embarrassed, because he knew William had seen through his lie.

But surprisingly, he didn't.   William raised his glass and said softly. "Cheers anyways."

Then he drank.

Est exhaled shakily.

Fuck!

William was having too much fun with this— with him.  He felt challenged. He felt... insulted.

Heaving a sigh, he decided to wipe the humor away. Once and for all.

He asked the only question that haunted him deeper than all the rest. The same one that probably haunted William as well. "Why did you kill your father?"

William's eyes flashed then, his expression going dark.

Est waited... still, unmoving.

William didn't answer for what felt eternal. Just stared down at the glass, as if in a trance.

Est held his breath.

Was that too much?

Maybe.

But he honestly didn't regret asking it.

Finally, William spoke. "You were eavesdropping." it wasn't accusatory, wasn't deflecting either.

But Est took it as such.

Feeling triumphant, he lifted his glass and drained it. The alcohol burned his throat satisfactorily. "You already knew that..."

When he looked up, William's eyes were on his, jaw tightened, expression even darker.

Shaking his head, he took a big gulp, grimacing at the burn.

Then shaking his head again, William filled Est's glass. His eyes were half-lidded now, cheeks flushed, his movements swaying a bit.

Placing the bottle down, he held himself steady with one hand on the table, but barely, just barely. "How much... do you hate me... exactly?" His voice was low, slurred at the edges.

Est studied him, startled.

The question shocked him.

But it didn't land harshly as the others had.

Why did William care?

Est didn't think he wanted to know the answer.

Looking away, he thought about it, thought about everything that had happened since that first, unfortunate day.

The kidnapping, the threats, the attack.

He knew he should say a lot easily.

So he did. "A lot." He answered, voice firm.

But it felt wrong coming out. It felt... not entirely true.

It felt like a lie.

Something like sadness crossed William's gaze. He folded over then, resting his chin on his arms again, staring into his glass.

His eyes then drifted downward, heavy-lidded, like the alcohol had finally weighed down on him.

Est watched him, heartbeating unevenly, feeling like a heavy load.

He decided to ask one last question, half expectant for an answer. "Do you think you're a good man?" His voice was a whisper.

William didn't answer.

In fact, he was so still, for a moment, Est thought he was already sleeping.

But then William lifted himself weakly, then his glass. He tipped his head back... and drank.

Then he slumped on the table.

Est didn't know if he could take that for an answer... Or just exhaustion.

He sighed then and stood— or tried to.

But the room tilted.

His legs gave out and he stumbled back onto the couch instead.

His vision blurred, his limbs loosened, his blood pulsed hot beneath his skin.

He felt himself falling, drifting, swirling... until...

Everything went dark.

~~~

Hong

The earth was still soft from last night's rain.

Hong noticed it as he and Nut stepped forward, boots sinking slightly into the muddy grass.

It felt wrong, somehow, that the ground was this gentle on a day like this.

Like a bad omen.

Hong always thought funerals should come with cracked soil, and hot sun.

Something solid, something harsh.

It made the grief real. Hopeless.

But this wasn't that.

Rain before funerals had always been poetic to him, symbolic.

Like a wet, rainy day always signified the bad that had come. And maybe when the sun finally came out, better times would follow.

But this was... different.

Even when the sunlight came after, there was no peace. No comfort.

No hope.

Only pain and injustice.

It made the disappointment even more heavy.

Hong held his breath when the casket was lowered. The widow— Mrs Nuch, let out a sound that didn't sound human.

It wasn't a wail or a scream.

It was something worst.

Her hands trembled around the folded flag someone had placed in her arms. She held it tightly, as if it was the last thing she had left in the world.

That twisted something in Hong.

Nut stood beside him, unmoving and tense.

Hong could always tell when Nut was trying to look calm— the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he held his breath, as if he would scream if he let it out.

Nut hadn't said alot, not since they arrived.

He also didn't blink much, just kept his eyes forward in that heavy, intense way of his.

When the damp soil settled over wood, Nut stepped in first to the shuddering widow, her body hunched over, her breaths coming in uneven rasps.

"Ma'am..." He said gently, arm clasped in front of him, though Hong could see they were shaking. "If you need anything—"

She nodded weakly, red, unblinking eyes on him, even though she looked like she didn't understand a word he said.

Hong stepped forward then, bowing his head. "We're so sorry for your loss, ma'am." He said softly.

Her fingers tightened on the fabric.

Hong wondered if it actually gave her some semblance of peace.

He really hoped it did.

They both stayed back, for what would be considered a respectful amount of time, until there was no polite reason to stay anymore.

Then they walked away together, leaving the quiet graveside, the shaking Widow and children behind them.

The sun had warmed up as they drove away, but Nut didn't feel warm.

Something tight had settled under his ribs. Something restless and angry.

Hong sat beside him, head propped up on the arm resting by the window, gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Then he looked at Nut who seemed calm.

But Hong knew well enough he was anything but.

The stress had tucked itself into the corners of his mouth, and his jaw was taut with tension.

Nut cursed under his breath then, exhaling sharply. "This isn't fucking fair."

Hong didn't say a word.

He just kept silent, knowing more would follow.

Nut kept going. "We can't let things end like this. If we let this case die down.." He said, voice low, "Officer Nuch's death would have been for nothing."

Hong didn't answer right away. Just let the silence stretch between them.

Nut looked at him then.

Hong's eyes were still on him, soft but worried. Then, sighing deeply, he said. "What are we gonna do, Nut? You already mentioned the list. But how do we even go about it? Go undercover? Sneak around until we get something? Chief already shut the case down, Nut. Officially we're done. It's impossible."

Nut shook his head. "No. It's not that." He looked at him before focusing on the road again. "I was thinking about... something more personal."

That made Hong freeze.

But only for a brief second.

He caught himself quickly, hoping his voice stayed steady, didn't give him away. "Personal?" He repeated. "What does that mean, Nut?"

Nut swallowed, shrugging casually to hide the tautness. "The CEOs... The ones on the list. I think we should visit them. One by one. Tell them about the list. Tell them someone's targeting them. See if any of them cracks."

Hong froze, panicked, though he kept his expression neutral, hoping he didn't slip up, didn't give anything away.

If Nut noticed, he didn't show it.

Something inside Hong's chest went tight.

No one knew about his double life as a cop.

No one except Will.

If Nut did this— if he approached those people— it would expose everything Hong had spent years hiding.

His lies.

His secrets.

The threads he and William had been pulling in the shadows.

The Citadel wasn't just a club.

It ran on hierarchy— old rules and silent threats.

The patrons in that underground world weren't normal wealthy men and women, nothing they did there was 'normal'.

Those patrons? They were the kind who could bury someone in concrete without blinking.

Hong kept them in line with his anonymity.

Right now, only two people knew who he really was.

William... and himself.

No one else.

No one knew their full names, no one knew where their money came from. No one knew where their power came from.

No one knew of their pasts.

That was the only reason the patrons respected them, the only reason they still followed was fear of the unknown.

And the fear of being exposed.

Unlike them, Hong knew everything about them.

Their full names and their secrets. The carnal pleasures they indulged in.

For some of the more important patrons, he kept concrete evidence of their intimate acts.

Especially when Will's 'interests in politics' came in to play.

So he held their reputations in his palm... while giving them the heaven they denied themselves openly.

They, on the otherhand, didn't have shit.

Not on him.

Not on Will.

They were ghosts, even in the world they built.

So now, if Nut walked into the lion's den, if Hong followed as he had from the start, if any of the patrons found out that the man they trusted their dignity with— some even against their will— was just a measly, corrupt cop... he would be more than vulnerable.

If Will got exposed— if Hongs ties to him, to the mafia was revealed— Hong might as well turn to dust then.

This was dangerous.

Everything was at stake.

Hong felt cornered.

Maybe he shouldn't have let things come this far.

Maybe he should've stopped him.

Maybe encouraging Nut to keep digging had been a mistake.

He'd pushed him, thinking Nut would eventually run out of leads and give up.

But this— this only left his ass in the hot seat.

But— if he was being honest to himself, he couldn't blame himself alone.

He knew Nut.

Knew wouldn't stop.

He would have kept going— with or without his push, with or without him.

He wasn't the type to give up once he reached a block in his path.

He wasn't wired that way.

Once he cared about something, he cared with his whole heart.

That was what made him wonderful in Hong's eyes.

It also made him dangerous.

Very dangerous.

And now Hong couldn't let this happen. Couldn't let him keep digging.

He had to stop him, while still being inconspicuous. Not draw suspicion to himself.

He had to think... He had to think fast.

"Nut..." He started, voice a little hoarser than he meant. "What— if they're in on it? What if the CEOs were the ones who got Earn killed? This sounds... it sounds dangerous." He said, hoping this was a convincing enough argument. Nut's jaw clenched, eyes still on the road. "It's just a risk we have to take."

FUCK!

"Why?" Hong pushed, voice cracking around the edges now.

This was bad. This was fucking bad.

"Because Hong... What if the others on that list are in danger too?" Nut argued, voice firm with conviction. "What if someone is hunting them? I don't know why, but my instincts—" He tapped a finger against his head. "It's telling me there's more to this. Way more."

Hong looked at him— feeling somewhat helpless and terrified in a way he couldn't show. "You think the people on the list are being targeted?" He asked, almost dumbfounded.

That was exactly what this was.

But they already got rid of the rat who did it.

Nut was too close. Nut was... scary.

This was all the Hong had to see to know he needed to stop.

"Maybe..." Nut exhaled, hand tapping the wheel lightly. "I'm not sure. And honestly... I don't even know if this is about drugs anymore."

Hong felt the world tilt.

FUCK!!

Nut continued. "But I want to risk it. I mean what harm could be in it? They're just businessmen—"

Hong cut in, almost too quickly. "Nut, maybe you're right... But what if I'm right too?" His voice rose then, a little panicked, a little uncontrolled. "If you're wrong, and i'm right, then this is going to put a fucking target on our backs. We could get killed! Have you fucking thought of that?!?" He snapped, his expression one of terror.

That shifted something.The silence that followed his outburst felt unnatural.

Hong's breaths came heavier, and he suddenly felt a sharp ringing noise in his head.

He knew what he'd just sounded like.

He'd sounded like a cornered man, too fast, too loud. Too fucking raw.

FUCK!!!

Hong shut his eyes, realizing too late he had slipped. His reaction must have given him away, his burning desire to cover his own ass.

Only a fool would not see it.

He'd let himself crack, get too emotional, too desperate, too... revealing.

FUCK!!!!

He cursed himself quietly.

He kept his eyes shut, not wanting to finally see the accusation in Nut's eyes, the questions that would follow.

Or maybe the cold, distrustful silence that would inevitably come once they got back to the office.

It was over.

Or so he'd thought.

But then— to his surprise— a strong, warm hand reached over and wrapped around his rigid, maybe shaking ones.

His eyes fluttered opened then, looking down at the big tattooed hand softly settling over his.

When his eyes lifted to Nut's face, Nut was looking at him with concern— real concern, the kind that reached his eyebrows and made his eyes shine a little brighter.

Nut's fingers curled around his gently, slowly. His thumb stroked his softly, like he wanted Hong to feel every reassuring second of that contact.

Hong's heart stuttered, and suddenly he couldn't remember what breathing was like.

Nut squeezed. "Hey..." He said softly, so softly it almost hurt to hear it. "You know you don't have to do this with me, right?"

Hong's breath caught.

His heart thudded against his ribs, out of rhythm.

This wasn't what he'd expected.

He'd expected accusations, the cold shoulder.

But instead—

Nut giving him an out.

And it wasn't a suspicious out.

It was a caring out.

A safe one. A warm one.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

Almost like a miracle.

Maybe there was a God somewhere.

But Hong's throat tightened then, almost painfully so.

Despite everything, he still wanted to say 'No'.

He wanted to say we're in this together.

Wanted to say something stupid, something brave, something honest.

And he knew if he did, he would mean it.

But... none of those options were safe.

He turned away from Nut, towards the window, watching the city blur past them. Then he swallowed hard.

If he said no, and followed Nut through with the investigation... he'd expose himself.

But if he said okay, and stayed out of it...

Nut would be alone.

In danger.

Either way, Hong felt like there wasn't enough air in the car.

He felt stuck.

Felt like he was going to run out of time soon if he didn't start breathing normally again.

So he settled for another answer, the only one he knew wouldn't suffocate him.

Staring back at him, he said. "I don't want you to do this, Nut." His voice was small and the words came out softly, so vulnerable, so... raw.

It was the kind of raw that felt like stripped open and bare skin.

It struck Nut straight in the heart.

Hong's eyes were the same— small, glassy, honest. Too honest.

Nut looked back at him... and for a moment, he almost considered it.

He considered giving up.

Letting all of this go.

Moving on.

He could find other ways to still do good.

Ways that didn't bury people like Earn. Ways that didn't put Hong in danger, over and over again. Ways that didn't put the weight and burdens of the world on his own shoulders.

And for a single, almost fragile moment, he though of a future where he wasn't chasing ghosts or fighting shadows.

A future where he wasn't drowning in guilt and responsibility. A future where Hong didn't look at him with those too honest, frightened eyes.

And for a flicker of that same moment, he saw himself, living in that future.

But then Nut thought about the dead teenagers. He thought of Earn's bloated corpse, of the five officers and the multiple injured others, who'd given their lives for this case.

He thought about why he came down here in the first place.

About the names written in that list, the same ones engraved in his mind like stone.

If he gave up now... all the people who died, who bled for this, all of that would have been for nothing.

Just another burden sitting heavy in his conscience.

He looked away from Hong, jaw setting in place, his mind already made.

Hong saw it.

The determination. The decision in that clenched jaw.

His stomach sank, and anger coiled deep in his gut.

He pulled his hand away, turning to face the window again.

Nut didn't look surprised, though there was a flicker of maybe... hurt In his eyes?

Either way, his hand dropped right back to his side, though the feeling of Hongs soft hands beneath his lingered long after he pulled away.

Hong rested his head against the window, watching the cars pass one by one. Their colors blurred together, eventually fading out of focus as his mind endlessly drifted.

He wondered why he cared so much.

Why Nut's determination felt like a knife pressed against his skin.

He should just tap out, let him walk into the flame and get burned.

But his mind couldn't accept it. For some stubborn, almost innate reason he couldn't understand, it refused to accept it.

That was when it hit him— a quiet, terrible realization.

He'd fallen for Nut.

His breaths shuddered out of him.

He'd fallen for his deep voice, his cheeky smile, throaty laugh. His dumb patriotism that made Hong think he was naive but was also one he begrudgingly admired. He'd fallen for his careful way with words, how he always seemed to know what to say to put him at ease.

He'd fallen.

And he'd landed a little too hard.

He was in trouble.

Deep shit trouble.

Nothing good ever came from falling for people.

Not for him.

Not in his world.

He told himself he needed to detach quickly, to take a step back, and be smart.

But the thought refused to settle within him.

It was like an smoldering flame. It fluttered and fought, but it just refused to die.

Hong exhaled slowly, shifting his shoulder into a more relaxed position. Then he snuck a glance at Nut who was concentrated on the road.

And in that brief look, he admired the straight line of his nose, the small bump on it, admired the strong cut of his jaw line. How his small eyes became pointed with focus, how the breeze from the air conditioning ruffled his short hair.

FUCK!!!!!

He was a hopeless cause.

Shifting in his seat again, folding his arms, he decided he was fucked.

Maybe even beyond fucked.

Since he knew he couldn't stop caring, since he knew it was impossible to detach himself, he decided then.

He would do the only thing he knew how to do for the people who mattered most to him.

He would save Nut.

By all and any means possible.

Even if it meant saving him from himself.

—————————————————————————

Author's Note.

Do William and Est realize they're like a married couple now? Do they even know how down bad they are for each other😩? Why is Est salting up his food? It's giving jealous possessive wife atp😭 I love his ass sm😭

But seriously, can they get together already? Like you're two single people, with an obvious attraction for each other, in a big, empty house. Get to touching each other's bodies soon or i'll die😩.

Fuck! I hate this. I'll probably never write another slow burn after this😭... it's not for me I fear😭

Meanwhile, my babies NutHong, omg🥹 yall mop me from this floor. The chemistry, the intimacy between is just— chef's kiss. Nut is so down bad, he doesnt even realize it yet. Cuz how did our "I'm sorry, I don't' trust anyone" detective get to this point?

I'm gonna butter yall up with their scenes, so when we finally reach climax and that inevitable crash follows, yall are gonna go down w me😭(why did this end up sounding overly sexual?? Shdfadsfsfd)

Anyhoo, hope you liked this one. I'm gonna workaround it so we can go back to our usual Saturday updates. Should be easier once heartbreak anniversary ends.

Anyways, have a great week. See you when I see you😘