Chapter 14: The Editor

Est

Est opened the door slowly, almost hesitantly as though there was a threat outside he couldn't evade.

Standing out there, barely visible blocking the bright sunrays behind him, was the last person he wanted to see right now.

Fuck!!

"Hey... P'Daou.." Est said, planting a weak smile on his face.

Daou didn't smile. He just looked at Est with eyes that were cold and frustrated, arms crossed firmly against his chest." Est SuphaCock..." Daou said, low, but edged with rage, like heat simmering under skin.

He was stood at the doorstep, posture calm and composed though his appearance was anything but. His hair a wild mess from probably driving too fast, his white tucked-in shirt was lined with sweat. And his expression? It was feral— eyes sharp, jaw ticking, eyes twitching with the false smile planted on his lips.

Before Est could say another word, Daou shoved past him, his control breaking, voice raising, cursing him relentlessly.

"You are FUCKING unbelievable, Est!" Daou exclaimed, flinging his arms wild as he turned to Est in the corridor. "You just disappeared on me, on everyone!!! Like you're some fucking ghost. No body could reach you. What the fuck do you think you are? Some myth and legend? Is that it? I sent you seventeen fucking emails!!! And what do I get? READ!!! You read it but you never replied!!!. I called your fucking line, and it's straight to that fuckass voicemail. Talking about "This is Est... I am busy?!?" He does a deeper, exaggerated version of Est's voice. "BUSY DOING WHAT EST?!? BINGEWATCHING ME AND THEE?!?"

Wait— was he psychic?

How did he know that?

Bonnie had recommended it... and so far he'd been having a blast.

Est shut his eyes and groaned internally. He didnt need this right now.

Not with William here.

He shut the door slowly behind him, already feeling exhausted.

"Oh you were...? WELL LET ME SPOIL IT FOR YOU... MOK DIES!!!"

Wait what—

Fuck!!!!

Ughhhhh!!! Why would he fucking spoil that!!!

Est wanted to cry.

This was his problem with this fucking man.

Daou wasn't just his editor— no. He was the bane of his very existence. He was a force of nature, a wrecking ball with a flair for the dramatic that Est couldn't avoid if he tried.

And trust, he did try.

"I was this close..." Daou kept in, pinching his fingers close, veins straining dramatically... "To calling the fucking cops. I had a whole story prepared." He made a call sign by his ears. ' Yes, hello officer..." He shook his head, his mannerisms mocking, voice drawn out. "My author is missing. Oh yes, he's so dramatic, and as fragile as a flower. Oh yes, it's possible he's been kidnapped, oh no, he wouldn't survive a ditch.'"

That wasn't too far off from the truth.

Est opened his mouth to speak, but Daou didn't let him. "I thought you were dead, Est!!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. "I thought I was going to meet your decaying corpse..." His voice cracked then, dramatically.

"I—" Est tried again.

"But nooooo! You're not dead..." Daou went on, sweeping his arm toward Est like a lawyer presenting his evidence. "You're here, looking healthy, weel-fed, and relaxed. Do you know how offensive that is to me?!?? I couldn't sleep thinking about your well being, and here you are, glowing like you're pregnant, watching ME AND THEE!!!"

Est rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat of guilt rising. "P'Daou, I—"

"Don't!" Daou snapped, eyes shut, finger up, shaking his head. "Do not Daou me. You do not get to Daou me after ignoring my seventeen carefully crafted emails."

Est winced then, guilt welling in him.

He knew exactly how many there had been.

He'd seen the notifications pop up on his screen, read each one.

And he still ignored them.

And now Daou was crashing out.

There was no reasoning with him.

Est raised both hands in surrender anyway. "Look I know I messed up, Phi... I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry, Est." Daou scoffed, and started pacing. "Sorry people respond with excuses. Sorry people make effort, even when it's half-hearted..."

"I have—" That wasn't a lie... he had been trying.

But Daou wouldn't hear him. "Noooo— you haven't.... You've done nothing, Est!! Absolutely nothing!!"

That much was true.

Try or not, Est had to admit his output had dropped to zero over the last few months.

"I'm under a lot of pressure, Est..." Daou continued. "Because I keep covering up for your delays. My reputation is at stake here you know!"

Est didn't say anymore... Just shrunk a little further in himself.

Daou finally paused, exhaling harshly, dragging a tired hand through his hair.

Est really looked at him then.

The trip down had clearly been brutal.

And the guilt shrunk him more. "You drove here?" Est asked quietly.

"Well yeah..." Daou said sarcastically, sassiness snapping back in place. "I'm not taking public transport all the way from Nakhon Pathom..." Daou snapped. "Do you know what a trip like that could do to a man like me?! Some musty, dusty, weirdo could touch me in there!!!"

Est smiled softly.

Daou was a drama queen, yes, but he cared, even when he tried not to.

He didn't have to drive all the way here. All he literally had to do was report his negligence... and maybe take a query at most.

But he didn't.

Instead he hac driven all the way here to "find Est's corpse" as he worded it. And this wasn't the first time he'd done something like this.

When Thame passed, he was the only one who had shown up. And since then, he was the only one who had at least tried to check in, even if those checks in came in the form of work-related nagging.

"I was worried, Est.. So worried." Daou added, his voice lowering just a fraction, the sharp edges of his anger giving way to genuine exhaustion.

But moment didn't last.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Daou flared up again, stepping closer, poking Est in the chest. "You don't vanish like this. Not when you have a contract. Not when you have people counting on you. You're lucky I didn't send an assassin to murder you."

Est sighed deeply.

To the eyes of anyone else, the scene might have been a little alarming, like it was seconds away from a violent confrontation, though one sided.

Daou was animated, loud, sharp-mouthed.

Est— on the other hand, was fine with taking all the verbal blows.

But then— a thud sounded behind from the kitchen. It was dull but solid, hitting the tile.

Both men froze.

Daou whipped his head around first, eyes sharp and alert. Est's heart dropped into his stomach.

Shit

He had forgotten— for one exhausting minute, that he wasn't alone.

That William was still here.

William was stood by the counter, one hand still half-extended toward the grocery bag he'd been unpacking.

At the counter lay large oranges, rolling slightly before coming to rest against a the surface cabinet.

He was still in his black tank top that exposed his tattoes and his built upper body, and the pair of gray sweatpants he'd 'borrowed' from Est.

But even dressed in casual wear, he still looked dangerous, looked like he was supposed to be miles away from a place like Est's home.

William bent over and picked the fruit up from the floor, before returning to his task at hand, as if the atmosphere hadn't just shifted with the sudden awareness of his presence.

Daou stared at him, openly, unashamedly, eyes traveling from William's waist, up to the relaxed strength of his tattooed hands, then his shoulder, before finally settling on his face.

His jaw literally went slack then.

If William noticed, he didn't show it.

He just kept placing each orange carefully in a bowl, looking oddly domestic.

Est felt his chest sink.

Swallowing nervously, he said. "P'Daou, this is—"

But Daou cut him off. "I knew it!" He shouted, pointing an accusing finger at William.

Est flinched.

"I knew something was wrong!" Daou turned back to Est, voice rising again. "This! This is why you've been lazy. This is why you don't pick up the phone! You've been hooking up with a whole person!"

Est's eyes bulged."I am not—" He started, dumbfounded.

"You've been distracted..." Daou continued mercilessly, stepping close to William then, as if to get a better look at the so called "distraction" William's brow drew together, though his eyes remained bored as always. "No— worse. You've been dickmatized!"

The word sounded absurd in Est's ears.

He wanted to laugh, but he nearly choked when he remembered 'that night' and all the humiliating ways he'd touched himself. His face went hot, and heat burned all the way to the tips of his ears. "Phi! Stop! It's not like that!"

"Don't tell me to stop!" Daou said, waving Est off, eyes still fixed on William. He took another step closer, inspecting him like a suspicious item on clearance. And from the way his eyes lingered, it seemed like he liked what he saw.

Or so Est thought.

He moved back to Est, pulling him close by the shoulder, whispering harshly. "What the hell Est...?! I thought you knew better! I thought you had better taste."

William raised an eyebrow then, clearing hearing Daou's pitched whisper. He didn't seem offended though.

If anything, he looked... mildly amused, entertained even.

"You're supposed to be a professional. Men like us..." He pointed between them, referring to their queerness. "We don't have many advantages in this industry. Very few get to the heights you have reached. And here you are..." He flicked Est's forehead, making him wince with a low 'ow' "Throwing your career away for this? For some big dick?"

Est's shrugged off Daou's hold, stomach coiling, face flushed.

He wanted to explain to Daou, wanted to let him know he was misunderstanding.

But how could he?

How could he say...?

'He's not a hook up, P'Daou, he's a high-level mafia leader who kidnapped me, got shot and now I have to nurse him back to health because I'm scared he'll hurt my family.'

That wouldn't go over well.

Not with Daou.

His overly dramatic ass would probably run out of the house, terrified, screaming for help that would get them both killed.

Est couldn't risk that.

Daou leaned in closer again, voice lowered but somehow still loud. "Look at those tattoos. Look at his attitude. He probably doesn't have a cent to his name. He looks like he spends his weekends getting into fights at bars."

William's lips twitched behind, shaking his head.

Daou snuck another glance, before continuing. "He's a freeloader, isn't he?" He pressed, holding Est closer. "Look at him over there, putting fruits away. That's probably all he can bring to the table."

William audibly chuckled then and Daou gave him a pointed look, scowling.

Est was exhausted at this point.

He wanted to clarify but as always, Daou beat him to it.

And at this point, Daou didn't give a fuck about courtesy or secrecy. He spoke loud enough for all to hear. "He's sucking the life out of you Est... he's living off you, eating your food, using your internet. Hell, he's probably making you cook for him while you should be writing. Est, you could have any man in Bangkok, in the entire fucking continent. Why would you pick a bum?"

The silence that followed Daou's words was sharp.

Est's heart hammered so hard he could hear it in his ears.

He waited for William to snap.

For him to turn cold, to say something— do something that would show Daou why you didn't call a man like William a "bum."

But William didn't do anything...

Instead, he laughed. Loudly.

It wasn't cruel... It wasn't mocking.

It was deep and genuine, the sound rolling out of his chest like he'd just heard the funniest joke he'd had in years. He shook his head, eyes bright with amusement.

Est stood there, awestruck, listening to William's laugh

Had he ever heard William laugh this freely before?

Probably.

He wasn't sure. If he had, he couldn't remember. He'd mostly been too paralyzed by his fear and uncertainty to memorize such details.

But it was a beautiful sound, and it completely shifted the dynamic in the room.

The sound completely disarmed Daou.

He took a half-step back, blinking. "What's funny?"

William shook his head before eyeing Daou with that very fierce, but amused gaze. "Nothing... you're just... funny." William said, tone dry, matter-of-fact.

It was probably a genuine compliment.

But the tone with which he said it came off sarcastic, easily misunderstood.

Or that was how Est saw it because Daou clearly misunderstood.

He scowled, lips thinned in annoyance. "I know your type, Mr. You bleed people dry and disappear. I've seen it a million times before, but let me tell you this... Not my author you hear... over my dead body!"

William cocked a brow then, grinning sheepishly.

Est rushed forward then, grabbing Daou's arm, before things escalated. Daou tried to wiggle out of his hold. "P'Daou..." Est begged. "Please. Just stop. Shut up, okay. Let's just sit down."

Est glanced at Will as he pulled the tall man— who was still muterring low curses— away.

William didn't even look offended by any of Daou's words. Instead he stared at Daou with mild interest.

Then he glanced at Est, and his eyes warmed, almost looking fond.

It was a look that made Est's stomach do a slow, dangerous flip, almost making him stagger in his pull back.

"It's nice to know you still have people who worry about you... even if they're a little bit... loud." William said lightly to Est, eyes glinting, smiling wickedly.

But then his gaze flicked to Daou, going a little dark. "You shouldn't touch him like that..." He said, referring to earlier when Daou had pulled him aside— his voice a slow, playful warning. "I'd much rather you keep your hands."

That stunned Est.

Did he mishear that?

What did that mean?

Daou's also stopped his movements, brows pulled together, confused. "What? What do you mean?!!!" Daou moved forward, puffing out his chest.

Est held him back, trying saving the situation. "He meant keep it away, Phi."

Right?

He couldn't mean that... Like literally chop his hand off?

It made no sense.

But Daou didn't listen to him. "Stay away from him you hear!!! I'm his editor, his life coach, and his adopted mother!!! And I'm going to protect my Nong from the likes of you."

William hummed, rolling his eyes. "Good luck with that." He went back to his oranges.

"âi sàt—"

It took nearly an hour— and three cups of tea— to calm Daou down.

They sat stiffly at first in the living room, the air still buzzing with tension.

Est explained— slowly and in gentle words, that William was just a friend. He explained that he had gotten injured in an accident and now needed a place to heal and rest.

He kept the details vague, letting Daou's imagination fill in the blanks with something much more mundane than the truth.

William eventually excused himself not long after their little confrontation, climbing up the steps to his room, leaving the both of them alone.

The moment he was out of sight, Daou leaned in across the table, his eyes sharp and gleaming. "You sure you're not tapping that?"

Est groaned, rubbing his temples. "No, Phi."

Daou clicked his tongue. "Shame. His hips looks really strong. Such a waste of good dick."

Est shot him a look, vein twitching. "You literally just called him a bum and told me he was ruining my life."

"I am two faced, Est. " Daou said, sipping his tea with his pinky extended. "From a professional perspective, he's a disaster. From a personal one? I would absolutely let him destroy my hole for a weekend. I know you saw that third leg swinging from those sweats, Lord Jesus." He made a cross sign.

"You're going to hell, Phi."

Daou shrugged, then gave him a look. "Maybe you need to fuck him to get your writing spirit back. You wrote your best when you had Thame milking the creative juices out of you.."

"Oh my fucking God, Phi." Est groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"What?" Daou said, shrugging.

"I'm gonna make more tea." Est got up and walked to the kitchen. He couldn't think about Thame right now. It would break him.

He also couldn't think of Daou's racy suggestions.

Not with his growing, conflicting feelings towards Will.

Daou followed, dropping the topic, and  filling the silence with casual conversation, yapping a mile a minute. He talked about the traffic, about the bad coffee he'd had on the highway. About how Est's kettle took too long to boil and how that was somehow symbolic of Est's entire personality being too passive.

Est just let him.

He moved around the kitchen on autopilot, hands steady even as his chest still felt tight. He rinsed cups, spooned loose leaves into the pot, poured hot water with the careful attention of someone trying very hard not to think about the man upstairs or the books he wasn't writing.

Daou took another sip, sighed in satisfaction, before shifting back on the stool. With another dramatic sigh, he said. "You fucking stressed me Est. If I dropped dead right now, my ghost would fucking haunt you. I'll keep knocking on your walls until you finish a chapter."

"I'll light sage for you." Est murmured sarcastically.

Daou clicked his tongue. "You'd forget..." He replied flatly. "You'd be too busy eye fucking that bum's tattoos."

Est ignored him, tried to ignore the sudden thought of Will... and his tattoes.

It didn't work.

As if summoned by Daou's words, William returned briefly to grab a bottle of water. He ignored Daou's open gawking, and brushed lightly against Est behind to get to the fridge.

Time slowed and Est's breath caught instantly, heart picking up again. Even as Will stood by the fridge, Est was acutely of his presence, and he found himself frozen, not moving an inch.

Daou watched them both closely, watched William slide past Est again, the way the tip of his nose brushed his hair. His eyes tracked Est's rigid form, then the movement of Will's shoulders, the way his presence seemed to pull the air toward him.

When William went up again, Daou leaned forward, voice lowering. "You sure you're not sleeping with him?"

Est exhaled loudly, shoulders sagging and he pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted. "For the tenth time Phi, no."

"Shame..." Daou muttered, leaning back. He then lifted his teacup, blew on it, and took a sip. Then he added. "I would though. He's gorgeous in a 'he might kill me' kind of way. That's very trendy right now. The dark-romance readers would eat him alive."

"P'Daou."

"What?" He shrugged. "I love danger. It's a quality."

"You just called him a bum. Pick a struggle."

"And I stand by that." Daou said.

Est sighed deeply then. "He's not a bum. On the contrary, he's quite the opposite."

Daou raised a brow. "He's not?"

Est shook his head slightly. Then took a sip of his tea, his heart finally settling into silence again.

But Daou sent it racing again. His eyes widened and he gasped so hard, he almost inhaled his tea. "Oh my god. Tell me more!!!"

Est sighed. "You scared me."

"Sorry... but spill. What do you mean opposite?"

Est hesitated. "Uhm... He's... comfortable?" He tried for nonchalance... hoping that would end it.

But Daou kept pushing. "What kind of comfortable?" He pressed, his eyes wide and bright. "Like 'owns a Benz' kind of comfortable? Or 'has a family name on Siam – Chidlom – Phloen Chit' kind of comfortable?"

Est sighed again, thinking for a moment.

He couldn't say William was a mafia. He couldn't say he had blood money and owned strong men the way people owned watches.

So he settle for something, slightly more... euphemistic. "Like... owns the city kind of rich."

Daou froze midmotion, the teacup halfway to his lips. Then his entire demeanor shifted.

The hostility vanished, replaced by something far more pleasant. He twisted in his sea, his smile beaming. "So... why haven't you locked him down yet?"

Est nearly dropped his cup. "Phi!!! That's not— we aren't—"

"Or is that what you're working on?" Daou continued, grinning, his scheming brain already plotting. "No wonder you're not writing. I wouldn't write too. If had a man like that in my house, I would currently be in the Maldives, utterly fucked out, sipping martinis while the sun bronzes my skin."

"I am not trying to lock him down... I'm just trying to help."

"Sure..." Daou said dismissively. "And I'm the Queen of England." He waved a hand cheerfully, almost bouncing in his seat. "Est!!! You got you a rich man. Now you have to secure the bag."

Est groaned, feeling the first signs of a headache forming.

Daou rambled on. "As a professional, I don't support it. It's career suicide and you're my best paying Author. I don't want to lose you... my bank account can't handle it. But as a friend....? I SUPPORT!!! You get to hang that fine piece of nan off your arm and you get the sugar baby treatment..." He changed his mind again. "But don't stop writing. What if he just wants to fuck and dip? Never trust men, Est. A man like you, already excelling in your chosen field... you're the prize, Est. Never forget that!! And I don't wanna lose my bonus, so don't get too distracted by Mr Dark and Mysterious's bank account...."

Est pressed his finger against his temple, a tired smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

This was Daou.

High-energy, chaotic, but consistently on Est's side. While their relationship was strange... Est found that he needed someone like Daou... sometimes.

Daou looked at him, and his ramble paused, his expression softening then, just a little bit. He played around with the mug on counter. "You look... different.." He said, deciding to end his dramatics... and just be a friend now.

This was another of part of Daou that caught Est off guard.

His... personality.

The way he could go from hot to warm to cold in the blink of an eye.

At first, when Est had been told they'd be working together, Est had thought he was a cold and serious. Professional, never playing about work.

It had been hell for Est getting a finished draft to him. Daou had been brutal, nitpicking everything.

One drunken night together had brought a side he hadn't expected-- loud and flamboyant.

Est thought he was playing a prank on him and sent his twin over.

Over the years, he'd just realized he probably had undiagnosed Multiple Personality Disorder.

Much quieter moments had brought out the compassionate, kind persona in him. This was his most normal version.

The one Est preferred the most.

And this was the version speaking now.

Est looked down at his hands, feeling an emotional surge. He knew what Daou was referring to. But he still asked. "Different how?" He asked, voice small.

"Not bad..." Daou clarified. "Just... quieter. You've stopped being so... full of energy. You used to look like you could claim the world. Acted like it too. Now you just look... tired.."

The word landed, heavier than Est expected. He swallowed back against the dryness in his throat. But he didn't comment.

"How is life...?" Daou asked gently. "After Thame?"

He hadn't seen Daou since the funeral. He hadn't really seen much anyone since then.

He had retreated into this house, into his grief, and then into the strange, dangerous hole he'd fallen into with William.

Hearing Thame's name, that tightened something in Est's chest— something sharp and sudden, like a bruise that had been pressed too hard.

It was the first time someone had said it out loud in months.

He opened his mouth.

Tried to say something.

Anything.

But nothing came out.

Daou reached across the table and took his hand.

It was a rare gesture of kindness from a man who was usually all gravity or chaos.

"You don't have to talk, Est.." He said softly. "I know. I just wanted you to know I haven't forgotten. And that things will get better."

Est swallowed.

It didn't seem true.

But Est had to be hopeful. It was all that still kept him going.

The truth was that his grief was still there.

It still sat in his throat like a stone, heavy and unmoving. Some days it felt manageable. Other days, like today, it felt like it might crush him.

He had to admit, he still hadn't found closure. Still hadn't found a way to move on. He still missed Thame with a dull, constant ache, that would never go away.

Est didn't know if he'd be able to truly move on.

For a moment, it was just silence.

Daou just stayed there, hand warm over Est's, a grounding presence.

Then, as always, his professional mask slid on. He couldn't stay in the heavy stuff for too long. It was too depressing for his temperament.

"Okay..." Daou said briskly, sitting up straight and smoothing his shirt. "Let's get to business now."

Est braced himself, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Okay."

"You signed a three-book contract..." Daou said, ticking it off on his fingers. "One book is out and it did very well. It's still doing well. You have two left."

Est nodded. He started the second one right before—

Before it happened.

The crash.

Now that manuscript was a graveyard of half-finished ideas.

"It's been almost six months since then..." Daou went on. "You now have four months left on the deadline. And right now... I have exactly two chapters that aren't even really chapters. Just two, Est. That's not a book. That's a long Instagram caption."

Est stared at the table. "I'm working on it. I try to sit down every day."

"I know you are..." Daou said, surprising him with how kind his voice sounded. "You have talent, Est. Real talent. Your stories are... magic. That's why i'm so patient with you. Because I am well aware how pressure can ruin a good story. I don't want a book you forced out because you were scared of me."

Something in Est calmed then. He gave Daou a small but grateful smile.

"If you can finish the second book soon... " Daou said then. "Like really put your heart into it— maybe... I can delay the third. I'll try to push the publishers back."

Est looked up then, startled. "You can? They're usually so strict."

"I'll have to call in a few favors..." Daou admitted, a small smirk forming on his face. "Beg. Threaten. Cry. Probably all three. I'll tell them you have writer's block. I'll tell them you have a tropical disease. I'll tell them your mysterious rich boyfriend has taken you hostage..."

Est's smile faltered briefly.

But only briefly.

The words didn't hit close to home. It was in his house.

"But you're worth it, Est." Daou reassured, still oblivious.

Est's chest loosened.

And for the first time in weeks, the weight of the story didn't feel like a noose around his neck.

"Thank you, Phi. Truly."

"Don't thank me. Just write me something excellent, something that will make me cry..." Daou said, standing up and stretching. "And maybe something that could make me horny. Sex sells, Est. Especially with that dick slinging real life inspo walking around."

And just like that, horny, unhinged Daou was back.

From the hallway, right at the top of the stairs, William listened, unseen.

He stood with his hand at the railing, ears sharp as always.

He had been standing there for a while, long enough to hear enough. He listened to the talk of contracts, of deadlines.

And of the name Thame.

Thame.

A dead partner.

Est's chosen safeword.

He knew the partner part. Didn't know of the safeword.

He didn't like that, didn't like the way it was making him feel.

Without making a sound, William returned to his room.

Daou stayed the rest of the afternoon.

And for that afternoon, he reverted to back to his most prominent form— loud, flamboyant, profane, impossible.

He complained about a manuscript he was currently editing "as a favor" that was, in his words, "objectively criminal and a curse to the writing ability."

He drank Est's tea like he owned the place and flirted shamelessly with William when he came down for his usual walk around— now that he knew he wasn't a "bum".

William ignored him, looking bored though the slight softness in his eyes told him Est was amused. Est sat back and watched, slightly embarrassed, though a small smile stayed on his face.

He realized, with a quiet ache, that he had missed the noise. He had been living here, in a tomb of his own making, and Daou had just smashed the concrete open.

When Daou finally left, he pulled Est into a bone-crushing hug, smelling of his earlier dried sweat and expensive cologne.

"Write..." Daou murmured into his ear. Then, lowering his voice, he added... "Also, bone him. It looks big. I'm telling you as a friend."

Est shoved him out the door, face burning. "P'Daou please, hesitate sometimes"

Daou walked backwards to his car with an obvious blowjob sign.

Est's ears burned and he was thankful there was no one else around to witness it.

The house fell quiet once he was gone.

But as it had— as Est noticed more recently— it wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence from before.

It felt lighter.

~~~

The next morning, Est sat stiffly at his desk.

He opened a document.

He wrote a sentence.

But he deleted it.

He wrote a paragraph about a man who lost everything.

He deleted that too.

The white screen stared back at him, blank and glaring. His shoulders sagged forward and his eyes started to ache.

He felt like he was trying to draw water from a dry well. Nothing was coming out. His— Est didn't know what he could call it— but his whatever was still there, blocking his ability.

So he remained sitting, staring blankly, trying to piece together something that made sense to him.

William came downstairs not long after, footsteps light on the wood.

He didn't say anything at first.

Just wandered the living room in that lazy but graceful stride of his, before stopping at the bookshelf at the far wall. There, he ran a finger along the spines of books, studying them with barely concealed disinterest.

Est glanced over his shoulder and watched him warily.

And then he froze.

William's hand had middle row of the shelf.

That row.

The one Est hadn't thought about in weeks.

The one lined with the books he'd bought after their first night together, back when it seemed like the world had shifted beneath his feet.

120 days of Sodom.Comfort Food.Fifty shades of Grey.

Research materials for his book, he'd lied to Tui. And maybe even himself if he was being honest.

He hadn't explored that part of himself ever since. Probably because he'd been too afraid to acknowledge it.

Instead he'd chased after his usual normalcy.

And now Tui was probably heartbroken... or probably in danger.

It was hard for Est to swallow either.

Est looked away from William, his pulse racing.

With William still staring at the books, he felt exposed... like his most intimate thoughts were laid bare in ink and paper.

William didn't comment.

He just reached up and pulled one of the books out— the heavy volume on the 120 Days of Sodom— and sat on the floor right where he was.

Flipping a page open, he started reading.

Like he had nothing else to do and nowhere else to be.

Which was true.

Est didn't know how to act normal after that.

The silence stretched for a long while.

Est tried to focus on the screen, but his mind remained there, in the living room, on William's quiet presence.

He stole a few glances at Will and noticed the way he looked at the book with the same blank expression, his eyes barely skimming the lines. How he hardly flipped the pages over

Est realized then he was probably pretending.

But what was the point of that?

Was he that bored? Or pretentious?

Was his entire cold and mysterious persona a facade?

William stood up then— breaking Est's inner whims— and walked over to the desk where Est was sat rigidly.

He didn't lean over, no. He just stood there, close enough that Est could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"What's wrong?" He asked, blank as always.

Est leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long, shaky breath. "I'm just— struggling. Phi Daou thinks I'm some sort of genius, but I feel like a poser right now."

"Why?" Small, empty of feelings.

Est shrugged slightly. "I don't know. I'm just... stuck."

"Is it the plot?" William asked, a little softer now.

"No..." Est said, looking up at his face, which was still staring down at the screen, though not really seeing anything. There wasn't really anything to see.

But why did William care though?

"A character." Est admitted, a little ashamed. "He's like the center of the book, but I can't get close to him."

William waited, his silence an invitation.

"He's an anti-hero..." Est continued, finding the words as he spoke. " He's.... Complex. The things he says, does... the way he thinks. He's... powerful. Like really powerful. But he feels hollow. I can imagine it, but I can't make it feel real."

He hesitated, still staring up at Will. "It scares me sometimes. Writing someone who doesn't follow the rules. He— scares me."

William leaned down, hand gripping the back of Est's seat, almost brushing his exposed nape.

Est slightly shivered at the small, almost contact, awareness heightened. His eyes met Will's and they were dark, and piercing, almost staring at his soul.

"Almost like I do?" William asked, warm, clean breath fanning Est's cheek.

It was a question... but it sounded more like a statement in Est's ears.

Est swallowed nervously.

He didn't answer. He couldn't.

William smiled softly, a ghost of an expression. "Write about me then. I want to read it."

Est breath stuttered, very startled. But he didn't say a word.

William's grin didn't falter. "You look surprised." He noted.

Est exhaled. "It's just... I didn't think you were much of a reader. Beyond... whatever it was you were doing over there."

William's smile deepened, now showing teeth. "And what did you think I was doing earlier?" He asked lightly.

Est swallowed, still silent, still nervous.

William chuckled then, shaking his head slightly. "I do read Est... more than i'd ever care to admit." He paused, then added. "And I've read your books as well."

Est's heart warmed despite himself. "You did?" His brows raised in curiosity. "What did you think of them?"

"I liked them. Alot. It was exactly my type of book."

"And why is that?" Est turned slightly towards him to ease the small strain in his neck from staring at that angle too long.

William looked away briefly, in thought. Then. "It just spoke to me, I guess. I like stories where characters survive because they act..." He said, his voice a little heavy now. "Not because the plot is kind to them. Life isn't kind. Your characters understand that."

Est hummed softly. "Yes... like Dune for example. Paul doesn't wait for things to happen. He moves. He takes the path that is necessary, even when it's bloody and a little cruel at times."

William blinked. "You've read Frank Herbert?"

"Yes..." Est responded shyly. "I mean who hasn't."

William smiled again. "That's... surprising. I thought you'd be more like the tragic, historical romance type."

Est groaned aloud then. "Why does everyone keep saying that?!" He protested.

Tui had said something similar.

"Am I wrong?" William asked, eyes glinting with humor, smile spread wide.

Est felt a blush creep up his neck. He glanced down, as it that could hide himself. "Well..." He said, voice small, shy. "You're not exactly right... I read everything." He said, biting his lower lip, before meeting William's eyes again.

William's eyes flicked from the trapped lip back to Est's eyes. "I see that..." He said, voice lower, dangerous.

A small moment passed as they stared at each other, quiet but tense. Electric.

Will broke away from the look quickly, straightening himself and clearing his throat. Then he turned towards the shelf where the bdsn books now rested. "Including de Sade I can see. You're a lot more complicated than you let on, Est Supha."

Est was silent.

William smiled again, eyes still dark. "Did you buy them before... or after?"

Est's breath caught.

He knew what he meant, knew what he was referring to.

Est heart picked up then.

He couldn't answer that.

Turning away, back to his screen, he changed the topic. "You scare me, Will."

William leaned in close again, close enough for his breath to brush Est's ear. "Maybe that isn't such a bad thing." He murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

Est's breath stuttered, his heart slammed and he resisted the urge to shut his eyes. He just stayed still, unmoving, as if any sudden movement would shatter him.

"Write about me." William whispered, low, deliberately seductive. "I'll be waiting."

Then he stepped back, returned to the shelve again and dropped to the floor, book in hand.

He returned to his pretentious skimming... and he waited.

An hour later, Est handed him the laptop, offering it like evidence.

William took it, automatically angling the screen toward himself. And then he looked.

The document was blank.

William frowned, looking at the cursor blinking steadily. His brow knitted as he scrolled down, as if the words might be hiding there.

But there was nothing. Just a white screen staring back at him. His eyes travelled up to Est face. "What did you write?"

Est didn't look away. "Nothing."

William's glanced at the laptop, then back at him. "Is this a joke."

"No this is you..." Est tried for nonchanlace but he ended up with weakly defensive. "You're blank. I can't read you."

A second passed.

The William shook his head, laughing quietly. "Wow. I feel insulted."

"Why?" Est asked, genuinely confused. "You shouldn't. It just means I can't write about you."

"That's somehow worse. I've been living with you for weeks."

"Well it's not my fault. You're impossible to pin down. Every time I think I have a handle on who you are, you... change. You honestly confuse me."

"Or maybe you've been too afraid to look closely."

That landed. Heavy and true. Est didn't argue. Didn't deny.

Just stared at the floor as if not acknowledging it would make it less... real.

William sighed deeply then.

He pushed the screen back and stared typing, fingers moving with practiced ease. The sound of typing filled the space, soft but insistent.

Est didn't try to see what he was writing.

When William finished, he handed the laptop back. "There..." He said, almost begrudgingly.

Est took it, and their fingers brushed for half a second longer than necessary, sending a small spark through Est. He pulled back— not swiftly but just enough for William to notice. Then with an unsteady voice, he asked. "What did you write?"

William's expression was unreadable. "Something that defines me."

Est looked down and glimpsed the words.

His eyes widened as he read them.

And his breath caught.

"Yet... somehow... you're the one that's invisible. You keep living, but it's like no one really sees you anymore. They only see your pain. The person you were before. Not the person you become after life has punished you with all its brutal, barbaric betrayals."

"But sometimes... in that invisibility, you can still find... a kind of clarity. That we're all truly alone in this world. It's cold. But it's clear... And maybe that's enough to survive."

The lines sat there, unadorned, unmistakable— words he said in a moment of broken clarify. The same sentence he'd said out loud at the museum, back when William had been nothing more than a stranger with sharp eyes and a cold expression.

Est swallowed.

He wasn't sure what shocked him more— that the line had carried that much weight to someone like Will, or that he had remembered each word perfectly.

Not a single one out of place.

"Try again." William said quietly, looking up at him.

Est held his gaze for a moment, then nodded sofly. Slowly.

He returned to his desk.

And this time, when his fingers touched the keyboard, they didn't hesitate.

And something opened inside Est.

He looked at the line, then at the man who had written it— a man who was currently hiding in his house, a man who had been shot and stayed silent, a man who laughed at being called a bum.

And this time, the words came.

They didn't just come... they poured out of him.

He never showed William what he wrote about him.

He kept it tucked away in a secret folder.

But after that, the rhythm formed.

He spent his mornings at the desk. His evenings with four cups of coffee, dark circles under his eyes, and bracketed notes being filled with hours of research.

When Willian decided he was too worn out, they took a walk.

Then bed after.

A quiet understanding settled between them, one that acknowledged that something had shifted, but neither of them needed to name it.

By the end of the week, Daou got his first draft.

~~~

Nut

Nut sat at his desk with a pen in his hand, the tip hovering over the paper like it had forgotten what it was made for.

The report lay in front of him.

Clean margins. Sharp header. His name typed neatly at the top.

Everything about it was in place except the words that were supposed to fill the page.

He knew exactly what he was supposed to report. But he couldn't bring himself to focus. His mind wasn't here, in the office.

It hadn't been all morning.

It was somewhere else— somewhere he couldn't bring himself to envision, but constantly weighed on his mind.

The Citadel.

That name had been following him since he arrived here, taunting him like a bad joke.

Every lead he followed since the start had bent back on itself.

Every question he had was answered back with silence.

Dead ends. All of them.

But still...

His gut told him all the answers were there.

He just needed to keep looking.

Nut leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, feeling the first signs of a headache form.

The hum of the office wrapped around him— the low buzz of computers,, the distant cough of another officer.

It was safe, familiar.

But they did nothing to lightened the unease in his chest.

He had to do something.

He knew what he had to do, knew he needed to.

But that was the worst part.

The answer he knew, the consequences he was ready to accept.

Well all except maybe one.

Nut opened his eyes then and looked at the desk across him.

Hong was sat there, the sleeves of his darkshirt rolled up, his fingers moving with ease across the keyboard. His posture was straight, and his eyes were focused.

And his face? His face was beautiful, wearing that calm look he always had while his fingers were busy, the type that made Nut want to stare a little longer than necessary.

So he did.

Stare longer than necessary.

At Hong.

His Hong.

He had been there since the start of this whole thing. Since the first anonymous tip. Since his distrust and recklessness.

Since his weakness.

Since his failures.

And he had been... real.

He had listened. He had argued.

He had his back.

He'd saved his life.

And now he was pushing back against him— probably to save his life again.

And he looked broken each time he did it.

That was what fucked up Nut the most...

That look.

That crack in his voice.

After everything he'd promised, he was hesitating.

Why?

Because Hong was the one thing he didn't want to break.

Fuck!

Nut cursed himsrlf, still staring at the silver-haired man who was still occupied to notice.

They'd just arrived from a visit to the home of the boy called Luke.

The place had been pretty much what Nut envisioned— shady community, old decaying property.

Luke's father had answered the door with unfocused eyes and a slur in his voice, a half drunken bottle in one hand. Inside the smell of stale alcohol and moldy food perfumed the air, adding to the discomfort he felt.

The man said he hadn't seen Luke. And from the sour look on his face, it was obvious he preferred it that way.

It made Nut sick to his stomach.

They stood and left without too many questions asked. Luke not being home wasn't unusual.

Nut had actually expected it.

Kids his age hardly ever were... let alone kids his age with an environment like that.

But they'd needed to find him soon.

They had visited the school next.

And from all the info they gathered— records, friends, teachers who noticed too little, rivals— It was obvious this would be another dead end.

Even as Nut nodded and agreed, he knew it deep in his gut.

His mind started drifting back to that list.

He didn't want it to, but it did.

And Nut knew, there was something there.

He trusted in it.

He had to find out.

Nut exhaled slowly and stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and started toward the door.

He couldn't keep waiting. Not anymore.

If he kept on, someone else would pay for it soon.

The sound cut through the office, pulling Hong from his report. "Nut?" He called.

Nut didn't stop, didn't turn.

He just kept moving, his pace just fast enough for him not to grab too much attention. Nut pushed through the door and went out into the small hallway. The air here was colder, tighter, or maybe that was just him. Outside, the sun was bright and scalding— a contrast to the inside of the office. 

The squadcar sat where he had parked it earlier that afternoon. He just reached for the handle when the voice called again.

"Nut!!" Hong's voice echoed across the parking lot.

Nut froze.

For a moment, he considered pretending he hadn't heard it. He just had to get in the car and drive away.

But his body betrayed him, and he turned before his mind could stop it.

Hong stood a few steps away, his breathing a little uneven. His eyes were sharp now, searching.

"Where are you going?" He asked. His voice wasn't loud, but if didn't need to be. There was edge to it— something accusatory, almost close to fear.

Nut shrugged, trying to look casual. "Day off."

Hong stared at him, eyes bright. But he didn't say anything. He just kept looking.

The silence stretched on for a few endless seconds. And Nut could feel it pressing against his skin.

"You never take days off..." Hong finally said.

Nut looked away, shrugging again. "I need this one."

Hong didn't respond again, not right away.

His gaze still remained on Nut's face, probably seeing past his lie.

Nut stood there, his heart racing unevenly.

He hated waiting like this, but Hong had him pinned with that piercing, accusatory gaze.

He hated this. Hated how Hong had made him this weak and pliable.

"You're really going to do this?" Hong said,voice low. It wasn't angry or restrained, it was just hurt.

Nut swallowed deeply, feeling even weaker. Exhaling loudly, he took a step closer to him... and reached out. His fingers wrapped around Hong's hand.

And it was warm, solid.

It was real.

For a moment, Hong stiffened. But he didn't pull away. Just kept that hurt gaze locked onto Nut's.

That almost broke Nut.

The truth rose up in him, sharp and urgent. But he couldn't tell Hong that. "I'm going to visit my mom..." Nut lied then. The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but somehow it slid out too easy.

Hong searched his face deeply.

And by some miracle— or at least one in Nut's eyes— something shifted in his expression. The tight, tense line in his shoulders eased and relief flickered in his eyes, soft and bright.

"Sure?" Hong asked softly.

Nut nodded slowly. "Yeah." He answered, squeezing Hong's hand once. "I wouldn't do anything reckless." He said, voice a promise.

Hong let out a breath he'd been holding. "Okay..." He said quietly.

They stood there for a moment longer.

Just them.

Hands interlaced.

The world narrowed down to the space between their palms.

Nut felt good like this. He felt safe, grounded.

He wanted to stay.

But he couldn't.

Eventually, he pulled his hand away, almost painfully hesitant.

He met Hong's eyes one last time, reassuring him. Then he turned away, got into his car, and shut the door.

Nut didn't look back as he pulled out of the lot. He didn't trust himself not to stop and just keep holding Hong.

Hong watched the car disappear down the road until there was nothing but asphalt and motion blur. 

Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a phone his private phone. The screen lit up and Hong typed in a short message.

Nothing too detailed. Just enough to be a clear warning.

Hong: The cop is coming.

He clicked send and slid the phone back in his pocket.

Afterwards, he stood, a thin, irritating sheen of sweat forming on his skin, and he wondered which of them had crossed the point of no return.

Nut drove with both hands tight on the wheel.

The city slid past him in one endless blur of buildings and vehicles.

He felt... uneasy.

That was the best way he could put it. Probably the only way.

He didn't feel like himself. He felt like he someone else watching himself drive from somewhere behind his eyes.

He should have been thinking about the case.

Instead, he was thinking about Hong.

That realization made his jaw tighten.

How did it happen?

He had always been careful.

He'd built his rules young and kept them close. Lines were clear, never crossed. Work remained work.

And partners?

That was all they could ever be.

He wasn't supposed to let people in far enough to touch his judgment... or let them change how he weighed risk.

He never let anyone matter more than the truth.

And yet.

Somehow along the way, Hong had slipped past all of that. Like water through a crack.

Nut stared through the windshield at the road in front of him.

He tried to figure it out, tried to trace it back. To the very moment he'd cracked.

Maybe it was those nights parked outside the station, engines off, eating from takeout boxes balanced on their knees.

Or maybe it was the jokes. The ones Hong should not have made out loud, let alone in a police station.

Or may be it was the first time he saved him life...

Or the second. How he took care of him in that dingy motel room.

Nut exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening on the steering.

He didn't know. And that scared him.

"Fuck!" He muttered to the empty car.

This was bad.

Because if he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it started, he couldn't be sure where it would end.

He was fucked.

He was beyond fucked.

The tower that housed Pond's record label— Riser Music— rose ahead of him, tall and clean and made of glass that reflected the city back at itself.

Nut slowed as he pulled into the road opposite it, the engine shutting quiet. Then the sound of the city rushed back in, the area buzzing around him with motion.

For a moment, he just sat there.

In silence.

This was it.

He could feel it in his bones, the low hum of certainty he trusted more than evidence sometimes.

The Citadel.

The list.

The deaths that didn't line up, but were somehow all correlated.

His breath dragged out of him.

People didn't die for nothing.

Not this many.

Not like that.

There was something here.

Nut reached down and clicked his belt, the sound loud in the stillness. He pushed the door open and planted one foot on the concrete.

But then he stopped.

He looked across through the sliding doors of the building.

And he hesitated.

He still wanted to go in. The want surprised him with the sheer weight of it. It sat heavy in his chest, urgent and aching.

He needed answers.

He needed to start putting faces on the names on that list.

He needed to understand why all those people had to die.

He needed the truth.

But then, Hong's face slid into his mind, uninvited and clear.

The way his brow creased when he was worried but pretending not to be. The way his eyes gleamed when he was hiding a hurt that Nut found devastatingly beautiful. The way his voice softened when he said Nut's name and probably didn't notice. The relief in his eyes earlier when Nut lied to him.

Nut could still see it.

That moment. That trust.

His fingers curled against the car door, and his stomach twisted.

His will wavered.

Nut squeezed his eyes shut, almost painfully. He couldn't do this.

"FUCK!!" He cursed.

The words felt like defeat.

With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled his foot back into the car and shut the door. He clicked his belt back into place, the sound final this time. His hand trembled as he turned the key.

"Fuck." He muttered again.

The car rolled back to the road and sped past the city, the tower shrinking in the rearview mirror until it was just another distant memory.

'He was gone' Nut decided.

There was no fighting it.

That evening, he sat on his couch, jacket tossed over the armrest, phone heavy in his hand.

His mind was in a state of unrest yet somehow there was only one person that weighed above the rest.

He stared at his screen longer than necessary before typing.

Nut: You off work yet?

The reply came instantantly.

Hong: Yeah. Just got home.

Nut felt something warm bloom in his chest at that alone. He smiled then, a soft curve of his lips.

Another message followed.

Hong: How's your mom?

His throat tightened.

God, he was fucked.

He typed out quick.

Nut: She's okay, Tired, but okay.

Hong: Still there?

Nut: No... i'm home now.

Hong: Thats good... Did you tell her I said hi?

Nut smile widened despite himself, a big, enamored thing.

Nut: No.

Hong: [annoyed cat gif]

Nut laughed then, a low rumbling sound.

Nut: 😆😆Sorry.

Hong: Tell her I said hi next time...Or else...🙄

Nut: [surrender gif]I will

He hesitated.

Then.Nut: ❤️

Hong: [insert twerking gif]

Nut laughed again, and flopped onto his side into the couch, feeling warmth in his chest.

Across the city, Hong leaned back on his stool, phone slipping into his pocket.

He felt... satisfied.

He'd gotten confirmation earlier.

It had been short and clear.

Nut hadn't shown.

And now here he was, back where he belonged.

In his kingdom.

The Citadel breathed again.

Music rolled through the space, low and heavy, vibrating through each nook and cranny.

Lights shifted slowly, painting the room in black and deep reds. Shadows moved where people moved, leather gleamed, and sweaty, exotic perfumed bodies pressed up against each other.

At the center was a raised platform.

A woman was there, suspended above it in a way that looked both dominant and submissive, all at once.

She floated with grace, not struggling.

Not afraid.

Just another center piece, like art demanding to be seen, not touched.

Beneath her, the patrons gathered, visibly in awe.

Some drank. Some danced.

Some dance and drank.

Others simply watched, eyes hungry, devouring each inch of her exposed skin.

Laughter spilled and blended with the music. Hands brushed shoulders, waist, the curve of ass. Fingers lingered at wrists and then moved away.

It wasn't chaos.

It was order dressed up as freedom.

Hong watched it all with an easy calm, both elbow propped behind on the bar.

He looked like exactly what he was.

The King of the Underground.

He thought of Nut then.

His Nut.

The same one who'd just choosen him over answers.

And a satisfied smile curved his lips.

Hong had won.

He had him now.

Not by force. Not by threat.

But by trust.

He had Nut now wrapped around his pretty, slender fingers.