Chapter Text
Pond sat in his office, but his thoughts were far away. A light rain drizzled outside, drops tapping against the glass in a monotonous rhythm that usually helped him focus. But not today.
He'd been staring at his laptop screen for fifteen minutes without reading a single line. The numbers blurred before his eyes; his mind was elsewhere.
Phuwin.
His smile. His voice. The way he tucked his hair back when he was tired. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about baking. And the way their fingers had touched yesterday—by accident, but not entirely.
Pond rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair. This was irritating. He'd never been a person who got distracted. His entire life was built on control, discipline, a clear understanding of what he was doing and why. And now some baker with a warm smile and a peach dessert had turned everything upside down.
He didn't understand what exactly had hooked him. Maybe it was the sincerity with which Phuwin spoke about his work. Maybe his calm—not cold like Pond's own, but something different, alive, real. Or the way he looked at him—not as a company owner, not as his father's son, but simply as a person.
Pond wasn't used to being looked at that way.
He exhaled sharply and snapped the laptop shut. Working today was useless.
Someone knocked on the door.
"Come in," he said, not turning around.
Est entered with a folder in hand, but upon seeing the closed laptop and his friend's vacant stare, he stopped.
"You're not yourself today," he noted, placing the folder on the edge of the desk. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Pond replied shortly.
Est raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"You've been sitting here for ten minutes staring into space. That's not 'nothing.'"
Pond didn't answer, only turned his gaze to the window. The rain had picked up, drops now drumming harder, streaming down the glass.
"Does it have to do with that person?" Est asked quietly.
Pond flinched slightly but didn't turn around.
"What makes you think that?"
"I've known you for years, Pond. You never get distracted. But these past few days, you've been somewhere else. And you've been smiling. Barely noticeable, but I see it." Est perched on the edge of the desk, watching his friend closely. "Tell me."
Pond was silent for a long time. Finally, he turned.
"It's just… strange," he said slowly, as if tasting the words. "I don't understand what's happening. I see him, and something inside me changes. I can't stop thinking about him. It's annoying."
Est smirked.
"Congratulations."
"For what?"
"You're in love."
Pond frowned.
"I don't fall in love. That's illogical."
"Love isn't logical at all," Est shrugged. "It doesn't ask for permission. It just comes."
"That sounds stupid," Pond said coldly.
"It sounds like the truth," Est countered. "Listen, you've controlled everything your whole life. Work, emotions, relationships with people. But feelings aren't reports. You can't break them down point by point and analyse them. You can only accept them."
Pond looked down at his hands. Accept. That was the hardest part.
"I don't know what to do about it," he admitted quietly.
"What do you want to do?"
Pond thought about it. Did he want to just watch Phuwin from afar? Or did he want more? To touch? To talk about something beyond coffee and pastries? To get to know him better?
"I want… to be near him," he finally said. "Just to be near. Is that strange?"
"That's normal," Est replied softly. "You're human, Pond. Despite all your reports and cold stares. You're human. And you need warmth. Like all of us."
Silence filled the office. The rain outside began to let up, and a timid sun peeked through the clouds.
"Thank you," Pond said quietly.
"Always," Est stood up. "Now go. Wherever you want to go."
Pond looked at him.
"You know I still have work."
"Work can wait," Est picked up the folder he'd brought and headed for the door. "But some moments can't."
He left, leaving Pond alone. Pond sat still for a few more minutes, then abruptly stood, grabbed his keys, and headed for the exit.
He knew where he was going.
---
The bakery greeted him with its familiar warmth and the scent of fresh pastries. Closer to evening, there were fewer customers, though a few tables were still occupied. Pond entered, and the bell chimed above the door.
He immediately looked toward the counter, expecting to see Phuwin there. But no one stood behind the register.
Pond frowned and scanned the room. Then his gaze stopped.
At a far table by the window sat Phuwin. But he wasn't alone. Next to him was a man about his age—tall, with dark tousled hair and a wide smile. They sat close together, heads bent, chatting animatedly.
Pond froze.
He watched Phuwin laugh—easily, freely, head thrown back. Watched his companion slap him on the shoulder with an easy familiarity that only exists between very close people. Watched them exchange short phrases as if understanding each other perfectly.
The stranger said something clearly funny—Phuwin rolled his eyes, but his smile grew even wider, and he gently nudged the other man with his elbow. The man laughed back, not offended at all.
Pond felt something tighten inside.
He didn't know who this person was. He didn't know what he was to Phuwin. But seeing them together, seeing Phuwin smile at him—just as warmly, just as sincerely—felt… strange.
No, not strange. Unpleasant.
Pond stood by the door, unsure whether to approach. He suddenly realised he knew nothing about Phuwin. About his life. About his friends. About who came to see him in the evenings when the bakery was nearly closed.
Just then, Phuwin looked up and noticed him.
Their eyes met. Surprise flickered in Phuwin's eyes, then something else. He hurriedly got up from the table.
"Mr. Pond?" he said, approaching. "I didn't expect you today. You were here this morning."
Pond glanced at the stranger, who was eyeing him curiously from across the room.
"I… was passing by," he said, knowing how stupid it sounded. "Didn't mean to intrude."
Phuwin followed his gaze and seemed to understand something.
"This is Dunk," he said simply. "My friend. We've known each other a long time. He stops by sometimes when he's in town."
Dunk, hearing his name, stood up and came closer. He was the same height as Phuwin but broader in the shoulders. He radiated an easy, carefree energy—the complete opposite of the serious, composed Pond.
"Oh, so you're the famous Mr. Pond?" he said with a grin, extending his hand. "Phuwin's told me about you."
"Dunk!" Phuwin hissed, his cheeks flushing slightly.
Pond shook the offered hand slowly. Dunk's handshake was firm, open.
"What exactly did he tell you?" Pond asked, looking at Phuwin.
Phuwin looked away.
"Nothing special. Just… that you stop by."
"Yeah, 'stop by,'" Dunk chuckled. "Every day. And even help out behind the counter. I was starting to think maybe you'd hired a new employee and didn't tell me."
"Dunk, enough," Phuwin shot his friend a meaningful look.
Pond was silent, glancing from one to the other. There was clearly a special bond between them—the kind that forms between people who've known each other for years. They moved in the same rhythm, traded jokes only the two of them understood.
It stirred something uncomfortable.
"I think I should go," Pond said suddenly, stepping back.
"Wait," Phuwin stepped forward. "Let me get you some coffee. As usual."
"No need. I really was just passing by."
"Then why did you come in?"
Pond had no answer. He just stood there, looking at Phuwin—at his slightly dishevelled hair, his faint blush, his questioning, almost worried gaze.
"I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I saw the light in the window."
Dunk, standing a little apart, carefully watched them both. His smirk softened into something more understanding.
"Alright," he said suddenly, clapping Phuwin on the shoulder. "I think I'll head out. See you tomorrow?"
"Yes, of course," Phuwin nodded, looking gratefully at his friend.
Dunk grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. As he passed Pond, he paused for a moment.
"Nice to meet you," he said. "Come by again. I think Phuwin would be happy."
And with that, he left, leaving them alone.
Silence fell in the bakery. Outside, it had grown dark, and the streetlights cast a soft glow on the sidewalk.
"Sorry about Dunk," Phuwin said quietly. "He's sometimes too… direct."
"It's fine," Pond replied. "He's your friend."
"Yes. Since childhood. We grew up together. He's like the brother I never had."
Pond felt the tension inside ease a little. Like a brother. Nothing more.
"That's good," he said. "To have a friend like that."
Phuwin looked at him carefully.
"Are you sure you don't want coffee?"
Pond paused for a second.
"I do."
Phuwin smiled and walked to the coffee machine. Pond moved closer to the counter, watching him. Thoughts swirled in his mind—about Dunk, about the way Phuwin smiled, about how he'd said "we grew up together."
"Does he come by often?" Pond asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
"Dunk? From time to time. He works a lot, travels around the country. When he's in town, he always drops by."
"I see."
Phuwin handed him a cup of coffee. Their fingers touched again, but this time neither rushed to pull away.
"Why did you ask?" Phuwin said quietly.
Pond looked up at him.
"Just curious," he said. "You… interest me."
Phuwin froze. It was the same thing Pond had said yesterday. And now the words carried even more weight.
"I still don't know what to say to that," he admitted.
"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know."
Pond took a sip of coffee, set the cup on the counter, and after one last long look at Phuwin, headed for the door.
"See you tomorrow?" Phuwin asked softly after him.
Pond turned.
"See you tomorrow."
The door chimed. Phuwin stood alone in the empty bakery, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat faster than usual.
---
Night had settled over the city, covering it in dark velvet dotted with lights. A warm glow came from the living room of Phuwin's small house. Fourth had gone to stay overnight with a school friend—he said they were working on a joint project. Phuwin suspected the project was just an excuse to play video games until dawn, but he didn't argue. Sometimes a guy just needed to be a teenager.
The house was unusually quiet. Phuwin sat on the couch, legs tucked under him, absently flipping through TV channels. Nothing interesting. Images from some late-night talk show flickered across the screen, but he wasn't really listening. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Tonight. Pond. The look in his eyes when he saw Dunk. There was something in that look—something Phuwin couldn't quite understand, but it made his heart beat faster.
He thought about how Pond had said "just curious." So simply. So directly. Without hints or detours.
Phuwin wasn't used to such directness. In his world, people usually circled around things, chose their words carefully, afraid to say too much. Pond, it seemed, didn't know how to circle around anything. He said what he thought. And that made it even more surprising.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Phuwin flinched and looked at the clock—almost eleven. Who could it be at this hour?
He went to the door and peered through the peephole. On the doorstep stood Dunk, with his usual grin and two bottles of beer in hand.
Phuwin opened the door.
"You left," he said instead of a greeting.
"I came back," Dunk shrugged, walking inside without an invitation. "Actually, I drove home, changed, realised I didn't want to sleep, bought some beer, and here I am. Fourth's not staying over tonight, right?"
"He's not," Phuwin confirmed, closing the door.
"Perfect. So no one will stop us from getting drunk and talking about life."
"Getting drunk?" Phuwin raised an eyebrow at the two bottles. "On two beers?"
"Don't underestimate me," Dunk smirked. "I've got more in the car. But we'll start small."
Ten minutes later, they sat on the couch in the living room. The lights were dim, the TV off. On the coffee table stood open bottles, a bag of chips, and a couple of chocolate bars Dunk had thoughtfully picked up on the way.
"So," Dunk said, taking a swig of beer and leaning back, "spill."
"Spill what?" Phuwin also took a sip, trying to look unruffled.
"About him. About your Pond."
"He's not 'mine,'" Phuwin replied quickly, but his cheeks were already reddening.
"Sure, sure," Dunk snorted. "I saw the way you looked at him. And the way he looked at you. The air between you almost sparked."
Phuwin stared at his bottle, avoiding his friend's gaze.
"You're making things up. We're just… acquaintances."
"Acquaintances," Dunk repeated skeptically. "Acquaintances who see each other every day. Acquaintances who look at each other like no one else exists. Sure."
Phuwin was silent. He didn't know what to say. Because Dunk, as always, had hit the mark. But admitting that even to his best friend felt… strange. Too new. Too unclear.
"He owns a chain of stores," Phuwin finally said, still staring at the bottle. "A serious man. A businessman. And I… I just bake bread."
"So what?" Dunk genuinely didn't understand.
"What do you mean, 'so what'? We're from different worlds. He's used to expensive suits and business meetings; I'm used to flour on my hands and a 5 a.m. alarm. What could we possibly have in common?"
Dunk set down his bottle and turned to face his friend fully.
"Listen, Phuwin," he said seriously. "I've known you my whole life. You always overthink everything. And sometimes you just need to… feel. You said yourself that he interests you."
"He said I interest him," Phuwin corrected quietly.
"Even better!" Dunk threw up his hands. "The guy straight-up told you that you interest him. Didn't hint, didn't skirt around it, but said it outright. That's worth a lot."
Phuwin looked up at his friend.
"Do you really think so?"
"I really do," Dunk nodded. "I saw him today. He looked at me like he was sizing up whether he should be worried. You know, that… assessing look. Like someone who actually cares."
"You're imagining things."
"I'm not. I know what I'm talking about," Dunk took another swig of beer. "He was jealous."
Phuwin almost choked.
"What?! Jealous? Of you? Why?"
"Well, he didn't know who I was. He saw you with some guy, you're sitting there laughing… of course he tensed up."
Phuwin thought about it. He remembered Pond's look—that one at the door. Tense. Studying. Maybe Dunk was right?
"That doesn't mean anything," he finally said, shaking his head. "We're not even friends. He just… comes for coffee."
"Sure," Dunk snorted. "Strictly for coffee. Coffee he could drink at his office. Or anywhere else. But he comes to you. Every day."
Phuwin opened his mouth to argue but found no words.
"Exactly," Dunk nodded with satisfaction, noticing his hesitation. "He likes you. And you like him. Don't deny it."
"I…" Phuwin sighed and rubbed his face with his palms. "Alright. Maybe. Maybe he does… interest me. But it doesn't mean anything. We barely know each other. I don't know what to expect."
"Then don't expect anything," Dunk said simply. "Just let it be. Get to know him. Talk to him. Time will tell."
Phuwin looked at his friend for a long moment. Dunk rarely spoke seriously—he usually joked and brushed things off. But now there was genuine care in his voice.
"You've changed," Phuwin remarked. "You used to say something like 'forget it and get back to work.'"
"I used to be younger and dumber," Dunk shrugged. "Now I understand that life isn't just about work. It's about people. About those who are close. About those who make you happy."
Phuwin pondered those words. Dunk was right. He'd always been too focused on work, on Fourth, on responsibilities. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to just feel something for another person.
"Scared?" Dunk asked quietly.
Phuwin nodded.
"Yeah. Scared. I don't know what happens next. Don't know if it's serious. Don't know if I'll regret it."
"Then ask him," Dunk said simply. "Don't guess. Don't spiral. Just ask him."
"Ask? What exactly?"
"What he wants. Why he comes. Where all this is going. Straight up. Honestly. The way he talks to you."
Phuwin imagined that conversation. Looking Pond in the eye and asking, "What do you want from me?" And Pond, probably, answering calmly and directly. No evasions.
"Maybe," he said quietly. "Maybe someday I'll ask."
"'Someday' is too long," Dunk noted. "Don't drag it out. Life is short."
They fell silent. Each lost in their own thoughts. Outside, the wind rustled softly. The clock on the wall ticked steadily. The bottles slowly emptied.
"Tell me more about him," Dunk asked, breaking the silence. "What's he like? Besides being serious and drinking black coffee."
Phuwin leaned back on the couch and thought.
"He's… not what he seems," he began slowly. "On the outside—ice. Cold stare, short phrases, always composed. But inside… I feel like there's something inside. Something he doesn't show anyone. When he talks about his work, there's this… tiredness in his voice. Like he does it not because he wants to, but because he has to."
"Has to?"
"Family business. His father is handing the company over to him. He didn't choose this path."
"Tough," Dunk remarked.
"Yeah. I think he's very lonely. He has friends, I've seen them a couple of times. But still… sometimes there's something in his eyes… wistful."
Dunk looked at his friend carefully.
"And you want to fix that?"
Phuwin didn't answer right away. He thought about Pond—standing at the counter, his fingers touching the cup, the way he looked, attentive and slightly wary.
"I don't know if I can fix anything," he finally said. "But I want to… be there. Just be there. So he knows he's not alone."
"That sounds almost like a confession," Dunk said softly.
Phuwin shook his head.
"No. I don't… I don't know what I feel. It's all too new. We barely know each other, Dunk. I can't talk about anything serious. But I want to get to know him better. Want to understand who he really is."
"That's a good start," Dunk approved. "Getting to know someone. Understanding them. The rest will come later. Or it won't. But at least you'll have tried."
They clinked bottles and finished the last of their beer. Dunk stretched and yawned.
"Alright, I should go. Early day tomorrow."
"You've been drinking," Phuwin noted.
"Only two bottles in two hours. I'm fine. And I'll call a cab."
Phuwin walked his friend to the door. On the threshold, Dunk turned.
"You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think this Pond—he's a good guy. I saw how he looks at you. There's nothing bad in his eyes. Just… interest. Curiosity. Maybe something more."
Phuwin leaned against the doorframe.
"You really think so?"
"Really," Dunk nodded. "I can read people. Trust me. He's not the type to play games. He's the type to say what he thinks. And that's rare."
Phuwin considered those words.
"Thanks," he said quietly. "For coming. And for listening."
"That's what friends are for," Dunk smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Alright, I'm off. Call me tomorrow, tell me how your businessman is doing."
"He's not mine."
"Not yet," Dunk winked, and stepped out into the night.
Phuwin closed the door and leaned his back against it. The house fell silent again. He stood there for a few minutes, listening to his own feelings. The beer warmed him pleasantly; his thoughts flowed slowly and smoothly.
He thought about Pond. His eyes. His voice. The way he'd said: "You interest me." Simply. Directly. Without extra words.
Dunk was right. People like that were rare. And maybe Phuwin should take a risk. Not dive headfirst, no. But let himself get to know this person. Understand him. See what lay behind that cold exterior.
He walked into the kitchen to put away the bottles. Outside, the moon shone, flooding the garden with silver light. Phuwin looked at his roses, his lavender, the neat rows of flowers he loved so much.
And suddenly caught himself thinking: Pond would probably like this garden. He imagined them standing there together, Pond looking at the flowers, his stern face softening…
Phuwin shook his head, chasing away the fantasy.
"Too early," he told himself quietly. "We're not even friends yet. Just… acquaintances."
But warmth was already spreading in his chest, having nothing to do with the beer. It was anticipation. Hope. Something he hadn't allowed himself in a long time.
He turned off the lights and headed to the bedroom. Lay down in bed, stared at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn't come. Thoughts circled around one thing: tomorrow, the bakery, the chime of the bell on the door.
"I'll come tomorrow. If you don't mind."
"I don't mind," Phuwin whispered into the darkness.
And maybe tomorrow he'd say something more. Not a confession. No. Just a question. Or tell him about himself. Or just smile.
Because, it seemed, everything was only just beginning. Slowly. Gradually. As it should be.
---
Pond's apartment was quiet. Too quiet for an evening when both brothers were usually home. Pond turned the key in the lock and walked in, expecting to see Gemini with textbooks or in front of the TV.
But the living room light was on, and the scene he walked in on made him stop.
On the couch sat Gemini. And next to him—some guy. They were bent over textbooks spread across the coffee table, talking quietly. The guy was in school uniform—a classmate, probably. Hair slightly messy, shirt half-untucked. He was explaining something to Gemini, pointing at a notebook, and Gemini listened with an unusual attentiveness.
Pond cleared his throat.
Both looked up. The guy regarded him with mild surprise but no fear. Gemini straightened slightly.
"Oh, you're back," he said. "We're, uh… studying."
"I see," Pond replied calmly, walking into the room. "Didn't know we had a guest."
"This is Fourth," Gemini indicated the guy. "My… classmate. We're prepping for an exam together."
Fourth nodded, raising a hand in greeting.
"Hey."
Pond narrowed his eyes, studying him. Something about this guy seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it. Facial features? Eye shape? Or just the way he sat, slightly slouched?
He brushed the thought aside. Plenty of faces look familiar. Maybe he'd seen him around town.
"Am I interrupting?" he asked, heading toward the kitchen.
"No, we're just about done," Gemini replied.
Pond poured himself some water and leaned against the kitchen island, watching them. Gemini bent over the textbook again, and Fourth said something quietly, pointing at formulas. They sat close—not too close, but enough for Pond to notice: Gemini felt unusually comfortable with this guy. He wasn't tense, didn't sit ramrod straight like usual. His shoulders were relaxed, and a slight smile occasionally crossed his face.
"So," Fourth said, leaning back, "this topic I barely understood myself, honestly. But it's definitely going to be on the exam."
"How do you know?" Gemini asked.
"The teacher hinted. Like, 'Pay special attention to electrodynamics.' Which means—guaranteed."
"You read teachers' hints?"
"Gotta," Fourth smirked. "Otherwise how do you survive?"
They both laughed quietly. Pond noticed Gemini's cheeks flush slightly.
"How did you end up at our school anyway?" Gemini asked, putting down his pen. "I mean, you transferred recently, right?"
"Yeah," Fourth nodded. "Used to live in another city. But there… well, it was complicated. Family stuff. Moved in with a relative."
"A relative?"
"Yeah. He lives not far from here. Has his own business."
"How's that working out?"
Fourth thought for a second.
"Good. Even better than good. He's great. Cares about me. Sometimes too much," he chuckled. "Wakes me up for school, makes breakfast. Makes sure I don't fall asleep in my comics."
"I thought you lived with your parents," Gemini remarked.
"Nah, my parents…" Fourth hesitated, his face turning serious for a moment. "Well, it just worked out that way. But I'm fine. Really."
He quickly changed the subject:
"What about you? You live with your brother, right?"
"Yeah," Gemini glanced toward the kitchen, where Pond still stood. "It's just us. Our parents are far away."
"How is it? Just the two of you?"
"Fine," Gemini shrugged. "He works a lot; I study a lot. Sometimes we goof around."
"Goof around?" Fourth snorted. "I can't picture you goofing around."
"Don't be so sure," Pond chimed in from the kitchen. "He knows how."
Gemini rolled his eyes, and Fourth laughed quietly.
"Alright," Fourth said, looking back at the textbook. "Let's do a couple more problems, and I'll head out. It's getting late."
"You can stay," Gemini suddenly said, then caught himself, as if surprised by his own words. "I mean… if you want. It's late, and we have school again tomorrow. You could crash here."
Fourth looked at him in surprise.
"Seriously?"
"Why not?" Gemini tried to sound casual, but his ears were slightly red. "We have a couch. Or you can sleep in my room, on the floor, if you want."
Pond, still in the kitchen, raised an eyebrow slightly. Gemini rarely invited anyone over. Especially to stay the night.
"Well, if you don't mind…" Fourth said slowly. "What about your brother?"
"I don't mind," Pond said shortly, coming out of the kitchen. "Just don't be loud."
"We'll be quiet as mice," Fourth promised with a smirk.
Pond nodded and headed toward his room. As he passed, he threw one more glance at Fourth. Still, something about him was familiar. But he didn't dwell on it.
"Good night," he called over his shoulder.
"Good night," they both replied almost in unison.
Pond closed the door to his room. Thoughts swirled in his head. About Phuwin. About the way he smiled. About how he'd said "see you tomorrow." And about how tomorrow he would go to the bakery again.
In the living room, it was quiet. Textbooks closed, notebooks stacked. The light was dimmed.
"Hey," Fourth said quietly, lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling, "why did you agree to help me back then? With physics. At the board."
Gemini lay on the floor beside him, on a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "You looked lost. And I thought…"
"What?"
"That you needed help."
"And that's it?" Fourth's voice held a smirk.
"That's it," Gemini paused. "What else?"
"Well, a lot of people help only if they need something. You asked for votes for the election."
"That wasn't a condition. I just…" Gemini hesitated. "I just wanted to help. The votes came later."
Fourth turned on his side, looking at him in the dim light.
"You're strange," he said softly.
"You've said that before."
"Because it's true. But strange isn't bad."
"I know," Gemini replied.
They fell silent. The silence was comfortable, not awkward. A car drove by outside. In the distance, a dog barked.
"Your brother," Fourth said suddenly, "is he always that serious?"
"Always," Gemini confirmed. "But really, he's… different. He just doesn't show it."
"And you?"
"What about me?"
"What are you really like? Without all that… school shell."
Gemini thought for a moment.
"I don't know," he finally said. "I'm always busy with something. Studying, elections, plans. Sometimes I feel like I don't even know who I am."
"Try to find out," Fourth said. "Sometimes it's good to just… stop. Look around. Figure out what you really want."
"And you?" Gemini asked. "What do you want?"
Fourth smirked in the dark.
"I want to pass the exam and not get killed for being late. But seriously…" he paused. "I want my… relative to be okay. He works so much. Too much. I want him to rest sometimes too."
"That's a good wish," Gemini said quietly.
"Yeah. But he doesn't listen. Always says, 'Work is important.' And I think rest is important too."
They fell silent again. Each lost in their own thoughts.
"Alright," Fourth whispered. "Let's sleep. School tomorrow."
"Yeah," Gemini answered just as softly. "Good night, Fourth."
"Good night, Mr. President."
And both, almost at the same time, laughed quietly in the dark.
---
In Est and Willam's house, it was quiet. Outside, it had long since grown dark; the city had settled into its nocturnal slumber, and only rare streetlights pierced through the curtains. The TV was on almost mute—some old movie no one was watching. The screen cast soft, muted reflections on the walls, painting the room in calm blue tones.
They lay on the couch. Willam—head on Est's chest, legs tucked under him, covered with a blanket. Est held him with one arm, the other lazily threading through Willam's light hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers. Slowly. Gently.
It was one of those rare evenings when there was no rush. No reports, no rehearsals, no phone calls. Just the two of them and silence.
"You know," Willam said softly, not taking his eyes off the screen, "I was thinking today…"
"About what?" Est's voice came low, slightly sleepy.
"About us. About how we live."
Est turned his head slightly to see his face.
"And how do we live?"
Willam paused, searching for words.
"Good," he said at last. "Even too good. Sometimes I feel like it's all… you know, like a dream."
Est chuckled softly and gently flicked his nose.
"I'm real. Hear me? Real. And I'm not going anywhere."
Willam smiled and pressed closer, burying his nose in Est's shoulder.
"I just think sometimes… about the future," he said, his voice growing quieter, more thoughtful. "About where we'll be in five years. In ten. Who we'll become."
"And who do you want us to be?" Est asked.
Willam thought. His fingers traced idle patterns on Est's chest, through the fabric of his T-shirt.
"I want us to have a house," he began slowly. "Not an apartment, but a real house. With a garden. So we can walk out barefoot in the morning onto the grass and drink coffee on the porch. And I want us to have a dog. Or a cat. Or both."
Est smirked.
"A dog and a cat? They'll fight."
"We'll make them get along," Willam said seriously. "We can do anything."
"Alright," Est agreed. "House, garden, dog, cat. What else?"
"Also…" Willam paused. "I want us to never stop being important to each other. So that in ten years, we're still lying on the couch watching some stupid movie, and I still feel as peaceful as I do now."
Est pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head.
"That's how it'll be."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Willam exhaled slowly, as if shedding an invisible weight.
"And you?" he asked. "What do you want? In the future."
Est thought. His hand stilled in Willam's hair.
"I want you to keep making music," he said. "To sing. To perform. For people to hear your voice. You have talent, Will. I'm not just saying that."
Willam propped himself up on an elbow to see his face.
"Do you really think so?"
"Really. I heard you at the last rehearsal. You've started singing differently. Deeper, somehow. Like you're not just singing words—you're living them."
Willam looked at him for a few seconds, then lay back down, hiding his face.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "That's… important to me."
"I know."
"I have an audition next week," Willam said suddenly.
Est turned to him.
"What kind?"
"With a label. My vocal coach sent me the contacts. Said they're looking for new artists."
"And you didn't say anything?" Est raised himself on an elbow. "Will, that's great!"
"I was scared to tell you," Willam admitted. "What if I don't make it?"
"You will," Est said firmly. "And if you don't—you'll try again. Don't give up before you start."
Willam smiled and reached up, wrapping his arms around Est's neck.
"That's why I love you," he whispered. "Because you believe in me. Even when I don't believe in myself."
Est didn't reply, just held him tighter. They lay like that, listening to each other's breathing.
"And work?" Willam asked after a while. "How's yours? You hardly ever talk about it."
"Work is work," Est shrugged. "Pond, reports, meetings. Same as always."
"You don't get tired?"
"Sometimes. But that's normal."
Willam pulled back slightly and looked at him carefully.
"You know you can tell me if something's wrong, right?"
"I know," Est nodded. "It's just… everything's fine right now. Really."
Willam nodded and settled back on his chest. The TV still played, but they'd stopped paying attention. Outside, the wind rustled softly. The clock on the wall ticked steadily.
"You know what else I want?" Willam asked quietly.
"What?"
"I want us to lie like this forever. For this moment not to end. Right now—I'm happy. Right here. Just like this."
Est smiled in the dark. Willam lifted his head, looked him in the eyes, and that gaze held everything—warmth, tenderness, gratitude. He reached up softly, touched his lips to Est's—lightly, almost weightlessly, but with that special affection that needs no words.
"I love you," he whispered, pulling back slightly.
"I love you too," Est replied, cupping his cheek.
Willam smiled and settled back on his chest, closing his eyes. Sleep came softly, wrapping them in warmth.
Est reached for the remote and turned off the TV. The room plunged into darkness—warm, familiar, their own.
"Good night, Will."
"Good night…" Willam murmured sleepily.
Tomorrow would be a new day. But that was tomorrow. Right now—here and now—everything was exactly as it should be. Everything was in its place. Everything was right.