Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sunlight streamed lazily through the sheer white curtains, painting soft gold across the living room floor. Dust motes floated in the air like tiny stars. The morning was quiet ..... the kind of quiet that hummed gently rather than pressed against your ears.

Wisteria sat by the wide window seat, her little legs tucked under her oversized pajama shirt, a sketchbook balanced on her lap. Her fingers ..... small, careful, yet perpetually smudged with color ..... moved in uneven strokes across the page.
A messy sun. Two stick figures. A small cat. A house surrounded by flowers that looked like lavender bursts.

The crayon squeaked faintly on the paper, a sound that filled the silence like soft birdsong.

From across the room, William watched her ..... one hand loosely holding a mug of coffee, the other resting in his pocket. The rich, bitter scent of freshly brewed beans mingled with the faint sweetness of toast and the faint trace of lavender that always clung to Wisteria’s hair.

She was five. Quiet as the morning ..... his Wisteria.

He had named her after his mother’s favorite flower ..... something delicate, yes, but resilient. A bloom that survived even the harshest winters and came back every spring.

Wisteria had needed that resilience.

After the accident ..... the one that took his brother and sister-in-law in an instant ..... the brightness in her eyes had dimmed. She had stopped speaking that very night. Not a sound. Not a single cry. Just silence.

The doctors had said it might return with time. William had stopped counting the months after twelve. Time, he learned, wasn’t a healer. It simply built a quiet world around your pain and taught you how to live inside it.

Now, he’d grown fluent in her silence ..... the tug of his sleeve meant hungry, the tap of a wrist meant look, the press of her forehead against his shoulder meant stay with me.
It wasn’t a language made of words, but it was theirs.

“Wiss,” he called softly, his voice still rough from sleep. “You’re up early again.”

She looked up immediately, eyes big and almond-shaped ..... eyes that mirrored his own. She tilted her head toward the drawing, holding it out like a tiny masterpiece.

William walked over, crouching beside her. “Let me see that.”

He leaned close enough to smell the faint wax of crayons and baby shampoo as he studied her page. “Is that…” ..... he pointed to one of the taller stick figures ..... “me?”

Wisteria nodded solemnly.

“And this one?” he asked, pointing at the smaller one beside it.

She nodded again. Then, with careful precision, she picked a red crayon and drew a small, wobbly heart between the two figures.

Something in William’s chest tightened. He swallowed a lump he hadn’t realized was there and managed a quiet smile.
“Pretty accurate,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Though I’m not sure I’m that tall anymore.”

Wisteria’s lips curved upward ..... a small, fleeting smile.
It was rare, but when it appeared, it had the strange power to make the world around him feel less empty.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, then stood and moved toward the kitchen. The floor creaked softly under his bare feet. The apartment was modest but warm ..... soft-toned walls, pale wood shelves lined with plants, children’s books stacked messily on the coffee table.

He poured himself another cup of coffee, took a sip, and leaned against the counter.

That was when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen.
Nut.

William sighed, lips twitching despite himself. “I’m not ready for whatever chaos this is,” he muttered, setting the mug down and answering on speaker.

“WILLIAM JAKRAPATR!”

Nut’s voice exploded through the kitchen so loudly that Wisteria flinched slightly, her crayon halting mid-stroke.

William groaned. “For the love of..... Nut, volume.”

“You alive, you old man?” came the exaggerated drawl.

“Barely,” William replied, rubbing his temple. “And I’m twenty-eight, not ancient.”

“Same thing,” Nut declared without hesitation. “You sound like someone who owns slippers and a sleep schedule.”

“I do own slippers,” William said, taking another sip of coffee.

“See? Exactly! Anyway.....” Nut’s voice suddenly perked up, too cheerful for William’s comfort. “Big news, my friend. Reunion time!”

William blinked. “Reunion?”

“Yes, reunion! Ten years since high school! Can you believe it? Ten years since we were stupid teenagers with bad haircuts and no real jobs!”

“I have a real job,” William muttered.

“Sure, sure. But listen.....everyone’s coming. The whole gang. Real people. Real laughter. Real food.” Nut’s dramatic tone was impossible to ignore. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna ghost this one too.”

“I’m good,” William said immediately. “Pass.”

A pause. Then a long, theatrical sigh from Nut.
“Will, you’ve skipped every reunion. The one three years ago? You didn’t even read the group chat. We thought you’d joined a monastery or something.”

“I had reasons,” William said quietly, glancing toward the window.

Wisteria had climbed off the seat and was now arranging her crayons by color ..... neat little rows of pinks, purples, and yellows. She hummed softly, a soundless melody.

Nut’s voice softened. “Yeah… I know. You’ve been through a lot.”
He hesitated, then added, “But it’s been years, man. You deserve to see people again. To laugh. To remember what life looks like outside of work and parenting.”

William gave a noncommittal hum.

“Come on,” Nut pressed. “Everyone misses you.”

“Everyone?” William’s tone carried a dry edge.

“Well…” Nut chuckled, and William could practically hear the grin through the speaker. “Maybe not everyone.”

William frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Another pause. Then, deliberately, Nut said it.
“Maybe he’ll be there too.”

The butter knife slipped in William’s hand, tearing the toast unevenly. The sound was sharp in the stillness.

He didn’t need a name.
The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with a memory he’d spent years trying to bury ..... laughter echoing down school corridors, a shared secret under the bleachers, a look that used to linger too long.

Him.

The one person he hadn’t seen ..... or spoken to ..... since the last day of school. Ten years. A decade of pretending not to care, of shoving that chapter into the quietest corner of his mind.

“Nut…” William warned.

“I’m just saying,” Nut continued, tone suddenly teasing again, “he’s back in the city. It’s been ages. You two were practically.....”

“Don’t,” William cut him off sharply.

The line went quiet for a beat. Then Nut sighed, lighter this time. “Okay, okay. I’ll drop it. Just… think about it, yeah? You might surprise yourself.”

Before William could reply, a small tug came at his sleeve.

He turned.

Wisteria stood beside him, holding her sketchbook against her chest. She looked up at him ..... those wide, honest eyes that saw everything even when she said nothing.

“What is it, sweet pea?” William asked, crouching to her level.

She didn’t answer, of course. Instead, she reached toward the phone, her tiny finger tapping the glowing screen ..... where the accept invitation reminder blinked faintly from Nut’s message.

Then she looked up, pointed to the heart she’d drawn earlier, and pressed her small hand over his chest.
Her lips shaped a single word, silent but clear.

Go.

William froze.

It had been almost two years since she last spoke, but somehow, this one silent word ..... mouthed without sound ..... hit deeper than any sentence ever could.

He stared at her for a long moment, his throat tight.
“You think I should go?” he asked quietly.

Wisteria nodded once. Her lashes fluttered as she smiled ..... small, proud, certain.
She picked up her pink crayon again and scribbled something in the corner of her drawing: two stick figures holding hands under a sky full of tiny stars.

William looked at it ..... at the simple innocence of it ..... and something in him loosened.
A decade of silence. Maybe it was time to face what he’d left behind.

“Okay,” he whispered, brushing a hand over her hair. “Maybe I’ll go.”

From the phone speaker came Nut’s triumphant shout.
“I knew it! William ‘I hate people’ Jakrapatr is returning to civilization!”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” William warned, but his voice was gentler than before.

As he ended the call, he looked down at Wisteria again. She was smiling at him, sketchbook still clutched tight in her arms.
Something in her eyes sparkled ..... quiet, trusting, and full of a warmth he hadn’t felt in years.

He reached out and took her hand. “Guess we’ve got a reunion to prepare for, huh?”

She nodded, her fingers curling around his.

Saturday arrived faster than William expected.

He’d told himself it was just another day ..... that it didn’t matter, that he wasn’t thinking about who might be there. But the truth was, from the moment he’d said yes, a quiet restlessness had settled under his skin.

Now, the morning sunlight crept into the apartment again, golden and warm, brushing across the coffee table stacked with Wisteria’s crayons and William’s half-read newspaper. The faint hum of the washing machine filled the background.

Wisteria sat cross-legged on the couch in her unicorn pajamas, watching her favorite cartoon ..... though “watching” was generous. Mostly, she was quietly feeding cereal to the stuffed bunny sitting beside her.

William glanced at the clock: 9:15 a.m. The reunion started at 6 p.m.
He still had hours. Plenty of time to overthink.

He was halfway through ironing his shirt ..... for the second time ..... when the doorbell rang.

Wisteria’s head perked up instantly, her bunny tumbling from her lap as she scrambled off the couch.
“Easy there,” William said, smiling as he followed her to the door.

When he opened it, the smell of jasmine perfume and the faint jingle of bangles greeted him first.

“Surprise,” said a familiar voice.

His mother stood there ..... small, graceful, her hair now streaked with elegant silver, eyes bright as ever. In one hand, she held a large tote bag. In the other, a box of Wisteria’s favorite cookies.

“Mom,” William said, blinking. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“I wanted to see my granddaughter before she forgets what her grandmother looks like,” she teased, stepping inside as if she owned the place ..... which, in fairness, she partially did, given how much she’d helped decorate it.

Wisteria ran up to her immediately, eyes lighting up. She didn’t speak, but she hugged her tightly around the waist.

“Ah, there’s my little flower,” his mom cooed, kneeling to hold her close. “Look at you ..... growing taller every day. Did your papa feed you sunshine again?”

Wisteria giggled soundlessly, pressing her cheek against her grandmother’s shoulder.

William leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling softly. “She missed you.”

“And you didn’t?” his mom asked pointedly, giving him a raised brow.

“I did,” he admitted. “But you always bring unsolicited opinions with you.”

“That’s called wisdom, my dear,” she replied, brushing past him with mock dignity. “Now, I heard from Nut that someone is attending the reunion tonight?”

William groaned inwardly. “He tells everyone everything.”

“Of course he does. I practically raised that boy too,” she said, waving a hand. “And I must say, I’m impressed. I thought my son had permanently retired from social life after age twenty-one.”

“I didn’t retire,” William muttered. “I just... reprioritized.”

“Ah yes,” she said dryly. “Coffee, office, home, repeat. Such adventure.”
Then she looked around, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “So? What made you change your mind? You haven’t gone in ten years.”

William hesitated, pretending to straighten a picture frame that didn’t need straightening. “I just... thought it was time.”

“Time for what?” she asked, folding her arms.

“Just... time,” he said vaguely.

His mother gave him a knowing look ..... one that saw right through him, as she always did. “Hmm. Time, or someone?”

William blinked. “What..... Mom.....”

“I’m just saying,” she said, grinning, “you were polishing your shoes at 8 a.m. You never polish your shoes.”

“I like clean shoes.”

“And ironing your shirt twice?”

“It wrinkled weirdly.”

“And the cologne bottle on the counter?”

“I.....” He froze. “.....just found it after a year.”

She chuckled, patting his shoulder. “You don’t need to explain, Will. I’m happy. It’s nice to see you... trying again.”

He exhaled, scratching the back of his neck. “You make it sound like I’m going on a date.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes, life’s surprises start where you least expect them. Maybe tonight is one of those.”

“Mom,” he warned.

“Alright, alright,” she said, laughing. “I’ll stop meddling. For now.”

She moved toward the kitchen, unboxing cookies while Wisteria hovered nearby, already reaching for one.
“Hey, hey,” William called. “That’s before lunch.”

Wisteria froze mid-bite, looking guilty ..... then slowly placed the cookie back on the plate.

Her grandmother chuckled. “She’s so obedient. Not like her father.”

“I was obedient,” William argued.

His mother smirked. “You once hid a frog in your brother’s lunchbox.”

“That was... a science experiment gone wrong.”

“Mm-hmm. Of course.”

She poured herself tea and sat down, eyes softening as she watched him fumble with his tie in the hallway mirror. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” he said immediately, fumbling harder.

“Your fingers are shaking.”

“They’re not.”

“They are,” she insisted. “Do you want help? I still remember how your father used to.....”

“I can tie my own tie,” William said, though it came out more defensive than confident.

His mom sipped her tea. “Doesn’t look like it.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

She stood, walked over, and fixed the knot deftly ..... smooth, symmetrical, perfect. “There,” she said softly. “Still my handsome boy.”

He gave a small smile. “You’re biased.”

“Of course,” she said, kissing his cheek. “That’s what mothers are for.”

Wisteria, sitting cross-legged on the couch again, was now drawing something on a new sheet. When she was done, she held it up ..... a tall stick figure with messy hair and a tie, standing beside a small girl with a flower in her hand.

“Is that me?” William asked, crouching to look.

Wisteria nodded, smiling proudly.

His mom peeked over his shoulder and gasped softly. “Oh, she even drew the tie! How lovely.”

William smiled. “Guess she approves.”

“She does,” his mother said knowingly. “Children always sense when their parents are about to do something brave.”

“Brave?” he repeated, brow raised.

“Facing your past is always brave, Will.”

He didn’t answer that. Just brushed his thumb lightly over Wisteria’s drawing and tucked it safely into his wallet ..... right next to an old photo of his brother.

When he looked up again, his mom was already bustling around the kitchen.
“Don’t worry about us,” she said. “Wiss and I will have our own party. We’ll bake cookies, maybe watch that cartoon she loves.”

“Don’t let her eat too much sugar,” William warned.

“Do I ever?” she asked, looking offended.

“Yes,” he said flatly.

She gasped. “The betrayal!”

Wisteria giggled silently behind her hands.

William grabbed his blazer, shaking his head with a small laugh. “I’ll be back by eleven.”

“Go, have fun,” his mom said, smiling warmly. “And Will?”

He looked at her.

Her voice softened. “Whatever happens tonight... just let it happen. Don’t overthink it.”

He hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

Wisteria ran up to him just before he left, tugging his sleeve. When he knelt, she held up her pinky.

He smiled. “Promise I’ll come back soon,” he said, looping his pinky with hers.

She nodded firmly, then pressed her palm to his chest ..... just like last time ..... and mouthed go.

He laughed under his breath, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “Bossy little flower.”

And as he stepped out the door, his mother called out after him ..... voice playful, teasing, full of warmth.
“Don’t let them think you’ve turned into a boring adult! Smile once in a while!”

He glanced back, deadpanning, “I smile.”

She grinned. “Then the world must blink and miss it!”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small, reluctant smile that tugged at his lips.

By the time he got into his car, the evening sun had begun to dip behind the buildings, casting long amber shadows over the street. The city felt alive ..... full of noise, memories, and a pull he couldn’t quite name.

Maybe his mom was right.
Maybe some things ..... or some people ..... were worth facing after all.

The city lights had already begun to bloom by the time William parked his car outside the old riverside banquet hall.
The same place where they’d held their high school farewell.

Ten years ago, this place had felt enormous ..... a cathedral of laughter and youth.
Now, as he stood outside, smoothing the crease of his blazer, it felt smaller somehow. Or maybe he’d just grown taller. Older. Tired.

The soft hum of music drifted out from the building ..... faintly familiar songs from their teenage years. A cluster of balloons bobbed near the entrance, gold and white.
A large banner read:
Class of 20XX ..... 10-Year Reunion!
Someone had doodled a mustache over the “0” in 10. He could bet good money it was Nut.

William exhaled and adjusted his sleeves. His mother’s voice echoed faintly in his mind ..... Smile once in a while!
He tried. It felt awkward, forced. But when he thought of Wisteria waving her tiny hand before he left, the corner of his lips lifted just enough.

Inside, the air was alive ..... chatter, laughter, the clinking of glasses, a faint buzz of nostalgia and perfume.
It smelled like champagne, flowers, and memory.

People turned as he entered, and several familiar faces lit up immediately.

“William? No way!”
“Jakrapatr! You actually came!”
“Dude, ten years and you still look like the teacher’s favorite!”

He chuckled, shaking hands, hugging old classmates. Most of them were married now, some with toddlers, some with startups, some with slightly receding hairlines they pretended not to notice.

The small talk came easily at first ..... polite smiles, a few laughs, a dozen “How have you beens?” that never required real answers.
But underneath it all, William’s attention kept slipping. His gaze flickered every few minutes toward the door, to the crowd beyond, to the edges of the room.

He told himself he wasn’t looking.
But he was.

“William Jakrapatr!”

The voice that boomed across the hall was unmistakable.

Nut ..... still the same hurricane of energy wrapped in human form ..... came striding over, two drinks in hand and a grin big enough to power a small city.
His shirt was half-tucked, his hair slightly damp with sweat from dancing, and his sunglasses (indoors, at night) perched on his head.

William couldn’t help but smile. “You haven’t changed.”

“I have!” Nut said proudly, handing him one of the drinks. “I now own two plants and a coffee machine that I actually clean.”

“Impressive,” William deadpanned. “You’re practically a functioning adult.”

“Almost,” Nut said with a wink. “But seriously, I can’t believe you’re here. I thought I’d have to bribe you with emotional guilt and pictures of sad puppies.”

“Wisteria convinced me,” William admitted.

“Your daughter? Wait, she can talk now?”

William smiled faintly. “No, but she didn’t need to.”

“Ah, the Jakrapatr women. Always persuasive without words,” Nut said, laughing. Then his expression softened a little. “It’s good to see you, man. Really.”

“You too,” William said sincerely, clinking his glass against Nut’s.

They stood together for a moment, watching the crowd. Familiar faces swirled through the room ..... friends, almost-friends, people he hadn’t thought of in years. Laughter rose and fell like waves.

“So,” Nut said after a while, his tone turning playful again. “Be honest. You’re looking for him, aren’t you?”

William froze mid-sip. “…What?”

“Don’t act innocent. You’ve been scanning this room like a security guard since you walked in.”

“I’m just… observing,” William replied evenly.

“Observing, huh? Then you must’ve observed that the person you’re not looking for isn’t here yet,” Nut teased, eyes glinting.

William sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe he’s not coming.”

Nut shrugged. “He said he might. He wasn’t sure. You know how he is ..... unpredictable as always.”

Something fluttered uncomfortably in William’s chest ..... something between relief and disappointment. He quickly set his glass down. “Doesn’t matter. I wasn’t.....”

“.....looking for him?” Nut finished, grinning.

William gave him a look that could have melted steel. “Exactly.”

“Uh-huh,” Nut said, clearly unconvinced but letting it go. “Come on, dance floor’s open. Or are you still allergic to fun?”

“I don’t dance.”

“You didn’t back then either,” Nut said. “But you made up for it in sarcasm.”

“That part’s still alive and well.”

They both laughed, and for a brief moment, it felt like old times ..... simple, easy, before the years had weighed them down with silence and loss.

But still, William’s eyes kept drifting toward the entrance.
Unconsciously. Involuntarily.
Each time the door opened ..... when someone arrived, when someone left ..... his pulse kicked up just slightly.
And each time it wasn’t him, that pulse settled again, leaving a quiet ache behind.

Half an hour passed this way.
He told himself he’d leave soon. Maybe just one more drink, one more conversation. Maybe he’d text his mom to tell her he’d be home early, before Wisteria fell asleep.

Then it happened.

The main doors at the far end of the hall opened ..... slow, steady, deliberate ..... and the laughter, somehow, dimmed in William’s ears.

He didn’t even realize he’d gone still. One moment he was pretending to listen to Nut rambling about someone’s engagement, the next ..... silence.
A gust of cool evening air slipped into the hall, threading through the crowd and brushing against his skin like a whisper. The gold banner that read CLASS OF 2015 REUNION swayed faintly above the entrance, and the light from the chandeliers rippled over the polished floor like the reflection of water.

And then someone stepped in.

William’s eyes lifted before his mind caught up.
His glass of punch hung midair, forgotten. His fingers went numb.

He didn’t hear Nut’s voice anymore. Didn’t hear the chatter, the music, the laughter, the clinking glasses.
The hum of reunion ..... old friends greeting, laughter echoing ..... all faded into a dull, faraway thrum, as though someone had turned the volume of the world down and left only one frequency: his heartbeat.

Thump.
Thump.
Thump.

The man by the door looked almost the same and yet nothing like the boy in William’s memories. Taller, broader maybe, but still carrying that same quiet presence that made the room tilt around him.
His dark hair ..... shorter now ..... caught the golden light. His shoulders framed in a neat blazer, casual but confident. The kind of confidence you couldn’t fake, the kind that came from surviving life and still walking with grace.

For a second ..... just one unbearable second ..... their eyes met.

And William swore he felt the earth tilt beneath his feet.

Everything inside him stopped. His breath caught, sharp and involuntary, like his lungs had forgotten how to work.
Ten years collapsed into a single heartbeat.

Every memory, every ghost, every quiet thought he’d buried under years of stillness ..... they all came rushing back, uninvited, unstoppable.
That summer they’d shared music under the rain. The way they used to walk home after class, laughing about nothing. The night before graduation when they’d sat on the school rooftop, neither saying what they truly wanted to. The soft, unspoken things that had hovered between them ..... too fragile to touch.

And then the morning he left.

The last text left unread.
The last call unanswered.
The last look ..... the one William had told himself to forget.

He thought he had forgotten.
He thought he’d locked it all away, behind work and years and the quiet chaos of raising Wisteria.

But here he was, standing in a crowded hall filled with faces he barely remembered, heart pounding like it was nineteen again, staring at the one person he swore he’d never have to face.

Est.

He didn’t have to hear Nut say the name. Didn’t need anyone to point. He knew.
He could recognize that silhouette, that quiet, self-contained way of standing ..... anywhere, even after a lifetime.

“...Will?” Nut’s voice finally broke through, distant and blurred, like sound underwater. “You okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

William blinked, forced a laugh, and shook his head ..... too quickly.
“I’m fine,” he lied, though his pulse was loud enough to drown his own voice.

Nut followed his gaze and hummed. “Oh.....he came? Didn’t think he’d actually come. He wasn’t sure till last night.”

William’s heart tripped.
But he kept his eyes fixed on the glass in his hand, forcing his voice steady.
“I wasn’t looking for anyone.”

The words tasted bitter and untrue.

Because in truth, he had always been looking ..... in every quiet street, every crowd, every faint echo of laughter that reminded him of those years.
And now, after ten years of silence, Est was standing just a few meters away, moonlight clinging to him like an old secret, as if fate had decided that forgetting wasn’t an option anymore.

The world hadn’t stopped turning.

But William’s world ..... the one built from longing and regret and what-ifs ..... had just come crashing to a halt.

Chapter Text

The world came back in fragments.
Laughter. Music. The clink of glasses. The faint echo of someone calling Nut’s name from across the room.

William’s fingers tightened around his drink, knuckles whitening as he forced himself to breathe again.
In. Out. In. Out.

His pulse was still racing like he’d just run a marathon. He wasn’t supposed to react like this. Not after ten years. Not after learning how to fold every memory of Est into some quiet corner of his chest and lock it there.

But memory was a traitor.
And so was his heart.

He dragged his gaze away, forcing himself to focus on the meaningless chatter around him ..... anything but the sight of Est, who now stood near the entrance, politely greeting a few familiar faces. His smile was the same. Soft. Courteous. A little hesitant, like he was still figuring out how to exist in a room full of ghosts.

That smile used to be William’s undoing.
And apparently, it still was.

“Damn,” Nut muttered beside him, almost in awe. “He looks... the same, huh? Just.....grown up.”

William didn’t answer. He couldn’t trust his voice.
He just nodded vaguely, eyes flickering between his glass and the reflection of Est on the polished floor.

He told himself he wouldn’t look again.
He wouldn’t.

And yet, seconds later, his gaze drifted ..... as if drawn by some invisible pull ..... and there he was again.

Est.
Hair a little shorter, face sharper, but still framed by that same quiet gentleness. The kind that used to drive William crazy back in high school ..... because how could someone be that calm when William was always a storm?

And now, after all this time, that calmness still disarmed him.

Then, as though fate wasn’t done toying with him, Est’s eyes lifted ..... and met his.

For just a breath. A blink.
But it was enough.

The years fell away in an instant.
The awkward teenage jokes, the late-night talks, the quiet moments when words weren’t needed ..... all of it came flooding back, crashing against the dam he’d built inside himself.

William’s heart stuttered, and he quickly looked away, pretending to scroll through his phone.
He hated how transparent he felt ..... how his palms were slick, how his throat was dry, how even the back of his neck burned.

He shouldn’t feel this way.
Not after everything.

“Hey, I’ll go grab us another round,” Nut said suddenly, clapping him on the shoulder before heading off toward the drinks table.

William’s mouth opened ..... to stop him, maybe ..... but it was too late.
And when Nut walked away, Est moved toward the same table, greeting a few more people on the way… before the host, laughing, guided him right to the seat next to William’s.

William froze.

For a moment, his brain just.....short-circuited.
Because there was no way the universe hated him this much.

“Hey, Est! Long time, man!” Nut called from afar, grinning. “Sit here ..... I’ll be right back!”

And just like that, Est was standing a few feet away.

The air between them felt charged ..... too thick, too full. William tried to smile, but it came out awkward, lopsided.
He stared at his drink again, silently begging the floor to swallow him whole.

“Hey,” came that voice.
Soft. Familiar. Like a melody he’d once loved and forgotten how to sing.

William’s throat tightened. He looked up ..... slowly, cautiously ..... and there he was.
Est.

Up close, it was worse.
Those eyes ..... the same warm brown, steady and unreadable. That same quiet presence that had always felt like home, even when it shouldn’t have.

“Hey,” William managed, his voice lower than he intended.
A small silence followed, awkward but strangely heavy ..... filled with everything they weren’t saying.

“You came,” Est said after a moment, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “Didn’t think reunions were your thing.”

William huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re not. Still aren’t. Nut bribed me with food.”

That earned him a real smile ..... the kind that creased the corners of Est’s eyes.
God, he’d missed that.
He shouldn’t have, but he did.

The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t empty. It was charged.
Every few seconds, one of them would glance up ..... and immediately look away when their eyes met.

And then, because the universe had a cruel sense of humor, someone from the group called out,
“Hey Nut! Come here for a sec ..... need your help!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” Nut yelled back, throwing William a grin that could only be described as evil. “You two catch up, okay? Don’t kill each other.”

“Nut.....” William started, but the man was already gone.

And just like that, they were alone.

The chatter around them blurred into meaningless sound.
The hall seemed too big, too bright. The space between their chairs ..... too small.

William fiddled with his glass, forcing himself to speak, because silence felt dangerous. “So… how’ve you been?”

Est chuckled softly. “That’s your opener after ten years?”

William groaned under his breath, hiding his face with a hand. “Yeah, well, my small talk skills retired a long time ago.”

That made Est laugh ..... quiet, genuine, and it hit William like a gut punch. Because it was exactly the same.
And for a second, they both smiled, just sitting there ..... two people pretending they hadn’t spent a decade trying not to think about each other.

William’s heart still hadn’t caught up with his body.
But as he glanced sideways and caught the soft curve of Est’s smile, something in him ..... something that had been locked away for far too long ..... stirred again.

And he knew, deep down, no amount of time would’ve ever made this moment easier.

------------------------------------------------------

The sound of laughter filled the small apartment ..... that unmistakable, chaotic symphony only eight-year-old twins could create.

“Wesley! Stop throwing socks at your brother!”

“They’re clean!” Wesley yelled back, though the grin on his face said otherwise.

“They’re not!” shot back from under a pile of blankets. “You wore those yesterday!”

Est sighed, rubbing his temples but smiling anyway. “You two are going to be the reason I lose all my hair before thirty-five.”

He walked past the living room, collecting stray socks and toy cars on the way. It had been three months since they’d moved back to his hometown ..... three months of unpacking boxes, re-learning traffic routes, and slowly trying to fit old memories into new routines.

He’d left this city years ago, after everything fell apart. And now that he was back, every street corner seemed to hum with the ghosts of the past ..... laughter from old friends, songs from open windows, and a name he still couldn’t say out loud without feeling that sharp twist in his chest.

William.

He hadn’t thought about him for a long time ..... or at least, he told himself that. But lately, the memories had started sneaking back in like the evening breeze: warm, golden flashes of two boys walking home from school together; shared snacks and inside jokes; almost-confessions drowned out by nervous laughter.

And then one day, William was just… gone.

No message. No goodbye. Just silence.

Est had woken up to find an empty inbox and a world that suddenly felt too quiet. He told himself it didn’t matter ..... people drift apart, that’s life ..... but every time he thought he’d finally let it go, that name would come back to haunt him in a dream or a half-forgotten melody.

Now, back in this city, the memories were louder than ever.

He was cutting apples in the kitchen when his phone buzzed on the counter. The screen lit up with a name that made him smile automatically ..... Nut (the menace).

Est wiped his hands on a towel and answered. “What’s the crisis this time? Did you set something on fire again?”

“Not this week,” Nut replied cheerfully. “But I do have good news.”

Est snorted. “That’s rare.”

“Listen, our class reunion’s happening this weekend! After seven years! Everyone’s coming ..... even Ming, who swore she’d never leave her cat alone for more than a day!”

Est blinked, caught off guard. “Reunion? After seven years?”

“Yep. Big one. You’re back in town now, so you have to come.”

“Nut, you know I’m not really a party person.....”

“Oh please,” Nut interrupted, “you say that, but you end up charming the entire room. Come on, Est, it’ll be fun! You need a break from full-time dad mode.”

“Full-time dad mode is my life,” Est said with a laugh.

Nut hummed. “Yeah, but maybe there’ll be someone you want to see too.”

Est raised a brow, suspicion prickling at the edge of his tone. “What do you mean by that?”

There was a pause ..... a long, loaded one. Then Nut said lightly, “He’s coming too.”

Est froze. The apple knife stilled mid-air, pressing lightly against the cutting board. “...Who?”

“You know who,” Nut said, voice softer now. “William. He’s back in town. And he said he might come.”

Est’s fingers tightened around the knife handle. He let out a shaky breath, forcing a smile that Nut couldn’t even see. “I see.”

“I’m not trying to stir anything,” Nut added quickly. “Just thought you should know. I mean… you two were.....”

“Friends,” Est cut in. “We were friends.”

Nut sighed, knowing better than to push. “Right. Anyway, think about it, okay? It’d be nice to see everyone again. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

They hung up soon after, leaving only the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant laughter of his boys in the next room.

Est leaned against the counter, staring blankly at the sliced apples. His reflection stared back at him in the shiny steel of the knife ..... older, calmer, maybe even stronger ..... but the ache was still there, faint and familiar.

William had left without a word. No explanation, no closure. Est had told himself he was fine with that, that people leave and life goes on. But deep down, a small, selfish part of him still wondered why he hadn’t been worth a goodbye.

“Daddy!” Wesley’s voice broke his thoughts.

He turned. Wesley came running in, followed closely by Easter, both clutching their toy swords.

“Can we go play outside?”

“After lunch,” Est said gently. “Go wash your hands first.”

They groaned in unison but obeyed.

As they scampered off, Est smiled faintly ..... his boys, his world. The only reason he’d made it through the years after William left was because of them. They had filled the silence with laughter, replaced heartbreak with warmth.

And yet, when he looked out the window, the city skyline shimmering under the afternoon sun, he couldn’t shake the feeling that fate was quietly weaving something again ..... something that might lead him back to the person he once loved without ever saying it aloud.

Maybe he wouldn’t go to the reunion.
Or maybe… he would.

He didn’t know yet.

But as Wesley and Easter started arguing again in the hallway, their voices echoing down the corridor, Est couldn’t help but smile.

Because even if the past was painful, his present was full of love.
And maybe ..... just maybe ..... there was room for something more.

The days after the call passed faster than Est expected.
Or maybe he was just avoiding thinking too much about the reunion.

Every time Nut’s message popped up in the alumni chat ..... the updates, the jokes, the flood of old photos ..... Est told himself he hadn’t decided yet. That he was too busy. That the boys had school projects, or he had client meetings, or maybe he’d “see how he felt on the day.”

But he caught himself checking the chat anyway.
He even caught himself wondering what William looked like now.

That thought alone was enough to make him shut his phone and bury himself in work for the next few hours.

On Friday evening, his parents came over with enough enthusiasm to fill the whole apartment.

“Est, my baby!” his mom sang as she swept in, already unloading plastic containers. “You’re too thin! You’re working too hard! When’s the last time you had real food?”

“Mom, please,” Est groaned, taking the overflowing bag before it toppled over. “You act like I’m starving the kids and living off coffee.”

His father chuckled as he carried in a basket of fruit. “Well, considering you’ve sent your mother more pictures of spreadsheets than meals, we had to check for ourselves.”

“Traitor,” Est muttered, giving his dad a look.

Wesley and Easter came running out of their room the moment they heard their grandparents’ voices. “Grandma! Grandpa!”

Chaos followed instantly ..... hugs, squeals, and the kind of laughter that filled every inch of the house. Within minutes, the boys were on the couch showing off their latest drawings while Est’s mom clucked approvingly at how “adorable and talented” they were.

Est leaned against the doorway, smiling to himself. For a moment, everything felt perfect.
Then his mom turned to him, eyes narrowing like a detective who’d found her first clue.

“So,” she began, drawing out the word. “Nut tells me there’s a reunion tomorrow.”

Est blinked. “...He called you?”

“Oh, he messages me sometimes. He’s a nice boy,” she said innocently, though the mischievous glint in her eyes betrayed her. “And he mentioned you’ve been thinking about going.”

“Thinking,” Est emphasized, frowning slightly. “Not deciding.”

His mother crossed her arms. “Why not?”

He hesitated. “It’s just… I don’t know if I’ll be comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” she echoed, tilting her head. “Or are you afraid of seeing him?”

Est sighed, pressing his lips together. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Of course not,” she said cheerfully. “You’ve spent years acting like you’ve forgotten, but every time someone even mentions his name, you go quiet like you’ve been hit by a love song from 2013.”

“Mom,” he said, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

His father, who had been quietly eating grapes, added dryly, “We’re just saying ..... it might be good for you to see old friends. Closure, or whatever young people call it these days.”

Est looked between them, torn between rolling his eyes and hugging them both. “You two are unbelievable.”

“We’re supportive,” his mom corrected. “Now go! We’ll watch the boys.”

“Mom, it’s tomorrow.”

“Then I’m starting the campaign early.” She grinned, already pulling out a clean shirt from his laundry pile. “And you’re wearing this. You look nice in blue.”

Saturday evening arrived too soon.

The twins were tucked in, his parents were comfortably watching television in the living room, and Est found himself standing in front of the mirror again ..... the same navy shirt, sleeves rolled, hair slightly styled.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d put effort into dressing for himself.

He looked… presentable. Older, yes, but maybe in a good way. A little softer around the eyes. Maybe even someone who looked like he’d lived through something and come out stronger.

“Papa,” Wesley mumbled sleepily from the couch. “You look handsome.”

Est smiled and kissed his forehead. “Thanks, sweetheart. Be good for Grandma, okay?”

As he turned to leave, his mother called out teasingly, “Don’t chicken out halfway, you hear me?”

He raised a brow. “You have no faith in me.”

“Oh, I have too much faith in you,” she said with a wink. “That’s the problem.”

He sat in his car outside the hotel for nearly fifteen minutes before stepping out.

The city lights flickered softly against the glass façade, laughter spilling faintly from the hall inside. He could see silhouettes moving through the windows ..... people hugging, greeting, glasses clinking.

His hand hovered over the door handle for a moment longer.

I don’t have to go in. I could still drive home. Pretend I was sick.

But then he thought of the way William used to tease him ..... “You overthink everything, Est. Sometimes you just have to show up.”

He exhaled. “You’d better be worth this, William,” he muttered under his breath, stepping out and straightening his shirt.

Inside, the hotel ballroom was exactly what he’d expected ..... too bright, too crowded, too alive.

He was greeted instantly by Nut’s shout.
“Look who finally showed up! I thought you’d bail again!”

Est rolled his eyes but smiled. “Nice to see you too, menace.”

“You look good, man,” Nut said, patting his shoulder. “See? I told everyone you’d clean up nicely once you left dad-mode for a night.”

“Wow, thanks,” Est said dryly, though his lips curved in amusement.

They moved into the crowd ..... familiar faces, familiar laughter.
Est was surprised by how many people he actually remembered. Ming hugged him so tight he almost dropped his drink. Old classmates asked about his company, about his kids, about life. For the first time in a long while, he felt… included.

Almost comfortable.

Until Nut leaned in, lowering his voice.
“By the way, he’s here.”

Est froze. “Who..... oh.”

“Yeah.” Nut’s grin softened a little. “Don’t panic. Just… be yourself. It’s been a long time.”

Est’s heart thudded quietly in his chest. He didn’t need to ask where. He could feel it ..... that strange pull, that invisible thread that tugged at him before his eyes even found William.

And then he saw him.

Across the room, standing near the bar with that same calm composure ..... slightly older, sharper, but unmistakably him.

For a moment, Est forgot how to breathe.

Ten years. Ten years since that goodbye that never happened, and yet it felt like no time had passed at all.

He tried to look away, but William’s gaze lifted, and their eyes met across the crowd.

The noise dulled, like someone had turned down the volume of the world.

Est’s fingers tightened around his glass. His heart, traitorous and warm, began to race.

Nut elbowed him softly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Est said quietly, forcing a smile. “Just… a little dizzy.”

“Want some water?”

“No. I’m fine.”

He wasn’t.

But he smiled anyway, because it was easier than explaining that he was standing there, face-to-face with the person who once felt like home ..... and realizing that home still had the same eyes, the same quiet pull, the same gravity that had always undone him.

----------------------------------------------

The moment Nut was called away, Est’s chest tightened ..... just a little, but enough for him to feel it.

He watched as Nut gave them that look ..... the mischievous one that meant he knew exactly what he was doing ..... before walking off toward the group near the buffet. Est almost called him back, a reflex born from panic rather than reason. But the words stayed stuck in his throat.

And suddenly, it was just the two of them.

William and him.

Ten years of silence. Ten years of distance. Ten years of everything unsaid ..... and now, here they were, sitting barely a foot apart, pretending that the air between them wasn’t crackling with everything they didn’t know how to say.

Est could feel it ..... the way the noise around them dulled, like someone had turned the world’s volume down. The chatter, the music, the laughter ..... all faded until all he could hear was the soft clink of ice in William’s glass.

He shouldn’t have sat so close.
He should’ve stayed standing, kept a polite distance, smiled, and excused himself with a joke.
But something in him ..... something stupid and reckless and still a little sixteen ..... had made him sit down.

Now, he could smell William’s cologne. It was faint, clean, with a trace of cedar and something warm beneath it ..... exactly the kind of scent that didn’t try too hard but somehow lingered anyway. The kind of scent that made old memories stir.

Est forced a small, steady smile, the kind that hid more than it showed. “So…” He tilted his head, eyes flicking to William’s hand still wrapped around the glass. “Nut bribed you with food, huh?”

William chuckled softly, low in his chest. “He said there’d be cake.”

“Cake,” Est repeated, amused. “You really haven’t changed.”

“I could say the same about you,” William said quietly.

Est turned to him ..... and immediately regretted it. Because William was already looking.
Those eyes ..... darker now, maybe, but still warm. Still the same eyes that used to catch him mid-laugh and make him forget what he was talking about.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. Heavy. Alive.

He looked away first, pretending to focus on the crowd. “You’re… still living in Bangkok?” he asked, his tone casual, though his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve.

“Yeah,” William replied after a pause. “But I moved back recently. Needed a change. Needed…” He trailed off, his gaze flicking briefly toward Est. “Something quieter.”

Est nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Still teaching music?” William asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Est smiled too, softer this time. “Yeah. And parenting. That’s a full-time gig.”

William’s brows rose slightly, the corners of his lips curving just a bit more. “You have kids?”

Est hesitated for half a beat ..... not because he didn’t want to talk about them, but because he hadn’t expected this to come up so soon. “Yeah. Twins. Eight years old. Wesley and Easter.”

William blinked, clearly surprised ..... then, slowly, the shock softened into something else. Something like admiration. “Twins, huh? That’s… wow.”

“Yeah, wow is one word for it,” Est said with a chuckle. “They’re chaos. But… the good kind.”

For a moment, William just looked at him ..... really looked ..... and Est could feel it, that old familiarity creeping back in, the kind that used to feel safe and terrifying at once.

Then William said softly, “You look happy.”

Est’s breath hitched. He smiled automatically, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am,” he lied. Or maybe not entirely. He was happy ..... mostly. His kids, his work, his quiet routines. But something about that look, that voice saying it ..... it felt like William was seeing through him.

The silence stretched again. Est’s fingers tightened slightly around his water glass. He told himself not to look again, but he did.

William was already watching him.

Their eyes met ..... and this time, neither of them looked away.

It was disorienting, how quickly ten years could collapse into a single glance. One moment, Est was an adult ..... father of two, practical and composed ..... and the next, he was seventeen again, sitting under a tree with William, laughing at something that didn’t matter, heart racing for reasons he’d never admitted.

He could feel that same tug now ..... that same pull, deep and undeniable, toward the one person who had left and somehow still felt like home.

“Est,” William said quietly, his tone careful, almost testing.

“Hm?”

“I’m… glad you came.”

The words were simple. But they hit something raw. Est swallowed hard, forcing another smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

It wasn’t a lie ..... not entirely. He was glad. But he also hated how easy it was for his chest to ache again just from being near him.

Someone in the distance called for a toast, the noise breaking through the bubble around them. Glasses clinked, laughter returned, and Est finally exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath.

He glanced at William one last time ..... at the faint smile tugging at his lips, the way his eyes seemed softer now than they had been ten years ago.

And for the first time in years, Est wasn’t sure if the ache in his chest was from heartbreak ..... or the dangerous, impossible hope that maybe… this wasn’t the end of their story after all.

After few hours…

The night air was cooler than Est expected.
A sharp, playful kind of cold that nipped at his fingers and brushed through his hair as he stood just outside the club’s entrance. The hum of the city surrounded him ..... faint traffic, laughter spilling from a nearby bar, the low thump of music still pulsing from inside ..... but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

The reunion had ended not long ago. One by one, old classmates had hugged their goodbyes, waving, laughing, promising to meet again soon (though everyone knew they wouldn’t). Nut had disappeared with a few others to grab a “midnight snack,” insisting Est come along ..... but Est had politely declined, claiming he had to check in on the twins.

Truth was, he just needed a moment to breathe.

He exhaled, the white puff of air visible in the cool night. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. The warmth from the club still clung faintly to him, but out here, the cold cut through his shirt with ease.

He should’ve brought a jacket.

But that wasn’t really what he was thinking about.

He was thinking about him.

William.

Even now, hours later, the image of him ..... standing there in that soft golden light, smiling awkwardly like he used to ..... wouldn’t leave Est’s mind. Ten years, and yet the familiarity had returned so easily it frightened him. Every word, every glance, every small silence between them ..... it had felt like walking a tightrope between the past and something dangerously new.

Est let out a soft sigh, his breath clouding in front of him. He tilted his head up, watching the faint glow of the streetlamps shimmer on the wet pavement. He told himself not to overthink it. It was just a reunion. Just an old friend. Just… nothing more.

Then the door opened behind him.

The faint bass from inside spilled out for a second before the door clicked shut again. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was ..... something in the air shifted. Familiar, warm, steady.

“Still here?” William’s voice came softly, carrying over the hum of the night.

Est glanced over his shoulder, trying not to look like his heart had just done a small, ridiculous flip. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “Just needed a minute.”

William stepped closer, his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets. He’d rolled up his sleeves, and the tie that had been perfectly knotted earlier now hung loosely around his neck. There was something disarmingly easy about the way he looked ..... not like the William from ten years ago, but not entirely someone new either.

“Nut said you ghosted the afterparty,” William said with a faint grin.

Est chuckled. “I told him I’d rather sleep than watch him sing karaoke while drunk.”

William laughed softly. “That’s fair. Though to be honest, I think he was already drunk during the main event.”

“Probably,” Est agreed, smiling a little. The wind picked up again, tugging at his shirt. He rubbed his arms subtly, pretending not to notice the chill creeping under his skin.

Est tried not to shiver, rubbing his arms subtly. But before he could even open his mouth, William had already moved.

Without a word, he slipped off his blazer.

“Wait, what are you.....” Est began, startled.

William stepped closer, his scent wrapping around Est before the fabric did ..... something clean and faintly woody, like cedar and rain. “Here,” he said softly, and then he draped the blazer gently over Est’s shoulders.

The movement was careful, deliberate. His fingers brushed against the back of Est’s neck, warm even through the thin fabric of his shirt. Est froze ..... half from surprise, half from the way his heart suddenly forgot how to beat properly.

The night seemed to hold its breath.

William adjusted the blazer, smoothing it down before taking a step back. “You’ll catch a cold,” he murmured, voice low. “You always forget how to dress for the weather.”

Est blinked up at him, trying desperately to sound normal. “You didn’t have to.....”

“I wanted to,” William said, no hesitation, no teasing ..... just quiet sincerity.

And somehow, that made Est’s face heat faster than the cold air ever could.

“Oh,” he said lamely, looking down at the blazer instead of at William. The sleeves hung past his hands ..... of course they did ..... and the faint warmth trapped inside made him dizzy.

His fingers brushed the fabric absently. “You always do this,” he murmured.

William tilted his head. “Do what?”

“Take care of people without asking,” Est said softly, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Noticing things. Small things. Things other people miss.”

William chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Est looked up just then ..... big mistake. The streetlight above painted William in gold, soft and unfairly beautiful. His hair caught the light, his eyes warm and steady, that same familiar calmness radiating off him that used to make Est feel safe without understanding why.

His cheeks burned. He looked away quickly, tugging the blazer tighter around himself, silently praying William hadn’t noticed the flush creeping up his neck.

Of course, he had.

William’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You’re red,” he said casually.

Est blinked, mortified. “It’s the cold!”

William hummed, unconvinced. “Sure it is.”

“Don’t you start,” Est muttered, which only made William laugh again ..... that soft, genuine laugh that somehow made the night feel less cold.

They stood like that for a moment ..... not too close, not too far. Just enough for the air between them to hum with everything unsaid.

Est risked a glance up and immediately wished he hadn’t. William was watching him again ..... really watching ..... eyes steady and unreadable, like he was trying to memorize every small detail of him all over again.

Est’s breath hitched.

This was him.
The man he’d fallen in love with all those years ago.
The one who always noticed when he was cold, tired, sad ..... even when Est himself didn’t say a word.
Caring without asking. Quiet without ever being distant.

He was still the same. And that realization made Est’s heart ache and flutter all at once.

“You’re still bad at saying goodbye,” Est said quietly, trying to smile through the sudden tightness in his chest.

William tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “And you’re still bad at letting people.”

Est laughed softly, cheeks still pink. “Touché.”

The wind picked up again, rustling the edge of the blazer. Est instinctively pulled it tighter, and William’s scent ..... cedar, warmth, home ..... filled his senses completely.

He glanced sideways, meeting William’s eyes again. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Anytime,” William replied. Then, with a faint grin: “I’ll collect it next time we meet.”

“Next time?” Est echoed, raising a brow.

William shrugged, eyes glinting with a gentle sort of hope. “There has to be a next time, right?”

Est’s heart did that ridiculous skip again. He looked away, biting back a shy smile. “Maybe,” he said softly.

“Maybe’s good enough,” William murmured.

And as they stood there under the streetlight ..... Est wrapped in William’s blazer, face flushed and heart racing ..... it felt like the years between them had quietly dissolved, leaving only the two of them again, standing too close, pretending not to notice how right it still felt.

------------------------------------------------

The night air hit him the moment he stepped outside, sharp and brisk, but William barely noticed. All his attention was on Est.

He had been watching him from the doorway for a few seconds already ..... standing there, arms crossed loosely, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. His hair was mussed from the wind, and his shirt clung faintly to him in the chill. William’s chest tightened without warning.

He shouldn’t look this… William shook his head internally. Calm. Controlled. Beautiful.

He moved closer, blazer still hanging from his shoulders, and noticed the faint pink tint on Est’s cheeks ..... almost invisible in the dim streetlight, but William saw it. And of course, that little flush made his chest tighten again.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying for casual.

Est looked over, eyes wide for a brief second before he masked it with a polite smile. “Yeah… just getting some air.”

William nodded, stepping closer. He could see the tension in Est’s hands, the way he kept tugging at the edge of his shirt like he wanted to vanish into himself. The urge to fix it, to protect him, was instantaneous ..... old instincts he hadn’t realized were still so sharp.

The cold breeze whistled again, ruffling Est’s hair. William didn’t hesitate. He shrugged off his blazer, the motion quick but gentle, and stepped toward him.

“Hey, what are you.....” Est started, surprised, but William ignored the interruption.

“Here,” he murmured, draping the blazer over Est’s shoulders. His fingers brushed lightly against the nape of Est’s neck as he adjusted the fabric. Warmth. Soft warmth that made William’s chest constrict in ways he didn’t even try to name.

Est froze, every little movement stiff, and William caught the way he subtly pulled the blazer closer to himself. God, he looked… shy. Pink cheeks, hesitant smile, the kind of small, quiet movements that made William’s heart hammer.

“You’ll catch a cold,” William said, stepping back slightly ..... just enough to give space, but not enough to break the connection.

Est blinked, lips slightly parted. “You didn’t have to.....”

“I wanted to,” William said simply. No teasing. No smirk. Just… him. Honest, soft, deliberate.

And that made Est’s face heat further ..... William could see the faint red creeping up his neck. His own chest warmed at the sight. God, he’s adorable.

“You always do this,” Est said softly, brushing his fingers along the blazer.

William tilted his head, a small, wry smile tugging at his lips. “Do what?”

“Notice things. Care without asking. Even the little things.”

William chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

There it was again. That familiar way of saying something so simple yet carrying weight, like he always had. William’s chest felt simultaneously light and heavy, and for a moment, he could’ve sworn he’d gone back ten years, standing under a tree with Est, laughing at nothing at all.

He stepped a little closer, just enough to hear the soft inhale Est tried to hide, just enough to feel the faint heat radiating off him. William smiled gently. “You’re red,” he said casually.

Est blinked, stiffening. “It’s the cold!”

William hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push it. Instead, he let the moment linger, noticing everything ..... the tilt of Est’s shoulders, the way his fingers fidgeted with the blazer, the shy, almost hesitant way he dared to meet William’s eyes.

“You’re still bad at saying goodbye,” Est murmured, voice soft and shy.

William smiled, warmth tugging at his chest. “And you’re still bad at letting people.”

Est laughed quietly, cheeks still pink. “Touché.”

He glanced sideways, meeting Est’s eyes again. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Anytime,” William replied.

William’s chest lifted, a little grin tugging at his lips. “I’ll collect it back next time.”

Est’s eyes widened slightly, a shy smile creeping across his face. “Next time?”

“Next time,” William confirmed, his tone gentle but sure. “And maybe after that, the time after that.”

William glanced down at the blazer on Est, sleeves hanging long, practically swallowing him in warmth. It was perfect. Perfect ..... a little silly, a little intimate, just like this moment.

He stepped a tiny bit closer and brushed a strand of hair from Est’s forehead with the back of his hand, careful, tender. “Stay warm, yeah?”

Est’s fingers instinctively curled around the edge of the blazer. “I will,” he murmured, voice soft, heart racing.

They stood there a moment longer, under the streetlight, wrapped in the quiet, in the warmth of the blazer, in the soft weight of the words they didn’t need to say. And for once, the cold didn’t matter. Not the night, not the wind, not even the ten years between them.

Because right now, it was just the two of them. And that was more than enough.

William finally reached out, letting his hand brush against Est’s shoulder, and Est leaned slightly into the warmth, just enough to make it intentional without speaking a word.

And as they lingered there, side by side, wrapped in a borrowed blazer and ten years of unspoken memories, William’s heart quietly thought: This is exactly where I belong.

Chapter Text

The drive home felt like a dream. Not the kind that fades when you wake up ..... but the kind that lingers, soft and dizzying, long after it’s over.
Est barely remembered what song was playing in the car. His mind was a thousand miles away, replaying a single moment again and again ..... the way William had draped that blazer over his shoulders, the faint warmth still clinging to it, and that stupidly gentle voice saying, “You’ll catch a cold.”

God.
Why did that sound so… domestic?

He caught his reflection in the rearview mirror ..... cheeks still pink, eyes softer than they had any right to be. He looked like someone who’d just fallen off a romantic cliff. And the worst part? He couldn’t even deny it.

When he finally parked in front of his house, the porch lights were still on. His parents must’ve been waiting. The thought made him smile ..... wide and fond ..... and a little guilty. They’d come all the way to look after Wesley and Easter so he could have a night off. A reunion, they’d called it. You need to go, Est. You’ve been working too much.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed it… until he saw him.

Est slipped out of the car, blazer still hanging around his shoulders like some kind of secret. It smelled faintly of cedar and something else ..... something warm and familiar. He told himself he’d return it later. Soon. Maybe.

Inside, the house was dim but cozy, the faint light from the living room spilling into the hallway. His mother looked up from the couch the moment he stepped in, her face brightening.

“Well, look who’s finally home!” she said, smiling. “How was it? Did you meet your friends?”

Est grinned, kicking off his shoes. “Yeah. It was nice. Really nice, actually.”

His father lowered the volume on the TV, squinting at him over his glasses. “You’re smiling like that time you got first place in your school singing competition.”

Est blinked, caught off guard. “What smile?”

“That smile,” his mom said, pointing her spoon at him (because of course, she was eating ice cream at midnight). “The goofy one. The something good happened but I’m not telling you what smile.”

“I don’t have that smile,” Est protested weakly, trying to keep a straight face.

“Sweetheart,” his mom said, raising an eyebrow, “you’re literally glowing.”

He laughed ..... awkward, nervous ..... and started to retreat toward the stairs. “It’s just the lighting.”

“Uh-huh.” His father leaned forward, suddenly noticing the fabric draped over his son’s shoulders. “Hold on… is that a man’s blazer?”

Est froze mid-step. “…No?”

His mom squinted. “It’s definitely not yours. Yours don’t look that expensive. Or that big.”

He groaned softly, tugging the blazer tighter around himself like that would somehow make it invisible. “Okay, fine. It’s… not mine.”

“Oh?” His mom’s tone turned immediately mischievous. “Then whose is it, hmm?”

“Mom.....”

“Did someone lend it to you?” she pressed, eyes twinkling. “Or maybe put it on you?”

Est’s face turned crimson. “Why are you so nosy?”

“Because I’m your mother,” she said proudly. “It’s literally in the job description.”

Est mumbled something incoherent and tried to flee upstairs, but his dad wasn’t done either. “Wait a second, I recognize that look.”

Est stopped. “What look?”

“The one you used to get when you talked about that boy from school. What was his name again.....”

“Goodnight, Dad!” Est said quickly, almost tripping on the stairs as he escaped to his room.

He could hear his parents laughing behind him, his mom calling out, “We’re not done talking about this, young man!”

Once he shut his bedroom door, Est pressed his back against it and let out a groan, burying his face in his hands. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, but he was smiling ..... wide, uncontrollable, hopelessly lovestruck.

He crossed to his bed, still clutching the blazer. The faint warmth from earlier hadn’t faded yet. It was ridiculous, but it made him feel safe. Like a hug he wasn’t supposed to remember.

Sitting down, Est slipped one arm out of the blazer sleeve and looked at it properly ..... simple, clean, dark fabric, faint creases where William’s arms had bent. He ran his thumb over the cuff, soft and worn in places.

This is so stupid, he thought, but the flutter in his chest didn’t care.

He could still hear William’s voice ..... low and steady. “I wanted to.”
No hesitation. Just that quiet sincerity that always used to undo him.

He leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The smell of cedar lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the soft hum of the night outside.

“That’s still the same William,” Est whispered to himself, smiling without meaning to. “Still caring without anyone asking him to. Still noticing everything.”

His heart thumped harder than he liked to admit. This is bad, he told himself. This is really bad.

And yet, he pulled the blazer tighter around him anyway.

Maybe, just for tonight, he could let himself remember.
The warmth.
The quiet.
And the way William’s eyes softened when he said, “Stay warm, yeah?”

Est smiled, cheeks burning again even though no one was there to see.

He was so doomed ..... and he knew it.

But as he drifted off, still wrapped in William’s blazer, the only thought running through his head was .....
Maybe being doomed didn’t feel so bad after all.

Est was lying flat on his bed, one arm over his face, a smile he couldn’t quite erase tugging at his lips.

The room was dark except for the soft amber glow of his bedside lamp. The twins had long gone to bed, the apartment finally quiet. Still, his mind wasn’t ready to rest. It kept looping back to the reunion ..... to laughter and clinking glasses, to the way William’s eyes softened when they met his.

And, most of all, to the warmth of that moment outside ..... when William had gently draped his blazer over his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Est rolled onto his side, groaning into his pillow.
“Stop thinking about it, Est. Stop smiling like a teenager.”

But of course, he didn’t stop.

Because how could he?
It wasn’t just nostalgia. It wasn’t just surprise. It was him.
That same William ..... who noticed everything, said so little, and somehow still made Est feel seen.

He exhaled, slow and soft. Maybe he’d call Nut tomorrow and tease him for dragging him to that reunion. Maybe.....

Ping.

The sudden sound made him jolt. His phone lit up on the nightstand.
A message. Unknown number.

He frowned, sitting up and unlocking it.

Unknown Number:
You got home alright?

Est blinked. Once. Twice.
His pulse spiked.

He didn’t even need to ask who it was.
He just knew.

He stared at the message far too long, reading it over and over until the words blurred. Then he typed carefully .....

Est:
Yeah. Just got in. You?

He hovered for a second, then pressed send before he could overthink.

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

Unknown Number:
Same. Asked your number from Nut. Hope that’s okay.

Est’s lips twitched into a smile. Of course it was Nut. That man probably handed it over with confetti.

Est:
You didn’t have to ask. It’s fine.

He hesitated. Should he say more? Was this supposed to end here?

Before he could decide, another message came.

William:
Good. I wasn’t sure if you’d even pick up if I called.

Est froze. Then huffed a laugh, trying to keep his heart from tripping over itself.

Est:
That depends. You planning to call at midnight?

William:
Would’ve been earlier. Spent ten minutes deciding if texting you was a terrible idea.

Est’s chest fluttered ..... half amusement, half something too warm to name.

Est:
And you decided it was worth the risk?

William:
Apparently.
You didn’t block me, so I’ll take that as a win.

Est laughed out loud this time, hand covering his mouth even though no one could hear him.

Est:
Maybe I considered it.

William:
You always were meaner in text.

Est:
And you always knew how to make a comeback.

A pause.
Then:

William:
It really was good seeing you tonight.

The words hit differently ..... soft, honest. No teasing this time.

Est’s fingers slowed. His throat tightened just a little before he replied:

Est:
Yeah. You too.
Didn’t expect it to feel… this familiar.

Three dots blinked. Then stopped. Then blinked again.

William:
Some things don’t really change, I guess.

Est’s heart gave a quiet, traitorous skip.

Est:
You mean people? Or memories?

William:
Maybe both.

Est set his phone down for a second, staring up at the ceiling, a small, helpless smile curving his lips. He should’ve been asleep. But instead, he kept rereading that one line, over and over, until his chest felt too full and too light all at once.

His phone buzzed one last time.

William:
Get some sleep, Est.
You always stayed up too late thinking.

Est smiled, shaking his head as he typed:

Est:
You still remember that?

William:
You’re easy to remember.

And just like that ..... a simple text from an old number, and Est was sixteen all over again, heart fluttering so much it hurt.

He buried his face into William’s blazer, grinning like an idiot.
“God, this is ridiculous,” he mumbled to himself.

But he didn’t stop smiling.
Not even when he whispered into the dark .....

“Goodnight, William.”

And for the first time in years, his heart felt quietly, stupidly happy.

--------------------------------------------

The city lights still flickered behind him when William finally pulled into the driveway. The house was quiet ..... the kind of quiet that carried warmth instead of emptiness. A porch light glowed softly; his mother always left it on for him, no matter how late he came home.

He sighed as he stepped out, loosening his tie and stretching a little. The night air felt gentler here, away from the buzz of the reunion ..... away from the laughter and half-familiar faces that had left his heart both full and strangely unsettled.

But before he could even lock the car.....

Tiny footsteps. Then a blur of lavender in the doorway.

“Wisteria,” he breathed, just as his little girl ran into him ..... silent but smiling so wide her dimples showed. She flung her small arms around his neck, her lavender nightdress puffing around her like a cloud.

He caught her easily, laughing softly. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, hugging her tight. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

She only shook her head, pressing her cheek against his shoulder in quiet protest.

William chuckled, kissing the top of her hair. “You were waiting for me, huh?”

Wisteria nodded against him, small fingers gripping his collar. When she pulled back, she held up her little tablet ..... the one she used to communicate when she didn’t feel like signing. A simple message blinked on the screen:

“Wanted goodnight hug.”

William’s heart softened immediately. “Well, I’m glad you waited,” he said, smiling. “You give the best ones.”

From behind them, his mother’s amused voice called out, “You spoil her too much.”

William turned slightly as his mother appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a towel. “You say that every time,” he teased.

“And I’ll keep saying it,” she replied, though her eyes were soft as they watched the little girl in his arms. “She didn’t even let me read her bedtime story tonight. Said she’d wait for you.”

Wisteria looked up and gave her grandmother a shy grin ..... then signed quickly with her hands:
“Papa’s stories are better.”

William laughed quietly. “You hear that, Mom? I’m officially the family favorite.”

“Until she wants cookies,” his mother shot back with a knowing smile.

He carried Wisteria inside, the scent of chamomile and fresh cookies wrapping around them. The soft yellow light of the living room made everything glow like a memory. Home.

Wisteria still refused to let go as he sat on the couch. She traced small patterns on his shirt buttons ..... the way she always did when she was sleepy. He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Long day, huh?”

She nodded, then tapped her tablet again.

“Missed you.”

That did it. His throat tightened just a little. “I missed you too, flower,” he whispered.

She blinked slowly, eyelids drooping, and before long, she was fast asleep against his chest ..... her tiny breaths soft and steady, her hand still clutching his shirt.

William sat there a while, just watching her. The quiet hum of the clock, the warmth of her weight in his arms ..... it grounded him more than anything else in the world ever could.

He carried her carefully to her room, laying her beneath her pale pink blanket. She stirred slightly, murmuring a half-formed sound ..... not quite a word, but enough to make his heart twist. He smiled, brushing his thumb along her cheek.

“Goodnight, my little flower,” he murmured, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Sleep well.”

When he turned off the lamp and closed the door, he found his mother waiting for him in the kitchen ..... arms folded, that knowing look already forming.

“So?” she asked, the corners of her lips twitching. “How was the reunion?”

William raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like that question has layers?”

“Because it does,” she teased, pouring him a glass of warm milk. “You called Nut. From the car. In front of me.”

William froze mid-step. “Oh. That.”

His mother smiled like a cat with a secret. “You never call people after midnight unless it’s important. Or unless it’s someone.”

He groaned. “Mom, it wasn’t like that. I just.....”

“.....wanted Est’s number?” she finished, smirking over the rim of her teacup.

He shot her a look, half-embarrassed, half-resigned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” she teased gently. “Now sit. You look like your thoughts are running faster than your mouth.”

He sighed and sank down beside her, resting his head in her lap ..... something he hadn’t done in years, but somehow it felt natural, like the kind of comfort that time never touched. She started running her fingers through his hair automatically, the way she used to when he was little.

“Still my boy,” she murmured fondly.

“Always,” he said quietly.

They stayed like that for a moment ..... the clock ticking softly, the night breeze slipping through the window.

Then, in a small voice, she asked, “You saw him, didn’t you?”

William didn’t need to ask who. “Yeah,” he said, eyes still on the ceiling. “It’s been years.”

“And?”

He exhaled. “He’s... different. But also not. Still soft-spoken, still polite. Still... him.”

Her fingers paused for a second, then continued tracing gentle circles through his hair. “And you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It felt like everything I wanted to say just... got stuck. And then he smiled, and I.....” He cut himself off with a small laugh. “I sound like a teenager.”

His mother chuckled softly. “Falling hearts don’t care about age, dear.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m not falling.”

“Mmm.” She hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Then why are your cheeks red every time I say his name?”

“Mom.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, patting his head affectionately. “But William, listen to me.”

Her tone softened. “You’ve spent years taking care of everyone ..... your team, your daughter, me. But you’ve stopped thinking about what you want. If that person makes your heart feel lighter, even for a second... don’t ignore it. Life’s too short to pretend you don’t care.”

He didn’t answer at first, just looked up at her, her words settling into him like warmth seeping through cold skin.

“Follow your heart,” she said again, quieter this time. “At the end of the day, that’s what matters most ..... your happiness.”

William smiled, small and genuine. “You always know what to say.”

“Of course. I’m your mother.”

He laughed softly, sitting up and hugging her ..... tight, grateful. “Thank you.”

When he finally went to his room, he sat at the edge of his bed, phone in hand. The glow of the screen reflected on his face as he hesitated, thumb hovering over Est’s name.

He thought of the blazer around Est’s shoulders, the way his eyes softened for a second when William said, I wanted to.

His lips curved into a quiet smile.

“Goodnight, Est,” he typed ..... and after a moment’s pause, added,
“Sleep well. Don’t forget to return my blazer someday.”

He hit send before he could overthink it, set the phone down, and lay back, still smiling.

From the next room, Wisteria’s soft murmur reached him ..... something about dreams and fairies.

And for the first time in a long while, William felt light.

Not because everything was perfect.
But because something in his heart ..... something he thought he’d buried ..... had quietly started to bloom again.

Few Days Later ….

It happened a few days later, in the most ordinary way possible.

The afternoon sun was soft, the air carrying that in-between warmth of late day. William had promised to take Wisteria out for ice cream ..... a quiet little father-daughter ritual. She loved the small café near the park, the one with bright painted chairs and windows filled with flowers.

Wisteria skipped along beside him, one hand curled tightly around his fingers, the other clutching her little canvas tote bag ..... the one she insisted on carrying everywhere. Her hair was tied up with a lavender ribbon, bouncing with each step.

William smiled to himself, watching her. It was the kind of smile he only wore with her ..... soft, unguarded.

And then, as he pushed open the door to the café, he froze.

Sitting by the window, flipping absently through his phone while a cup of coffee cooled in front of him, was Est.

For a second, William thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But no ..... it was him. His posture, the line of his shoulders, the familiar curve of his jaw when he turned slightly toward the window.

Wisteria tugged on William’s hand, not noticing the way his chest suddenly tightened. She only tapped her tote and then the counter, silently telling him what she wanted.

But Est had already noticed.

The bell above the door had given them away. His eyes lifted ..... and landed right on William.

Ten years might’ve passed, but the way those brown eyes unsettled him hadn’t changed.

Then Est noticed the small figure by William’s side.

For a moment, William’s instinct was to retreat ..... to shield, to explain, to prepare. But before he could even think, Wisteria tilted her head, curious, staring back at Est with wide brown eyes.

She was usually shy with strangers. But Est wasn’t just anyone. Even without knowing it, something about him seemed to draw her in.

“Est,” William said finally, his voice quiet but carrying across the space.

Est stood slowly, almost unsure if he should, but then his gaze softened. He smiled faintly at William, then crouched down just a little so he was closer to Wisteria’s eye level.

“Hi there,” Est said gently, voice low and warm. He didn’t push closer, didn’t overwhelm ..... just offered a smile. “What’s your name?”

Wisteria blinked at him, then quickly looked up at William for permission. William gave her a small nod, his chest oddly tight.

She reached into her tote, pulling out her tablet. Tiny fingers tapped across the screen, and then she turned it around to show Est:

“Wisteria.”

Est’s face softened instantly, his lips curving into the kind of smile William hadn’t seen in years ..... genuine, unguarded. “Wisteria,” he repeated softly, like he was tasting the name. “That’s beautiful. Like the flower?”

She nodded, her ribbon bobbing. Then, to William’s surprise, she reached into her tote again and pulled out a crumpled little drawing. She always carried her doodles around, folded and refolded a hundred times. With a tiny shove, she offered it to Est.

Est blinked, then carefully unfolded the paper. It was a child’s sketch ..... a big sun, two stick figures holding hands, and a smaller one between them. His smile wavered, his eyes flicking to William before softening again. “Did you draw this?”

Wisteria nodded again, proud.

“She doesn’t usually… open up this fast,” William said quietly, almost more to himself than to Est.

Est glanced up at him, something unreadable in his gaze ..... warm, but heavy with something else. Then he looked back at Wisteria, who was already tugging at his sleeve, pointing to the ice cream menu by the counter.

“She wants to show you her favorite flavor,” William explained, fighting the way his voice softened without permission.

And so they ended up sitting together.

Wisteria perched happily between them with her chocolate ice cream, occasionally tapping her tablet to “talk” to Est ..... asking if he liked ice cream, showing him another doodle from her bag, even once typing out:

“You look really nice today.”

William nearly choked on his coffee. Est, on the other hand, just blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a soft laugh. “Is that so?” he said gently, glancing at William with raised brows.

Wisteria nodded seriously, oblivious to the tension that flared between the two men. She returned to her tablet, tapping and swiping, completely absorbed in her little world, her chocolate-streaked lips curving in quiet concentration.

For a few moments, William and Est simply watched her, a soft, comfortable silence settling between them. Then, William cleared his throat, glancing sideways at Est.

“So… it’s been… what, ten years?” he said, the words clumsy, awkward, but laced with a warmth that only Est could coax out of him.

“Yeah,” Est replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ten years. Too long, I’d say.”

William chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck. “I was hoping you’d forgotten all the terrible jokes I used to make.”

Est laughed, quiet and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that made William’s chest ache in the best possible way. “Not a chance. You were impossible even back then.”

“That’s… comforting, I think,” William muttered, and they shared a small grin, eyes flicking to each other briefly before looking away.

The conversation flowed slowly, a mixture of shy teases, old memories, and tentative new ones. They talked about minor things first — classes they’d taken, ridiculous teachers, Nut’s eternal chaos — and gradually it grew warmer, more personal. Every once in a while, their hands would brush as they reached for Wisteria’s tablet to help her tap something, and each time, both of them would freeze for a heartbeat, a little red rising in their cheeks before they shifted slightly apart, pretending nothing had happened.

William’s voice softened as he pointed out something on one of Wisteria’s doodles. “Look at this. She drew us… fighting dragons?”

Est’s head tipped, examining the crude stick figures. “We’re terrible at dragons, clearly.” He laughed, glancing at William, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way William remembered too well.

They caught themselves staring more than once, sharing quiet smiles and subtle glances, all while Wisteria continued in her own bubble, occasionally turning to show them a new drawing or a silly emoji she had chosen.

For William, it was surreal. Watching Est — the Est who had been his everything once, his best friend, his almost — now laughing quietly beside him, cheeks tinged pink from shyness, sharing little private jokes, was like stepping into a dream he hadn’t dared to imagine.

And for Est, it was something he couldn’t quite put words to. This child, with her quiet ways, her expressive eyes, her gentle trust… she was William’s. She was part of his world. And somehow, without warning, Est felt himself pulled into it too.

Later, as they left the café, Wisteria was fast asleep against William’s shoulder, her breath warm and steady, her ribbon slipping loose against his collarbone. He adjusted her gently, the motion protective and practiced, before glancing at Est beside him. Their eyes met briefly, a silent, shared understanding passing between them — a quiet acknowledgment of the small, beautiful moments they were rediscovering together.

They walked a few steps in silence before Est’s voice cut through, low and cautious.

“She’s yours?”

William’s chest tightened. He slowed, looking down at the little girl in his arms. His lips curved faintly, tender in a way he didn’t even realize.

“Yes,” he said softly, then hesitated, words catching in his throat. He looked back at Est, searching for the right way to explain. “She is mine. She’s my everything. But… she’s not my blood. She was my brother’s little girl.”

Est stopped walking for a second, his brows drawing together, eyes flicking from William to the girl, then back. The confusion was plain in his face ..... disbelief, even.
“Wait.....William, I didn’t even know you had a brother,” he said, almost sharply. “Back then… you never mentioned.....”

William’s grip on Wisteria shifted, holding her closer as if the weight of her steadied him. He let out a slow breath, his voice catching, uneven. “Yeah. I never… I never really talked about him. He was older than me, lived mostly abroad. We weren’t… as close as we should’ve been. And then, just when we were starting to be.....” He stopped, swallowed hard, the memory tugging too deep.

Est’s eyes softened. “What happened?”

William hesitated. His words tumbled out clumsy and rushed, too raw: “There was an accident. Him and his wife. It was.....bad. Wisteria was barely three at the time. She… she lost everything in one night. And I.....” His throat worked, his voice growing smaller, almost breaking. “I couldn’t let that happen to her. I couldn’t let her feel alone. So I.....” He looked down at her again, her sleeping face pressed to his chest. His voice steadied, even as it trembled at the edges. “So I stepped in. From that moment, she’s been mine. She’s my daughter. In every way that matters. She always will be.”

The words came out too fast, too much, like he couldn’t control them. William knew he sounded flustered, knew his ears must be burning, but he couldn’t stop. Because to say less felt like betraying the truth of what Wisteria was to him.

When he finally glanced at Est, almost bracing himself for pity, or worse ..... doubt ..... he didn’t find either.

Est was staring at him, stunned. His lips parted slightly, his brows furrowed as if he were trying to reconcile this William ..... a man with a daughter cradled against his chest, shoulders heavier but steadier, eyes softer when they fell on her ..... with the boy he had known ten years ago.

And then, suddenly, Est laughed. Not unkindly, not mocking ..... but warm, almost helpless. The sound was quiet, soft, and startlingly genuine.

William blinked, thrown off. “What.....why are you laughing?” he muttered, cheeks flushing hot.

Est shook his head, still smiling. “You haven’t changed.” At William’s confused look, he added, “You still trip over your own words when you’re trying to explain yourself. You get so… flustered. It’s almost the same as back then.”

William glared weakly, though it lacked bite. “I just didn’t want you to misunderstand.”

“I didn’t,” Est said simply. His eyes lingered on William, steady and unreadable, though there was something unmistakably tender there. His voice softened. “I can see how much she’s yours. Anyone would.”

The words hit William harder than he expected. His chest tightened, his heart thudding with something he didn’t want to name. He looked away quickly, down at Wisteria’s sleeping face, his lips pressing into a thin line.

But Est’s gaze didn’t leave him. He kept watching ..... watching the way William rocked her unconsciously as they walked, the way his entire being seemed to orbit around the little girl.

For Est, the shock still lingered. He had missed ten years. In those ten years, William had lost his brother, had become a father in all the ways that mattered, had grown into someone Est barely recognized ..... and yet, all at once, someone he recognized too well. The boy who had always carried too much weight on his shoulders was still there. But now, he carried it with a tenderness Est had never seen before.

And for William, the silence that followed felt thick, charged. He didn’t know if he could bear looking back at Est just then. Because if he did, he was afraid he would see too much ..... the past, the almost, the what-if.

Still, as they walked side by side in the fading light, with Wisteria breathing softly against his shoulder, something had shifted. Something fragile, something familiar, something that ten years of distance could not erase.

The parking lot was nearly empty, quiet in that hushed way nights often were in the city’s quieter corners. Above, the sky had begun its descent into darkness ..... streaks of violet fading into rose, the first shy stars peeking out between drifting clouds.

William crouched carefully, adjusting the straps of Wisteria’s car seat. He’d done this so many times it was muscle memory now, but tonight his hands lingered longer than usual ..... tugging at the belt twice, brushing a stray curl off her cheek as though making sure she was perfectly safe.

She stirred faintly, letting out a soft sigh, but didn’t wake. Her tiny hands still clutched her canvas tote, the one filled with doodles and crumpled papers she refused to leave behind. William smiled faintly, the tenderness in his chest almost unbearable.

He closed the door with exaggerated gentleness, like even the sound might disturb her. His palm rested against the cool metal for a moment longer, grounding himself.

When he finally turned, his breath caught.

Est was there.

Leaning casually against the side of the car, arms crossed loosely, his face half-lit by the dim glow of the parking lot lamps. He wasn’t staring, not exactly ..... but his gaze was steady, quiet, as though he’d been waiting.

For a few heartbeats, neither of them said a word.

The silence was not empty. It pulsed with weight ..... with the ghosts of a hundred conversations they never had, a decade’s worth of swallowed words. The hum of cicadas in the distance and the faint hiss of tires from a road nearby only made the stillness between them louder.

William shoved his hands into his pockets. He hated how conscious he felt, how the air seemed to tighten just because Est was there. The warmth of the reunion had followed him home, and yet here, in the quiet, it felt sharper.

Est was the one to break the silence.

“She’s sweet,” he said softly, nodding toward the car. His voice carried warmth, gentler than William remembered. “Shy, but… she has your quiet stubbornness.”

William’s throat tightened. He looked down quickly, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the gravel. “She’s.....” The word snagged in his chest, cracking. He cleared his throat, trying again, softer. “She’s everything.”

A faint smile touched Est’s lips at that, a flicker of something in his eyes William couldn’t bring himself to name.

The silence fell again, heavier now. William’s pulse thrummed in his ears. He stared at the ground, then at the car, then finally at Est, as though searching for something to anchor himself.

And then, without planning to, the words slipped out.

“Est.”

Too fast. Too sharp.

Est blinked, lifting his head slightly. “Hm?”

William’s fists curled tighter in his pockets. His heart hammered, heat rising in his ears. “I was just..... I mean… if you’re not too busy…” He forced himself to glance up, instantly regretting it when Est’s brows lifted, his eyes curious and patient in a way that only made William stumble harder. Words tumbled out in a rush. “Maybe you could come over sometime. For dinner. With us. Just… nothing big, just.....”

He cut himself off, biting down on the rest. His face was hot, his chest tight, every nerve screaming that he’d said too much.

For a moment, Est just stared at him. No smile, no laugh. Just stillness.

William’s stomach dropped. He wanted to swallow the words back, explain them away, pretend they hadn’t happened. But then, slowly, Est’s lips curved upward. That old smile ..... the one William had memorized years ago ..... unfurled across his face, soft and familiar.

“Are you inviting me on a date, William Jakrapatr?” Est teased, his voice warm, his eyes glinting with amusement.

William’s entire body jolted. His eyes widened, his words crashing over themselves. “No! I mean.....” He swallowed, dragging a hand across his face. “Not a date. Just dinner. With Wisteria. So it’s.....it’s not.....”

Est laughed ..... not a polite chuckle, but the real thing, quiet and unguarded. It was a sound William hadn’t realized he’d missed until it wrapped around him like a thread pulling taut.

“Relax,” Est said gently, shaking his head, still smiling. “I was joking. I’d like that. Dinner. With you and Wisteria.”

William blinked. For a second, he was too stunned to respond, his heart stuttering like it couldn’t catch up. Relief flooded him so quickly it almost left him dizzy. He nodded too fast, fumbling for composure. “Right. Okay. Good.”

The silence that followed wasn’t the same as before. It was softer now. Warmer.

Est’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, his smile fading into something gentler ..... quieter. “It’s good to see you again,” he murmured. “Really.”

William’s throat tightened. The words echoed in him, heavy and fragile. He wanted to say them back ..... God, he wanted to ..... but the sound refused to come. All he could manage was a small nod, his heart whispering what his lips couldn’t.

Est pushed off the car, slipping his hands into his pockets. He gave William one last look, then started toward the edge of the lot. His figure stretched and blurred under the dim yellow of the streetlight, each step carrying him farther into the night.

William stood rooted in place, staring after him longer than he should have. He hadn’t realized until then that he was holding his breath. Only when Est disappeared into the quiet street did he finally exhale, the sound shaky, almost too loud in the stillness.

Behind him, Wisteria stirred faintly in her sleep, clutching her tote closer.

William turned, his eyes softening as he looked at her ..... his anchor, his everything. And yet… as he glanced once more at the road Est had taken, he couldn’t ignore the truth pressing at the edges of his chest.

Something had shifted tonight.

---------------------------------------------------------

Est walked away with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders loose, his head tilted at just the right angle to suggest he wasn’t in any kind of rush. He kept his steps measured, easy, as if the weight of that moment hadn’t just knocked the air from his lungs. On the surface, he was calm ..... smooth exit, no stuttering, no fumbling. A casual smile, a soft “I’d like that,” nothing more. The kind of composure he had spent years training into every gesture, every look.

And yet, the moment he turned the corner and William’s line of sight was gone, it cracked.

The breath he’d been holding broke into a laugh ..... quick, half-choked, bubbling out of his chest before he could stop it. He ducked his head, pressing his lips together as if the empty street itself might catch him grinning like an idiot. His sneakers scuffed against the pavement as his stride picked up, betraying the restless energy in his legs. The composure he’d clung to melted away, leaving him wide-eyed and buzzing, a grin stretching stubbornly across his face.

Dinner.

Just one word, but it pulsed through his mind like a struck chord.

He replayed the scene over and over ..... William fumbling with his words, his voice dipping low as if afraid it might betray him. The awkward shift of his hands, the flush that crept high into his ears. For years, Est had carried the image of William Jakrapatr as the boy who never faltered, who bore the world with cold, unshakable precision. And tonight? Tonight he’d seen him tripping over an invitation like a nervous teenager.

Cute. The word shot through Est before he could chase it away. Painfully, dangerously cute.

He pressed the heel of his hand to his mouth, trying to smother the sound threatening to escape him, but another laugh ..... breathless, ridiculous ..... slipped past anyway. His cheeks were warm, hot even, and the thrum in his chest was so unfamiliar it startled him. He had told himself, again and again, that he was past this. That he was immune to the old pull William once had on him. Older now, wiser. He had built walls against it, convinced himself that if they ever crossed paths again, he would be steady, untouched.

And yet here he was, heart fluttering against his ribs like it was sixteen again, like he was that boy sneaking glances across classrooms, hiding smiles behind his hands.

He stopped beneath a streetlamp, tilting his head back as the warm glow spilled across his face, painting him gold. In the shop window beside him, his reflection shimmered faintly. He caught sight of his grin ..... wide, crooked, boyish ..... a grin he hadn’t seen in years. Not on himself, anyway. He shook his head, muttering under his breath, “God, you’re pathetic.”

But he didn’t stop smiling. He couldn’t.

Because beneath all the distance, the silence, the mistakes piled between them, William had looked at him tonight like… like the door wasn’t shut after all. Like maybe, just maybe, there was still something left to reach for.

The realization hit sharp and sweet in his chest, an ache and a hope tangled together. Est, who had spent so long disciplining himself not to dream, not to want, found himself hoping anyway.

His palms came up to cover his face, muffling the sound bubbling out of him ..... something between a laugh and a groan. His body leaned into the cool wall at his back, head thudding gently against the brick as his pulse hammered. His mind spun back to that little phrase, delivered so awkwardly, so defensively: “Not a date.”

Est let his hands drop, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Not a date,” he whispered, tasting the words in the night air. His voice was soft, amused. “Right.”

He lingered there for a moment, letting the quiet of the street soak into him, grounding him. The faint hum of a passing motorbike, the smell of fried noodles drifting from some late-night stall, the cicadas buzzing in the trees overhead. For once, all of it felt lighter, sweeter, as though the whole city had shifted its weight off his shoulders.

Finally, he pushed himself off the wall, steps carrying him forward again. His hands still in his pockets, his stride relaxed, but his chest was betraying him ..... beating with that restless, dangerous rhythm of hope.

And though no one was there to witness it, Est Supha ..... always composed, always untouchable ..... walked down that quiet street with a grin that belonged only to someone who had just been asked to dinner by the one person he had never, not once, truly stopped thinking about.

Est pushed the gate open, his grin refusing to fade even though he’d spent the entire walk telling himself to “calm down.” The house lights were already on, spilling gold into the garden, and he could hear faint laughter from inside. Home.

But he didn’t even make it to the porch before the door swung open and two small figures bolted toward him.

“Papa’s home!”

The door swung wide, and in a flash, Wesley and Easter came sprinting down the porch. Their bare feet slapped against the wooden steps, their matching pajamas flapping around their knees.

“Papa!” Easter shouted, launching himself first. Est bent down just in time to catch him, and a second later Wesley crashed into his side, almost knocking him off balance.

The laugh that spilled from Est was helpless, warm. He hugged them both close, their skinny arms winding around him like they’d been waiting all day just for this.

“You’re late,” Wesley said, muffled against Est’s chest.

“You’re smiling too much,” Easter added, pulling back to squint at him suspiciously.

Est froze, his grin faltering for just a second before he tried to play it off. “Smiling too much? Is that even a thing?” he teased, tickling their sides until they wriggled with laughter. “Maybe I’m just happy to see my two monsters again.”

Wesley narrowed his eyes. “That’s not it. You were already smiling before you saw us.”

“Yeah!” Easter chimed in, poking Est’s cheek. “Like this.....” He exaggerated a goofy grin, showing all his teeth.

Est rolled his eyes, flustered. “Maybe I just… saw something funny on the way home.”

But his excuse was weak, and both boys knew it. They shared a glance ..... that unspoken twin telepathy ..... before declaring together, “Papa’s hiding something!”

Before Est could protest, they clung to him tighter, demanding answers. He carried them inside anyway, both boys dangling off him like overexcited koalas, still throwing accusations.

The house smelled like stir-fry and lemongrass ..... his mother’s cooking ..... and sure enough, his parents were waiting in the living room. His father lowered his newspaper, already smirking, while his mother arched a brow the second she saw her son.

“Well, well,” she said slyly. “Look who’s come home glowing.”

Est groaned immediately. “Not you too.....”

“Glowing?” Easter repeated, eyes wide. “See! Grandma sees it too!”

Wesley nodded gravely, tugging at Est’s sleeve. “Papa’s hiding a secret. Tell us.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” Est laughed nervously, trying to shake them off, but the twins only clung tighter, making their grandfather chuckle.

“Hmm,” his father drawled, folding the paper neatly. “That’s the smile of a man who’s been up to something.”

Est’s face burned. “I haven’t been.....”

“Blushing too,” his mother cut in, her grin positively wicked now. “Oh dear, it’s been years since I’ve seen that look on you, Est. Years.”

“There’s no blush!” Est protested, his voice shooting up an octave.

“Yes there is!” Wesley and Easter shouted together, their laughter echoing through the house.

Est buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with helpless laughter. “Can’t a man come home in a good mood without getting interrogated?”

“No,” all four of them chorused at once ..... his parents, Wesley, and Easter.

His mother crossed her arms, eyes twinkling, a mischievous curve on her lips. “Hmm… let me guess. You met someone tonight, didn’t you?” she teased, her voice soft but loaded with that familiar sharpness that always got Est flustered.

Est froze, his hands still pressed against his face. “Mom.....”

“Oh, don’t even try,” she said, advancing toward him with a playful wag of her finger. “We saw you at the reunion. Your smile gave you away. You’re practically glowing, and it’s not just the lights of the city reflecting in your eyes.”

Est groaned again, slumping against the counter as if he could disappear into it. “I.....It’s not like that!”

“Oh really?” his father interjected, folding his arms and raising a brow. “Because last I checked, the way you kept glancing around, all shy and fidgety… that’s a man who’s seeing someone he hasn’t stopped thinking about for years.”

Est felt heat rush to his cheeks. The twins caught it immediately. “Papa’s red!” Wesley shouted gleefully, hopping in place.

“Crush alert!” Easter added, pointing at him like a tiny judge delivering a verdict.

Est groaned, pressing a palm to his forehead. “I’m not.....ugh! I’m not blushing!”

“Yes, you are,” his mother countered smoothly, smirking as she crouched slightly to meet his eyes. “Looks like you met that boy again. The one we always hoped you’d stay friends with… maybe a little more than friends, hmm?”

Est sputtered, trying to find words, but the twins’ delighted squeals and his parents’ teasing smiles stole all of his composure. He laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “Mom! Dad! Can we not.....”

“Not a chance,” his father said with mock solemnity. “You’ve been hiding that grin from us for far too long. We know exactly why you’re so happy, Est. And frankly, it’s about time.”

The twins immediately jumped in, bouncing off his legs and squealing. “We knew it! Papa’s in love!”

Est groaned again, dropping to the couch and burying his face in his hands. “You guys are impossible.”

But even as the teasing continued, warmth flooded his chest. Wesley leaned into his side, giggling, while Easter tugged at his sleeve with wide, eager eyes, and his parents exchanged that satisfied, knowing glance that said: yes, we see exactly what’s going on.

And despite all the chaos, all the laughter, all the playful accusations, Est couldn’t stop the smile that had started on his walk home. The grin that stretched across his face, light and uncontrollable, because he knew the truth.

His heart had betrayed him the moment he’d stepped through the gate.

He was smiling because of William.

Even if he didn’t dare say it out loud yet.

Chapter Text

The next few days blurred into something William hadn’t felt in years ..... something dangerously close to light.

It had begun with one message, sent on impulse the night after the reunion. He hadn’t even expected a reply. But Est had written back. And then, the following morning, another message arrived. Before William knew it, their words had threaded themselves through the quiet spaces of his days, until it felt strange not to hear from him.

A “good morning” came with a photo of Wisteria refusing to eat her breakfast unless the toast was cut into star-shapes.
A “good afternoon” was Est’s tired voice message about his twins bickering over the TV remote.
And a “good night” lingered on the screen, sometimes spilling over into whispered exchanges at midnight about music, their childhood, or utterly trivial details that felt suddenly monumental because it was Est who was sharing them.

William had caught himself smiling at his phone far too many times ..... that unguarded, helpless smile that he had once believed had no place in his life anymore.

Then came the dinner.

The reckless invitation had slipped out in the parking lot ..... half a joke, half a desperate plea not to let Est walk away again. And yet, against all reason, Est had said yes.

Which was why William now found himself sitting at the kitchen table that morning, staring into the dark swirl of his coffee like it might hold an answer.

Across from him, his mother sat peeling an orange, the quiet scrape of rind breaking against her thumbnail filling the silence. She worked with unhurried precision, as if she knew her son needed space to wrestle with his own thoughts before words would come.

Finally, he broke. “Mom?”

Her hum was low, distracted, but inviting. “Mhm?” She didn’t glance up, letting him set the pace.

William gripped his mug tighter. The steam curled upward, fogging his glasses slightly, and he blinked through it. “What… do you think would be better? If I take Est out somewhere to eat, or…” His voice dipped, almost boyish, almost vulnerable. “Or invite him here? For dinner. With Wisteria.”

That made her pause. The half-peeled orange rested in her hands, and then slowly, deliberately, she lifted her eyes to him. A smile played across her face ..... soft, knowing, impossibly gentle. “Ah. So it is happening.”

He groaned, immediately dragging a hand down his face like he could hide inside his own palm. “I’m asking seriously.”

“And I’m answering seriously,” she said, a teasing lilt in her tone. She popped a wedge of orange into her mouth, chewed, then added with a sparkle in her eyes, “Depends on what you want, Will. Do you want to impress him, or do you want to show him where you really belong?”

The words landed heavier than he expected. He leaned back in his chair, heart catching. “…What do you mean?”

She set down the orange, her hands folding loosely on the table. Her gaze softened in that way that always seemed to cut through the armor he wore around the world. Reaching out, she brushed her fingers over his wrist, grounding him. “Sweetheart, you’ve always carried your heart inside your home. Wisteria. This house. Even the way you fuss over the little things ..... it’s all you. If you take him out, it’s lovely, sure. But if you invite him here, you’re inviting him into the part of your life that matters most. The part that’s real.”

William swallowed hard. The coffee tasted bitter on his tongue, but his throat was tight anyway. “That’s… a lot.”

“It’s the truth.” She squeezed his wrist, warm and steady. “And if Est is still the same boy I remember ..... the one who used to sit on our porch steps with you, laughing until the stars came out ..... then he’ll want to see this part of you. The real you. Not some polished restaurant version.”

A breath escaped him, shaky but lighter than before. He stared at his mother’s hand over his own, then at the familiar kitchen: the curtains that had faded in the sun, the little ceramic bowl of sugar shaped like a cat, the stack of Wisteria’s picture books waiting on the counter. For years, he had guarded this space like a fortress, unwilling to let anyone close enough to disturb its fragile peace. But now ..... the thought of Est here, laughing, his presence weaving into the fabric of this house ..... it didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like something he might want.

“You really think so?” His voice was small, almost shy, but hopeful in a way that startled him.

His mother leaned back, one eyebrow arched. “I know so. Besides…” Her expression tilted into playful mischief. “Do you really think Wisteria would forgive you if you didn’t let her show him her entire collection of picture books?”

William couldn’t help it; he laughed, the sound breaking through the nervous tension in his chest. “She would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Exactly.” She pointed at him with a grin, triumphant. “So bring him here. Cook for him. Let him sit at this table, see the life you’ve built, and meet the little girl who is your heart. That’s the truest invitation you could offer.”

William dropped his eyes to the surface of his coffee again, but this time his lips curved faintly. Cooking for Est. Hearing his laughter echo in this house. Watching Wisteria climb into his lap with all her stubborn confidence. The picture bloomed in his mind, fragile and luminous, and it stirred something in him he hadn’t dared feel in years.

“Okay,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Here, then. Dinner here.”

His mother’s smile turned warm, tender in a way that reached all the way into him. She reached out to pat his cheek. “Good boy.”

And just like when he was small ..... ten and terrified of his first day of school, fifteen and lost in a world that felt too big ..... William leaned sideways until his head rested on her shoulder. The scent of her laundry soap, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the absentminded way her fingers found his hair ..... all of it wrapped around him, soft and anchoring.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself the rare moment of being a child again, safe and cared for. And beneath that comfort, a new thought took root:

He wanted Est to feel this warmth too.
And maybe, just maybe, this dinner would be the beginning of giving it to him.

That evening, after the talk with his mother, William sat at the edge of his bed with his phone balanced in his hands. Wisteria was already asleep, her little chest rising and falling in steady rhythm against the soft glow of her nightlight. The quiet of the house only made his nerves louder.

He stared at the unsent message on his screen.

“So, final plan: dinner here at my place. I’ll cook.”

Simple. Straightforward. But somehow, his thumb hovered. What if it sounded too forward? What if Est thought it was strange? What if.....

The screen dimmed. He sighed, unlocked it again, and finally pressed send before he could lose his nerve.

The reply came faster than he expected.

Est: “At your place? You’re cooking? 👀”

William huffed out a laugh, shoulders easing a little.

William: “Don’t sound so doubtful. I’m a decent cook, thank you very much.”

Est: “Decent, huh? I’ll keep my expectations low then 😏”

He rolled his eyes but found himself smiling anyway, biting down on the inside of his cheek.

A pause stretched between their messages, and then Est’s next words made his chest tighten.

Est: “Actually… can I ask something? Would it be okay if I brought my twins along?”

William blinked, reread the line three times, and then felt something unexpectedly warm unfurl inside him.

William: “Of course. Why are you even asking? I’d be honored to finally meet them.”

Est: “You’re sure? They can be a handful. Honestly, the reunion and the café were the only two times I’ve left them with anyone else. I just… never go out without them. They’re my whole world.”

William set the phone down for a moment, pressing a hand over his chest. He’d heard Est mention the twins in their chats countless times, but reading it like this ..... that quiet confession of how inseparable they were ..... felt different. It wasn’t just words. This was Est entrusting him with something sacred.

He typed back quickly, his fingers steady even if his heart wasn’t.

William: “Then bring them. I want to meet the two people who make you send me half your stories every day. Plus, Wisteria will be thrilled to have new partners-in-crime.”

The typing dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Finally.....

Est: “You really don’t mind?”

William chewed his lip, stared at the text, and then did something bold. He pressed the call button.

The phone rang once, twice.....

“Hello?” Est’s voice was soft, careful, like he hadn’t expected the call at all.

“Hey.” William’s tone came out a little lower than he meant, nerves catching at the edges. “I thought maybe I should say it instead of typing it. I don’t mind. Really. I’d love to meet them.”

A silence hummed between them, not uncomfortable, but delicate. Then Est let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “You’re… making this too easy.”

William smiled into the darkness of his room. “And you’re making it sound like I’m agreeing to climb Everest. They’re your kids, Est. Of course you’d want them with you. And I…” He hesitated, heart hammering, but pushed through. “…I want to know them too. They’re part of you.”

The quiet stretched again, only this time William could hear it ..... the faint sound of Est shifting, maybe sitting down on his couch, maybe pressing the phone closer to his cheek.

“You say things like that,” Est murmured, almost shy. “And I don’t know how to answer.”

“You don’t have to,” William said gently. “Just… bring them. Please.”

A soft chuckle drifted through the speaker. “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. They’ll talk your ear off, especially if they like you.”

“I can handle it,” William said, a grin tugging at his lips. “Wisteria does the same. Maybe they’ll team up and form a club.”

Est laughed then, low and warm, and the sound slid straight into William’s chest, making his pulse stutter. For a moment, he just listened, soaking it in, unwilling to interrupt.

When the laughter faded, Est spoke again, voice quieter this time. “You sound… really sure about this.”

“I am.” William’s answer came without hesitation, and that certainty startled even him. “I want you to feel comfortable. I want them here. I want you here. All of you.”

On the other end of the line, Est didn’t reply right away. But William thought he heard the faintest hitch of breath, like Est had smiled but was trying to hide it.

“…You’re making it hard not to look forward to this,” Est finally whispered.

William’s hand tightened around the phone, his grin helpless and boyish in the dark. “Good. That’s the plan.”

The two of them lingered like that, neither rushing to hang up, words trailing into softer territory ..... little jokes, half-teasing, half-shy. William found himself lying back against his pillow, listening to the rhythm of Est’s voice until the night felt lighter somehow, threaded through with something he hadn’t dared hope for.

And when the call finally ended, William lay staring at the ceiling, his phone warm against his chest.

For the first time in years, tomorrow didn’t feel like something to survive.
It felt like something to wait for.

Est’s POV

I should’ve been asleep. The twins had gone quiet in their room half an hour ago, and the house was dipped in that kind of silence that usually meant rest. But instead, I sat on the edge of the couch, phone in hand, staring at William’s last message like it was some kind of spell.

“So, final plan: dinner here at my place. I’ll cook.”

My heart had already done one somersault when I read it. At his place? Him cooking? I chewed the inside of my cheek, a smile tugging at my lips before I could stop it. Typical William ..... throwing something out like it was casual, when in reality it made my stomach flip.

I typed back quickly:

“At your place? You’re cooking? 👀”

I was grinning before I even hit send. His reply came a second later:

“Don’t sound so doubtful. I’m a decent cook, thank you very much.”

I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth, trying to muffle the stupid laugh that wanted to escape. God, why did he make me feel like this? Like I was sixteen again, standing outside his house with the stars above us, pretending I wasn’t staring too long.

But then ..... the thought that had been sitting heavy on my chest all evening pushed its way out. My thumbs hovered nervously before I finally typed:

“Actually… can I ask something? Would it be okay if I brought my twins along?”

And the moment I hit send, regret washed through me. What if it’s too much? What if he thinks I’m pushing my kids onto him? What if.....

My phone buzzed almost immediately.

“Of course. Why are you even asking? I’d be honored to finally meet them.”

I froze, staring at the words until they blurred. He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

My chest tightened, and my fingers moved again, more hesitant this time:

“You’re sure? They can be a handful. Honestly, the reunion and the café were the only two times I’ve left them with anyone else. I just… never go out without them. They’re my whole world.”

The dots popped up, disappeared, came back again. I held my breath.

Then his reply came:

“Then bring them. I want to meet the two people who make you send me half your stories every day. Plus, Wisteria will be thrilled to have new partners-in-crime.”

I bit down hard on my lip, my throat clogging up. He wanted to meet them. He wasn’t just being polite ..... he sounded almost excited.

My hands shook as I typed:

“You really don’t mind?”

And then, instead of another message, my phone lit up with his name. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest.

I fumbled to answer, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hello?” My voice came out softer than I intended, betraying me.

“Hey,” he said, low, steady, with just enough warmth to make my stomach flutter. “I thought maybe I should say it instead of typing it. I don’t mind. Really. I’d love to meet them.”

My fingers curled into the hem of my shirt. I was glad he couldn’t see me, because I was already red, my ears burning. “You’re… making this too easy.”

He chuckled, and the sound made my chest ache in the best way. “And you’re making it sound like I’m agreeing to climb Everest. They’re your kids, Est. Of course you’d want them with you. And I… I want to know them too. They’re part of you.”

For a second, I couldn’t even breathe. His words sat in me like a warmth I didn’t know what to do with. He said it so easily, so simply, like it was obvious. My eyes stung, and I blinked hard, swallowing it back.

“You say things like that,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out, “and I don’t know how to answer.”

“You don’t have to,” he said gently. “Just… bring them. Please.”

Something in me melted then, my heart giving in. I couldn’t stop the little laugh that slipped out, quiet and shaky. “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. They’ll talk your ear off, especially if they like you.”

“I can handle it,” he said, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “Wisteria does the same. Maybe they’ll team up and form a club.”

I laughed ..... an actual laugh, one that filled the room around me ..... and god, I wished he couldn’t hear how soft it sounded, how much it betrayed me. But he was quiet on the line, letting me, and that made my chest even tighter.

“You sound… really sure about this,” I murmured when my laughter faded, my voice dipping into something I didn’t quite recognize.

“I am,” he said, without missing a beat. “I want you to feel comfortable. I want them here. I want you here. All of you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my forehead into my palm, face burning. I didn’t know what to do with words like that. Not from him. Not after everything. My lips curved anyway, helplessly. “…You’re making it hard not to look forward to this.”

“Good,” he said, voice soft but sure. “That’s the plan.”

The line fell into easy quiet after that, both of us reluctant to hang up. We drifted into smaller things ..... a joke here, a memory there ..... and I realized I was smiling the whole time, cheeks aching, heart so light I barely recognized it.

When the call finally ended, I set my phone down on the couch cushion beside me, covering my face with both hands. My skin was hot. I must’ve been glowing like a lantern.

And then.....

“Dad?”

My head snapped up. Two sets of eyes peeked from the hallway, wide and unrepentant. The dim glow of the nightlight from their room outlined their messy hair and sleepy faces, but there was nothing sleepy about their grins.

“You were listening?!” My voice came out too high, too panicked, and their smiles widened.

The twins exchanged a look ..... that wordless, mischievous communication only they seemed capable of ..... before one of them sing-songed, “We knew you were talking to Uncle William.”

“Yeah,” the other chimed in, struggling to keep a laugh down. “Your voice went all soft. You like him.”

Heat flooded my face so fast I had to press my palm over it, as if that could hide the red creeping all the way up to my ears. “I.....That’s.....You two should’ve been in bed an hour ago!”

They ignored me completely, launching themselves from the hallway like little rockets and bounding onto the couch. Within seconds I was under siege ..... four skinny arms and legs tangling around me, their giggles loud and merciless.

“Dad’s blushing!” one shouted.

“Dad’s blushing!” the other echoed, both of them bouncing on top of me like it was the best discovery of their lives.

I groaned dramatically, burying my face into a pillow while they cackled. “I can’t believe this. Why did I ever teach you how to talk?”

“Because then we can tell you the truth,” one shot back cheekily, his face only inches from mine.

“And the truth is you like him,” the other declared with a smirk far too old for his ten years.

I peeked out from under the pillow, staring at them in exasperation ..... but beneath it, amazement. They weren’t supposed to be this perceptive. They were just kids, weren’t they? Except sometimes they said things that made me forget their age, things that landed so deep it caught me off guard.

Their laughter eventually softened, tapering off as they settled into the cushions. One slid against my chest, curling small fingers into my shirt, while the other tucked himself against my back like he always did when he wanted to feel my warmth.

My body relaxed automatically, arms wrapping around them, drawing them close. Their warmth seeped into me, grounding, steady. For a while, we just lay there, their giggles fading into the gentle hush of night.

Then, quietly, one of them mumbled against my shirt, “Uncle William’s coming over for dinner, right?”

I kissed the top of his head, my voice soft. “…Not here. We’re going to his house. He invited us.”

There was a pause. Then both of them stirred at once, lifting their heads to look at me with wide, shining eyes. “Really?!”

“Mm,” I hummed, nodding. “Really.”

They exchanged another glance ..... one of those looks that passed entire conversations between them ..... before grinning at me like I’d just told them they were going to the amusement park.

“Good,” the one at my chest said, snuggling back down.

“Yeah,” the other whispered at my back, voice so certain it startled me. “Then you won’t be lonely anymore.”

That one nearly undid me. My throat tightened instantly, my arms hugging them closer as if I could fold them into myself. Lonely. Did they really notice? I thought I’d hidden it better than that.

I swallowed hard, my voice rough. “Hey… can I ask you something?”

They both hummed in unison, small and expectant.

“If… if I did like William,” I said carefully, hesitating on every word, “would that be a problem for you?”

They shifted, their little bodies warm and heavy against me, and then one spoke, his tone surprisingly thoughtful for someone barely ten. “Why would it be a problem? We like him.”

“Yeah,” the other added quickly. “He’s nice. He makes you smile. You don’t smile like that a lot, Dad.”

The honesty of it made my chest ache. I closed my eyes, pressing my face into their hair to hide the way it shook me. “I… don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” the first one murmured, voice already drifting with sleep. “Just… don’t be sad anymore.”

“And if he makes you happy,” the second one finished, yawning so wide I felt it against my back, “then we’ll be happy too.”

Silence settled again, broken only by the sound of their even breaths as they drifted toward sleep. I held them tighter, my heart so full it hurt.

Sometimes I forgot how sharp they were. How much they saw. They might only be ten, but their words cut straight to the heart of me in a way few adults ever could.

Wrapped up in their warmth, with the echo of William’s voice still fresh in my ears ..... steady, certain, telling me he wanted us all there ..... I finally let myself close my eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, the weight on my chest didn’t feel so heavy.

It felt lighter.
It felt like hope.

And with my two munchkins by my side nothing can ever go wrong….

William’s POV

I woke before dawn.

Not because I’d slept well ..... far from it. The sheets were twisted around my legs like they’d been trying to strangle me, my pillow flattened into defeat after hours of tossing and turning. My eyes had found every crack in the ceiling, every shadow on the wall, every sound in the house. The truth was simple: I was too nervous to sleep.

When the faintest pale glow slipped past the curtains, I gave up the fight, sat up, and pressed both palms against my face. My heart was already pounding like I’d sprinted a mile.

Dinner.
With Est.
And his twins.

It was ridiculous. Absurd, even. I’d been through tougher things than this. I’d faced shareholders who were ready to gut me alive, journalists who’d tried to bait me with questions designed to ruin me. I’d walked into hostile negotiations and walked out victorious. And yet.....this. This one dinner in my own house had me feeling like a jittery teenager getting ready for a date he wasn’t sure he deserved.

I padded into the kitchen barefoot, the cool wood grounding me just a little. The refrigerator hummed in greeting when I opened it, and I just stood there, staring at the rows of ingredients I’d stocked days ago. I’d been thinking about this menu endlessly. It had to be balanced. Not too formal ..... that would make things stiff, maybe even make Est uncomfortable. Not too casual either ..... I didn’t want it to feel like I hadn’t cared.

I wanted it to be… me. Something warm, steady, welcoming. Something that would make Est feel he was truly invited here, not as a guest but as someone who belonged. And something that would make his twins ..... two children who had already been through enough ..... feel safe.

“Okay, William,” I muttered under my breath, pulling out a basket of vegetables and setting them on the counter. “Don’t collapse in front of the stove. Don’t burn anything. And for god’s sake, don’t panic if Est smiles at you. It’s just a smile. People smile all the time.”

A small shuffle of feet made me pause mid-motion, knife hovering over a chopping board.

I turned, and there she was.

Wisteria. My daughter.

Her lavender pajamas were wrinkled from sleep, the cuffs nearly swallowing her small wrists. Her hair was an unruly halo, her cheeks still warm with drowsiness. In one hand, she clutched her stuffed rabbit by the ear ..... the same way she always did, like she was afraid it would float away if she loosened her grip.

“Hey, sunshine,” I said softly, lowering myself so my face was level with hers.

She blinked up at me, those wide, steady brown eyes always too perceptive for her age. She didn’t speak ..... she rarely did, selective silence her shield against the world. But she didn’t need words. She padded past me without hesitation, walked right up to the counter, and tugged lightly at the bag of vegetables.

“You want to help?” I asked, half-surprised, half-delighted.

She nodded once, decisive.

Something inside my chest squeezed so tight it almost hurt. Wisteria didn’t often ask to be part of things. Connection came on her terms, in her timing. And when she chose it ..... when she chose me ..... it felt like the universe itself had cracked open to let light through.

“Okay,” I whispered, voice catching. “Then let’s do it together.”

I carefully set her rabbit on one of the chairs, then lifted her tiny hands to wash them under the faucet, warm water running over pale fingers. I guided her to the stool beside me, helped her climb, and slid a small bowl her way.

We worked side by side. She rinsed lettuce leaves one by one, her brow furrowed in deep concentration, setting each piece neatly on the towel I spread out. I chopped tomatoes, slid them into a bowl, tried to match her careful rhythm.

“You know,” I said after a while, my voice quieter, “we’re having guests tonight.”

Her hands stilled mid-motion.

“Uncle Est,” I continued gently. “And his twins.”

She lifted her gaze to me, curious but cautious.

“Twins,” I explained, smiling at her. “Two kids. About your age. You might like them.”

Something flickered in her expression ..... the faintest spark of curiosity, maybe even hope. Then, almost shyly, she reached for her rabbit again, hugging it close to her chest.

I brushed my hand lightly over her hair, the way I always did when I wanted her to know she didn’t have to do anything more than be herself. “You don’t have to talk. Or play. Or do anything you don’t want to. But I think…” My voice softened further. “I think you might enjoy it. And I’d really like you to meet them.”

She didn’t answer, of course. But she leaned sideways against me, her small shoulder pressing into my side. Just for a moment ..... long enough to let me feel her warmth. Her way of saying she’d try.

That alone undid me. My chest eased, some of the tightness I’d been carrying since yesterday unspooling like thread.

“William Jakrapatr, are you seriously prepping vegetables at six in the morning?”

I nearly dropped the knife.

“Mother,” I exhaled, looking up. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, amusement written all over her face.

She stepped forward with the grace only she possessed, plucked a tomato from the counter, and inspected it like it was the most suspicious thing in the room. “You’ve never been this anxious about hosting in your life. What’s so different about tonight, hm?”

Heat crept up my neck. “It’s just dinner.”

“Dinner,” she repeated, arching an eyebrow. “With the man you’ve been texting at all hours, sneaking smiles over your phone like a lovesick schoolboy. The same man you asked my opinion about just last week ..... remember? Whether you should invite him out to eat or call him here. And now look at you. You’ve dragged my granddaughter into food prep because you’re too nervous to focus.”

I glanced at Wisteria in panic. She was nibbling on a lettuce leaf with deliberate slowness, like she hadn’t heard a single word. (But she had. She always did. And she remembered more than she ever said.)

“Mother,” I hissed under my breath.

She only smirked, clearly enjoying every second. “I’m just saying. Maybe you want this dinner to be… more than dinner.”

I wanted to argue, to brush it off, to insist she was wrong. But the words refused to come. Because she wasn’t wrong. Not really.

Instead, I busied myself with the onions, chopping harder than necessary. My eyes stung ..... from the onions, I told myself. Just the onions.

Her hand landed lightly on my shoulder, grounding. “William,” she said, softer now. “It’s okay if it is.”

I swallowed hard, throat thick with things I couldn’t put into words.

For a long moment, the kitchen was filled with the rhythm of chopping, the rustle of leaves, the faint scent of herbs releasing into the air. When I glanced up again, Wisteria was watching me ..... rabbit squished tight to her chest, eyes solemn and knowing.

And in that instant, I realized ..... tonight wasn’t just dinner.

It was something fragile and frightening and full of possibility.
The kind of beginning that doesn’t announce itself with fanfare, but tiptoes in quietly, waiting to see if you’re brave enough to let it stay.

By late afternoon, the house no longer felt like mine.
It felt like a stage.

Every surface gleamed from my obsessive cleaning, every dish was lined up in neat rows on the counter, the table set with the kind of care that bordered on manic. Wisteria’s rabbit even had a seat at the table ..... courtesy of her insistence ..... and I hadn’t the heart to move it.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen, checking the oven for the fifth time. My heart had been doing double-time since sunrise, but now it was relentless, a drum that refused to let me breathe properly.

This dinner was different.

At the reunion, there had been hundreds of people. Fans, colleagues, press ..... noise and chaos swallowing every private thought before it could settle. I’d barely been able to look at Est without feeling the weight of all those eyes on us.

At the café, it hadn’t been much better. There were still people, chatter, a hum of background noise that filled every silence. Conversations had been clipped, cautious. Safe.

But tonight.....

It would just be us.
Me.
Him.
And our children.

The thought was terrifying. And exhilarating.

I hovered over the table, straightening forks that were already perfectly straight, fussing with the placement of a vase that had no business being fussed with.

“William.”

My mother’s voice again, calm but with that sharp undertone she reserved for when I was spiraling.

I glanced over my shoulder. She stood at the doorway, arms crossed, watching me like she had all morning.

“You’ve checked that oven so many times, I’m starting to think you’re waiting for it to explode.”

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to laugh, but it came out strained. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Her eyes softened. She stepped closer, reached up to smooth down the collar of my shirt like she used to when I was a boy. “It’s more than fine. And he’ll see that.”

Her words caught me off guard, quieting the anxious clatter inside me.

From the corner of the room, Wisteria sat on the couch, her rabbit perched in her lap. She was watching everything, her gaze darting between me and the door, like she knew who was coming and was already bracing herself in her own silent way.

I crouched down in front of her, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “They’ll be here soon,” I murmured. “Uncle Est and the twins.”

Her lips pressed together, uncertain, but her rabbit was held close, tighter than usual.

“You don’t have to do anything,” I reminded her softly. “Just be you. That’s enough.”

For a moment, she leaned into my hand, just like she had this morning. And it was enough to steady me.

The doorbell rang.

I froze. My mother gave me a look that said, Breathe. Just breathe.

But breathing was impossible when every nerve in my body was sparking alive. Because this was it.

Not a reunion hall, not a café with strangers packed around us.
Just us.
No audience.
No interruptions.
No noise but our children’s laughter ..... if we were lucky enough to earn it.

I glanced once more at Wisteria, then at the door. My hand shook slightly as I reached for the handle, heart in my throat.

And for the first time, I thought ..... maybe the quiet of this moment was scarier than the noise of all the others.

Est’s POV

I’d told myself it was just dinner.

A simple meal. With William. And his daughter.

I repeated it in my head so many times that morning it became a chant, something to drown out the tight coil in my chest. But the truth wouldn’t shift: tonight wasn’t simple at all. Tonight was William inviting me into his home ..... into his life.

And that terrified me more than I cared to admit.

“Est, are you sure you’re not going to a date instead of dinner?”

I groaned and pressed the heel of my hand over my eyes. My mother leaned against the doorframe of the twins’ room, smirking at me like she’d been waiting all morning to pounce. My father wasn’t much better ..... he was lounging in his armchair in the living room, book forgotten on his lap, eyes glinting with the kind of quiet amusement only fathers seemed to master.

“It’s not a date,” I said flatly, stuffing an extra shirt into the twins’ bag for no reason other than it gave me something to do. “It’s dinner. Just dinner.”

“With William,” my mother added, tone sharp enough to slice me open.

I shot her a look, which she ignored entirely, stepping further into the room. “You’ve been fussing over what shirt to wear since yesterday. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous. Not even when you defended your thesis in college.”

“That was different,” I muttered.

My father cleared his throat, the sound suspiciously like a laugh. “He’s not wrong though. I haven’t seen you pace this much since the twins were born. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were.....”

“Don’t say it,” I warned.

“.....trying to impress him.”

Heat flared in my face, and I turned sharply to zip up the twins’ bag. “It’s for the kids. I’m doing this for them.”

“Of course,” my mother said, smiling far too knowingly. “The kids. Not at all because William makes you smile at your phone like you’re sixteen again.”

I scowled, but they’d already won. Parents always did.

“Papa!”

Before I could formulate a comeback, two small bodies barrelled into my legs. The twins, freshly dressed and bouncing with the kind of energy only children possessed, were vibrating with excitement.

“Is it time yet? Is it time to go meet him?” my son asked, practically hopping in place.

“And Wisteria!” my son chimed in, his voice high and eager. He clutched his sketchbook to his chest like he was ready to present his entire portfolio the moment we arrived.

I crouched down to their level, my heart tugging in that way it always did when I looked at them. Their eyes were wide, bright with the kind of open hope that made me both proud and achingly protective.

“Almost,” I told them gently. “But remember.....Wisteria’s a little shy. So be kind. Don’t rush her.”

“We’ll be gentle!” my son wesley promised immediately, nodding with so much seriousness it almost made me laugh.

“Yeah,” Easter added, puffing his chest out like a little soldier. “We’ll share our toys. And maybe she’ll like my dinosaur.”

The way they were practically glowing at the idea made my throat tighten. They’d never said it out loud, but I knew ..... they wanted someone their age. A friend. Someone who understood the world the way only kids could.

And William… he was opening that door for them.

I swallowed, standing again, smoothing my palms over my shirt. The nerves I’d been trying to bury all day clawed their way back up.

Because yes, the twins were excited. Yes, my parents were teasing. But beneath all that noise was the truth I couldn’t ignore: I was nervous too. Not about William the businessman, not about William the public figure. I could handle that William ..... I’d been handling him for years.

It was William the father. William at home. William with his daughter.

That was the man I was about to see tonight. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for how it might feel.

“Est,” my mother said softly, her teasing tone gone. She touched my arm, her smile turning gentler. “Don’t overthink it. Just… let yourself enjoy it. For once.”

I looked at her, then at the twins, who were already slipping their shoes on, chattering about what games they might play with Wisteria. My chest swelled with a mixture of love and unease.

Enjoy it.
If only it were that simple.

I grabbed the twins’ bag, herded them toward the door, and tried to ignore the way my palms were already sweating. Because in a few minutes, I’d be standing in front of William’s house.

Not a reunion hall, not a café.
No crowd. No interruptions.

Just him.
Me.
And our children.

The thought made my heart race in a way no boardroom, no stage, no confrontation ever had.

Chapter Text

William’s POV

The doorbell rang again, a soft chime echoing through the house.

For a moment, I just stood there, hand hovering above the doorknob, pulse hammering in my ears. My chest felt too tight, my palms too damp. It was ridiculous .....it was only Est, only dinner .....but it didn’t feel like “only.” It felt like the beginning of something I hadn’t dared imagine.

Behind me, Wisteria had gone very still on the couch, rabbit clutched tight to her chest. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the door like she was waiting to see if a storybook character would step through. My mother gave me a look that was half “go on” and half “don’t embarrass yourself.”

I forced myself to draw in a breath, then another, and finally turned the knob.

The door opened.

And there he was.

Est.

For a second, everything else blurred .....the evening air, the faint hum of crickets outside, even the twin figures at his sides. My eyes went first to him, unbidden, tracing the familiar lines of his face. His hair was a little mussed from the breeze, his shirt casual but neat, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was carrying himself with that same mix of composure and unease that mirrored my own. His eyes met mine, and for the briefest heartbeat, the world narrowed to that look alone.

Then movement tugged me back .....two smaller bodies shifting close to him, flanking him like shadows.

The twins.

One stood slightly in front, bold in his curiosity, peering up at me with wide, steady eyes that reminded me so much of Est it startled me. The other lingered a little behind, half-hidden by Est’s side, fingers clutching the fabric of his sleeve. They were mirror images in some ways .....same hair, same frame .....but the way they carried themselves set them apart immediately.

“Hi,” I heard myself say, voice rougher than intended. I cleared my throat. “Come in.”

Est nodded, ushering the twins gently forward. His hand lingered on the smaller one’s shoulder, grounding, protective. “Thanks for having us.” His voice was polite, but softer than the clipped tones I was used to in crowded rooms. More real.

The twins hesitated on the threshold, their gazes darting around the unfamiliar hallway, until their eyes landed on Wisteria.

She hadn’t moved from the couch, rabbit still squished to her chest, but she was staring at them with an intensity only children could muster. Her lips parted just slightly, like she was trying to process what she was seeing: two children, about her size, standing right there.

The bolder twin blinked, then gave a small wave, the motion quick, almost testing. The one half-hidden behind Est didn’t wave .....just hugged his father’s sleeve tighter, eyes peeking out from behind him.

Wisteria froze. For a moment, I worried she’d retreat completely, bury her face in her rabbit and shut down. But she didn’t. Instead, she hugged the rabbit tighter, then tilted her head just so, studying them like she was trying to decide whether this was safe, whether these strangers could fit into her careful, quiet world.

“She’s beautiful,” Est murmured then, his gaze moving from Wisteria back to me. His voice was low, almost reverent, as though the words weren’t meant to be spoken aloud but slipped free anyway.

Heat shot up the back of my neck. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay steady under his eyes. “Wisteria,” I said, crouching a little to my daughter’s level, “these are Uncle Est’s children. Do you want to say hi?”

She looked at me, then back at them. No words, of course. But her rabbit’s ear twisted nervously in her fingers, and after a long pause, she gave the tiniest nod.

The bold twin grinned at that .....a real, unfiltered grin .....and tugged at his father’s hand. “See? I told you she’d like us.”

Est gave him a gentle look, the corners of his mouth twitching with fondness. “You told me she might,” he corrected quietly.

Wisteria blinked, gaze darting between them again, and I could see it .....that invisible thread of curiosity pulling tighter.

“Shoes off, please,” my mother’s voice chimed in suddenly, saving me from drowning in the silence. She appeared from the hallway, smiling warmly at Est and the twins. “House rule.”

The twins bent to comply, fumbling a little with laces, while Est offered my mother a polite nod. “Of course. Thank you for having us.”

“Don’t thank me,” she said, eyes twinkling as they flicked toward me. “Thank my son. He’s been… very thorough about tonight.”

“Mother,” I hissed under my breath, but Est had already caught it, one brow arching just slightly. His lips curved, not quite a smile but something hovering close, and my stomach did a dangerous flip.

The twins, now barefoot, shuffled in further, eyes wide as they took in the living room, the polished table set with care, the faint smell of food drifting from the kitchen. Wisteria sat perfectly still, rabbit clutched like a shield .....but she hadn’t looked away from them once.

And Est .....Est’s gaze returned to her again, softer this time, lingering. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes, something I couldn’t name, but it made my chest tighten.

For the first time all day, I stopped worrying about the food, the table, the thousand ways this could go wrong.

Because in that moment .....with Est in my home, his twins peering curiously around my living room, and Wisteria silently weighing whether she wanted to open her world to them .....it felt like we were all standing at the edge of something neither of us had ever let ourselves imagine.

Something fragile.
Something terrifying.
Something that might just be the start of a family.

Est’s POV

It took me a moment to register what was happening.

For days, I’d warned the twins .....or maybe braced myself more than them .....about this dinner. Wesley had a habit of barreling into new places like a storm, curious about everything, touching before asking. Easter was the opposite: slow to trust, slow to step forward, clinging to my sleeve until he felt sure the ground wouldn’t crumble beneath him.

That was what I expected when we walked through William’s door. That familiar push and pull .....Wesley’s boldness, Easter’s caution .....the rhythm I’d known since their first steps.

But what I saw instead… was nothing I could have predicted.

Wisteria sat on the couch, her stuffed rabbit clutched like a shield, her dark eyes wide and watchful. She was a quiet little thing, I could see that immediately. Not shy in the usual sense, but careful, as if she measured the world before deciding what part of herself she could offer.

I half-expected Wesley to march right up and announce himself, loud and smiling. I half-expected Easter to hide behind me and refuse to budge.

But both of them… stilled.

Wesley, who never waited for anyone’s permission, slowed his steps as though he’d wandered into a sacred place. His grin softened, turning tentative, and when he lifted his hand to wave, it wasn’t the boisterous kind I was used to. It was small, almost shy.

And Easter .....my Easter .....didn’t duck further behind me. Instead, he peeked out with wide eyes, his grip still tight on my sleeve but his gaze fixed firmly on the girl. There was no wariness there. Just… curiosity.

I felt my chest tighten. What was this?

The silence stretched, fragile as glass. Wisteria blinked at them, her rabbit squished tighter in her arms, and I braced for her to turn away. For her to fold into herself, to reject the intrusion into her quiet world.

But then .....so faintly I might have missed it .....she tilted her head. A small, deliberate motion, as though she were studying them.

That was all it took.

Wesley’s grin bloomed back, but softer this time, and he crouched a little, lowering himself like he wanted to meet her on her level. He didn’t speak .....which shocked me more than anything. My son, who could talk through an entire car ride without taking a breath, didn’t force a word. He just… waited.

Easter loosened his grip on my sleeve, inch by inch, until he stood on his own. His little hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, but his eyes never left Wisteria. For him, that was huge.

And then .....miracle of miracles .....Wisteria moved.

Her rabbit shifted in her arms, and she hugged it once, tightly, before stretching out her free hand toward the table beside her. A piece of lettuce .....torn from when she’d been nibbling earlier .....rested there. She picked it up, hesitated, then held it out. Not quite offering it, not quite keeping it for herself. A gesture suspended halfway between.

Wesley’s mouth parted, and for once he didn’t rush forward. He just nodded .....slow, exaggerated, careful .....like he was reassuring her he understood.

And she didn’t retreat.

She didn’t hide.

She simply looked between them, her fingers tightening around the rabbit, then loosening again.

I realized my jaw had gone slack.

These were my boys .....my wild, loud, impossible boys .....standing calmer than I’d ever seen them, drawn into silence by one little girl with solemn eyes and a stuffed rabbit.

I didn’t know what startled me more: their restraint, or the way Wisteria didn’t seem afraid of them.

She leaned forward just a little, the rabbit still pressed against her chest, and for the first time since we’d walked in, something flickered across her face. Not a smile, exactly .....but a softening. A willingness.

Wesley noticed it first. He lit up, but instead of rushing in like he always did, he placed both hands behind his back, rocking on his heels as though holding himself back. Easter inched closer, quiet as a shadow, his eyes wide but unafraid.

And I… I stood there, utterly undone.

Because I had expected noise, chaos, the usual mess of introductions when children collided. Instead, I was watching something delicate take root. My sons, so often each other’s balance of chaos and caution, were united in this strange, careful softness. And Wisteria .....William’s quiet daughter .....was letting them close, in her own way.

I glanced at William then, unable to stop myself.

He was standing a little to the side, frozen just as I was, watching his daughter with the kind of reverence that made my throat tighten. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to step in, to guide, but he didn’t. He trusted her .....trusted this moment .....enough to let it unfold.

And I thought .....maybe this dinner wasn’t just about us. Maybe it was about them too. Our children. Finding each other in ways we hadn’t dared hope for.

For the first time all evening, the tension I’d been carrying began to ease. Not because of the food, or the table, or even William’s steady presence. But because of the quiet way three children were teaching us something we hadn’t yet admitted to ourselves:

That family could begin in silence.
In softness.
In the kind of stillness that felt like the very first step toward belonging.

I don’t know what I expected when I agreed to bring the boys here. Maybe polite nods, maybe awkward silence. Maybe Wesley and Easter clinging to my side, suspicious of William’s world, suspicious of his daughter .....the little girl I’d only seen in photographs and through the fragments of William’s guarded words.

What I didn’t expect… was this.

The three of them were on the living room carpet, the soft light from the window spilling across their heads like a painting. Wisteria sat cross-legged, hugging a plush rabbit to her chest, her lashes lowered as though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to join in or not. But instead of crowding her or teasing like most boys their age might have, Wesley and Easter had gone utterly still .....patient in a way that made me question if they were even my children.

My sons weren’t reckless, not exactly, but they were boys .....curious, sometimes restless, always filling silence with chatter. Yet now, Wesley just sat in front of her, carefully lining up toy blocks on the carpet, stacking them slowly, like he was waiting for her permission to notice. Easter, usually the one quick with questions and faster with laughter, leaned his chin on his hand and quietly slid another block toward her .....no words, no pressure.

I blinked.

Since when did my boys know how to be… gentle?

“Appa,” Easter whispered suddenly, looking over his shoulder at me. His eyes flickered toward Wisteria, then back at me, wide with something unspoken. “She likes rabbits, right?”

I nodded, still too stunned to answer properly.

He gave the faintest smile, then turned back, pointing at the plush bunny Wisteria hugged. “I had one too,” he said softly, his voice careful, almost shy. “Mine was brown. Yours is prettier.”

For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t reply. Wisteria tightened her hold on the toy, her lips pressed in a thin line. She didn’t speak, but she tilted the bunny slightly toward him, as though sharing it without actually letting go.

And that was all it took.

Wesley’s shoulders loosened, and he reached for a block from the growing pile. He stacked it beside hers, not too close, not too far .....the kind of careful distance that felt respectful, like he understood without being told that she needed space.

“Look,” Wesley murmured, his voice low, almost coaxing. “It’s a tower. If you want… we can build it together.”

Wisteria’s head lifted, just a fraction, her eyes flicking between them. She hesitated, then slowly .....so slowly .....set her rabbit down on the floor and reached for one block. Her small hand brushed Wesley’s fingers, and instead of freezing or pulling away, he simply smiled .....that quiet, soft smile I’d seen on him only rarely.

My throat tightened.

How? How could my boys, who argued over toy cars and wrestled on the couch, suddenly turn into these calm, patient souls in front of this little girl? What had shifted in them?

I looked toward William. He stood by the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed loosely. His eyes weren’t on me. They were on them .....on the children. And there was something in his gaze I couldn’t quite name: relief, wonder, maybe even gratitude.

And me? I couldn’t look away from my sons.

Easter slid closer, laying a block carefully, not touching hers, but placing it so the three of them had formed a circle around the growing tower. He tilted his head toward her and whispered, “If it falls, don’t worry. We’ll build it again.”

And that .....that earned him a tiny, fleeting sound. Not words, but the ghost of a laugh. Soft. Almost hidden.

Wisteria’s laugh.

It was so quiet, so fragile, but my heart clenched at the sound. Because I’d been told she was selective mute, that she rarely let anyone past her silence. And yet… here she was. Laughing, even just a little, with my sons.

I exhaled shakily, realizing only then that I’d been holding my breath.

It felt… unreal. Like watching a miracle unfold in my living room.

William’s POV

I stood at the edge of the room, my shoulder pressed to the doorway as though the wooden frame was the only thing keeping me upright. My arms were folded tightly across my chest .....not a casual stance, not habit .....but defense. Defense against the trembling ache in my hands, the urge to step forward, to reach out, to disturb the fragile magic unraveling in front of me.

The living room was quiet in that rare way that felt almost sacred. The late afternoon sun spilled through the curtains in pale gold, painting the carpet in warm patches where the children sat. Wisteria was on her knees, her little bunny clutched tightly to her chest as though it was her shield. Her head tilted down, her shoulders tucked inward in that way I knew too well .....the armor she wore when the world felt too loud, too demanding.

She’d done it countless times. In classrooms where teachers coaxed her name. At birthday parties where other children pulled at her sleeve. At family gatherings where relatives pressed too hard, too eager. Always the same retreat, the same silence wrapping her like a cocoon. And always, I had been the one to explain, to defend, to remind others that her voice wasn’t something to be forced out. That her silence wasn’t a fault to be fixed.

But now—

Now she was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, not fleeing, not shrinking away, but surrounded. Wesley and Easter hovered close, not with insistence but with something gentler. As if they knew instinctively that pushing would only scatter her further away. They didn’t pry. They didn’t tease. They simply existed beside her, quiet and patient, like they understood her heart in a way most adults never had.

And I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Wisteria’s hand brushed against Wesley’s fingers as he placed a block near hers. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t recoil. Instead, she let it happen. And when Easter slid a bright red block toward her, his expression softened with a kindness so delicate it didn’t belong on a boy his age, her lips parted. Then came a sound I hadn’t heard in weeks, maybe months.

Her laugh.

That fragile, broken-glass sound .....sharp, unexpected, beautiful in its rarity. It slipped into the room like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. My chest clenched so hard I forgot to breathe. My daughter, my Wisteria, laughing. Not with me. Not with family. But with them. With Est’s sons.

No… not strangers. Not anymore.

His sons.

The thought struck me deep, settling like a weight in my chest that was both heavy and unbearably light at once. I pressed my palm against the doorframe, grounding myself, because if I didn’t, the swell of emotion threatening to rise would have drowned me whole.

Ten years. Ten long years.

I let my gaze linger on Wesley. The way he moved was careful, thoughtful .....not clumsy, not rushed, as though every gesture was measured for her comfort. It was familiar, painfully so. That patience, that quiet persistence .....it reminded me of someone I once knew too well.

Est.

My throat tightened.

Back then, I had been the quiet one. The boy who kept his head down, whose words stayed locked behind his teeth, whose heart was buried so deep he thought no one could ever find it. I didn’t make friends easily. Didn’t trust easily. But Est… he was different.

He never pushed. Never demanded. He’d simply sit beside me in the places where my silence weighed the heaviest. He’d talk softly, never minding if I didn’t answer right away, filling the air with warmth without expecting anything in return. He treated silence as though it wasn’t something broken, but something worth sharing. He made space for me .....a kind of space no one else ever had.

And somewhere in the quiet, somewhere between those unhurried moments where he let me be myself, I fell in love with him. Not a schoolboy crush. Not the fleeting spark of infatuation. Love. The kind that roots itself into your soul so deep you could spend a lifetime trying to cut it out and still fail.

But I never told him. Not once.

Instead, I made a choice. A decision I convinced myself was necessary, rational, even noble. But in truth, it was cowardice dressed up as reason. That choice built walls between us so tall, so wide, we never found our way back.

And it cost us ten years.

Ten years of silence.
Ten years of absence.
Ten years where I convinced myself I’d been right to let him go.

But standing here now, watching his sons and my daughter weave something wordless and miraculous between them, I felt the full weight of those wasted years press down on me. Crushing. Unforgiving. Because this .....this fragile, shimmering connection between children .....this was what we lost.

My eyes flicked toward the couch across the room. Est sat there, his frame relaxed but his gaze transfixed on the children. His expression was unreadable to anyone else, but not to me. I knew him. Even after ten years, I knew the subtle language of his face. The faint crease between his brows that spoke of wonder he couldn’t quite name. The way his lips parted slightly, as though words gathered there but never found release. He was seeing it too. He was as stunned as I was.

And for one reckless moment, I let myself imagine something dangerous.

What if this was our second chance?

What if fate .....merciless as it had been before .....had decided to show a sliver of mercy, to hand us back what it had stolen?

I clenched my jaw, blinking against the burn in my eyes. My heart pounded, a heavy, uneven rhythm echoing in my ears. No. I wouldn’t waste this again. Not this time. I had been a coward once, letting fear dictate my silence, letting walls of my own making keep me from reaching for what I wanted most.

But now—

Now, with Wisteria’s laughter ringing like fragile bells in the air, with Wesley and Easter’s quiet gentleness smoothing the edges of her world, with Est sitting within reach once more .....I felt the universe pressing its hand against my back. A push. A chance.

I breathed in, steadying myself, and made a vow.

I would not let regret have me again.
Not when the universe had handed me this miracle.
Not when Est .....my first love, my only love .....was sitting in my living room once more.

And for the first time in ten years, I let myself hope.

The laughter in the room grew, soft and unhurried, like ripples spreading over still water. Wooden blocks clattered as towers collapsed, and little voices rang out in a tangle of excitement and pride. The sound was ordinary, domestic, but to me it was unbearable in its sweetness.

My gaze stayed fixed on her .....Wisteria. My daughter. My girl who rarely let anyone inside her carefully guarded silence, whose smiles were treasures I sometimes feared I’d never see again. And yet, here she was, cheeks lifted, her lips curved, her eyes lit with something fragile and radiant. A timid laugh escaped her, tentative at first, then freer, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds that had hung for far too long.

I should have felt only joy. But my chest constricted, aching with something bigger than joy .....something sharp and unsteady.

Because I wasn’t the only one watching her. Est was too.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, his boys pressed close against him, and I caught the way his shoulders eased .....how the tension I had memorized in him seemed to melt. There was a softness on his face I hadn’t seen in over a decade, a half-formed smile tugging at his mouth, and his eyes… his eyes lingered not just on his children, not just on Wisteria, but on me.

It was too much.

The air suddenly felt too heavy in my lungs. My throat burned as though I’d swallowed fire.

“Excuse me,” I blurted, my voice thin, uneven. I pushed away from the doorway so quickly I nearly stumbled. “I should… I should set the table.”

I didn’t wait for anyone to stop me, didn’t look back. My legs carried me swiftly into the kitchen, the sound of laughter muffled with each step until only the hum of the refrigerator and the hollow echo of my pulse filled my ears.

The moment I reached the counter, I gripped its edge so hard my knuckles whitened. My head dropped, my breath came in ragged bursts, and I felt the weight of ten long years crash over me like a wave I could no longer hold back.

It was too much to see her like this .....opening herself, daring to laugh. Too much to see him again, not in fragments from afar, not in headlines or shadows, but here. Real. Close enough that I could have reached across the distance and touched him.

I had told myself I was ready for this. I had practiced how I would stand, what I would say. But the truth was stark and merciless. I wasn’t ready at all.

The first sob clawed its way out of me before I could stop it, raw and humiliating. I bit it back, pressing my fist against my mouth, but it only cracked me open further. Another followed, then another, until hot tears blurred my vision.

My hand flew up, pressing the heel of my palm hard against my eyes, desperate to force it all back down. But it was useless. Ten years of silence, of swallowing my grief, of locking away everything I never allowed myself to say .....none of it could withstand the sight of Est sitting in my living room like a ghost returned, or the sound of Wisteria’s laughter.

“William.”

The voice was gentle, familiar.

A hand, warm and steady, rested between my shoulders.

My mother.

I froze, shame instantly twisting in my chest. Of course she had followed me. She always knew when to find me, always knew when my smile was only a mask.

I turned, scrubbing furiously at my face with my sleeve. “I’m fine,” I muttered hoarsely, my throat thick. “I just.....it’s stupid. I don’t even know why—”

She shook her head slowly, her expression calm, not mocking, not pitying. Only kind. “It’s not stupid.”

The quiet certainty in her tone cracked me all over again. My shoulders sagged, my chest heaved, and before I could stop myself she gathered me into her arms.

And I let her.

For the first time in years, I let her.

I buried my face against her shoulder, trembling like a boy again, my hands clutching at the fabric of her blouse. The tears came fast now, not the suffocating sobs of grief, but a mess of emotions I couldn’t untangle .....relief, wonder, fear, and a hope I had been too afraid to name.

“I just… I can’t believe it,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Wisteria… she laughed, Mother. She laughed. With them. With his boys. And Est—” His name caught in my throat. I forced it out anyway. “He’s here. After everything. After all these years. It feels like…”

“Like a second chance?” she finished softly.

I nodded into her shoulder, unable to speak.

Her hand smoothed through my hair, the same way she had when I was small and the world felt too loud for me. “You’ve always carried your heart too openly, William, even when you thought you were hiding it. I knew how much you loved him. I knew it back then, and I can see it still.”

The words scorched me and soothed me all at once.

I drew back slightly, my cheeks burning. “It’s been ten years,” I said, my voice rough. “He must… he must hate me. Or at least…” I swallowed hard, unable to finish. “He can’t still—”

Her eyes softened. She tilted her head, a faint smile curling her lips. “William. Did you see the way he looked at you just now?”

The memory pierced me like an arrow .....Est’s gaze, steady, unreadable, yet softer than it had any right to be. There had been weight in it, something I couldn’t name, something that made my chest ache.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” I admitted, my words breaking apart like glass. “Not again. I couldn’t survive wasting another chance.”

“Then don’t.”

So simple. So steady.

I gave a shaky laugh, wiping at my damp cheeks again. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not easy,” she said gently, brushing her thumb across my skin as if I were still her little boy. “But it is simple. Listen to your heart. Don’t let fear choose for you this time.”

Her words sank deep, like roots finding soil, like a promise settling in my chest.

I drew in a slow breath, shaky but steadier than before. My eyes still stung, my hands still trembled, but the heaviness inside me had shifted, lighter now, as though some hidden door had cracked open.

I began setting the plates on the counter, one by one, the clink of ceramic grounding me in the moment. And for the first time in ten years, I wasn’t afraid of what I felt.

Because for the first time in ten years, I wanted him to see me .....the real me. The foolish, tender man who still loved him.

Est’s POV

When William returned to the living room, he moved quietly, almost too quietly, slipping back into the space as though he could erase the fact that he had been gone at all. He busied himself with setting plates on the low table near the couch, his movements practiced, efficient, but I saw it immediately .....the cracks he thought he was hiding.

His eyes gave him away. Always his eyes.

Just the faintest redness around the rims, like he’d rubbed them too hard. The way he blinked a little too quickly, as if the lights were too sharp, or the air itself cut against him. His mouth curved into that polite smile, the kind you wear at press conferences or when fans shove cameras in your face. A smile that showed teeth but not heart.

Ten years had passed, and yet… nothing had changed.

William had always been like this. Too sensitive for his own good, too easily moved, and far too proud to admit it. I remembered it well .....back when we were just boys stumbling through the noise of crowded hallways and late-night rehearsals. He would duck his head when he was overwhelmed, suddenly fascinated by his shoelaces or his phone. Sometimes he’d pretend he’d gotten something in his eye. Other times, he’d change the subject so abruptly it was almost comical.

And I .....foolish, relentless me .....had made it my mission to draw him out. To be the one to break through his fragile composure. To make him laugh.

I looked at him now, and it was like stepping into the past. The same fragility flickering at the edges of his mask. The same silence pressing around him, heavy and brittle.

I didn’t ask the obvious. Are you alright? Were you crying?

That would’ve only pushed him further into retreat, brick by brick building those walls he hid behind. No .....William needed something else. Something lighter. Something familiar.

So I leaned back into the couch, one arm stretched lazily along the armrest, my voice cutting through the soft rustle of blocks and children’s chatter.

“You know,” I said, feigning casual disappointment, “I half-expected you to serve us some kind of five-course, Michelin-star dinner tonight. Maybe hire a waiter or two. The William Jakrapatr I remember would never settle for anything less.”

His head jerked up. For a heartbeat, he looked startled .....caught off guard like a deer in headlights. Then, slowly, his lips twitched. The smallest, reluctant curve.

Good.

I pressed on, grinning wider. “Imagine my disappointment when I only saw chopping boards in the kitchen earlier. No gold-plated plates? No foie gras? My sons are going to be traumatized, William. Traumatized.”

That earned me exactly what I wanted. Wesley, cross-legged on the rug beside Wisteria, tilted his head, confused. “Papa,” he piped up, “what’s… foie gras?”

I smirked, fighting a laugh. “Something Uncle William would never dare feed you. Don’t worry.”

William’s face changed in an instant .....caught between scandalized and flustered. “Est!” He almost choked, shooting me a look that was equal parts exasperation and embarrassment. “Don’t say things like that in front of them!”

The corner of my mouth tugged higher. I shrugged. “What? It’s true. Besides, they should know what kind of host you are.”

And then, there it was. The sound I had been waiting for.

A laugh.

Soft at first, surprised, almost unwilling. But real. Real in a way I hadn’t heard from him in so long. His hand came up quickly, rubbing at the corner of his eye as though he could disguise it, but it was too late. His shoulders had loosened, his chest rising on something lighter than before.

“There it is,” I murmured under my breath.

He glanced at me then. Really looked. And for a moment, the world narrowed to just that gaze .....his eyes meeting mine, heavy with all the years between us, everything unsaid, everything I’d tried not to carry but never managed to put down.

Dangerous. That was what it was. Dangerous. Because inside that look, I saw softness. I saw something that hadn’t quite been buried.

I tore my eyes away first, leaning forward, pretending to study the kids again. Wesley and Easter were showing Wisteria how to stack the blocks into something resembling a castle, their voices patient, gentle. Wisteria followed carefully, clutching her rabbit to her chest with one hand while reaching out with the other to place a block. Her little face was glowing, her smile small but real.

“They’re good together,” I said softly, almost to myself.

William followed my gaze. “Yeah. They are.” His voice cracked faintly, the single syllable trembling, but it was threaded with pride. With warmth.

I caught it. Of course I did. Every tremor, every raw edge. But I didn’t point it out. I never had. That wasn’t how you reached William. He didn’t need questions that cornered him. He needed space. He needed someone who could coax him back into himself without making him run.

So I smiled lightly, nudging him with my tone instead of my hand. “Careful, William. If the kids keep getting along like this, we might have no choice but to schedule playdates. And then—” I let my grin widen. “—I’ll finally get to judge your coffee-making skills.”

His head shot up again. “My coffee-making skills are excellent, thank you very much.” His voice had a touch more spirit now, the flush rising faint on his cheeks.

“Mm,” I drawled, tilting my head like I was considering a terrible truth. “We’ll see. I remember a certain William Jakrapatr who once put salt instead of sugar into his latte because he wasn’t paying attention.”

“That—” He gaped, indignant. “That was one time!”

“Wesley,” I said solemnly, leaning down to my son, “did you hear that? Your Uncle William once served me salted coffee. Tragic.”

Wesley burst out laughing, clutching his stomach, while Wisteria’s lips curved into another small, shy giggle at the sight.

And then William laughed again too .....fuller this time, less restrained.

I let myself lean back, my chest loosening in a way I hadn’t expected. Watching him, his eyes still faintly red but his smile finally genuine, I thought maybe this was how it would be again. Not rushing, not tearing old wounds open too quickly. Just being. Slowly.

Like ten years ago, when I first sat beside the shy boy who kept his feelings hidden behind silence .....and I learned that the best way to reach him was simply to make him laugh.

Chapter Text

The dining table was set, warm light spilling from the chandelier above, casting everything in a golden glow. The smell of roasted herbs, simmered sauces, and freshly baked bread wrapped the room in a comfort so tangible it almost felt like another guest.

“Alright, you two ..... aprons first,” Est said, his voice firm but threaded with patience as he guided Wesley and Easter toward the table.

The twins groaned in unison, but neither resisted as their father pulled two child-sized aprons from the bag he’d brought with him. He always carried them ..... William remembered, faintly, that Est was the kind of parent who prepared for everything.

“Papa…” Easter mumbled, half-hearted in protest.

“Don’t ‘Papa’ me,” Est countered, kneeling in front of him to tie the strings. “Last time you spilled soup down your shirt, remember? You were sticky all evening. I had to peel that shirt off you.”

Easter huffed but grinned, eyes sparkling.

Wesley, quieter, simply lifted his arms and let Est slip the apron over his head without fuss. His patience was uncanny for his age ..... the kind of stillness William had once seen in Est, when they were younger and the world felt too loud.

Across the table, Wisteria sat in her chair, her stuffed rabbit propped carefully beside her plate like an honored guest. She watched the scene intently, her gaze following Est’s hands as he knotted the apron strings, smoothed down the boys’ shoulders, murmured small jokes that made them smile.

Then, in a move that startled everyone, she slid from her chair.

Bare feet padding softly against the hardwood, she crossed the room without a word. The rabbit dangled from one arm as she stopped in front of Est, tilting her small face up to him.

“Wisteria?” William’s voice was gentle, uncertain, from across the table. He half-rose, instinctively ready to step in.

But she shook her head, clutching her bunny tighter. Then, with a quiet decisiveness that left no room for doubt, she tugged at the edge of Est’s sleeve.

For a moment, Est blinked down at her, surprised. Then his features softened.

“You too, hm?” His voice gentled as he crouched down to her level.

She nodded once, her curls bouncing, and glanced toward the aprons with unmistakable intent.

William’s breath caught. His mother’s lips curved knowingly at the sight, but she said nothing.

Est, without missing a beat, reached into the bag again and pulled out a third apron ..... pastel yellow with a faded strawberry patch embroidered on the pocket. It was smaller, clearly meant for one of his boys years ago, but it fit as if it had been waiting for her.

“Hold still,” Est murmured, slipping it over her head. His fingers brushed her hair gently back so the strap wouldn’t tangle. He tied the strings with the same care he had given his sons, his movements slow, deliberate, unhurried.

Wisteria clutched her rabbit against the apron and gave a tiny nod, her lips pressing into something that looked suspiciously like a smile.

“Perfect,” Est declared, leaning back to look at his work. “Now we’re all ready for dinner.”

And just like that, she climbed back into her chair beside Wesley, who offered her an approving nod as if she had just passed some unspoken initiation. Easter grinned, reaching across the table to tap her bunny’s paw.

William couldn’t speak. His throat was too tight, his chest too full. He sat back down slowly, gripping the edge of his chair as if it would keep him steady.

His mother’s hand brushed his arm beneath the table, a quiet reassurance.

The dinner itself was… easy. Unbelievably easy.

The kids, usually so restless in new places, were strangely calm. Wesley sat up straighter than usual, his knife and fork moving with quiet precision as he cut his food into neat, almost perfect squares. Every so often, he’d glance sideways to check if Wisteria was managing her plate well. She, in turn, seemed entirely content to mimic him, her tiny fork clutched in both hands as she carefully speared a piece of chicken.

Easter was the opposite ..... mouth always moving, bright-eyed as he launched into stories about everything from schoolyard games to how his teacher’s cat had recently given birth. He punctuated every line with wild gestures, his fork waving dangerously in the air until Est gently reached out and pushed his wrist back down.

Wisteria didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to. She nodded, pointed, and once, nudged her bunny across the table toward Easter when he acted out a dramatic sneezing fit on behalf of the cat. The stuffed rabbit wobbled dangerously close to his plate, and Easter leaned forward, whispering with mock seriousness, “Bless you, Bunny.”

That earned him Wisteria’s soft laugh ..... fleeting, small, but unmistakably real.

Est, who had been quiet until then, paused mid-bite. His fork stilled in the air, his gaze lingering on the children with something close to amazement. William knew that look ..... it mirrored the awe that sat heavy in his own chest. Neither of them had expected this harmony, this effortless blending of two halves into something whole.

“This chicken is excellent,” Est finally said, breaking his silence, his tone sincere as he directed the words to William’s mother. “Crispy skin, but the inside’s tender. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”

William’s mother beamed as if she’d been waiting for the compliment. “I’d be happy to. But don’t let William fool you. He had his hands in almost everything tonight.”

Est’s gaze flickered to William. For just a second, something shifted in his eyes ..... warmth, admiration, maybe even pride.

William ducked his head quickly, stabbing at his food. His ears burned. “It wasn’t much,” he muttered.

Est’s lips curved faintly. “It was enough. I can tell.”

Their eyes caught ..... too long, too weighted ..... before Easter’s voice cut through.

“Papa, can we make chicken like this at home?”

Est chuckled, finally remembering his own plate. “If you promise not to spill sauce all over the table again.”

“That was one time!” Easter groaned, scandalized.

“One time too many,” Est said dryly, cutting his son’s chicken into smaller pieces with effortless precision.

William’s mother laughed warmly. “He’s strict, isn’t he?”

William made the mistake of speaking before thinking. “Always has been.”

Est arched a brow at him. “Strict, hm? I’d say responsible.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?” William shot back.

For a heartbeat, it felt like old times ..... their banter quick, sharp-edged, but threaded with a familiarity neither had lost. Est’s smirk deepened, but instead of answering, he focused on Easter’s plate.

The conversation drifted. Est and William’s mother fell into an easy rhythm, Easter inserting himself with bold interruptions, and Wisteria occasionally pressing her bunny into Wesley’s lap as though gifting him companionship.

At one point, Wisteria leaned into Wesley’s shoulder, her bunny tucked under her chin. Wesley froze, unsure what to do. Then, as if remembering himself, he shifted slightly, angling his chair so she could rest more comfortably. He didn’t say a word, but William caught the small smile tugging at his lips.

Across the table, Est noticed too. His expression softened ..... gentle, reverent in a way William hadn’t seen in ten years.

“She… trusts you. Just like that,” William said quietly before he could stop himself.

Est lifted his eyes, meeting William’s. “Children know,” he said simply. “They don’t need words to feel when someone cares.”

The truth in it made William’s chest tighten. He swallowed, dropping his gaze.

And that’s when his mother, with impeccable timing, leaned forward conspiratorially and asked, “So ..... which of you is going to cook for me next time? Or should I expect both of you together in the kitchen?”

William nearly choked on his drink. “M-Mom!”

Est, surprisingly, didn’t laugh. He cleared his throat, ears pink. “I, uh… don’t think you’d want us both in there. He’d be bossing me around in five minutes.”

William narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me? You’d be the one bossing me.”

“Oh, please,” Est said smoothly, setting his fork down. “You’re the type to measure out salt grains individually if the recipe told you to. I’d go mad.”

William’s mother clapped her hands delightedly. “Perfect balance then! William’s careful, Est’s bold. You’d make a wonderful team.”

William froze. Est shifted in his seat. Both of them flushed.

“Mom,” William hissed under his breath.

Est’s smirk was half-amused, half-embarrassed. “She’s enjoying this too much.”

William shot him a glare. “You think?”

Easter, oblivious, perked up. “Papa can cook?”

“Of course I can,” Est replied smoothly.

“Then you and Uncle William should cook together! That’d be fun!” Easter grinned. “And we could taste-test!”

Wesley, still quiet, looked thoughtful. “It… might be nice,” he admitted softly.

Wisteria nodded vigorously, bunny bobbing with her.

Est groaned under his breath. William covered his face with one hand.

And their mother? She only smiled like she’d already planned the menu.

The plates were still warm when the chatter began to slow, little yawns escaping from Wisteria and Wesley almost in unison. Easter, still buzzing with energy, tried valiantly to keep a story about a playground race going until Est gave him a look that promised “bedtime is coming.”

William’s mother, who had been orchestrating the meal’s flow with quiet precision, clapped her hands gently. “Alright, children. Why don’t you start winding down? I’ll get some tea going.”

“I’ll help clean up,” William said immediately, half-rising.

Est followed suit, reaching for the empty serving dishes. “Me too. It’s the least I can do.”

“Oh no, you two have already done plenty,” William’s mother said sweetly ..... too sweetly. She gathered a handful of plates and moved toward the kitchen with surprising speed for her age. “You’ll just get in my way.”

“Mom.....” William started, but she gave him that look ..... the one that said don’t argue with me in front of guests.

Est smirked as he stacked cutlery on a plate. “Sounds like she’s got you trained.”

William shot him a glare. “Don’t start.”

The kids excused themselves with a little coaxing ..... Easter had to be reminded twice not to run in the hall, Wesley trailed after him with a responsible air, and Wisteria, already sleepy, allowed William’s mother to kiss her cheek before curling up on the couch with her bunny.

That left the table… and the silence.

William stood, gathering plates with perhaps more force than necessary. “Come on,” he muttered, jerking his head toward the kitchen.

Est raised a brow. “I thought your mom banned us.”

“She banned me. You, apparently, she likes.”

Est chuckled low in his throat, following him anyway.

The kitchen was warm with steam and the faint scent of soap. William rolled up his sleeves automatically, reaching for the sponge. Est leaned against the counter for a beat, watching him with a faintly amused expression.

“What?” William snapped, feeling his ears heat under the scrutiny.

“You’re… domestic,” Est said after a pause.

William almost dropped the plate. “Domestic?!”

“Yes,” Est said, smirk tugging at his lips. “Like a husband washing dishes after dinner.”

William’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “You..... you can’t just say things like that!”

“Why not? It’s true.”

Before William could retort, his mother’s voice drifted in from the doorway. “See? You would make a good husband, William.”

William whipped his head around, mortified. “Mom!”

But she was already backing out, hands raised innocently. “I’ll just check on the children. You two finish up in here.” And with that, she disappeared, humming cheerfully.

William stared after her, scandalized. “She did that on purpose.”

Est chuckled, reaching for a towel to start drying. “She’s clever.”

“She’s impossible,” William muttered, scrubbing harder at a pan.

“Mm. I think she just likes the idea of us cooking together.” Est’s tone was maddeningly casual, but the faint flush at the tips of his ears betrayed him.

William caught it, and his own blush deepened. “Don’t.....don’t say it like that. You’re making it sound…”

“Like what?” Est asked, leaning just slightly closer.

“Like.....like.....” William sputtered, nearly dropping the soapy spoon. “Like we’re.....”

“Married?” Est supplied smoothly.

The word hung between them, heavier than it had any right to be. William’s heart kicked hard against his ribs.

For a moment, neither moved. Then Est cleared his throat, stepping back just enough to reach for another plate. “Relax. I’m only teasing.”

William turned back to the sink, ears on fire. “You’re terrible.”

Est dried the plate with deliberate slowness. “And you’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

William groaned, pressing the sponge harder against the dish. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to ‘accidentally’ spray you with this faucet.”

Est’s lips quirked. “You wouldn’t dare.”

William arched a brow, hand tightening on the sprayer. “Try me.”

For a moment, the tension shifted ..... playful, almost dangerous. Est’s smirk widened. “You’d only get yourself wet.”

And somehow, that made William blush harder.

The clink of cutlery in the sink filled the silence that followed. The air between them hummed with unspoken words, heavier than the steam curling from the dishwater.

The kitchen smelled of roasted chicken and warm soap, a combination that should have been mundane.....but tonight, it was electric. William leaned casually against the counter, a devilish glint in his eye, sponge in hand. His fingers twitched, ready, and he spotted his unsuspecting target.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning just close enough to make Est glance up. “You missed a spot.”

Before Est could even react, William scooped a dollop of soap on his fingertip and, with surgical precision, dabbed it right onto the tip of Est’s nose.

Est froze. His eyes went wide, incredulous. “William!”

“Oh, don’t be so serious,” William teased, the corners of his mouth lifting into a wicked smile. “It’s just soap… on your nose.”

Est reached up instinctively, trying to wipe it off, but William was faster. With a quick swipe, he flicked another little glob onto Est’s forehead, then another onto his cheek.

“You are impossible,” Est huffed, a blush creeping across his face. But the moment was broken by a reluctant laugh escaping his lips, betraying how much fun he was secretly having.

“Impossible?” William echoed, leaning closer, tilting his head to dodge Est’s flailing hands. “I think you mean irresistible. Look at you, all flustered.”

Est jabbed a finger at William’s chest, half-heartedly, but it was too slow. William caught it with one hand, spinning it gently, then flicked soap onto Est’s collarbone. Est gasped, a mix of shock and something warmer, something that made his stomach flutter.

William grinned, leaning in so close that their breaths mingled. “You know,” he murmured, “I think we should settle this… properly.”

“Settle what?” Est asked, his voice quivering slightly, both from laughter and the sudden heat rising in his chest.

“This,” William said, and with a sly movement, he nudged the soap from Est’s nose onto his own finger.....then flicked it onto Est’s shoulder. Est yelped, but laughter overtook him, filling the kitchen like a warm, living thing.

William pressed forward, blocking Est’s retreat toward the counter. The space between them shrank dangerously. Every laugh, every brush of hands, every stray dab of soap seemed charged, loaded with a current neither wanted to admit.

“William,” Est breathed, trying to step back, only to have William’s chest close the distance. “We.....this is.....”

“.....dish soap,” William interrupted, voice teasing, low, and impossibly close. His hand brushed the side of Est’s cheek, fingers warm against the cool slick of soap, tilting his head just enough to make the room spin.

Est’s heart hammered. “William,” he whispered, breath hitching. He tried to pull away, but William mirrored every movement, a predator in the most intoxicating way possible, corners of his mouth lifted in a teasing smirk.

Suddenly, the door creaked.

“William! Est!”

Both froze. William’s mother stood there, hands on her hips, eyes sparkling with amusement that made Est’s ears burn hotter than the soap-slicked kitchen floor.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed. “Is that… soap? On both of you?”

William stumbled slightly, slipping on the slick floor, and Est’s hands shot out instinctively, catching him.....but also pressing themselves against William in a way that made both their pulses spike.

“Cleaning!” William said, trying for casual, but his voice cracked under the weight of his own heartbeat.

“Uh-huh,” Est echoed, brushing a sudsy hand across his chest in a futile attempt to regain dignity. “Just… cleaning.”

William’s mother shook her head, laughter bubbling from her lips. “I see what’s going on here. Making quite the… mess, aren’t you?”

Est’s blush deepened. Every accidental touch, every slip of soap, every mischievous glance from William had him caught somewhere between embarrassment and… something else.

William’s hands lingered a fraction too long on Est’s arms as they reached for towels. Every brush of skin sent tiny shocks up both of their spines. Their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling, the heat between them far too potent to be just from the kitchen.

“Mom,” William said weakly, glancing at the doorway as if pleading. “Maybe… maybe go check on the kids?”

“Oh no,” she said, stepping back with a knowing smile. “This is far too entertaining. I’ll just leave you two… to finish cleaning.”

Once the doorway was empty, the tension returned, thick and electric. William leaned close, hand cupping Est’s cheek once more, thumb brushing along the slick line of soap. Est shivered, lips parted, unable to form words.

William’s eyes darkened slightly, a dangerous glint behind the teasing smile. “If you don’t behave,” he murmured, voice low, vibrating against Est’s ear, “you’re going to regret it.”

Est swallowed hard. His own heartbeat was deafening. “William…” he breathed, but the sound was lost, fragile, almost a whisper.

The world shrank to the two of them.....their messy, playful, dangerously intimate soap fight suspended in a bubble where only heat, laughter, and unspoken desire existed. William’s lips hovered, tantalizingly close… and the faint sound of a pan clattering to the floor snapped them both back to reality, hearts still racing, soap still slick, the promise of more lingering in the air like the scent of warm dishes and mischievous laughter.

William’s POV

The house had gone quiet after all the noise of dinner and the chaos in the kitchen. The smell of roasted chicken still lingered faintly in the air, mixed with the faint sweetness of dish soap.

By the time I stepped into the living room, the children had made their own little kingdom out of the couch. Wisteria had drifted off, curled up with her bunny in her arms, her hair a soft halo against the cushion. Beside her, Easter was just as still, his cheek pressed against her shoulder, his breaths deep and even in sleep.

Only Wesley was awake. He sat close to them, blinking slowly, fighting against the pull of his own drowsiness. His small hand rested protectively near his brother, as if to make sure Easter didn’t slip away even in sleep.

Est crouched down beside them, his movements careful, gentle. His voice was soft enough to barely disturb the silence. “Hey,” he murmured, brushing a hand across Wesley’s hair. “It’s time to head home. Easter’s already out.”

Wesley made a sleepy sound, half protest, half surrender.

Est slipped his arms beneath Easter with practiced ease, lifting him without effort. Easter stirred only faintly, tucking his face into Est’s neck as if he belonged there. The sight made my chest tighten.....it was so natural, so easy, watching Est carry him like that.

“Come on, Wes,” Est said quietly, extending his free hand. “Let’s go.”

Wesley hesitated, his heavy-lidded eyes sliding toward me. For a second, I thought he might resist, but then he sighed, small fingers reaching out to curl tightly around Est’s hand. He pressed into his father’s side, head drooping against his arm as they turned toward the door.

I leaned against the doorway, watching them. The three of them together.....Est with one child in his arms and the other leaning against him.....looked like something carved out of a dream I wasn’t sure I should even allow myself to imagine. It was domestic, quiet, and it pulled at a part of me I usually kept locked away.

Est paused at the door, shifting Easter’s weight on his shoulder. His eyes met mine across the dim room. “Thank you,” he said softly. His voice was tired, but there was warmth in it too, something that settled deep in my chest. “For the dinner. For… all of it. It was nice.”

“Nice?” I repeated, my mouth quirking into a faint smile even as my heart hammered too fast. “I think you mean unforgettable.”

His lips twitched in that way they always did when he was fighting back a smile. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Too late,” I said under my breath, though I wasn’t sure if he caught it.

He stepped closer then, guided by Wesley’s tug at his side, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. The air between us felt heavier, as if every second stretched into something longer.

“Goodnight,” Est murmured.

And before I could even react, he leaned in quickly, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. Just the faintest brush of lips, warm, fleeting.....yet it burned hotter than anything else tonight.

I froze, breath catching, the world narrowing to that single spot where his mouth had touched me.

By the time I thought to move, he was already pulling away, his ears faintly pink, his voice back to low and steady as he shifted Easter higher and coaxed Wesley toward the door.

“Come on, let’s get you both home,” he murmured to the twins, his tone all father again.

The door shut gently behind them, leaving me standing there like an idiot, one hand half-raised to my cheek.

The ghost of his kiss lingered, and with it, the ache of something I wasn’t ready to name.

For the first time in a long while, the house didn’t feel so empty.

Est’s POV

The car was quiet, the steady hum of the engine filling the silence as the night stretched around us. Streetlights flashed across the windshield in intervals, scattering pale light over the inside of the car before fading back into darkness.

Easter was asleep in the backseat, his head lolled against the window, his breaths deep and even. Wesley sat beside him, awake but drowsy, clutching the edge of his stuffed dinosaur in one hand, his gaze half-focused on the blur of passing lights outside.

And me.....my hands were on the steering wheel, but my mind wasn’t here. It was still back at William’s doorway. Still on the warmth of his cheek beneath my lips.

I had meant for it to be nothing.....a polite gesture, a thank-you. Something fleeting and harmless. But the truth was, the moment I leaned in, something inside me stuttered. The warmth of his skin had lingered against my lips far longer than it should have. His breath caught, I felt it, and I had to pull back quickly before the weight of it broke through the fragile dam I kept around myself.

Now, sitting here, the memory burned in me. I lifted a hand briefly, brushing my fingertips across my cheek as if to mirror the place I’d kissed him. My chest was tight, my pulse still faster than it should be. Why did I do that? Why now?

A soft voice broke through my thoughts.

“Papa?”

I startled slightly, glancing into the rearview mirror. Wesley was watching me. His eyes, though heavy with sleep, were sharp in a way that reminded me too much of his mother.....always seeing more than I wanted him to.

“Yes, Wes?” I asked, forcing my tone even.

He tilted his head, studying me with far too much focus for a sleepy six-year-old. Then his lips twitched. “Why are you red?”

Heat rushed up my neck immediately. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, keeping my gaze firmly on the road. “Red?” I repeated, trying for casual. “Maybe it’s just the lights from outside.”

Wesley blinked, unimpressed. “No. You’re blushing.”

The corner of his mouth lifted like he’d caught me in a lie. My son.....quiet most days, thoughtful always.....was suddenly far too perceptive.

I coughed lightly, searching for a distraction. “It’s late. Maybe you’re just tired.”

But Wesley didn’t let it go. He leaned his cheek against the seat, voice soft but certain. “You smile a lot when you’re with him.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. My grip on the wheel faltered for a second.

“Who?” I asked, though I already knew.

“Uncle William,” Wesley said simply, as if it was obvious. He yawned, covering his mouth with his tiny hand before continuing, his voice slurring with sleep. “I like him. Because he makes you smile.”

The air in the car shifted. I blinked hard, swallowing against the sudden lump in my throat. Out of the mouths of children, truths always sounded sharper, cleaner. I hadn’t even realized I was smiling more around William.....until Wesley said it.

I glanced at the mirror again. Wesley was already settling back into his seat, his eyelids drooping, his hand reaching unconsciously toward Easter as if to keep him close. But his words lingered like an echo in my chest.

He makes you smile.

I let out a slow breath, pressing my lips together. Wesley didn’t know the history, the years of silence, the tangle of regret that lived between William and me. He only saw what was in front of him.....the way William’s presence softened me, the way laughter came easier when he was near.

And maybe that was the simplest truth of all.

My cheek still burned faintly where I’d kissed him, the memory refusing to fade. I kept one hand on the wheel, the other tightening briefly into a fist against my thigh, as if holding onto the warmth I had left behind.

For the first time in years, I didn’t push the thought away. I let it sit there. I let myself feel it.

And as the road stretched homeward, the ghost of William’s smile stayed with me.

The apartment was quiet when we finally stepped inside. The lights were low, the familiar scent of lavender and laundry soap wrapping around us like an old blanket.

Easter was already a heavy weight in my arms, his head tucked beneath my chin, breath warm against my neck. Wesley trailed beside me, his little hand clinging to mine even as his steps wavered, drowsy and slow.

“Come on, Wes,” I whispered, nudging him gently toward the bedroom.

Together, we slipped into their room. I laid Easter down first, easing him onto the bed without so much as a stir. Wesley crawled up beside him, curling instinctively against his brother, the two of them forming the same mirrored shape they always did in sleep.

I pulled the blanket over them, brushing hair back from their foreheads, my chest aching in that familiar way it always did when I looked at them. They were my everything. My reason.

“Goodnight,” I murmured softly, pressing a kiss to Wesley’s hair, then to Easter’s.

When I turned, the doorway wasn’t empty.

My mother stood there, arms folded loosely, her shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her expression was quiet, steady, the kind that said she had been waiting. Watching.

“You’re still awake?” I asked, keeping my voice low as I stepped out and gently closed the door behind me.

“I was waiting for you,” she said simply, her eyes never leaving my face.

I frowned lightly. “It’s late, Ma. You should rest.”

She lifted a hand, stopping me before I could fumble for an excuse. “Sit with me first.”

Reluctantly, I obeyed, lowering myself into the chair across from her. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, steady and low. Her gaze was sharp but patient, the kind that had always seen through me no matter how hard I tried to hide.

“Well?” she asked finally, her brows lifting. “How was dinner?”

I forced my voice to sound casual. “It was… fine.”

“Fine.” She repeated the word like it tasted wrong. “Est, you’ve never been a good liar. Your ears are pink, and you’ve been avoiding my eyes since you walked in.”

Heat crept up my neck. I rubbed the back of it, looking away. “It was just dinner.”

Her lips curved, not unkind, but knowing. “Dinner… with William. After ten years.”

The sound of his name from her lips twisted something sharp inside me. I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. “Yes. With William.”

“And?” she prompted, leaning forward slightly.

The images flooded me before I could stop them.....the way Wesley and Easter had looked at Wisteria like she was already theirs, how easily they’d fallen into play, how quickly she had opened up to them. That alone had left my chest aching, because it had been so simple, so natural, like they’d been waiting their whole lives to find each other.

And then William. The nervous, almost awkward way he had moved around the table, the way he kept glancing at the children like he couldn’t believe they were real. The quiet pride in his face every time one of them laughed. The way his eyes lingered on me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

I swallowed hard. “He’s… different. But the same. He’s still William.”

My mother tilted her head, her gaze softening. “You wouldn’t have gone if you didn’t want to see him. You wouldn’t have let the boys spend the night there if you didn’t trust him, even a little. So tell me honestly, Est.....why did you go?”

My palms pressed flat against the cool wood of the table. My chest felt heavy, the words fighting to come out. “Because…” My voice cracked, raw and unfamiliar. “Because part of me needed to know. If the person I.....” I cut myself off, jaw tightening. It was too much. Too close.

Her hand slid across the table, warm and steady, covering mine. “Say it,” she urged softly.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to breathe. “If the person I loved is still in there. If it wasn’t all just… a mistake.”

Her grip tightened around my hand, grounding me. “And what did you see?”

I thought of his face when I kissed his cheek at the door.....the way he had frozen, as if the ground had shifted beneath him. The way his voice had faltered whenever our gazes locked. The look in his eyes, so open, so full of something he couldn’t hide. I shut my eyes briefly. “I saw someone who still cares. More than he should.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “And you still care, Est. More than you admit.”

The words struck deep. I pulled back slightly, shaking my head, retreating into the old wound. “He hurt me, Ma. He left without a word. One day he was here.....by my side, in my life.....and then he was gone. Ten years. Do you know what that does to someone?” My voice cracked again, low and raw. “To love someone, and then wake up one day and realize they’ve cut you out without even a goodbye?”

Her eyes softened, sorrowful but steady. “I know, child. I saw it every day. I saw it in the way you stopped talking about music, how you stopped laughing so easily. You tried to carry on, to bury it all in raising the boys. And I am proud of you for that.....you built a good life. But you also buried a piece of yourself.”

“He hurt me, Ma. He left without a word. I can’t just erase that.”

“You don’t have to erase it,” she said firmly, her eyes locking onto mine. “You only have to decide if you’re willing to start again. A man who never mattered to you couldn’t make you feel this way now. You’re scared, yes. Angry, yes. But you went. You let him in again, even just for a night. That speaks louder than any words.”

The ache in my throat thickened. I stared at our joined hands, at the comfort I had leaned on too many times. “And now he’s back. Like nothing happened. Sitting there, looking at me as if ten years didn’t exist. Like I’m supposed to just.....forget.”

She tilted her head. “Are you sure that’s what he wants? For you to forget?”

The question landed hard, unbalancing me. I thought again of his eyes tonight.....the vulnerability in them, the way he had looked at me when I thanked him, as if every word mattered. The way his face had gone still at the touch of my lips on his cheek.

A laugh broke from me, bitter and trembling. “I don’t know what he wants. I don’t even know what I want. Part of me is still furious. Part of me wants to shut the door and never look back. And then…” My voice dropped, softer now, as if confessing to myself. “Then there’s the part that remembers. The boy who made me laugh when I didn’t want to. The boy who walked into my silence and never made me feel small for it. The boy I.....”

The words tangled, caught in my throat.

Her voice finished for me, quiet but certain. “The boy you loved.”

I blinked hard, unable to look at her. My chest felt cracked open, every breath jagged.

She let the silence stretch, not heavy, but steady. Patient. Then she spoke, her tone firm but kind. “Love doesn’t disappear just because time passes, Est. It waits. It tests you. And when it returns, it asks if you are ready to be brave again.”

The word echoed inside me. Brave. I had been many things in these ten years.....father, provider, son.....but not brave. Not in this.

My voice came out quieter than I meant it to. “If I didn’t want to give him a chance… I wouldn’t have gone.”

Her smile was faint, but her eyes shone. “Then maybe that’s all you need to admit for now.”

I rubbed at my face, trying to will away the heaviness in my chest, but it only settled deeper. Across from me, my mother waited. She didn’t rush, didn’t fill the silence. She never had. That was her way ..... she gave you the space to spill only when you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“Ma,” I said finally, my voice hoarse. “What if he does it again? What if I open the door just enough and then… he leaves. Like last time.”

Her gaze softened, but her tone was steady. “And what if he doesn’t?”

I let out a bitter laugh, leaning back in my chair. “That’s the problem with you. You always want me to look at the bright side.”

“Because you only ever look at the dark,” she countered, not unkindly. “Ten years, Est. You’ve carried that hurt like it was your shield. But I see you tonight, and it’s not just hurt anymore. It’s hope. You wouldn’t be sitting here fighting yourself if there wasn’t still something inside you reaching for him.”

I clenched my jaw, blinking hard. “Hope got me nowhere before.”

Her hand reached across the table again, covering mine. “No. Fear got you nowhere. Hope kept you alive. Hope made you a father your boys can look up to. Don’t confuse the two.”

The words dug deep, stinging in places I didn’t want touched.

Silence pooled again, heavy, raw.

Finally, she said gently, “Est after all this time, you still let him back in tonight. You still softened with him. Why?”

I swallowed hard. “Because…” My throat closed up, the word fighting its way out. “Because I still love him.”

There it was, naked and unprotected, trembling between us. I hadn’t said it out loud in a decade. My chest hurt with the force of it, but also eased, as if some dam had cracked.

My mother’s eyes glistened, but her smile was soft. “I know.”

I bowed my head, ashamed of how small I felt. “What if that makes me a fool?”

“No, my son,” she said firmly, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. “It makes you human. It makes you brave. Loving again after being hurt is the bravest thing you can do.”

I let out a shaky breath, covering my eyes with one hand. “It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. One wrong step, and I’m falling.”

“Then don’t look down,” she whispered. “Look at him. Look at the man he is now, not the ghost of what he did before. And take it one step at a time.”

For a moment, I couldn’t answer. The ache in my chest was too much ..... but under it was something else, something I hadn’t let myself name in years. A flicker of wanting. A flicker of possibility.

I finally managed a nod, small but certain.

“Good,” she murmured, squeezing my hand one last time before standing. “Then sleep on it. And when the morning comes, see how you feel. But don’t shut your heart out before it has a chance to heal.”

I sat there long after she went to her room, staring at the empty table. Her words echoed in my head, heavy and frightening and true.

Because the truth was simple: I’d already started to let him back in.

And maybe, just maybe… I wanted to.

Chapter Text

William’s POV

The moment the door clicked shut behind Est and the twins, silence settled over the house like a blanket. I stood there, frozen in the entryway, my fingers pressed lightly against my cheek where his lips had been.

It wasn’t even a long kiss. Just the gentlest brush, fleeting, almost hesitant. But it was enough to send every nerve in my body sparking alive. My chest tightened, a ridiculous giddy warmth pooling there, threatening to spill over.

God. Ten years. Ten years of burying it, of telling myself I was fine, of pretending I’d moved on. And with just that one kiss, I felt like the boy I used to be.....awkward, hopelessly in love, and too afraid to breathe lest the moment shatter.

I stayed like that far too long, unmoving, my lips parted in disbelief, my palm cupping the ghost of his kiss like I could trap it there, brand it into my skin forever.

That was how my mother found me.

“Well,” her voice came, amused, warm, and far too knowing. “Someone looks like they’ve been struck by lightning.”

I startled, jerking my hand down and spinning toward her. She leaned against the doorframe to the living room, arms crossed, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“M-Ma.....” I stammered, heat crawling up my neck.

She only raised her brows. “Don’t you ‘Ma’ me, William Jakrapatr. I might be old, but I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re glowing.” She gestured vaguely toward me. “Like someone just handed you the moon on a silver plate.”

I ducked my head, biting back a laugh that sounded a little too breathless, a little too dazed. “It was nothing,” I muttered.

“Mm-hm.” She pushed off the frame and walked closer, patting my cheek.....the other one, not the one still tingling. “If that was nothing, then I dread to see what you’ll look like when it’s something.”

Her teasing was light, but there was an undercurrent in her tone, something heavier she wasn’t saying yet.

I swallowed, the laughter dying in my throat. “Ma…” My voice came out softer this time. “What if he doesn’t…?” I trailed off, shaking my head. “What if Est doesn’t want this? What if that kiss was just.....”

I broke off again, the words lodging like splinters. My chest squeezed painfully.

My mother’s hand slipped down from my cheek, resting on my arm. “What if he gets scared?” she finished for me, her voice gentler now.

I nodded. I couldn’t bring myself to say it, but yes. That was it. The fear coiling in my stomach like a knot.

“Ten years ago,” I said, forcing the words out, “I made a choice. I thought it was the right one, but it hurt him. I left, and I didn’t even give him an explanation. What if.....what if he looks at me now and sees nothing but that same boy who hurt him?”

The silence that followed was thick. I could feel my own pulse racing, my palms damp.

Finally, my mother spoke. “William.” Her voice was calm, steady, like an anchor. “Do you think Est would have come here if he wasn’t willing to see who you are now? Do you think he would’ve sat at our table, let his children laugh with yours, if he hadn’t already given you a chance.....maybe not a full one, but a start?”

I blinked, the sting of tears pricking behind my eyes.

“He knows you left,” she continued, softer now. “He knows you hurt him. But he still came. That means he’s willing to look past the boy you were.....to see the man you are now. The only thing that can ruin that is you doubting yourself.”

Her words landed heavy and warm in my chest. I pressed my lips together, fighting the wobble there. “I just don’t want to lose him again,” I whispered.

“Then don’t.” She squeezed my arm, firm and sure. “Be honest. Be patient. And for heaven’s sake, don’t run this time.”

That broke me. A shaky laugh escaped, tangled with a tear slipping down my cheek. “I won’t,” I promised, more to myself than to her.

She smiled knowingly, brushing at the tear with her thumb. “Good. Because if I have to watch you mope another ten years, I’ll ship you off to a monastery.”

I snorted, the sound wet and ridiculous, but it was laughter all the same.

Still, when I finally looked back toward the door, the imprint of his kiss still clinging to my skin, my chest throbbed with a mix of hope and fear.

Est had kissed me. He’d given me something I hadn’t dared to dream of again.

And this time.....this time I swore I wouldn’t let him slip away.

I couldn’t sleep.

I’d gone to bed, laid in the dark, staring at the ceiling while the memory of Est’s kiss kept replaying like a record on a loop. My cheek still burned with it. My chest felt too full, like my ribcage wasn’t big enough to hold everything in. Hope. Fear. Joy. Regret. Ten years of longing packed into one fleeting touch.

I turned, tossed, pressed my pillow over my face. Nothing worked.

And then, like a whisper from the past, an idea slid into my mind. Stupid. Ridiculous. Something I hadn’t done since we were teenagers sneaking out after curfew.

Climb his window.

My pulse jumped instantly, my lips curving before I even realized it. The memory was sharp: Est tugging me inside with that exasperated smile, hissing at me to be quiet before his mother woke up. And me, grinning like an idiot, just happy to be near him.

I sat up, running a hand down my face. God, I was Twenty-Eight now. Too old for this. And yet.....my feet were already finding the floor, my hands already grabbing for the jacket at the foot of my bed.

Minutes later, I was outside, the night air crisp against my skin, carrying the scent of wet earth and faint blossoms. My heart pounded as I crossed the quiet street, each step pulling me deeper into that dangerous, exhilarating pull I’d never been able to resist with Est.

His house looked exactly as I remembered. Lights dim, curtains pulled. But the window.....his window.....was still there, second story, cracked slightly open like it used to be. My chest squeezed at the sight. Did he leave it like that on purpose? Or was it just coincidence?

Either way, I was already moving. My palms scraped against the old tree trunk that still leaned conveniently close, the bark rough beneath my fingers. I climbed, clumsy at first, but muscle memory came back quick. My foot found the branch, my body shifted, and just like a decade ago, I was crouched outside Est’s window, breathless, grinning, and scared out of my mind.

I peered inside. His room was dim, a soft lamp still glowing on the bedside table. And there he was.....Est. Sitting up against the headboard, book in hand, though his eyes weren’t moving across the page. He looked lost in thought, brow faintly furrowed, lips pressed together like he was carrying the weight of the world in silence.

Something inside me cracked.

I tapped the glass lightly.

His head snapped up, eyes widening, lips parting in shock. For a moment, he didn’t move.....just stared at me like he was seeing a ghost. And maybe he was. The ghost of our youth, of nights when the world was just us.

Then he stood quickly, crossing the room in long strides, and shoved the window up. “William.....are you insane?” he hissed, though his voice was hushed so as not to wake anyone.

I grinned despite myself, balancing on the ledge. “Probably.”

“Climbing my window at this hour.....” He dragged a hand down his face, torn between disbelief and something dangerously close to amusement. “You’re not seventeen anymore.”

“Neither are you,” I shot back softly, “but your window hasn’t changed.”

That stopped him. His eyes flickered, something shifting there. I took the chance and swung a leg over, slipping inside before he could argue. My shoes hit the floor quietly, and suddenly I was standing in his room.....ten years later, ten years older, but with the same pounding heart.

He folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at me. “What are you doing here, William?”

I swallowed, my grin faltering. The truth pressed at my throat, raw and insistent. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“That’s not an excuse to.....”

“I needed to see you,” I blurted, my voice rough.

The silence that followed was deafening. His arms slowly dropped, his posture softening, though his eyes searched mine warily.

I stepped closer, not too close, but enough that I could feel his presence in the air between us. “Est, I’ve wasted ten years regretting the choice I made. I can’t waste another second pretending I don’t care. Tonight, when you kissed me.....I realized… I don’t want to go back to just being someone from your past. I want to be in your present. And your future.”

His breath hitched, barely audible, but I caught it.

“I know I hurt you,” I continued, my voice trembling. “I know I left without giving you answers, and I’ll carry that regret forever. But if there’s even a small part of you that still.....” My voice cracked, and I forced the word out. “.....feels for me, then I’ll fight for it. For you. For us.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Just stared at me, his expression unreadable. My heart pounded like a drum in my chest, terrified and exhilarated all at once.

Finally, Est exhaled, shaking his head slightly, though not in dismissal. More like disbelief. “You’re still reckless,” he murmured, but his voice had softened.

And then.....before I could say another word.....he reached out, gently brushing his thumb across my cheekbone, right where my tears from earlier had dried.

That touch undid me.

“Est.....” My voice broke, raw, pleading.

His lips curved faintly. “Sit down, William. If you’re going to climb my window like a fool, you might as well stay and talk properly.”

I laughed, choked and messy, but full of relief. And for the first time in ten years, I felt like I had finally climbed back to where I belonged.

I sat at the edge of his bed, careful, almost tentative, the mattress dipping under my weight as if acknowledging my intrusion. Est sat propped against the headboard, knees drawn loosely to his chest, his arms folded over them in that way he always had when he was thinking. The lamplight beside him spilled across his face in a soft glow, warming his skin, darkening the shadows of his hair. For a long moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching taut between us. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears, every thud reminding me how close I was to him.....ten years too close, ten years too far.

“You really haven’t changed,” Est said finally, his tone quiet but laced with a wry kind of fondness. “Still showing up uninvited. Still reckless.” His lips twitched as if he were fighting back a smile. “Except this time, you’re old enough to know better.”

A laugh threatened to slip from me, but it came out softer, tighter. “Maybe I never wanted to know better when it comes to you.”

That earned me a look. Sharp, searching, like he wasn’t sure if I was joking or if I meant it. Maybe both. His eyes lingered on me longer than they should have, and I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, hands clasped together as if I was holding myself steady.

“Est…” My voice came out low, rougher than I intended. “Give me a chance. Just one. Let me prove to you that this time, I won’t disappear. That I won’t let fear, or pride, or anything else drive me away.”

His gaze softened, but he didn’t look away. “You say that now, William. But ten years ago, you said nothing at all.”

The words landed heavy, and I felt them sink straight into my chest. I nodded, no defense in me. “You’re right. I ran. I left without giving you a reason, and I can’t take that back. I hate myself for it.....every single day.” I lifted my gaze, forcing myself to let him see the raw edge of the truth I’d carried all these years. “But I can spend the rest of my life proving that I won’t make the same mistake again.”

He was quiet then, his thumb brushing idly along the curve of his knee, his eyes flicking from me to the floor and back again. The silence wasn’t empty, though.....it was heavy, filled with all the things we’d never said. Finally, he tilted his head just slightly, his voice softer. “Prove it.”

The words were simple, but they lit something in me, a sharp ache of hope.

I straightened, heart hammering so fast it almost made me dizzy. “Anything,” I said too quickly, too desperate.

That earned me a small huff of laughter, his head shaking as if he couldn’t quite believe me. “It’s not about ‘anything,’ William. It’s about consistency. You want a place in my life again? In Wesley’s and Easter’s? You show me. You don’t vanish when it gets hard. You don’t hide behind silence. You stay. Even when it’s messy. Especially then.”

I clenched my fists, nodding so hard it almost hurt. “I will. Est, I swear to you, I will stay. I’ll show up, every day, no matter what it takes.”

His lips curved faintly.....not a smile, not really, but the ghost of one. He leaned back a little, shoulders sinking into the headboard as though he was finally letting himself breathe. His eyes stayed on me a fraction longer than necessary before he murmured, “We’ll see.”

Something loosened in my chest then, a fragile thread of hope winding through me. It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t love rekindled, not yet. But it was a door cracked open, and I’d take it.

For a moment, I just sat there, memorizing him.....the way the lamplight softened the sharp edges of his features, the way his guard was lowered just enough to give me a glimpse of the Est I’d once known. The Est I still loved. My hand twitched with the urge to reach for him, to trace the curve of his wrist, but I didn’t. Not yet.

He tilted his head, studying me in that way that always made me feel transparent. Then, unexpectedly, his brow lifted. “Why did you even think we needed this conversation tonight? You could’ve just gone on smiling like an idiot and pretending things are fine.”

I let out a short laugh, self-deprecating, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Because you’re a terrible liar, Est.”

That startled a small sound from him.....half scoff, half laugh. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I said, braver now, leaning in just a little. “You joke, you laugh, you smile… and everyone else believes it. Maybe even Wesley and Easter. But I see it. The doubt in your eyes. The way you keep your shoulders too tense, like you’re bracing for me to screw up again. You’ve been letting me close, but you’re still waiting for me to vanish.”

His lips parted, just slightly, his expression shifting. Something unreadable flickered across his face.

I swallowed, my voice softer. “I couldn’t stand sitting here, pretending I didn’t notice. Pretending I couldn’t see that you don’t fully trust me yet. So yeah, maybe I’m reckless for bringing it up. But I’d rather have the hard conversation than live behind your silence again.”

For a heartbeat, there was only quiet between us. Then Est let out a breath and, of all things, muttered, “You’re still dramatic as hell.”

That cracked something in me, and I laughed.....really laughed, for the first time in what felt like years. “Takes one to know one.”

The corner of his mouth curved then, faint but real this time, and it was enough to make my chest ache with something dangerously close to joy.

I stayed there, grounded in the fragile thread of hope he’d given me, knowing it wasn’t forgiveness, not yet. But it was something. It was a start.

And for the first time in ten years, I let myself believe I could earn my way back.

I don’t know how long we sat there after his words ..... “We’ll see” ..... had fallen into the quiet between us. They hovered like smoke, faint but impossible to ignore, curling through the silence until even the air in the room seemed charged with them. Neither of us moved. Neither of us looked away.

The lamp glowed steadily at his side, painting Est in a warmth that felt undeservedly gentle for the sharpness of the moment. His arms still rested around his knees, posture deceptively loose, but I could see the alertness in him ..... the way his thumb moved idly over the seam of his pajama pants, the way his eyes lingered on me without softening fully.

For my part, I sat there like a man caught between two centuries of memory. I wanted to stay, to drink in every angle of his face under the lamplight, memorize the rise and fall of his shoulders, the faint curl of his mouth that he probably wasn’t even aware of. But reality tugged at me with relentless insistence: the boys were asleep down the hall, and they needed him rested. My mother, no doubt, was pacing at home, waiting for some word that I hadn’t completely ruined the fragile chance I’d been given tonight. And Est… Est deserved peace. Not me, perched like a lovesick fool at the edge of his bed.

Finally, I pushed myself upright, my legs stiff as if weighed down by reluctance. “I should go,” I murmured, trying to inject casualness into my voice, though the tightness in my chest made it come out strained.

Est tilted his head, one brow lifting in quiet amusement. “Through the front door like a normal person? Or…” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the window, the corner of his lips twitching.

Heat rose immediately to my face. My hand went instinctively to the back of my neck, rubbing it sheepishly. “Old habits die hard.”

He gave a low laugh ..... soft, warm, like velvet against my skin ..... and it caught me completely off guard. I hadn’t heard him laugh like that at me in years. “William Jakrapatr,” he said, drawing out my full name with mock gravity, “Twenty-eight years old and still climbing out windows.”

“Technically twenty-nine,” I corrected, more out of reflex than anything else. I was grinning before I could stop myself, the curve of my mouth betraying how much that laugh had undone me.

He shot me a look then, equal parts exasperation and fondness. The exact look he used to give me when we were seventeen and I showed up with scraped knuckles or dirt-stained jeans. Back then, it always made me feel invincible ..... like even when he was annoyed, I was still… his. Now, it made my chest ache with something perilously close to longing.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, shaking his head, though I caught the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Maybe,” I admitted, stepping closer to the window, fingers brushing over the frame I knew better than I should after all these years. My voice dropped, softer, more vulnerable than I meant it to be. “But you didn’t tell me not to.”

His expression shifted then, the teasing faltering for just a heartbeat. Something unguarded flickered across his face ..... not forgiveness, not surrender, but the tiniest flicker of gentleness. It was gone almost as quickly as it came, replaced by a sigh that sounded far more resigned than annoyed. “Go on, before you wake the kids. If Wesley catches you crawling out a window, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

That pulled a quiet laugh from me, genuine and almost boyish. “Fair enough.”

I pushed the window open, the cool night air rushing in, crisp against my overheated skin. The scent of grass and faint earth carried in with it, tugging at old memories of sneaking out on summer nights, Est’s voice in my ear warning me to be careful. I swung one leg out, testing the old rhythm of it, and paused to glance back at him.

He was still there, sitting in the same spot against the headboard, his gaze fixed on me. There was no sharpness in it, no disdain. Just… watching. It made me feel unsteady, caught between fear and hope.

“Goodnight, Est,” I said softly, and my voice betrayed me, catching around the edges like it had too much weight to carry.

His reply came steady, quieter but sure. “Goodnight, William.” And then, as if he couldn’t resist, his mouth tugged up slightly. “Try not to break your neck. I don’t want to explain that to Wisteria.”

A laugh burst from me before I could help it, low and rough with warmth. “Still bossy.”

“Still reckless,” he shot back, though his voice softened at the edges of the words, smoothing them into something that sounded suspiciously like… affection.

And for a heartbeat, it felt like nothing had changed at all ..... like we were seventeen again, me sneaking out, him covering for me, the world sharp and new and terrifying because of everything we didn’t dare admit yet.

I slipped out into the night, the soles of my shoes meeting the grass with a muted thud. The cool air wrapped around me, sharper now, a shock to my system after the closeness of his room. My palms still tingled from touching the wooden frame, from the proximity I’d forced myself to leave behind.

When I looked up, he was still there. Est had leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the sill, the lamplight spilling behind him so that he glowed faintly against the dark. He didn’t speak, didn’t smile, didn’t scowl. Just lifted one hand, a small, almost hesitant wave that set my chest aching in ways I couldn’t name.

And then, slowly, he drew the window shut.

I stood there for a long while, staring at the closed pane. The night pressed in around me, cool and quiet, but inside I felt full ..... unbearably full ..... and aching all at once.

The grass was damp under my shoes, soaking faintly through the soles as I walked. The night was still, hushed in the way only small streets can be, the air cool enough to make my breath feel sharper in my chest. I told myself to keep moving ..... just go home, let the evening end where it had, on that fragile sliver of hope.

But every step felt heavier than the last, as if with each one I was dragging myself farther from something I couldn’t let go of. My chest tightened, restless, my pulse humming under my skin. Words churned in me, unspoken and sharp, pressing against the back of my throat.

I stopped dead in the middle of the moonlit street.

The silence pressed in, thick, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves overhead. I stared down the road toward home, but the pull was behind me, not ahead. My fingers curled into fists at my sides. Damn it.

Before I could talk myself out of it ..... before logic could catch up ..... I turned back.

The house loomed against the night, familiar in a way that made my chest ache. Est’s window glowed faintly, a soft square of light in the darkness, like a lantern meant only for me. My pulse quickened, a rush of adrenaline that almost made me laugh at myself. I was Twenty-eight years old, sneaking back like a boy who couldn’t stand to leave without one more glimpse.

My body moved before my head could stop it. I crossed the lawn on instinct, the cool blades brushing against my ankles, and reached the side of the house. The wall rose tall and pale, but I knew the way. My hands found the familiar grooves, my foot braced against the ledge, and I began to climb.

It was clumsier this time. My grip wasn’t as strong as it used to be, and my arms trembled from nerves as much as effort. The scrape of my shoes against the siding sounded deafening in the quiet night. Halfway up, I paused, catching my breath, heart hammering so loud I swore Est would hear it before I even reached him.

Finally, I pulled myself onto the narrow ledge beneath his window. The wood was cold under my palms. I crouched there, breath uneven, staring at the soft glow of the curtain.

I raised a hand and tapped lightly against the glass. “Est,” I whispered, my voice caught between nervous and giddy. “Hey, Est.....”

The curtain twitched almost immediately. A beat later, the window slid open a fraction, and Est appeared. His brows were furrowed, hair mussed from where he’d dragged a hand through it, his expression sharp with confusion.

When his eyes landed on me, his brows shot up, and for a moment he just blinked at me, utterly stunned. “What now?” he hissed, though the words carried more disbelief than anger. “Did you forget how to walk home?”

The laugh slipped out before I could stop it, low and breathless. “No. I just… forgot something.”

Suspicion flickered across his face, the crease between his brows deepening. “What could you possibly have forgotten here?”

The corner of my mouth tugged upward. I leaned a little closer, hand steadying myself against the sill. “This.”

I didn’t give myself the chance to hesitate. My pulse roared in my ears, my body moving faster than thought. One hand anchored on the frame, the other braced lightly on the sill beside his, and I leaned forward, closing the small space between us.

The kiss was quick, almost clumsy in its urgency ..... more instinct than intention. But the moment our lips touched, the rest of the world dropped away. The cool night air, the ache of old years, the lamplight behind him ..... it all blurred into nothing. All that existed was the shock of his breath catching against mine, the stiff jolt of his shoulders as if I’d knocked the ground out from under him.

His lips were soft, still, unmoving under mine, but the contact alone sent heat flooding through me. My chest tightened, desperate and terrified at once, and before I could lose my nerve, I pulled back just enough to see his face.

Est’s eyes were wide, pupils dark in the lamplight, his mouth parted as though I’d stolen the words from him. His breath came unevenly, shallow, caught between disbelief and something I couldn’t name.

“William…” My name fell from his lips in a low murmur, not steady, as though he was trying to decide whether to scold me, laugh at me, or pull me back in.

I managed a faint smile, though my pulse was wild in my throat. “Goodnight,” I whispered, softer this time, the single word trembling with everything else I couldn’t say.

For a long moment, he just stared at me, his lips still parted, his gaze searching mine like he was trying to piece me together all over again. Then, almost unconsciously, his hand lifted. His fingers brushed against my sleeve, light, tentative ..... not pushing me away, not fully pulling me closer, but acknowledging something had shifted.

That tiny touch burned hotter than the kiss.

I forced myself to let go, to retreat before I shattered the fragile balance between us. With one last look ..... committing the stunned lines of his face, the mess of his hair, the unspoken words trembling in his silence ..... I dropped back down to the grass.

The earth felt solid under my feet again, grounding me, but my chest wasn’t heavy anymore. It was alive, humming, burning with the echo of his shock, the warmth of his near-touch, and the taste of something that felt like a promise I hadn’t even realized I’d made.

This time, when I turned and walked away into the quiet night, every step carried more than ache. It carried fire.

Est’s POV

I had just settled back against the headboard, letting the night sink into me, when it came.....a faint scrape against the siding outside my window. At first I thought it was a branch scratching in the wind, but then it came again, steady, deliberate. My brows furrowed.

I pushed myself upright, bare feet hitting the cool floor as I moved toward the window. The twins were fast asleep in the next room. The house was supposed to be quiet, the world calm. My chest tightened with unease.

And then I saw him again.

William.

Climbing again.

Climbing my window as though it were still his.....like ten years hadn’t passed since the last time he pulled a stunt like this. His figure was a silhouette at first, his movements urgent but sure, his breath visible in the faint glow of the night air.

My first instinct was irritation. Why is he climbing again? My second was disbelief.. But then he lifted his face, and the moonlight carved out familiar features I knew too well, features I had trained myself to forget but never truly could.

And my third instinct.....the one that undid me.....was something dangerous. Excitement. A sharp, reckless thrill that rushed through me before I could strangle it down.

“William…” I hissed, but my voice betrayed me. It trembled, caught between anger and something far weaker. My pulse was a drumbeat in my throat, impossible to steady. “Are you insane?”

He grinned up at me, breathless from the climb, hair a little messy, shirt clinging to his shoulders. The grin was crooked, boyish, maddening.....and yet it carved straight into the part of me I’d tried to bury. “I forgot something,” he said, and his eyes caught mine, bright and unyielding.

That spark. God, that reckless, impulsive spark. I remembered it too well. The same spark that had pulled me in years ago and left me wrecked when he vanished.

“What could you possibly have forgotten?” I asked, sharper this time, though my grip on the sill tightened as though bracing for impact. My voice wanted steadiness; my body refused it. My knees felt untrustworthy, my chest too tight.

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, he leaned forward, bracing one hand against the sill, closing the inches between us until his face filled my world. The distance evaporated. My breath stalled. I was frozen, pinned not by his touch but by the memory of it.....the ghost of the boy I used to know standing right here, defying every wall I’d built.

Don’t, I begged myself silently. Don’t let him in. Don’t let this happen. But another voice, older, rawer, pleaded just as loudly: Please. Please let it happen.

And then his lips found mine.

The world tilted.

Shock ripped the air from my lungs. My fingers locked against the wood of the window frame, knuckles white, but I didn’t push him away. His lips were warm, urgent, carrying every unsent letter, every unsaid word of the last decade. They pressed into me like a promise.....or a claim.

My heart thundered, wild and unrestrained. My body betrayed me, leaning forward without permission, drinking in the kiss like it was oxygen after years of suffocation. It was madness, reckless and forbidden, but it was him. The boy who had been my everything. The man I had tried to erase.

And God help me, I wanted more.

For a heartbeat.....two, three.....it was as though time rewound. I was seventeen again, reckless and hungry, kissing him under the same moonlight, believing love was enough to survive anything. But I wasn’t seventeen. I was older. Bruised. Still aching from what we’d lost.

When he pulled back, barely, the air between us was molten, fragile. My chest heaved with uneven breaths, my lips tingled, my entire body shook with too much emotion.

“William…” His name left me as a whisper, rough and broken. My throat burned with everything I couldn’t say. That kiss had torn open wounds I thought were scarred over, flooding me with longing, fear, hope.....all tangled into something unbearable.

I wanted to scold him, to push him away, to slam the window shut and keep him out where he belonged. But I couldn’t. My hand, traitorous, lifted instead, brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. The touch was tentative, searching, a silent question: Are you real this time?

His grin softened, but his eyes never wavered. He looked at me like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted, reckless certainty blazing there, the same certainty that had always both terrified and drawn me.

And against all reason, something inside me answered back.

For the first time in ten years, I let myself believe. Standing at my window, the night cool against my skin, the faint scent of him lingering in the air like smoke and memory, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t here to leave. Not this time. That thought alone made my chest tighten with a strange, fragile hope.

Half an hour later, the house had fallen silent. The twins were sound asleep in their room, their breathing steady, small bodies curled beneath the blankets. The night pressed in around me, quiet and still, a silence so complete it made my own heart seem deafening. I should have been asleep, too. Tomorrow promised long hours, chores and errands and a dozen little things demanding my attention. But there I lay, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, unable to stop the memories from looping in my mind.

My lips tingled. His lips.

I rolled my head into the pillow, letting my cheek sink into the soft fabric, my fingers moving almost instinctively to brush against my mouth again. It was absurd. Ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous. And yet I couldn’t stop smiling. The memory replayed itself relentlessly.....the scrape of his shoes against the siding, the reckless grin that had always made my chest lurch, the teasing glint in his eyes, the words, almost casual, that had preceded the madness of his kiss: “I forgot something.”

And then.....

That kiss.

Bold, reckless, too fast, too much. And yet it had stolen the air right out of my lungs. My chest had tightened, my heart had skipped, and for the briefest, most terrifying moment, the world had stopped.

A laugh escaped me, muffled into the pillow. My shoulders shook softly as I tried to stifle it, but it came out anyway, breathless and helpless. God, what was wrong with me? Twenty-eight years old, a grown man, a father of two, and here I was, giggling into a pillow like a teenager who had just been kissed for the first time.

But it wasn’t just anyone’s kiss. It was William’s.

The thought alone made my heart ache in a way that was both painful and intoxicating. I rolled onto my side, clutching the pillow closer, my face burning, warmth radiating from my chest up into my cheeks and neck. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Close enough that I could count his eyelashes of his beautiful eyes. Close enough that I could see how his lashes dipped when he leaned in. Close enough that I could almost feel the press of his lips against mine again.

I bit my lip to stop another stupid, helpless grin from breaking across my face. My chest felt too light, my heart too full, as though a door I had slammed shut years ago had been nudged open, just a crack.

Then my phone buzzed against the nightstand.

My breath caught, and my pulse jumped. My hand froze midair, hovering over the smooth surface of the phone. One new message. From him.

I hesitated. Just a moment. What could he possibly say now? Did I want to know? Was I ready for more? Of course I was. My thumb hovered over the screen, heart hammering. And then I tapped it, unlocking the screen, my eyes scanning the glowing message.

“Still awake? …I just wanted to say I don’t regret it. Not even a little. Sweet dreams, Est.”

My chest seized. The warmth that had been radiating from my heart now seemed to pool low in my stomach, a dizzying, intoxicating ache. I buried my face in the pillow, muffling a groan as if the fabric could smother the way my cheeks burned, the way my heart threatened to leap straight out of my chest. He had to know. He had to know how easy it was to undo me, how every word, every look, every little tease left me unguarded and flustered.

Another tiny laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest, muffled and helpless. I couldn’t stop it.

I picked up the phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I typed a reply, deleted it, typed again, deleted again. What was I even supposed to say? “I don’t regret it either”? Too forward. “You made me blush so badly my face might catch fire”? Too embarrassing. “Yes, William, I think about your lips constantly”? Absolutely impossible.

Finally, I settled on the safest thing I could manage:

“Goodnight, William.”

I hit send with a small, reluctant sigh. Even as I set the phone back down, my chest still seemed to hum with warmth. My lips tingled, my cheeks burned, and a strange, light flutter lingered in my stomach, a feeling that refused to be dismissed.

I rolled onto my stomach, hugging the pillow tightly against me, pressing my face into its softness. Sleep felt impossibly far away. My mind kept drifting back to him.....his lips, his voice, the reckless audacity of him climbing my window like he had ten years ago. My heart felt like it was both too big and too small at the same time, fragile and full, racing yet steady.

And as I closed my eyes, letting the memory wash over me one more time, a soft giggle slipped out again, unbidden, unrestrained. The sound felt foreign in the quiet room, yet perfectly at home. And for the first time in a decade, I didn’t feel the familiar ache of loss or the sting of distance. For the first time in ten years, I felt something else entirely: the reckless, thrilling, tender hope of something that might finally stay. And a feeling of falling for THE William Jakraptr again…..

Chapter Text

William’s POV

 It had been a month.

Thirty days since that night at Est’s window.
Thirty days since I told him I’d prove it ..... that this time, I wouldn’t leave.

And maybe to anyone else, nothing had changed. The world looked the same ..... mornings still came with sunlight filtering through the blinds, the café down the street still opened at seven sharp, the kids still left their toys scattered everywhere.

But for me, everything was different.

Every day since then had been a quiet vow. A promise I kept not in grand gestures, but in the smallest things. The kind that looked ordinary, but carried meaning only he and I could feel.

I started small. Showing up.

Every morning, before heading to work, I’d stop by his café.
Not to intrude, not to make things awkward ..... just to be there. Just so he’d see that I was still around.

I’d push the door open to the familiar sound of the little bell that chimed above it. The smell of roasted beans and sugar always greeted me first, followed by the sight of Est ..... hair tied back messily, apron smudged with flour, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Sometimes, a streak of cream dusted his cheek, and he’d be too busy taking someone’s order to notice.

He looked beautiful like that ..... effortlessly human.

And every single day, I ordered the same thing:
“Caramel latte. Extra foam.”

He’d lift his eyes just enough to meet mine.
“Still the same order,” he’d sigh, pretending to sound bored.

“And you still remember how I like it,” I’d say, biting back a smile.

He’d roll his eyes, muttering something about “customers stuck in their habits,” but he never messed it up. Not once. The foam was always perfect, the caramel drizzled in that little swirl he claimed wasn’t intentional but absolutely was.

It became a quiet ritual ..... his fake annoyance, my quiet persistence. Some mornings, when the café wasn’t too busy, he’d slip a cookie into my order, muttering, “It’s going stale anyway,” even though it was clearly fresh.

I never called him out on it.
Instead, I’d leave a small tip ..... not in money, but in the form of a doodled note or a pressed flower Wisteria picked from our garden. He kept them, I noticed. I saw them tucked behind the register one morning ..... a little collection of small things that didn’t mean much to anyone else, but to me, they meant everything.

Weekends became our quiet bridges.

When the twins came over to play with Wisteria, I made sure Est didn’t have to lift a finger. I’d cook lunch ..... or try to, anyway. The first time I made spaghetti, I accidentally doubled the salt, and all three kids spat it out dramatically in sync. Est laughed so hard he nearly cried, leaning against the counter for support.

After that, he banned me from “unsupervised cooking,” so now we cooked together. He’d chop vegetables while I washed dishes, the radio humming softly in the background. Sometimes, the twins and Wisteria would burst into laughter from the living room, and Est’s eyes would soften every time he looked toward them.

“Since when do you fix things?” he asked one Saturday as I crouched near his garden gate, tools scattered around me.

“Since I realized you’re bad at asking for help,” I said, tightening the last screw.

He snorted, crossing his arms. “You say that like you’re any better.”

“Maybe not,” I admitted, glancing up at him, “but I’m learning.”

His laugh ..... soft, genuine, unguarded ..... slipped past his lips like sunlight breaking through clouds. And I swear, I could’ve lived off that sound for the rest of my life.

There were hard days too ..... quiet ones when he looked distant, trapped somewhere inside his own thoughts.

Those were the days I didn’t push.
I’d bring him coffee, the way he liked it ..... two sugars, no foam ..... and leave it on his office desk without a word. No questions, no expectations. Just presence.

He never said thank you aloud, but sometimes, hours later, my phone would buzz with a message that said:

You remembered.

And I always did.

Some evenings, when the café lights went off, I’d be waiting outside in my car. Sometimes, Wisteria would be asleep in the back seat, clutching her stuffed bunny. I told Est I was “just in the area,” but we both knew it was a lie.

One night, it started pouring ..... the kind of rain that drenched you in seconds. I was about to step out to get him when he came running out instead, holding an umbrella over his head.

He spotted me, sighed dramatically, and jogged over.
“You’re going to catch a cold, idiot!”

“I have an umbrella,” I said, motioning toward the one sitting uselessly in the passenger seat.

“Then use it!” He huffed, but there was laughter in his voice.

I opened the door and stepped out. The umbrella tilted slightly, and rain still hit my shoulder, but I didn’t care. He was so close, breathless, eyes bright under the streetlight.

“You’re an idiot,” he said again, softer this time.

“I know,” I said, meeting his gaze. “But I’m your idiot, if you’ll let me be.”

He froze. Just for a moment.
Then, slowly, his lips curved upward ..... the tiniest smile, hesitant but real.

“We’ll see.”

And that was enough to keep me warm through every storm.

At home, my mother teased me relentlessly.

She’d catch me smiling at my phone, or staring at the oven while baking something new because Est had mentioned liking strawberry shortcake once. Wisteria would help ..... or at least try ..... by smearing whipped cream on the counter more than the cake.

When we finally got it right, I carried a slice over to Est’s café. He looked surprised when I handed it to him.

“You baked this?” he asked, skeptical.

“With a lot of supervision,” I admitted.

He took a bite. His expression softened immediately, and for a split second, I saw that same fondness I used to know. “Not bad,” he said casually, but there was a glint in his eyes that told me he meant better than I expected.

When I came home that evening, my mom just shook her head. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

I smiled, pressing a kiss to Wisteria’s forehead.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I know.”

Hopelessly in love with you… I though in my mind…

Sometimes, late at night, when Wisteria was asleep and the house was silent, I’d sit by the garden near est house and look across the street.

His kitchen light was usually still on. I could see his shadow moving inside, sometimes pausing by the sink or leaning against the counter, sipping tea. I didn’t go over. I didn’t need to.

Just knowing he was there ..... that he hadn’t shut me out again ..... was enough.

And slowly, quietly, Est began to soften too.

He smiled more.
He stopped flinching when my hand brushed his.
He’d tease me about being too “domestic” now ..... folding laundry, packing the kids’ lunches, fixing squeaky doors.

But the moment that anchored itself deepest came one quiet Sunday evening.

I was crouched by his back door again, fixing the latch for what felt like the tenth time, when I sensed him behind me.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Est asked, voice warm and teasing.

I grinned without looking back. “Not when it comes to you.”

There was silence ..... not awkward, but heavy with unspoken things. Then I felt it ..... a soft exhale behind me, and the faintest brush of his fingers against my shoulder.

“You’re getting better at proving it,” he murmured.

Those words ..... simple, gentle ..... rooted themselves deep in my chest. Stronger than any confession.

Because they meant he saw it.
He noticed.
He believed ..... even if just a little.

And that was enough.

A month had passed.
The cracks were still there, sure ..... the old hurts hadn’t fully healed. But between us, something new had begun to grow. Something fragile, but steady.

Every smile, every shared silence, every act of care was another stitch in the fabric of something we’d both thought was lost.

And I’d keep proving it ..... every day, every way I could ..... for as long as it took.

Est’s POV

It surprised me ..... how quickly a month could pass.

Maybe because it didn’t feel like time in the usual sense anymore. It wasn’t measured in days or hours or the ticking of the café clock above the counter. It was measured in the sound of William’s footsteps ..... the quiet, steady rhythm of someone who had found his way back into my life and was determined to stay there.

At first, I thought it was coincidence. A few harmless visits. A polite check-in. The kind of thing someone does out of guilt or habit ..... showing up to ease the heaviness in their chest and then moving on.
But William didn’t move on.

He came every morning. Always at the same time ..... just before the morning rush, when the air still smelled faintly of roasted beans and rain on the pavement. He’d walk in, push his hair back with that small, familiar motion, and order the same ridiculous drink: a caramel latte with extra foam and a dash of cinnamon.

The first few days, I pretended not to notice the pattern. I’d roll my eyes when he leaned against the counter, pretending to read the chalkboard menu he’d memorized a long time ago. “You know we’re not changing the recipe, right?” I’d tease.
He’d grin ..... that crooked, shy grin that used to undo me years ago ..... and say something like, “Still, I like to check. Never know when you might decide to surprise me.”

He always said it like that. Gentle. Unassuming. But it lingered ..... that quiet hope in his tone.

And then, somewhere between his third latte and his fifth unnecessary act of ‘helping,’ I began to understand.
He wasn’t doing any of this because he felt guilty.
He was doing it because he wanted to stay.

He started small. Fixing the flickering café sign out front. Replacing a loose screw on one of the tables. Once, he spent an entire afternoon repainting the chipped wooden fence behind the café, humming under his breath the entire time. When I told him he didn’t need to do that, he only smiled and said, “I know. I wanted to.”

That’s what struck me most ..... how intentional it all felt.
William wasn’t rushing to earn forgiveness. He was simply… being there. Consistently, patiently, like he finally understood that love wasn’t about grand gestures. It was about staying, even when it was quiet.

And I noticed.
Even when I pretended not to, I noticed everything.

Like how he’d always linger after his drink was done, helping me carry trays when we were short-staffed, or distracting Wisteria with napkin cranes and silly doodles until I could take a breath. She adored him ..... her shy, selective words softening into giggles whenever he folded a new animal.

Some mornings, when the café grew quiet and sunlight spilled across the floorboards, I’d catch him looking at me. Not in the intense, burning way he used to ..... but in that gentle, seeing way that made my chest ache. He looked at me like I was something worth staying for.

And every time our eyes met, something inside me shifted.
The anger, the fear, the brittle resentment I’d clung to ..... they all began to dissolve.

I’d promised myself I wouldn’t trust him again easily. That I wouldn’t let him in for the twins’ sake, for my own sake. But the walls I’d built… they didn’t stand a chance against the quiet way he loved me now.

It wasn’t words that changed me. It was the small, ordinary things.

Like how he remembered that Easter hated onions but loved the soup I made, so he’d distract him at the right moment while I fished them out.
Or how he’d wait in his car on rainy nights until I locked up, headlights softly glowing until I reached mine.
Or how he’d text me ..... just a single line after a long day. Did you eat?

No guilt. No questions. Just care.

He never pushed me to talk. Never asked for more than I could give. He simply stayed.

And slowly, the fear that used to live in my chest ..... that constant, sharp expectation that he’d disappear again ..... began to fade.

One evening, after closing the café, I sat on the counter with my legs swinging, the air still heavy with the scent of sugar and roasted beans. The street outside was quiet, bathed in the soft orange glow of a single streetlight. William had left an hour earlier, insisting on walking me to my car even though it was barely two blocks away.

I could still feel the ghost of his touch ..... the way he’d brushed a stray leaf out of my hair before saying goodnight. His fingers had lingered for half a second longer than necessary, his eyes holding mine like there was something he wanted to say but didn’t.

I smiled at the thought, pressing my thumb to my lips ..... remembering the kiss from that night at my window.
It had been sudden, a little clumsy, almost boyish.
And yet, it had felt… right.
Not rushed. Not reckless. Just two people finding something familiar in the middle of everything that had gone wrong.

In the weeks since, he hadn’t brought it up again. He hadn’t tried to use it as a reason to move closer or make promises. He just kept showing up ..... quietly proving, in his own way, that this time, he meant every word he’d said.

And maybe that’s why, when I thought of him now, my chest didn’t feel heavy anymore.

I used to think love had to be loud ..... all storms and chaos, something that made your heart race and your world tilt. But William was teaching me something entirely different.
That love could be soft. That it could live in the rhythm of ordinary things ..... in a text that says “Did you eat?” or in a cup of coffee left waiting for you on the counter.

That love could be steady. And safe.

Later that night, after tucking the twins into bed, I stood by the same window William had climbed through a month ago. The night air was cool, brushing against my skin. Across the street, I could see the faint light from his living room still on ..... a small, steady glow through the curtains.

I could picture him there ..... maybe sitting on the couch, Wisteria asleep beside him, the soft hum of a lullaby in the background. I imagined him looking out sometimes, just like I was now, thinking of me.

A quiet laugh escaped me, breaking the stillness.
“You’re hopeless, William Jakrapatr,” I murmured into the night, shaking my head.

But my chest was warm ..... that deep, steady warmth that comes not from excitement or adrenaline, but from peace.

For the first time in years, my heart didn’t feel fragile.
It didn’t brace for loss or disappointment.

It felt whole.
It felt safe.

And that ..... after everything ..... was more than enough.

William’s POV

It was Saturday ..... which, by now, meant chaos was coming.
The good kind.
The kind that filled the house with sound and life.

Sunlight was just starting to spill through the kitchen window, painting soft gold patterns across the counter. I was halfway through flipping pancakes, the air thick with the sweet smell of butter and chocolate chips, when the doorbell rang ..... once, twice, and then a quick impatient knock that made me laugh under my breath.

I didn’t even need to look. The timing was too perfect.

Wisteria, sitting on the kitchen island with her stuffed bunny tucked under one arm, perked up instantly. Her big eyes brightened, and her little legs began to swing faster against the stool. She didn’t speak ..... she rarely did ..... but the rhythm of her feet was her own kind of language. It said, They’re here.

I smiled. “You think it’s them?”

She nodded, bunny ears bobbing, her lips curling into the tiniest, proudest smile.

“Guess I better let them in before Easter eats the doorbell,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel.

When I opened the door, the morning felt instantly warmer.
There they were ..... Est, dressed down in his soft weekend shirt and faded jeans, hair slightly mussed like he hadn’t bothered to fix it after waking. He looked… comfortable. Unarmored. Behind him, Easter was already halfway through a grin, and Wesley stood clutching something that looked suspiciously like a plastic robot.

“Morning,” Est greeted, his tone casual, but there was warmth in his eyes ..... that quiet, slow-growing kind that had started to feel like sunlight on days that used to be cold.

“Morning,” I replied, stepping aside to let them in. “You’re just in time. Pancakes are almost ready.”

Easter’s grin widened. “With chocolate chips?”

I pretended to think hard. “Hmm… depends who sets the table.”

“I’ll do it!” both twins shouted in unison, already darting past Est toward the kitchen.

Wisteria squeaked softly ..... a tiny, breathy sound ..... and hid half her face behind her bunny as the boys ran in. But when Wesley smiled at her ..... that small, careful smile he always saved just for her ..... she smiled back, eyes crinkling.

“They’re efficient monsters,” I said over my shoulder, shutting the door as Est followed me inside.

He huffed a laugh. “You’ve created monsters, you mean.”

“Team effort,” I countered. “Wisteria needed company, and I needed a break.”

The kitchen was instantly alive again ..... the clatter of plates, the scrape of chairs, Easter’s nonstop commentary about how he could probably make better pancakes if I let him try.

Wisteria, still too shy to join the chatter, tugged gently on Wesley’s sleeve and pointed to the forks. He understood immediately, shifting them to the right side of the plates without a word. When she looked pleased, Easter leaned across the counter to make a silly face at her, earning a quiet giggle that made my heart tighten with something warm and unspoken.

Est leaned against the counter beside me, arms folded, watching the scene unfold. There was something in his eyes ..... something soft and reverent. “They get along so easily,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” I said, flipping a pancake. “Almost like they were meant to.”

He turned to look at me, a faint curve tugging at the corner of his lips. “You really think so?”

“I do,” I said, glancing at the kids. “They’ve built their own little world already. We’re just… lucky enough to watch it happen.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. Just stood there beside me, shoulder almost brushing mine, eyes fixed on the children. The silence that settled between us wasn’t awkward. It was full ..... full of small, quiet things that didn’t need explaining anymore.

When breakfast was ready, the kitchen became a small battlefield of syrup bottles, butter knives, and excited chatter.

Easter talked too fast, half his words lost between bites. Wesley carefully stacked pancakes on everyone’s plates before touching his own. Wisteria didn’t talk, but her happiness showed in every small expression ..... the way her eyes lit up when Wesley pushed his plate toward her, offering his extra strawberries without hesitation.

“You’re spoiling her,” I said, trying to hide a smile.

Wesley shrugged lightly. “She likes them.”

Est raised a brow. “Where do you think he learned that line?”

I laughed. “Definitely not from me.”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

When the plates were finally cleared and the last sticky fingerprints were wiped from the table, the kids migrated to the living room ..... a colorful explosion of toys and crayons waiting for them. Wisteria dumped her box of crayons onto the rug, immediately sorting them by shade while Easter argued that superheroes needed more red.

Wesley joined in without hesitation, his quiet presence grounding the chaos. He didn’t talk much, but the way he mirrored Wisteria’s slow, steady coloring said everything ..... like he instinctively understood how to speak her silent language.

I leaned against the counter again, coffee mug warm between my palms, watching them. The laughter, the little bursts of noise, the way sunlight caught in Wisteria’s hair ..... it was all too precious to interrupt.

Est came to stand beside me, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. His shoulder brushed mine as he spoke. “You know,” he said softly, “this wasn’t what I expected when you said you wanted to prove yourself.”

I glanced at him. “Disappointed?”

His lips quirked, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Not even close.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us was easy ..... the kind that only existed between people who’d fought, broken, and somehow found their way back to peace.

Then something small tugged on Est’s sleeve.
Wisteria, holding out a crayon ..... pink, her favorite ..... her expression hopeful.

Est blinked, surprised. “For me?”

She nodded, shy but sure.

He took it gently from her, crouching down to her level. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

That earned him a grin. Tiny, fleeting, but real. Then she turned back to her drawing ..... a messy, beautiful mix of hearts, stars, and what I think might’ve been a family of stick figures.

Est stayed crouched there beside her for a while, helping her fill the corners of the page with color. His laugh came low, genuine, blending with Easter’s dramatic storytelling about superheroes and pancakes.

And me ..... I just stood there for a moment, taking it in.

The house smelled like syrup and warmth. The walls, once too quiet, now echoed with laughter. The man beside me ..... the same one I once thought I’d lost ..... was here, coloring with our children under the morning light.

It hit me then ..... this was what I’d been missing.
Not the grand gestures. Not the promises whispered in the dark.
But this.

The smell of pancakes.
The sound of crayons scratching softly on paper.
The quiet hum of Est standing close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, our hands brushing as he passed me a napkin.

When he caught me staring, he tilted his head slightly. “What?”

I shook my head, smiling. “Nothing. Just… feels good, doesn’t it?”

He followed my gaze to the kids ..... their laughter overlapping, their crayons scattered across the floor like confetti. His smile softened.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It really does.”

And for the first time, the word family didn’t scare either of us.
It didn’t feel fragile. It didn’t feel like a dream waiting to end.

It just felt right.

A house full of noise.
Three kids with syrup on their hands and joy in their hearts.
And two people who’d finally stopped running from the life that had been waiting all along.

Est’s POV

The house had gone soft with afternoon quiet ..... that rare, golden hush that only came when all three kids were asleep at once. The sunlight had mellowed into a warm amber, pouring in through the curtains, pooling gently over the couch where I sat with Est.

Wisteria had fallen asleep in her father’s lap after fighting her nap for a solid ten minutes, mumbling sleepy protests about wanting to “help Uncle Est bake cookies.” Wesley had curled up beside her on the rug, clutching the toy car William had fixed earlier, and little Easter had given up halfway through a picture book, cheek pressed against his arm.

For once, the world felt still.

William’s shoulder brushed mine as he exhaled, eyes flicking from the kids to me. “You know,” he murmured, voice low so he wouldn’t wake them, “we never got to watch that movie last week.”

I turned to him, half smiling. “What movie?”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “The one you used to make me watch on every break. The one you claimed was cinematic perfection.”

It took me a moment ..... then my eyes widened. “You don’t mean.....”

He grinned. “Oh, I do.”

Before I could protest, he reached for the remote and flicked on the TV. A familiar golden sun emblem appeared on the screen, accompanied by the opening notes of When Will My Life Begin.

“Tangled,” I whispered, incredulous.

He shot me a look, pretending innocence. “What? It’s a masterpiece, remember?”

I blinked at him, fighting the warmth rising in my chest. “You still remember that?”

William gave a soft laugh, his gaze lingering on me instead of the screen. “You made it impossible to forget. You said it was your comfort movie. Something about… finding freedom and being brave enough to love again.”

My throat tightened ..... because he had remembered, word for word.

I used to tell him, years ago, that there was something healing about Rapunzel’s story ..... how she wasn’t saved by love, but by choosing it. How she forgave and trusted, even after years of fear. It had been a silly thing to admit at the time, something I thought he’d tease me for. But now, seeing him remember… it hit differently.

“You never understood why I liked it,” I said quietly.

He smiled faintly, leaning back against the couch. “Maybe I didn’t back then. But I think I do now.”

I turned toward him, the question in my eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It’s not about the tower or the magic hair. It’s about what it feels like to come home after being lost for too long. And .....” he paused, looking at me with something in his eyes that made my chest ache, “..... the way Eugene loved Rapunzel? That’s the way I… love you. The way I always have, and the way I always will. Wholehearted. Fearless. Even when I was too stupid to say it before.”

The words sank in slowly, one by one, like soft lanterns lighting up dark corners inside me.

I turned to look at him fully, and my chest tightened again ..... this time with something warm and unshakable. I could see it in his eyes: the same steady devotion, the same gentle courage that Eugene had for Rapunzel. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a movie anymore.

I realized I was staring at him in a way I had never allowed myself before ..... fully, completely. Every little flicker of his expression, every soft curve of his smile, every line in his jaw felt electric. Adoration, trust, love ..... it was all there, shining in his gaze.

And it hit me, painfully and beautifully, that he felt the same. That the way he looked at me ..... right here, right now ..... was the way Eugene looked at Rapunzel when he finally understood her, when he finally chose her, every single day.

I swallowed, trying not to breathe too loudly, but it was impossible. The heat of it spread from my chest to my fingers, and I found myself leaning slightly toward him.

William’s hand brushed my arm ever so lightly, a small, tentative touch that carried the weight of everything he’d been trying to say. “You… you’re my home,” he whispered, almost shyly, “and I don’t plan on leaving it again. Ever.”

I looked at him then, really looked, and the soft golden glow of the TV seemed to bend around him, highlighting the way his eyes were fixed on me ..... full of quiet intensity, of devotion, of something I had once feared but now welcomed.

For the first time in years, I felt untangled. My old wariness, my doubts, all of it ..... they didn’t feel like barriers anymore. They felt like memories that had led me here.

And I realized that I could finally meet him ..... not with caution, but with the same kind of fearless love he had just shown me.

Because in that moment, watching him lean back slightly with his gaze fixed on me, I knew: the way Eugene loved Rapunzel was the way William loved me. And I had never been more certain of anything in my life.

We sat in silence as the movie played, the sound of soft music filling the room. Rapunzel twirled barefoot through her tower, and I felt something inside me untangle ..... the old wariness, the doubt. I glanced at William, at the way his arm rested just behind me on the couch, close enough to feel the warmth of his skin.

He wasn’t fidgeting or forcing conversation. He was here. Present. Peaceful.

At one point, I caught him humming under his breath ..... completely off-key, which made me bite back a laugh. He caught the look and grinned. “Don’t laugh. I’m trying to respect your favorite film.”

“By singing like that?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “By watching it with you. Again.”

The “again” hung softly between us. A word that meant more than just a movie ..... it meant another chance, another start.

When the lantern scene came on, I felt the air shift slightly ..... the golden light from the screen painting both of us in its glow. William’s gaze flicked toward me again, gentle and lingering, and for a moment I wondered if he was remembering the same thing I was ..... the way I used to hum this song while cooking, how he’d joke that I looked like I was waiting for my own lanterns.

Now, sitting there beside him, I realized I didn’t need lanterns anymore.

“I missed this,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

He turned his head toward me, voice just as soft. “Me too.”

And maybe that was all that needed to be said.

The credits rolled, but neither of us moved. The kids still slept, the house wrapped in that easy quiet, and for once, we didn’t have to fill the silence. William’s hand brushed mine ..... tentative at first, then steady. I didn’t pull away.

Then, without warning, he started humming softly. At first, I didn’t recognize it, then it clicked ..... he was humming Eugene’s part from I See the Light.

“You’re cheating,” I murmured, a smile tugging at my lips.

He winked at me. “Cheating? No. I’m improvising. Your favorite scene deserves full participation.”

I laughed quietly, shaking my head. And before I could stop myself, I found myself humming Rapunzel’s part in response.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice teasing, leaning closer so our knees touched. “Now we’re doing a duet. You start with the line, I’ll follow.”

I took a breath, laughing softly into the quiet, and began the lines with him right there, so close I could feel the warmth of his chest and the faint scent of him mixing with the buttery pancake smell lingering from the morning.

“All those days, chasing down a daydream,” I sang softly, tilting my head so he could see the playful light in my eyes.

“All those years, living in a blur,” he followed, his voice low and gentle, brushing mine like sunlight.

“All that time, never truly seeing,” I continued, leaning a little closer without thinking.

“Things the way they were,” he replied, his hand tightening slightly over mine.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and sang the next line, my voice catching:
“Now she’s here, shining in the starlight…”

“Now she’s here, suddenly I know,” he added, matching my soft tone.

“If she’s here, it’s crystal clear,” I whispered, a laugh escaping despite the way my chest tightened.

“I’m where I’m meant to go,” he said, and the words brushed over me like a promise.

“And at last I see the light…” I sang, my voice trembling a little from the closeness, from the warmth, from him.

“And it’s like the fog has lifted,” he replied, leaning closer so our shoulders brushed.

“And at last I see the light…” I breathed.

“And it’s like the sky is new,” he answered.

“And it’s warm and real and bright…” I whispered, my lips barely moving.

“And the world has somehow shifted…” he finished, voice soft, intimate, echoing in the quiet room.

“All at once, everything is different,” I said, eyes locked on his, the golden glow of the screen catching every curve of his face.

“Now that I see you,” he breathed.

“Now that I see you,” I repeated, voice shaking with the sheer sweetness of it.

He leaned just a fraction closer ..... just enough that I could feel the heat of his lips near mine. My laughter caught in my throat, breath hitching. His eyes widened, serious in a way that made my heart thrum violently. A small nod ..... so subtle I almost missed it ..... told me he wanted this.

I mirrored it, leaning in without thinking.

And then he kissed me.

This time, it wasn’t a quick peck. Not the playful, testing kisses from before. This was slow, sure, deliberate. Warm. Deep. His hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing lightly against my jaw, holding me close without pressure, letting the kiss linger, letting me sink into it. My arms went around his waist without thinking, pressing against him, holding him just as close.

The world shrank to the two of us, the soft glow of the lantern scene bathing us in gold, the faint music from the movie still playing, and the quiet breathing of sleeping kids around us. The room didn’t feel empty anymore ..... it was full of him, full of us.

When we finally pulled back, our foreheads rested together, breaths mingling.

“I think… I’m never going to get tired of this song,” I whispered, smiling up at him.

He chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “Neither am I,” he said softly, his thumb tracing idle patterns on the back of my hand.

And in that golden glow, with our hearts still racing and the kids sleeping peacefully upstairs, I realized that this ..... this closeness, this laughter, this quiet duet ..... was the kind of magic I’d been waiting for all along.

The lanterns on the screen may have been imaginary, but the light between us ..... steady, golden, undeniable ..... was real. And it was enough to fill every corner of my heart.

And in a long, long while, I felt exactly like Rapunzel must have ..... not trapped, not waiting. Just home.

Chapter Text

William’s POV

For a long time after the movie ended, the silence felt sacred.

The screen had faded to black, but the warmth it left behind still clung to everything ..... to the couch beneath us, to the faint glow of the lamp in the corner, to the soft pulse of Est’s fingers still laced with mine. The faint sound of the ceiling fan hummed above, slow and steady, like the rhythm of a heartbeat we’d both been unconsciously matching.

The kids were still asleep, bundled in blankets on the floor, their small, even breaths filling the room like a lullaby. The air was thick with that late-night stillness ..... the kind that only exists when everyone else has drifted away and the world feels like it’s finally stopped spinning.

I didn’t want to move.
Didn’t want to breathe too loud or shift too suddenly.
It felt like if I did, this moment ..... this small, fragile pocket of peace ..... would shatter.

Est’s hand rested lightly in mine, his thumb tracing lazy, absent circles against my skin. Every pass of his touch sent a small ripple through the quiet, grounding and gentle. My heart had finally slowed after everything ..... after the laughter, the singing, the kiss. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could stay here forever.

Then, my phone buzzed.

Once.
Then again ..... sharper this time.

The sound cut through the silence like a blade, too loud, too insistent. The vibration rattled against the wooden coffee table, snapping the spell clean in half.

For a second, I thought about ignoring it. Just letting it go to voicemail, pretending the world outside this room didn’t exist. But the buzzing didn’t stop.

It felt like it was calling me back ..... dragging me, unwillingly, from the warmth of now into the cold of before.

With a quiet sigh, I reached for it, more out of reflex than intention. My fingers brushed Est’s briefly, the warmth of him fading the instant I turned the screen toward me.

And then I froze.

Dad.

Three letters that could still turn my stomach to stone.

My breath hitched, sharp and shallow. The glow from the phone painted my face in pale light, and suddenly the room ..... the same room that had felt so safe ..... seemed to dim. The warmth slipped away, replaced by something heavier, colder.

My thumb hovered over the notification, my pulse spiking so hard it made my fingers tremble.

I didn’t want to open it.
Didn’t need to.
But I did anyway.

A single message.

You think you can ignore me forever?

Seven words. That was all it took.

My throat closed up, and for a heartbeat, it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Ten years later, and just like that ..... I was back there again. The smell of whiskey and rage. The sound of footsteps pacing outside a locked door. The way my body used to tense at the sound of his voice.

I felt twelve again. Small. Cornered. Helpless.

“Will?”

Est’s voice cut through the storm in my head, soft but steady, like a hand reaching through smoke. I blinked, realizing my fingers had gone white around the phone.

He was watching me, concern flickering across his face. “What’s wrong?”

The words tangled in my throat. For a moment, I couldn’t find the air to answer. Then, instinct ..... that old, familiar instinct ..... took over. Hide it. Bury it. Smile.

I forced my thumb to lock the screen and dropped the phone onto the couch, trying to sound casual. “Nothing,” I said, my voice light, too quick. “Just a spam message.”

His brow furrowed slightly, his gaze lingering on me like he could see straight through the lie. “You sure?”

I nodded ..... too fast, too practiced. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t. My pulse was still hammering. I could feel it in my fingertips, in my throat, in the ache behind my ribs. Every part of me wanted to stay in this moment with him, to not let that text rip through the fragile peace we’d built tonight.

But I couldn’t tell him.
Not about this.
Not about him.

Because how do you explain that peace is something you build carefully, like glass, only for one voice ..... one ghost ..... to crack it clean down the middle?
How do you tell the person who finally makes you feel safe that one text can still make you feel like a child hiding behind a door?

Est’s hand moved toward mine again, slow and deliberate, his thumb brushing the back of my knuckles. His touch was warm, grounding, patient.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Whatever it is… you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

Something twisted deep inside me at that ..... a mix of longing and fear. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to hand him every piece of the darkness I still carried. But some ghosts don’t leave just because you want them to. Some stay in your bones, waiting for moments like this ..... when you finally start to feel free ..... just to remind you that you never really are.

So I smiled. That same quiet, practiced smile I’d learned years ago. The one that said I’m fine even when I wasn’t.

“I know,” I said gently, pretending I meant it.

Then I stood, gathering the empty mugs from the coffee table just to have something to do. The clink of ceramic against wood filled the silence as I turned toward the kitchen. My shoulders felt too tight, my throat too dry.

The house was dim now, bathed in soft, flickering shadows from the TV’s reflection. I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away ..... steady, searching, worried.

In the black screen’s reflection, I caught a glimpse of us.
Two shapes.

One still sitting in the light, reaching out.
The other walking away, swallowed by the dark.

The house was quiet again.
Est had left an hour ago, the twins bundled sleepily in his arms, murmuring soft good-nights against his shoulder. My mother had stayed upstairs with Wisteria; I’d heard their muffled laughter through the hall before everything went still.

Now it was just me and the hum of the ceiling fan. The lantern light we’d strung on the porch still flickered faintly through the window, the afterimage of a perfect evening refusing to fade.

I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, staring at the dark screen. The earlier text still burned in my mind. I’d deleted it, but deleting didn’t erase the echo of his voice.

You think you can ignore me forever?

I rubbed at the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension crawling up my spine. It had been years.....years since I’d heard from him. I’d thought I was free.

The phone vibrated again.

I froze. The vibration rattled against the wood of the nightstand, each buzz sharp as a heartbeat. I didn’t want to look.....but my hand moved on its own.

Dad.

The same number.

For a long second I just stared at it. Then, before I could talk myself out of it, I swiped to answer.

“Hello?” My voice came out thin.

A chuckle, low and familiar, slid through the speaker. “So you do remember how to pick up a call. Still sound like your mother,” he said. “Soft. Weak.”

I swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said casually, drawling like this was some normal father-son chat. “Just thought I’d say hello. Been a while since I heard your voice.”

I closed my eyes. The sound of him dragged up old memories.....doors slamming, my mother crying quietly in the kitchen, the sting of his words that always hit where they hurt most.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” I managed.

He laughed again, but there was a shift in his tone.....something sharp beneath the humor. “You’ve changed, huh? Got yourself a nice house, a family around. Even saw you out tonight.”

My mouth went dry. He shouldn’t have known any of that. I’d made sure of it. Different number. Different city. Even changed my last name on company files.

But hearing his voice now dragged me straight back.....to that night ten years ago when the phone rang at 2 a.m. and everything fell apart.

The hospital hallway. The antiseptic smell. My mother’s trembling hand gripping mine while I signed the forms.
I’d left Est sleeping, no note, no goodbye. Because how could I have explained that my father’s rage had finally broken her bones? That my whole world had cracked open overnight?

I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let that darkness touch Est.
So I’d disappeared.

Four years of college spent clawing my way out.....studying by day, working by night, building something, anything, that wasn’t his shadow.
And when I finally earned enough to open my company, I bought a small house and moved my mother in.
I thought that was it. I thought I’d finally outrun him.

But his voice on the line now was proof that monsters don’t vanish when you stop naming them.

“You stay away from us,” I said quietly. “You hear me?”

“I saw that pretty boy of your..” he said laughing.

My stomach dropped. “What?”

“I said, I saw you.” He paused, letting the words twist. “With that pretty boy beside you. The one with the soft eyes. You looked… cozy.”

My blood ran cold. I stood up instinctively, pacing to the window. The curtains were drawn, but suddenly they didn’t feel thick enough.

“You’re lying,” I said, though my voice trembled.

He hummed. “Am I? You were walking him to the car. Holding his hand like some lovesick fool.” A short, bitter laugh. “Guess all those years without me didn’t teach you discretion.”

“Stop,” I whispered.

“You stay away from us,” I said quietly. “You hear me?”

He laughed again, the sound jagged and ugly. “You think you can erase me, boy? I made you. I can take it all back just as easy.”

The line went dead.

For a long time, I just sat there, the phone heavy in my hand, my pulse roaring in my ears. The room that had felt so full of light only an hour ago now seemed smaller.....shadows stretching long across the floor.

Upstairs, I heard my mother’s faint cough and Wisteria’s soft laughter.
They were safe. They were here. That should’ve been enough.

But all I could think about was how easily a voice from the past could reach through time and wrap its hand around my throat again.

I set the phone face down beside me, pressed the heel of my palms to my eyes, and took a shaking breath.

I’d built this life from nothing. From bruises and silence and every no he ever threw at me.
And yet.....one call. One name. And suddenly I was that terrified seventeen-year-old again, standing in a hospital hallway, wondering if love was something I’d ever be allowed to keep.

I stared at the phone long after the call ended.

The screen had gone dark, but the echo of his voice still crawled through the air ..... low, slurred, soaked in that same venom I’d spent years trying to forget.

“I saw you,” he had said.
“With that pretty boy. You think you can hide from me forever, son?”

The words replayed over and over, looping like static in my head until my skin prickled.

My hand tightened around the phone until my knuckles turned white. My pulse was erratic ..... shallow breaths catching like hiccups, lungs burning as though I’d forgotten how to breathe. For a few seconds, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even think.

It was like being sixteen again.
Like standing barefoot in the dark hallway of that old house, the air thick with the smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke. Like hearing the crash of breaking glass from the kitchen, my mother’s soft, stifled cries bleeding through the walls, and the heavy thud of his boots drawing closer.

Ten years. Ten years of distance.
And just one call was enough to drag me right back there ..... to the same helplessness that never really left.

My stomach turned. I pressed the phone hard against my chest, as if I could trap the sound of his voice there, suffocate it before it could spread. My fingers trembled, my shoulders tense enough to ache. The house around me was still, but inside me, everything was screaming.

Upstairs, the world was peaceful ..... too peaceful for how wrong I felt inside.
The faint hum of the refrigerator. The tick of the old clock. The occasional creak of wood as the house settled into night.

Est had left with the twins hours ago.
I could still see them in my mind ..... the way Wisteria had laughed at Wesley’s doodle, the smell of syrup still hanging faintly in the air, the soft sound of Est’s voice humming beside me as the lanterns rose on the screen. For a while, I’d let myself believe I could have that. A normal night. A quiet one.

But now the warmth from earlier felt like something I’d dreamt. Too good, too safe to be real. The memory was already slipping through my fingers, fading like smoke.

My chest ached.
He wasn’t supposed to find me.
I had changed everything ..... my name, my number, my life. I’d built walls, created distance, chosen silence.

But monsters… monsters always find their way back.

The soft creak of a floorboard snapped me out of the spiral. I turned sharply toward the sound.

My mother stood at the top of the stairs, one hand braced lightly against the wall. Her cardigan was wrapped tight around her shoulders, silver strands of hair falling from the messy bun she always wore at night. She looked tired but gentle, the kind of calm that could quiet storms ..... even the kind raging inside me.

“Sweetheart, you’re still awake?” she asked softly, rubbing her wrist absently. “It’s late.”

I tried to smile, but my lips felt stiff. “Yeah… couldn’t sleep.”

Her eyes lingered on me ..... too perceptive, too knowing ..... but she didn’t press. She never did. She just opened her arms slightly in that wordless way of hers, the same invitation she’d given me since I was a boy hiding from thunder.

I didn’t even think. I crossed the room and sat beside her on the edge of the bed. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender detergent and the faint trace of her hand cream ..... comforting, familiar. Without saying a word, I leaned into her, resting my head on her lap like I used to when I was little and the world was too loud.

Her hand came to my hair immediately.
Gentle. Steady.
Her fingers moved in slow, familiar strokes that used to be enough to quiet the nightmares. And for a while, we just sat there like that ..... no questions, no explanations. Just her breathing, slow and even, and the hum of the night outside the window.

I didn’t realize my eyes were stinging until I blinked.

“Mom…” My voice cracked before I could steady it.

Her hand stilled for a moment, then continued its slow rhythm. “Mm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, baby.”

I hesitated. The words burned against the back of my throat, heavy with everything I couldn’t say.

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to say that he called. That I heard his voice again. That the safety we’d spent years building now felt fragile all over again. But I couldn’t ..... not when I saw the faint tremor in her wrist, the one that never really went away. I couldn’t drag her back into that fear.

So I asked something else instead. Something smaller.
Something that hurt less ..... but somehow, meant the same thing.

“If someone…” My voice was barely a whisper. “If someone knew everything about me ..... the real things ..... the things I tried so hard to hide… do you think they’d still stay?”

Her hand paused again. I felt her gaze on me, soft and searching.

“Is this about Est?” she asked quietly.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Silence said enough.

She sighed ..... not exasperated, just tender ..... and brushed her fingers through my hair again.

“If he makes you smile the way you did tonight,” she said gently, “then I think he already sees more of you than you realize.”

Her thumb brushed the corner of my temple, the way she used to when I’d cry as a child. “But if you’re talking about the broken parts… the pieces your father tried to ruin…” Her voice trembled slightly. “Then no, sweetheart. You don’t have to hide those. The people who love you ..... truly love you ..... they won’t run from them. They’ll help you carry them.”

Her words settled over me slowly, like a blanket ..... warm but heavy. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to let that hope in. But it didn’t fit easily inside me anymore.

Because the truth was, I had hidden those parts for so long that I didn’t know how to show them anymore. I didn’t know how to let someone ..... especially Est ..... see the cracks without being afraid they’d think I’d break them too.

I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead to her knee. The scent of her fabric softener filled my nose ..... the same smell that had always meant home.

“I just…” My voice trembled, raw and small. “I just don’t want to lose him again.”

She stilled, then rested her palm over the back of my head, fingers curving protectively.

“Then don’t run,” she whispered. “Not this time.”

Her words lingered long after the silence returned. I nodded against her lap, even though the motion felt empty.

Because I didn’t know how to tell her the truth .....
That I’d spent so many years running that I wasn’t sure if I still knew how to stop.

Est’s POV

The movie had ended, but the warmth of it still clung to the air ..... soft and golden, like it didn’t want to leave.
William’s shoulder was against mine, his hand resting comfortably in my lap, our fingers lazily intertwined. The twins had gone upstairs long ago, Wisteria curled against her grandmother, and for once, everything felt still.
Like the world had finally decided to slow down just for us.

Then his phone buzzed.

It wasn’t loud, just a faint vibration against the couch cushion. But something about it ..... the way it shattered the silence ..... made my heart skip.
He reached for it absently at first, still smiling from something we’d just said, but the second his eyes hit the screen, everything in him changed.

His shoulders stiffened.
His smile faded.
And then there was… nothing.

I didn’t even need to see the message to know it wasn’t good. There was a kind of stillness that came over him ..... not confusion, not irritation, but fear.
A quiet, old kind of fear. The kind that makes your skin remember.

“Will?” I asked softly.
He didn’t answer at first, just stared at the phone like it had whispered something only he could hear. When he finally looked up, his face was composed ..... too composed.

“What’s wrong?” I pressed gently, watching him like I used to when we were younger ..... when he’d try to pretend bruises were “nothing” and I’d have to pretend I believed him.

His jaw tensed. Then he blinked, forcing something like a smile. “Nothing,” he said too quickly. “Just a spam message.”

A spam message.
Right.

I tilted my head, searching his face. His voice sounded fine, but his eyes were telling a completely different story ..... the kind that screamed silently while the lips lied.

“You sure?” I asked, my tone careful, quiet. I didn’t want to corner him ..... just give him room to tell the truth if he wanted to.

He nodded, almost automatically. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t.
Not even close.

His hand was still in mine, but his pulse was racing ..... I could feel it in the way his thumb twitched against my skin. The faint tremor in his breathing. The way his shoulders seemed to cave inward, like he was trying to fold himself small, invisible.

The air in the room changed.
Moments ago, it had been warm and easy. Now it felt… fragile. Like if I spoke too loud, the whole thing would shatter.

He stared down at our hands for a long time, not saying anything. I could almost see the thoughts behind his eyes ..... heavy, tangled, storming. He was here, but not really here. Some part of him was far away, in a place I couldn’t reach.

I moved my hand slightly, letting my thumb brush the back of his knuckles ..... slow, gentle, grounding.
“Hey,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever it is… you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

His eyes flickered up to mine. For a second, something raw flashed there ..... fear, maybe, or pain, or both. And then it was gone.
Replaced by that quiet, polite smile. The one that never quite reached his eyes.

“I know,” he said softly.

And I think that was the moment my chest started to ache ..... because he said it like he didn’t believe a word of it.

He stood before I could say anything else, gathering the empty mugs from the coffee table. The clinking sound was small but jarring in the silence that followed.
His back was to me now, and all I could see was tension ..... the tight set of his shoulders, the way his head hung slightly low like he was carrying something too heavy.

I wanted to go after him.
I wanted to grab his wrist, make him sit back down, tell me what was wrong.
But something in me stopped. Maybe it was the memory of how easily he used to disappear ..... without warning, without goodbye. Maybe I was scared that if I reached too fast, I’d make him run again.

So I stayed where I was.

The TV screen went black, reflecting the two of us faintly.
In it, I could see him walking away ..... a shape swallowed by the dim light.
And me, still sitting there in the glow of what we’d just shared, holding onto the ghost of his warmth like it could stop him from drifting further.

I exhaled slowly, letting the ache settle in my chest.
Something had happened ..... something big enough to pull him out of this moment, out of us.
And I didn’t know what hurt more: not knowing what it was, or knowing that he didn’t trust me enough yet to tell me.

Still, I waited.
Because that’s what you do when you love someone who’s spent years hiding from their ghosts.
You wait for them to stop running ..... and hope, when they finally do, they’ll remember who was still sitting in the light.

The next morning….

The sunlight was soft and pale when I woke the next morning, spilling through the curtains in thin, golden slivers.
For a moment, everything felt normal ..... peaceful, almost sacred. I stretched lazily, feeling the lingering warmth from the night before: the quiet hum of the movie, the kids asleep upstairs, William’s hand in mine.

But when I reached for my phone to check messages, a small knot formed in my chest.
He hadn’t sent one. Not a “good morning,” not a “did you get home okay.” Nothing.

I shook it off at first, blaming it on the early hour. Maybe he was still asleep. Maybe he was working, already up before me like he always did.

I sent a little teasing text anyway:

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Did you leave the lanterns behind last night or are you still hoarding all the magic for yourself?”

A few minutes passed. Nothing.

I frowned. Maybe he hadn’t seen it yet. I tried again, playful but softer this time:

“William? You there?”

Still nothing.

A small worry prickled at the edges of my chest. It wasn’t that he usually replied instantly ..... he wasn’t that type ..... but there was something off about the silence. Something in the way the house had felt last night after the message, the way he’d pulled away so quickly, that hadn’t left me.

I tried to ignore it while I brewed some coffee, the warm aroma filling the kitchen and making the morning feel more grounded. But my eyes kept flicking to my phone, checking for that familiar bubble of a message.

Then it came.

A single line.

“Yeah. I’m up. Coffee made?”

Short. Stiff. Almost clipped.

My heart sank slightly. That wasn’t his usual tone ..... not playful, not teasing, not warm. It was… guarded. Closed off.

I typed back quickly, trying to reach him without pushing too hard:

“Yep. Got your mug ready. Want me to bring it up?”

Another pause. Longer this time.
Finally:

“Later.”

I stared at the screen, coffee cup halfway to my lips. Something inside me tightened.
The way he was pulling back ..... not a total withdrawal, but small, subtle, distant ..... it reminded me too much of the way he used to disappear from my life entirely. Ten years ago. The same quiet retreat that had left me spinning, wondering if I’d ever see him again.

I knew something had happened. Something serious. I could feel it in the way he hadn’t answered naturally last night, the way he’d stiffened when I’d touched his hand, the way he’d walked away from the couch like he was carrying a weight he couldn’t show me.

But I also knew I couldn’t force him.
Not yet.

I took a deep breath and let the silence stretch a little longer, trying to keep my worry quiet. My thumb hovered over the screen, ready to text again, but I held back.
Because I wanted him to tell me himself. I wanted him to choose to let me in, to share that shadow with me the way he always had when he was ready.

Instead, I focused on small things:
Filling the coffee pot.
Checking the kids’ morning routine.
Listening to the soft creaks of the house waking up.

All the while, my eyes drifted back to my phone, waiting for that one message that would tell me he was finally ready to let me see whatever had come through last night ..... whatever ghost had pulled at him so suddenly, after all these years.

And as I sat there, cup in hand, a quiet thought kept running through my mind:

He’s here. He’s not gone. But something’s wrong. And I’ll wait. Because I won’t let him go ..... not this time.

Even if that meant sitting in the shadows of his fear, holding space for him until he was ready to bring me into the light again.

William’s POV

I stared at my phone after sending that short, clipped reply to Est.
Later.

The word hung in the air like a warning. A confession. A barrier I’d built around myself without even thinking.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my elbows on my knees, the phone heavy in my hand. The glow of the morning sunlight through the curtains felt unreal, almost cruel, as if the world expected me to move on, to act normal, while inside, my chest was still tight with fear.

I had barely slept. Barely breathed. That one call from him ..... from my father ..... had opened a door I had spent years slamming shut. A door that I’d promised myself would never lead back to fear, to helplessness, to shame.

And now here I was, hours later, and my first instinct ..... as it had been so many times before ..... was to retreat. To push the person I cared about most away.

I ran a hand through my hair, my thumb brushing against the phone again. I could almost feel Est’s concern radiating through the screen, subtle but unmistakable. That worry I’d learned to recognize even in the quietest moments ..... the way he notices before anyone else, the way he always waits for me to let him in.

And I realized, painfully, that I was doing it again.

Pushing him away.

I’d promised myself that after everything ..... after ten years of running, after the years I’d spent clawing my life back from the shadow of my father ..... I wouldn’t let fear dictate how I treated the people I loved. I wasn’t supposed to do this.

Yet here I was, telling him to wait. Telling him that my silence was better than sharing the truth.

The truth I wasn’t even ready to face myself.

I dropped the phone onto the bed beside me, letting it slide against the sheets. I pressed my face into my hands, breathing shallowly, as though each inhale could somehow pull the weight off my chest. But it didn’t.

I thought of Est waiting ..... probably downstairs, probably sipping his coffee, probably pretending nothing was wrong while already sensing that I was shutting him out. And guilt cut through me sharper than any fear.

Why do I do this?

Because if he knew, he’d see the broken parts I still carry. The parts my father tried to crush out of me for years. The rage. The fear. The memories of my mother in that hospital hallway, the smell of antiseptic mixed with panic, the feeling of helplessness I’d never let anyone see.

Would Est leave?

The thought hit me like a punch.
Not because I doubted him ..... not truly. But because I knew how easily the people I cared about could be hurt by my past. How quickly my father’s shadow could poison what was good and safe in my life.

And that’s when I understood exactly what I was doing.

I was running. Again.

From him. From this ..... from us.

I groaned softly, the sound barely audible in the quiet of the room. My hands shook slightly as I gripped the edge of the bed.
I didn’t want to push him away. God, I didn’t. But I was so used to surviving on my own, so used to hiding, that the instinct to protect myself ..... and him ..... took over before I even realized it.

I lifted my head, staring blankly at the wall across from me. The sunlight caught the dust in the air, tiny golden specks dancing lazily. It should have felt peaceful. It should have reminded me that I had something worth fighting for.

Instead, it was a reminder of the distance I’d just created.

I exhaled, slow and heavy, letting my forehead rest against the wall.
I could feel Est’s eyes on me even when he wasn’t here, and that thought made my chest tighten further.

I’d already been through the worst. I’d clawed my way out of my father’s shadow, protected my mother, built a life I was proud of. And yet… here I was, letting one call, one shadow, one flicker of fear, dictate my actions.

I had to stop.

I didn’t know how yet. But I knew I couldn’t let him go. Not after all this time. Not now, when we’d finally found each other again.

With a shaky hand, I reached for my phone again, thumb hovering over the screen.
The message was waiting ..... patient, innocent. My pulse raced as I stared at it:

Later.

I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of last night seep back into me, forcing myself to remember the small, perfect moments ..... the laughter, the music, the way our hands fit together.
I had to hold onto that. Hold onto him.

Because if I didn’t… I knew what would happen.
And I couldn’t bear the thought of running away again.

I sank back against the bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything pressing down at once.

The memory of the call was still vivid ..... my father’s voice like a jagged knife slicing through the fragile peace I had fought so hard to build. I could still hear the amusement in it, the way he always made everything about control. Just one sentence from him, and suddenly I was seventeen again, standing in a cold hospital hallway, heart hammering, terrified and powerless.

I clenched my fists, the muscles in my shoulders tight. My breath came in short, ragged bursts. I had spent ten years building walls, running from the fear, from the shame, from the memory of the boy I had once been. And now, just as I was finally letting myself be happy ..... really happy ..... I had almost pushed away the one person who mattered most in the world.

Est.

My pulse quickened at the thought. The warmth of his hand against mine, the gentle brush of his thumb across my knuckles, the way his smile could make the edges of the world soften ..... that was real. That was present. That was everything I had been fighting for.

And yet, even as I thought it, a small, cruel voice whispered: If he knew… if he knew the truth about you, about your past… would he stay? Would he still look at you like that? Or would he leave, just like you left everyone else?

I swallowed hard. The fear clung to me, cold and heavy. The past had a way of poisoning the present if I let it. It always had. But this time, I realized, I couldn’t let it. I couldn’t hide. I couldn’t run.

Because losing him… losing Est, the person who made me feel like I was finally home, was not an option.

I exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm of panic rising in my chest.
I had choices. I could retreat like I always did. I could let my father’s voice dictate my actions. I could pretend everything was fine and push Est away, keeping him safe from my shadows ..... or at least, keeping him from seeing them.

But the thought of doing that made my chest ache more than any fear ever could. The thought of walking away from this ..... from him ..... would have been worse than any call, any memory, any monster from the past.

No.

Nothing was more important than him.

Not fear.
Not shame.
Not the ghosts I had spent years running from.

I closed my eyes and let the quiet warmth of last night wash over me: the glow of the lantern scene, our hands intertwined, the laughter of the twins in the background, Est’s soft voice teasing me, the way he had smiled at me like nothing in the world could hurt us.

I couldn’t lose that. I wouldn’t.

I opened my eyes slowly. The sunlight streaked across the floor, warm and real. I picked up my phone, thumb hovering over the screen, and realized something. I didn’t have to tell him everything today. I could choose the moment. But I would tell him. One day.

But not today.

Today, I wouldn’t let the past dictate the present. Today, I wouldn’t hide from him. Today, I would stay.

I leaned back against the wall, letting the tension in my body ease just a little. My fingers brushed my phone again, not to text, but just to hold it ..... knowing that Est was still there, waiting, patient, steady, like he always was.

And for the first time in hours, maybe even days, I let myself breathe.

I would face the past eventually. I would tell him everything in time. But for now… right now… nothing was more important than keeping him close. Nothing was more important than not letting fear ruin what we had.

I pressed the phone to my chest, close enough to feel its weight, and whispered to no one but myself:

I won’t lose him. Not again. Not to the past, not to fear, not to shadows. Not ever.

And just like that, a quiet resolve settled over me, firm and unshakable.

No matter how hard the past tried to reach in, I wouldn’t let it touch us.
Est was mine. I wasn’t letting him go.

I leaned back against the couch, phone in hand, letting out a slow breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corners of my lips, one of those rare ones that felt unforced, genuine.

The past month had been… something.

A month of small but steady reminders that life could feel safe again. Of mornings where I’d wake to the faint scent of coffee and realize he had already been up, careful to make it just the way I liked it ..... not because he had to, but because he wanted to. A month of lingering texts that never demanded an answer, soft touches that felt like anchors when my chest threatened to spiral, and quiet patience when I needed space, when I needed to breathe without someone else pressing too close.

A month of tiny acts repeated over and over ..... all of them building something solid, something I had almost forgotten existed. Proving, without a single word, that I wasn’t leaving. That I wasn’t that boy from ten years ago, vanishing into shadows at the first hint of trouble. That I wasn’t running from him, or from myself, or from the past.

And now, after all of that ..... after the careful weaving of trust, the patient presence, the unspoken love ..... it felt… right.

I let my thumb hover over his contact, feeling the familiar warmth of the phone against my palm. My pulse was steady. My breathing even. For the first time in years, I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t second-guess. There was no fear wrapped around the edges of my certainty.

I dialed.

The line clicked, and then I heard it: his voice. Soft, awake, carrying just enough warmth to make my chest tighten in that familiar, impossible way.

“Hey,” I said the moment he picked up, trying to sound calm ..... trying to sound confident. Even though my heart was hammering just enough to remind me I cared, and cared a lot.

“Will,” he said, almost a whisper, as if he had been waiting for me to call. That tiny pause before he spoke was enough to make me grin.

“Morning,” I replied, letting my lips curve even though he couldn’t see it. “I had something in mind… but it’s okay now. Let’s go on a picnic. Just you, me, the kids. Sunday. Fresh air, sandwiches, maybe a little sunlight. What do you say?”

I held my breath for a second, waiting for him to respond. And then there it was ..... a small pause, a quiet intake of breath on the other end of the line. I could almost feel him smiling before he even spoke.

“You’re serious?”

“Completely,” I said, my voice firmer now. “No running. No hiding. I’ve been trying to show you for a month now that I’m not going anywhere. Today, let’s just go out and enjoy ourselves. Us. Just a picnic. Just… us.”

Another pause. Longer this time. I could almost hear him thinking it over, the way he did when he was choosing his words carefully, even over the phone.

Then, finally ..... that laugh. Low, warm, teasing, the kind that always made my chest tighten in the best way, the one that reminded me that some things never changed no matter how much time had passed.

“Alright,” he said. His tone softened, full of warmth and that quiet affection that made my stomach feel light and heavy all at once. “Picnic it is. I’ll start packing some snacks.”

A grin spread across my face so wide I almost had to hold the phone in place with both hands. “Perfect. I’ll grab the blanket. And maybe… some sandwiches too. Just to show I’m still your favorite chef.”

“You always are,” he said softly, voice warm, carrying the weight of certainty, of something I had longed for without knowing it. I could hear the smile in his tone, feel it over the phone like it was reaching through the distance.

I leaned back again, letting the sunlight spill over me through the window. Dust motes danced in the rays, suspended like tiny lanterns caught in a moment of stillness. For the first time in years, I felt that rare, quiet kind of certainty ..... the kind that comes not from bravado, or control, or forcing things into place, but from knowing that someone has chosen you, over and over again, without hesitation.

I wasn’t letting fear dictate me anymore.
I wasn’t running from the past.
I wasn’t letting memories of old mistakes or shadows of old ghosts shape what I could feel now.

Because this time… this time there would be no hesitation.
No second-guessing.
No wondering if he would vanish or if I would.

Just us.

And for the first time in years, that was enough.

I closed my eyes, feeling the quiet warmth of the room, the steady pulse of life around me, the sense of something I hadn’t dared to hope for: a future with him that didn’t have to start with fear.

I whispered to no one, but meant him. “No running this time. Just us.”

And even though he couldn’t hear me yet, I knew somehow he understood.

Chapter Text

William’s POV

By the time I hung up, sunlight had spilled lazily across the floorboards ..... that kind of golden morning light that made everything look softer, quieter, like even the world was taking a deep breath.

A picnic. It sounded simple, ordinary even. But to me, it felt like the most extraordinary thing in the world.

I got up, humming under my breath as I began to gather what we’d need ..... blanket, basket, utensils, a few of Wisteria’s favorite storybooks in case she wanted them. My hands moved automatically, but my mind was somewhere else, lingering on Est’s voice from a few minutes ago.

“You always are.”

It had been such a small thing to say, but it stuck with me ..... the warmth in his tone, the ease of it. That was new. That was progress.

By the time I walked out into the living room, my mother was already helping Wisteria get ready. She sat cross-legged on the rug, her tiny fingers clutching her favorite stuffed bunny ..... the one with the frayed ear she refused to replace.

She had this confused look on her face as to why was her grandmother making her get ready when she in her own way asked ….

“Picnic, sweetheart,” my mother said, gently brushing out Wisteria’s hair. “You’re going to see Wesley and Easter again.”

At the mention of their names, Wisteria’s whole face lit up. She nodded quickly, a smile tugging at her lips, and then reached for her small sunhat, holding it out to me as if to say put it on me, Papa.

I crouched down in front of her, my chest tightening in that familiar way it always did when she smiled like that ..... so pure, so full of light.

“Hat first, huh?” I said softly, placing it over her silky hair and adjusting the ribbon under her chin. She patted my face once ..... her way of saying thank you.

“You’re all ready,” I told her. “Now, let’s go pick up Uncle Est and your favorite partners in crime.”

She didn’t say anything, of course. But she bounced on her toes, clutching her bunny tighter and giving a firm, eager nod. That was all the answer I needed.

My mother stood and smoothed out Wisteria’s dress, her eyes soft. “You look happy,” she said to me quietly.

“I am,” I replied, grabbing the basket and blanket

She smiled knowingly.

We left soon after, Wisteria skipping beside me, the soft jingle of her tiny bracelet filling the quiet car ride. She hummed to herself ..... one of the songs from Tangled, of course ..... while her bunny sat buckled in beside her.

When we pulled up in front of Est’s house, I spotted him instantly. He was standing by the front door with the twins ..... Wesley clutching a soccer ball and Easter wearing a cap way too big for his head. Both boys were practically vibrating with excitement.

The moment they saw the car, they started waving frantically. “Uncle Will!” Easter shouted, his grin stretching ear to ear.

Est looked up at the sound of his name, his smile softening as his eyes met mine. God, I still wasn’t used to how easily he could make the world go still with just that look.

I stepped out, opening the back door. “Morning, gentlemen,” I said as the twins scrambled toward the car, practically tripping over each other.

“Morning!” Wesley said breathlessly. “We brought snacks! And a kite!”

Wisteria peeked out from behind me, clutching her bunny, her wide eyes flickering between the two boys. Wesley waved at her enthusiastically. “Hi, Wissy!”

Her lips curved into a shy smile, and she lifted her hand in a small wave. Then, slowly, she unbuckled her bunny and held it out for them to see ..... her quiet way of joining in.

Easter gasped dramatically. “You brought BunBun!” he said, as if that was the most exciting news of the day.

Wisteria’s shoulders relaxed, and she gave a small nod, slipping into the car between them. Just like that, the silence that often wrapped around her melted away under the noise of the twins’ chatter.

Est approached the passenger side, basket of snacks in hand. “You really meant it,” he said, a teasing note in his voice.

I grinned, closing the trunk after loading the blanket. “When do I ever joke about food and fresh air?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re allergic to both.”

“Not today,” I said, sliding behind the wheel. “Today I’m a man of sunshine and sandwiches.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he got in beside me. The sound alone was enough to make the tightness in my chest loosen.

The drive to the picnic spot was filled with chaos ..... the best kind. Wesley and Easter argued over which song to play, Wisteria communicated her opinion by pointing firmly at the Tangled soundtrack, and soon the car was filled with “I’ve Got a Dream” blasting through the speakers.

Est rolled his eyes, but he was smiling ..... that quiet, unguarded kind of smile that made every minute worth it.

I glanced at him briefly, then back at the road. The sunlight danced across his face, catching the small dimple near his mouth when he smiled. And in that moment, with laughter spilling from the backseat and warmth filling the car, I realized something simple and certain .....

This was what happiness looked like.
Not perfection. Not escape.
Just this ..... them.

The kids singing wildly off-key.
Est humming along despite pretending he wasn’t.
And me, driving toward something that finally felt like home.

The park they arrived at was a quiet stretch of green that seemed to hum with sunlight. The grass was still wet from morning dew, and a slow breeze carried the faint sweetness of blooming jasmine from somewhere nearby. It wasn’t far from the city, but somehow it felt miles away ..... like a little pocket of calm carved out just for them.

Easter was the first to bolt from the car, soccer ball in hand. “I call the shady spot near the tree!” he yelled, sprinting across the open grass.

Wesley immediately chased after him. “No fair! You picked last time!”

Est sighed, but his smile said otherwise. “We should’ve just brought a whistle and declared me referee.”

Wisteria followed them at her own pace, her little bunny clutched tight in one hand, the other reaching for mine. She tugged at my sleeve and pointed toward a cluster of wild daisies by the tree.

“Pretty, huh?” I said quietly, and she nodded, kneeling to pluck a small one with careful fingers. Then she turned and offered it to me with both hands ..... her silent way of saying for you.

My chest tightened, warmth swelling in my throat. “Thank you, sweetheart,” I whispered, tucking it carefully into my shirt pocket like a treasure.

Est spread out the blanket under the shade of the tree, the dappled light shifting across his face as the wind ruffled his hair. I set the basket beside him, lowering myself to sit across from him.

He looked up, eyes soft. “This was a good idea.”

“Of course it was,” I said, smiling. “I planned it.”

He rolled his eyes, laughing quietly. “You’re really proud of yourself, huh?”

“Shouldn’t I be? Look at this ..... sunshine, kids not fighting.....well, not much.....and you actually sitting still.”

He smirked. “Don’t push your luck.”

For a while, they just watched. The twins were trying to kick the ball back and forth but kept missing spectacularly, dissolving into laughter every time. Wisteria hovered nearby, content to pick flowers and line them up carefully on the grass like tiny trophies.

Est leaned back on his palms, his gaze distant but content. “It’s strange,” he said after a moment. “How peaceful it feels. Like… the world slowed down a bit.”

“Maybe it’s just us catching up to it,” I said softly. “After running for so long.”

He turned his head slightly, eyes finding mine. There was something in that look ..... something quiet and full of unspoken years. “You’ve changed,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Good changed or bad changed?”

“The kind that feels…” He paused, searching for the right word. “…steady. Like you finally stopped holding your breath.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just smiled faintly, letting the silence speak for me. The sunlight flickered across his face through the leaves ..... warm, golden, alive.

I reached into the basket, pulling out the sandwiches I’d made. “Here,” I said, handing him one. “Your favorite. Don’t say I don’t remember things.”

He laughed softly. “You remember everything, Will. That’s the problem.”

“Not everything,” I murmured, glancing toward the kids. “But the important things, yeah.”

We ate quietly for a while, the sound of laughter and wind filling the gaps between words. It wasn’t uncomfortable ..... it was easy, simple, natural. Every moment like this felt like stitching something broken back together, thread by thread.

When the kids ran further off to chase a butterfly, I noticed Est’s hand resting loosely on the blanket, fingers brushing against mine with the faintest hesitation. I turned my hand over, just enough so our fingers touched ..... tentative at first, then sure.

He didn’t pull away.

I let out a slow breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “You know,” I said quietly, “I used to think peace wasn’t real. That it was something other people got, not me.”

Est looked at me, eyes steady, curious.

“But then,” I continued, watching Wisteria laugh as Wesley tried to teach her to kick the ball, “I realized peace doesn’t come when everything’s perfect. It comes when you finally stop running from the things that hurt.”

There was a long pause, the kind that felt both heavy and safe.

He didn’t speak, just reached up and brushed his thumb over a stray curl at my temple. The touch was so gentle it almost broke something inside me ..... that old, brittle wall I’d built around my heart.

“I know you’re still holding things back,” Est said quietly, not accusing, just stating it like a truth between them. “But I also know you’re trying. And that’s enough for now.”

My throat tightened, the weight of his understanding hitting me deeper than any words could.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He smiled ..... soft, small, and achingly familiar. “You don’t have to thank me, Will. Just… stay. That’s all.”

“I will,” I said, and meant it.

A gust of wind swept through the field then, scattering a few petals across the blanket. One landed in Est’s hair. Without thinking, I reached forward, brushed it away, and let my hand linger for just a second too long.

His eyes lifted to mine ..... sunlight reflected in warm brown ..... and suddenly the noise of the world faded again.

For a moment, it felt like the lantern scene all over again ..... that same stillness, that same golden quiet that wrapped around them whenever their hearts found the same rhythm.

The kids’ laughter in the distance. The rustle of grass. The warmth between their joined hands.

And for once, it didn’t feel fragile. It didn’t feel like something that could break with one wrong move.

It just was.

Real. Steady. Bright.

I glanced at Wisteria, who was now sitting in the grass, holding hands with Wesley and Easter, all three of them beaming up at the sky like they’d discovered joy itself.

I smiled softly. “Looks like they’re already friends for life.”

Est followed my gaze and nodded. “Guess they learned that from us,” he said quietly.

I turned back to him, heart full and unguarded. “Then let’s not teach them how to let go.”

He didn’t reply, but the way his hand tightened around mine said everything I needed to hear.

And beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun, with laughter spilling like music and the past finally beginning to loosen its hold, I knew .....

This was where I was meant to be.
Right here.
With him.
With them.

Est’s POV

The sunlight poured warm and golden across the park, filtering through the canopy of trees and painting the grass in dappled light. I leaned back on my hands, watching William spread out the blanket while the kids darted ahead ..... Easter chasing Wesley with his usual unstoppable energy, Wisteria toddling after them with a soft determination that made my heart twist.

It was strange, the kind of quiet peace that fell over me in that moment.
For years, I’d imagined what it would feel like ..... this kind of simplicity, where laughter replaced tension and the only thing that mattered was the sound of children’s giggles carried by the wind.

And then there was William.

He crouched by the blanket, smoothing out the corners, sunlight catching in his hair. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms dusted with flour ..... he must’ve baked something himself. I smiled faintly, because of course he did. That was just who he was ..... thoughtful in small, deliberate ways.

“Everything looks perfect,” I said, coming over with the basket I’d packed.

He glanced up, and that easy smile appeared ..... the one that still had the power to stop my heart for a moment. “Perfect because you’re here,” he murmured, almost like he didn’t mean for me to hear.

My breath hitched, but I only laughed softly, shaking my head as I sat beside him.
He didn’t have to say it. I could feel it ..... in the way he looked at me, in how careful his hands were when they brushed mine as he handed me a drink, in the way he kept glancing toward the kids as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

We ate together in that lazy afternoon sun ..... sandwiches, fruit, and William’s still-warm muffins that made Easter grin so wide his cheeks puffed out. Wesley offered half of his to Wisteria, who accepted it shyly, her fingers brushing his. The sight made something soft bloom in my chest.

“They get along so easily,” I said, my voice quiet.

William followed my gaze, his lips curving. “Yeah. They don’t carry the things we do.”

That simple sentence lingered between us.
He wasn’t wrong ..... they didn’t carry old scars, or unspoken fears, or the ache of years lost. Watching them together made me wonder if maybe we could learn something from them ..... about forgiveness, about starting over.

After lunch, the kids dragged us to play. Easter insisted on a game of tag, Wesley nodded in agreement, and Wisteria… she just stood there, her little hands twisting around the hem of her dress, looking unsure.

I knelt down to her level. “Want to be on my team?”

Her eyes flicked toward William, then back to me. Slowly, she nodded.

Her tiny fingers slipped into mine, hesitant at first, but when I squeezed gently, she held on tighter. William’s gaze softened, and something unspoken passed between us ..... gratitude, maybe. Or something deeper.

“Alright then,” I said, grinning. “Prepare to lose, William.”

He raised an eyebrow, all mock offense. “Oh, it’s on.”

What followed was laughter ..... bright, unrestrained laughter that echoed across the park.
William chased the boys while I carried Wisteria in mock triumph, spinning her until she laughed ..... an airy, breathy giggle that was rare but pure magic. For a moment, I forgot everything else. The years, the pain, the walls we built ..... they all blurred into nothing beneath that sunlit sky.

Eventually, we collapsed back onto the blanket, out of breath and smiling like fools. William flopped down beside me, his arm brushing mine. His skin was warm, the air filled with the faint scent of grass and muffins.

“You know,” I said softly, “I think this is the happiest I’ve seen you.”

He turned his head toward me, eyes half-lidded, lips curving. “Because I am.”

That honesty hit me harder than I expected. I swallowed, turning my gaze toward the kids ..... Wesley and Easter now showing Wisteria how to make a daisy chain. The world felt small and infinite all at once.

I didn’t say it out loud, but maybe he felt it anyway ..... the quiet realization blooming in me. That after everything, after all those years of distance and silence, we’d somehow found our way back to this ..... to laughter, to softness, to something that might finally become home again.

And as the afternoon sun dipped low, golden light catching on William’s lashes, I thought ..... maybe this was what healing looked like.
Not in words or grand gestures.
But in small moments. In laughter shared under a quiet sky.
In choosing to stay, again and again.

Because this time, neither of us was running.

The afternoon sun had mellowed, soft and golden, painting everything in that dreamy kind of warmth that made time feel slower ..... sweeter. The kids were lying on the grass a few meters away, lazily weaving flower crowns from clovers and daisies. Wesley was patiently helping Wisteria thread her tiny flowers together while Easter hummed a song I recognized faintly ..... one of William’s, of course.

I lay back on the blanket, one arm folded under my head, the other lazily brushing the blades of grass beside me. William sat next to me, legs stretched out, eyes half-closed as if he were soaking in the moment. A breeze moved through the park, tugging softly at his hair. I couldn’t help staring for a while ..... the sunlight caught on his skin like it belonged there, outlining the gentle curve of his jaw, the faint smile playing at his lips.

It still amazed me sometimes ..... how familiar he felt, and yet how fragile it all seemed. Like if I reached out too suddenly, he might disappear again.

He turned his head toward me then, eyes searching mine.
“Can I ask you something?” he said quietly.

The tone caught me off guard ..... soft, but laced with something heavier underneath.

“Of course,” I replied, sitting up a little. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with a blade of grass. “Why did you never ask me… why I left?”

I blinked, my breath catching just slightly.
He didn’t look at me at first ..... his gaze stayed on his hands, on the ground, anywhere but my face. And for a moment, I could almost see the boy from ten years ago ..... the one who had carried too many shadows in his eyes but still smiled like he didn’t want anyone to notice.

I could have told him the truth ..... that I did wonder, every single day, for years. That I replayed every last moment, every word, every silence, trying to understand what I’d done wrong.
But looking at him now, sitting there under the sunlight, I realized none of that mattered anymore.

So I smiled ..... slow and small ..... and reached for his hand. My fingers found his easily, slipping between them, warm and sure.
“Because,” I said softly, “your past doesn’t define you, William.”

He looked up, eyes wide, almost startled by the simplicity of it.

“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready,” I continued. “I didn’t need to ask. I just needed to know you were here now.”

His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes glimmering with something unspoken ..... guilt, relief, gratitude, maybe all at once. The breeze tugged at his hair again, and he looked away for a heartbeat, blinking fast.

“Est…” he began, but the rest of the words never quite made it out.

I shifted closer, my hand tightening around his. “You don’t owe me an explanation for your pain,” I said. “Not until you’re ready to share it. I’ll wait. For as long as it takes.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty ..... it was full. Full of the kind of understanding that didn’t need to be spoken. He looked at me then, really looked ..... and for the first time since he came back into my life, there wasn’t fear in his eyes. Only tenderness.

And before I could stop myself, I leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
It was soft, almost fleeting, but I felt him still ..... completely still ..... as if the world had gone quiet around us.

When I pulled back, his cheeks were flushed, and his lips parted just slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t trust his voice not to break.

“See?” I said with a faint grin, trying to ease the heaviness in the air. “That’s for finally asking what you should’ve asked ten years ago.”

He let out a breath ..... half laugh, half sigh ..... and shook his head, eyes glimmering with something dangerously close to tears.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured.

“Maybe,” I said softly. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

The sunlight lingered on his face then, golden and tender, and I thought ..... if there was a moment that could heal years of silence, this was it.
Not a grand apology.
Not a dramatic confession.
Just two people, sitting under the sun, holding hands, finally learning that love didn’t always need words.

Sometimes, it just needed the courage to stay.

For a long, still moment, we just sat there ..... eyes locked, fingers intertwined, the soft hum of the world fading around us.
The sunlight pooled between us, warm and drowsy, the faint smell of grass and the children’s laughter hanging in the air like a blessing.

William’s gaze held mine ..... unhurried, deep, tender in a way that made my chest ache. It wasn’t fiery or desperate like in the movies; it was quiet, steady, as if he were memorizing me ..... the lines of my face, the curve of my smile, the peace in my eyes. And I did the same.
Because after all the years, the silences, the almosts and the never-agains… here we were.
Whole.
Breathing the same sunlight.

He smiled ..... that small, real smile that always hit me somewhere I didn’t know existed. My thumb brushed against his, and I could feel the faint tremor of emotion beneath his skin.

“Est…” he whispered, voice barely above the wind.

“Mm?”

“Thank you,” he said simply.

And before I could answer ..... before I could even take in the full weight of it ..... there was a sudden war cry.

“DADDYYYYY!!”

I barely had a second to register it before two small bodies came barreling into us. Wesley tackled me from the side, and Easter jumped straight onto my lap, laughter bursting out of them both like fireworks.

“Hey.....!” I laughed, struggling to stay upright as their little arms wrapped around me in an ambush of chaos and love.

Then came the voice of sweet mischief ..... Wisteria’s soft giggle, muffled but gleeful as she toddled over, joining the pile. She didn’t say much ..... but her laughter spoke volumes.

All three of them were now clinging to us like happy little magnets.
Wesley was the first to speak, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Papa kissed Uncle Will!” he declared, pointing accusingly at me with the dramatic flair of a courtroom witness.

Easter gasped, turning to me with wide, scandalized eyes. “You did?!”

William, beside me, turned pink instantly. He looked half horrified, half ready to dissolve into laughter. “It wasn’t.....” he started, but Wesley cut him off.

“It was! I saw! You were sitting like this.....” He dramatically grabbed Easter’s face and leaned in exaggeratedly close, making kissy noises that sent Wisteria into a fit of giggles so bright it melted my heart.

“Oh no,” I groaned, trying to hide my smile. “Now I’ll never live this down.”

Wesley folded his arms, pretending to pout. “Not fair! Papa kissed Uncle Will but didn’t kiss us!”

Easter gasped again, eyes widening. “Yeah! We want kisses too!”

Wisteria, catching on to the energy, reached out both arms expectantly toward William and me, her tiny face earnest and hopeful.

William laughed then ..... the kind of laugh that shook through his chest, soft and free. I hadn’t heard that sound in years ..... not like this. Not the kind that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“Alright, alright,” I said, surrendering with my hands up. “One at a time!”

I leaned forward and planted loud, exaggerated kisses on both of my boys’ cheeks, making them giggle uncontrollably. Wesley scrunched up his nose, pretending to wipe it off, but his grin gave him away. Easter threw his arms around my neck, declaring victory.

Then, Wisteria tilted her head toward William expectantly, still holding out her arms. He smiled ..... gentle and patient ..... and pulled her close, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. She giggled quietly and leaned her head against his chest, satisfied.

“Happy now?” William teased.

“Noooo,” Wesley said immediately, pointing at William and me again. “You two didn’t finish your kiss!”

“Wesley!” I said, eyes widening in mock horror as William turned a deeper shade of red.

Easter burst into laughter, and even Wisteria was hiding her smile behind her tiny hands.

William leaned close enough for only me to hear and murmured, “I think we’ve officially lost control.”

“Completely,” I whispered back, my lips curving.

We both sat there in the middle of that chaos ..... the kids rolling around, the picnic blanket half-ruined, the sandwiches forgotten ..... and yet, I couldn’t think of a single thing more perfect.
Wesley’s laughter echoed across the park. Wisteria was tugging on William’s sleeve, showing him a daisy she’d found. Easter was trying to organize a “family tickle war,” his tiny voice brimming with excitement.

And William ..... he was smiling again, that real kind of smile that reached his eyes, lighting him up from within.

I leaned back slightly, taking it all in ..... the noise, the warmth, the unfiltered joy.
For years, we’d lived in separate worlds, haunted by things we never said, things we couldn’t fix. But now, surrounded by the laughter of our children and the golden calm of the afternoon, it felt like the universe had finally decided to be kind to us.

Maybe it wasn’t the kind of love story that burned fast and bright.
Maybe it was something slower, softer ..... the kind that healed instead of hurt.

And as I caught William’s gaze again ..... his hand reaching out absentmindedly to brush a petal from my shoulder ..... I knew.

Whatever storms were still waiting for us, whatever ghosts lingered in his past or mine… this moment, this peace, this strange, beautiful family we’d built ..... it was worth it.
Every scar.
Every year apart.
Every fight to come.

Because somehow, after all this time .....
we’d finally found our way home.

William’s POV

The chaos of the kids had faded for a moment, carried away by the soft thud of a ball bouncing across the grass and their laughter echoing from a distance. Wesley, Easter, and Wisteria were off on another impromptu game, leaving just the two of us sprawled on the blanket, a quiet bubble settling around us.

I leaned back onto the mat, letting my head rest against the soft fabric, stretching my arms behind me. Est sat beside me, legs tucked under him, eyes following the kids but glancing back at me every so often. The warm sun hit my face just right, the smell of grass and flowers thick in the air, the sound of birds weaving through the gentle rustle of the trees.

We didn’t speak. There was no need. The silence wasn’t empty ..... it was full, heavy with everything words couldn’t quite carry.

I turned my head slightly, catching his profile in the sunlight. His eyes lingered on me in that slow, deliberate way that made my chest tighten, the faint curve of his lips pulling into a soft, almost imperceptible smile. My heart picked up just enough to remind me ..... gently, insistently ..... that I’d never want to be anywhere else.

My hand shifted, almost on its own, reaching for his. I let it rest lightly on his thigh, thumb brushing against his skin, and he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers twitched slightly, just enough that I knew he’d felt the contact, had registered the silent reassurance in the gesture.

The quiet stretched, and I let myself simply look at him. The warmth of the sun painted golden highlights in his hair, the faint line of his jaw relaxed, shoulders loose. I felt the years of distance, of misunderstandings, of pain ..... all of it ..... dissolve in the space between us, leaving only the present.

I thought about how many times I’d run. How many times I’d vanished from people I cared about, dragging my shadows along and leaving nothing but questions behind. How easy it would have been to walk away again.

And yet ..... here I was.

Beside him. Not running. Not hiding. Not afraid.

I felt his gaze shift to mine, unspoken acknowledgment passing between us ..... a language that didn’t need words, because every heartbeat, every small touch, every shared breath said everything.

I shifted slightly, letting my fingers entwine with his, brushing the back of his hand with my thumb. He leaned just a little closer, shoulder touching mine, until our sides were pressed together. The warmth was soft, steady, grounding.

For a long moment, we just were. No distractions, no expectations, no ghosts of the past. Just the two of us, the sun on our skin, the gentle breeze moving through the trees, and the quiet symphony of our children playing somewhere nearby.

I swallowed, heart tight, thinking how far I’d come to be here. How many years I’d spent running from myself, from the past, from him. And yet, lying here, hand in hand, I realized something both terrifying and beautiful: without him, without this, I’d be nowhere. Truly nowhere.

The corners of his lips curved slightly toward me, slow, soft, like a secret I was allowed to share without speaking. I leaned my head back onto the mat again, letting the warmth soak in, my hand tightening around his just slightly, silently affirming that I wasn’t leaving, that I wasn’t going anywhere.

Est’s eyes met mine again, long and steady, and for a moment I felt all the weight I’d carried, all the fear, all the distance, just melt away. We didn’t need to speak. Our hands, our eyes, the faint brush of our shoulders against one another said everything that words could never capture.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet, unshakeable thought settled ..... this is where I belong. Right here. Right now. With him.

And for once, I didn’t feel like I was running. I didn’t feel like I needed to fix anything. I just… was.

With him.

And that was enough.

The warmth, the peace, the quiet bubble we’d built over these few precious hours… it shattered in an instant.

The park, which had felt like our own secluded corner of the world, was suddenly pierced by a scream ..... sharp, high-pitched, and full of terror. It sliced through the calm like a knife.

“WESLEY! EASTER!” My voice cracked, panic flooding me in waves, snapping through me like electricity. My chest tightened, lungs burning as adrenaline surged. I scrambled upright from the blanket, my hands trembling, my eyes scanning desperately. The sunlit park that had been so safe, so familiar, now felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in. The laughter of moments ago was gone, replaced by screams that clung to the air, twisting it into something poisonous.

I ran. My legs pumped faster than they had in years, ignoring the ache in my muscles, the pounding in my head. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to get to them, to protect them, to undo this nightmare before it could swallow us whole.

And then I saw him.

My blood ran ice-cold.

There, not ten meters away, was my father. The man whose shadow had haunted my childhood, the one who had driven me to flee, the one I’d spent years running from… standing there, a cruel, familiar grin twisting his features. But it wasn’t him alone ..... in his grip, my little Wisteria. My daughter. The soft weight of her body pressed against him, a knife held threateningly at her throat.

Time slowed.

Everything slowed.

The sunlight no longer felt warm. The grass no longer smelled sweet. My heart screamed as my mind raced, trying to reconcile what I was seeing with the memories of a life I thought I’d left behind.

“DAD!” I roared, moving as fast as my legs could carry me, but something inside froze me ..... the knife, the glint of steel, Wisteria’s wide, terrified eyes, the helpless panic in her tiny body.