Chapter 4

In the morning, William was already up and dressed when Est came into the kitchen.

“I made your toast,” William said without looking up. “You have ten minutes before your
meeting.”

Est blinked. “You’re not coming to my shoot today?”

William smiled softly. “You didn’t ask.”

Est’s stomach sank.

Later that day, Est sat backstage during a photoshoot, makeup being touched up by stylists,
cameras flashing all around him, but all he could think about was the way William’s eyes had
dimmed.

He scrolled back to their old text threads—ones filled with goofy selfies, “I love you”s, and late-
night food cravings. He read the words like they belonged to strangers.

He clicked on a photo from two years ago. William was kissing his cheek while Est laughed into
the lens, messy-haired and glowing.

His throat tightened.

He opened his messaging app.

Est: “Can we talk later?”

No reply.

Est: “Are you okay?”

Still nothing.

Est: “Please? Just let me know you are okay?”

Est shut his phone off and buried his face in his hands.
Back home that night, William was already in bed, reading. He didn’t look up when Est entered
and didn’t greet him.

That night, they lay in the same bed, but worlds apart.

William faced the wall.

Est stared at the ceiling, tears slipping down his face silently.

He wanted to reach out. Just once. Just to feel William breathe beneath his palm. But his hands
didn’t move. His guilt was heavier than his own body.

He thought of every moment he had chosen not to be honest.

Every “I’m just tired” meant I don’t want to talk to you.

Every “It’s nothing” meant I’m scared you’ll see how broken I am.

Every time, he told himself it didn’t count because he wasn’t kissing, touching, or loving her.

But betrayal didn’t have to be physical.

And William was living proof.

Chapter 5

By morning, William was already dressed, eating toast at the table when Est walked in, eyes red,
hair a mess.

“I have a schedule later,” Est mumbled.

William didn’t look up. “Okay.”

“I might be late.”

“Okay.”

Est wanted to scream.

“Please,” he said, voice cracking. “Don’t do this. Don’t talk to me like I’m a stranger.”

William looked at him, finally. But his eyes weren’t angry—they were empty.

“I’m not trying to punish you,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to protect myself.”
Est sat down across from him, breath shaking. “Do you hate me?”

William’s answer was immediate.

“No. I don’t I’m just angry and hurt.”

That night, Est came home soaked from rain, even though he had an umbrella in his bag. He just
hadn’t bothered to open it.

William looked up from the couch, startled.

“Jesus, Est,” he said, standing. “You’re freezing.”

Est didn’t speak. He just stood there, dripping, staring at him.

William stepped forward. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Est’s voice broke as he whispered, “Would you take care of me if I did?”

William froze.

“Would you hold me like before?” Est continued, voice rising. “Would you stay in bed with me
and make soup and stay with me until I slept?”

“Est—”

“I’m sorry,” he said, tears mixing with rain. “I’m sorry for everything. I’ll do anything. I’ll shut
her out. I’ll delete every message. I’ll tell the world I fucked up. Please. I need you. And I need
you to need me again.”

William looked at him, eyes wide, lips trembling.

“I never stopped needing you,” Est said, stepping closer. “And I know I broke everything. But
please, please, don’t give up on me.”

And finally—for the first time in weeks—William cried.

Est deleted every thread with Lana.

Blocked her number. Blocked her socials.

Not because he thought it would magically fix things.

But because he knew he had to start somewhere.

He sat on the floor of the bedroom that night, holding his phone in shaking hands. Then he cried.

Not the dramatic kind.

The quiet kind. The exhausted, broken kind. The kind that comes when you realize your actions
have consequences no amount of begging can erase.

Chapter 6

The next morning, Est cooked breakfast for the first time in weeks.

It wasn’t perfect—he burned the toast, the eggs were too runny—but he placed the plate in front
of William anyway with a soft, trembling voice.

“I made it for you”.

William stared at the plate.

Then at Est.

And for the first time in a long time, he nodded.

“Thank you.”

They didn’t hug.

They didn’t kiss.
But William ate.

And Est sat across from him, tears in his eyes, trying not to cry as he whispered thank you to a
version of William who still—miraculously—hadn’t walked away.

William looked at him , and asked, “Are you okay est?”

Est nodded. “I’m starting therapy. One of the studios gave me a name.”

William blinked. “You are?”

Est laughed weakly. “Yeah. I am”.

William’s mouth opened, but he didn’t speak.

Then, slowly, he stood and walked over to Est.

For the first time in weeks, he wrapped his arms around him.
Just briefly.

Est collapsed into his chest and cried like a child.

William held him.

And Est—just for a second—let himself believe it wasn’t too late.

Chapter 11

For a little while, things got better.

William didn’t smile like he used to, but he stopped looking like he was on the edge of tears. He
still slept facing the other side of the bed, but sometimes he let Est curl up behind him. Their
conversations weren’t filled with laughter, but they were honest. And Est—God, Est was trying.

He cooked breakfast. Went to therapy. Answered work emails on time. Read every book William
had left half-open around the apartment. He made a chart on the fridge that read “No Lies. No
Silence.” and ticked it off every day.

It started with a simple text.

William: “Are you free Sunday?”

Est read it three times before replying.

Est: “Anytime. Anywhere.”

They met at the café down the street from the apartment they used to share.

A small, quiet place with ivy along the windows and low music humming beneath the chatter.
The same place they used to go when they wanted to escape being “Est and William.” Here, they
were just two boys in love.

Est arrived early.

He didn’t wear anything fancy. Just jeans and a white t-shirt. No makeup. No filter.

He didn’t want to impress William.

He just wanted to be seen.
When William walked in, Est’s heart jumped. He looked… familiar.

Not flawless. Not glowing.

Just William.

In soft colors. Slightly tired eyes. But calm.

He looked better. Safer.

He looked like someone who had learned to hold himself up.

Est stood without thinking. “Hi.”

William gave him the smallest smile. “Hi.”

They didn’t hug.

They just sat across from each other. A table, two mugs, and a mountain of history between
them.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Est broke the silence first. “You look good.”

William raised an eyebrow. “You look human.”

Est let out a breathy laugh. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in months.”

“I mean it,” William said softly. “You look real. Settled. Like you finally stopped running.”

“I did,” Est said, voice just above a whisper. “I got tired of being the reason people leave.”

William nodded.

Then: “So why now?”

Est didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

“I didn’t call you here to ask for another chance,” he said. “I just… wanted you to see me. As I
am. Not the version of me that begged, or lied, or spiraled. Just… me.”

William looked at him for a long time.

Then said, “Okay. Show me.”

Est talked.

Not like a confession.

Not like a plea.

Just honesty.

He told William about therapy. About the things he unpacked. The ghosts he faced. The way he
learned to sit with his feelings instead of destroying everything around him.

He told him about the journal. The crying. The solo dinners. The nights he looked at the moon
and wished he could rewind time—and the nights he didn’t wish anymore, because he knew
healing didn’t live in the past.

He told William he loved him.

Still.

But not out of desperation.

“I love you without needing you to fix anything,” Est said. “Without asking you to come back. I
just… do.”

William was quiet for a long time.

Then he whispered, “I needed to hear that.”

They sipped their coffee.

The sun outside warmed the ivy. Children laughed in the distance. For a while, they just sat there
—two boys, no labels, no chaos.

Then William spoke.

“I wasn’t perfect either, Est.”

Est’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I held you up like a statue. Forgot you were human. I made you feel like you had to be strong
for both of us.”

Est’s throat tightened. “That’s not your fault.”

“No,” William said. “But I want you to know… I forgive you. Fully. And I forgive myself too.”

Est broke.

Not with loud sobs—but with soft, relieved tears. The kind you cry when someone lets you lay
down a burden you didn’t know you were still carrying.

After a while, William smiled faintly. “So… what now?”

Est hesitated. “We start over?”

William tilted his head. “Start over, or start again?”

Est took a breath. “Whichever one doesn’t expect too much.”

William chuckled. “I think we’ve had enough expectations for one lifetime.”

Then his eyes softened.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to fall back in love yet.”

Est nodded. “That’s okay. I’m not asking you to.”

“But I’m willing to sit across from you again next week,” William added, a little grin tugging at
his lips. “And maybe the week after.”

Est laughed, wiping his eyes. “I can bring better coffee.”

“You’d better,” William teased. “Your taste is still questionable.”

They both laughed this time.

And in that moment, something shifted.

Not a promise.
Not a grand romantic speech.
Not a reunion kiss.

Just a quiet understanding.

That maybe love doesn’t come back all at once.

Maybe it grows again.

Slowly. Softly.

Like ivy on a window, curling in sunlight.

Later that night, Est sat on his bed, journal in his lap.

He wrote:

Today, I saw William.

Not through tears. Not from a distance. Just… face to face.
I didn’t ask him to love me back. I just loved him. Out loud.
And he stayed. For coffee. For laughter.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel broken. I feel becoming.

If love returns to us one day, I’ll be ready.

But even if it doesn’t, I’ll be okay.
Because I found myself in the process of losing him.
And that version of me? I think he’s worth loving too.

He closed the journal.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—

He slept.
Peacefully.

The apartment was different now.

Lighter. Warmer. No ghosts hiding in the corners. No unspoken apologies folded into every
object.

There were still memories—framed photos, two mugs instead of one, Est’s hoodie hanging on
the coat rack like it always had—but the weight that used to cling to everything like grief… was
gone.

Est stood at the stove, humming quietly, flipping pancakes with a sleepy smile on his face.
Behind him, William emerged from the bedroom in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, hair sticking
up wildly.

“Your humming is terrible,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Est turned, grinning. “You say that like it’s new.”

William walked over, wrapped his arms around Est’s waist from behind, and rested his chin on
his shoulder.

“I still love it,” he whispered.

Est paused—just for a breath.

Then leaned back into him.

They hadn’t rushed anything.

After that day at the café, they met once a week. Coffee, bookstores, museums, random noodle
stalls in alleyways they used to laugh about. No drama. No pressure.

Just two people rebuilding something they weren’t even sure had a name anymore.

It took three months for William to touch Est again without flinching.

Six for Est to stop apologizing every time William was quiet.

Eight before William spent the night again—on the couch, then the bed, then never left.

They didn’t post anything online.

Didn’t announce a comeback.

Because it wasn’t a comeback.

It was a rebirth.

They still had arguments.

Still went quiet sometimes.

Still had moments where the past peeked through, whispering, are you sure this time?
But they handled it differently now.

They paused. Spoke. Listened.

They chose each other, even on the hard days.

Especially on the hard days.

On the balcony that night, Est curled into William’s side, two mugs of tea warming their hands.

The stars blinked gently above the city.

“You remember what you told me?” Est murmured. “That you didn’t know if you could believe
in us anymore?”

William turned his head, pressing a kiss to Est’s temple.

“I believe in us now.”

Est smiled, eyes soft.

“I do too.”

They sat there, quiet. No performance. No pretending.

Just two people, battered by storms, still choosing to stay.

Because sometimes love isn’t loud.

Sometimes it’s a soft hum in the kitchen.

A shared glance at sunrise.

A whispered I love you in the middle of folding laundry.

Sometimes, love isn’t about returning to what was.

It’s about growing into what could be.

Together.
The end. 💛

Chapter 3: I’m Still Here, But You’re Not

Est sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the empty space beside him.

The bedsheet was still wrinkled from William’s last visit. His pillow still smelled like that soft
citrus shampoo Est had picked out for him. But the warmth was gone.

And that’s what Est couldn’t take.

William hadn’t broken up with him. He hadn’t said the words. He hadn’t slammed a door or
cursed his name. He had simply… stopped showing up.

No goodnight texts.

No morning calls.

No “did you eat?” or “come home soon.”

It was the kind of silence that bled through everything.

Est tried to distract himself with scripts, with shoots, with smiling in front of cameras—but
everything felt like pretending. Even laughing felt like betrayal.

He opened their shared album on his phone again. Scrolled through their last trip together. The
blurry selfies in the mirror. The goofy photos William took when Est wasn’t looking. The one of
them tangled in sheets, William half-asleep with a dumb smile.

Est’s chest ached.

“I’m still here,” he whispered to the screen. “But you’re not.”

William hadn’t disappeared completely.

He was still posting promotional stuff. Still showing up to work. Still laughing with others.

But not with Est.

Not anymore.
He avoided shared events. Skipped rehearsals where Est was present. And when they had to be
in the same room, William stayed professional. Cold. Untouchable.

Like they were strangers who just happened to wear the same history.

Est tried—God, he tried—to stay strong. But everything kept slipping.

He burned William’s eggs when he tried to cook breakfast like they used to.

He reached for his phone to text William when something funny happened… only to stop
halfway through the message.

He stood at their favorite café and ordered two drinks before realizing the second one wouldn’t
be claimed.

One night, Est broke.

He sat on their couch, the one where they'd had movie marathons, cried during dramas, made
promises under flickering fairy lights.

He curled up with William’s blanket, breathing it in like a lifeline.

And he cried.

For hours.

No dramatic sobbing. No screaming.

Just quiet, shaking tears, the kind that feel like drowning slowly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the empty room. “I didn’t mean to lose you.”

Meanwhile, William lay awake in his own bed across the city.

He hadn’t deleted Est’s contact. He hadn’t removed the photos.

He’d replayed Est’s voice message three times that night.

“I know I broke your trust. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I miss you. So much, it hurts.”

William pressed the phone to his chest.

His lips trembled.

“I miss you too,” he whispered into the dark.

But the words never left the voicemail box.

Because he didn’t know how to say it without falling apart.