WillEst

Scene — 7:02 a.m. Lykn’s shared house.

The house stirred with the slow warmth of morning.

Sunlight spilled through the wide living room windows in long golden streaks, catching dust motes in the air like confetti. Somewhere, the soft clatter of dishes echoed faintly from the kitchen — someone half-awake, probably Nut or Tui, moving on autopilot. The air smelled faintly of brewed coffee and warm fabric softener. A fan hummed lazily in the hallway. Quiet music played from a phone left forgotten on the counter, something wordless and slow.

In the middle of it all, William stood barefoot in the kitchen, dressed in low-slung gray sweats and a wrinkled band tee, hair still rumpled from sleep. His back was to the room, one hand resting on the counter as he scrolled absently through his phone. His other hand held a mug, half-full, growing cold.

Behind him, sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, Est watched him, silent.

He had come in just a few minutes ago, gym bag still slung over one shoulder, hair damp from an early swim. He hadn’t said much — just a quiet “morning” that William answered with a half-smile and a nod.

Now they sat in the quiet between words. Not angry. Not quite. Just… that familiar space where things didn’t feel as soft as they used to. Where love was still there, but a little tired.

Est’s legs swung lightly as he sat, kicking the air. He was still in his team hoodie, a towel half-tucked into the side pocket of his bag. His gaze moved to William’s back again.

“You’re up early,” Est said, voice low, a little hoarse from chlorine and sleep.

William didn’t look over. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Est nodded like he expected that answer. “Big day?”

William shrugged. “Maybe. Recording later. Then press. You know how it is.”

Est let the silence settle again. He was used to these mornings, these versions of William — the tired, distracted one who still tried to show up, but sometimes didn’t know how. The one who burned at both ends, trying to chase his dreams and hold onto a love that always felt one step behind his schedule.

“I missed you yesterday,” Est said, quieter now. Not accusing. Just honest.

William finally turned.

There was something tired in his eyes, but also something soft. He crossed the space between them slowly, set his mug down beside Est’s thigh, and leaned a hand against the table edge. He didn’t say I missed you too, but it was in the way he reached for Est’s hand, in the way he squeezed it gently before letting it go.

“I know,” William said.

Est gave a small, crooked smile. “We argue a lot lately.”

“We're both busy.”

“You're always busy.”

William hesitated, then sighed. “I know.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Est said, “I didn’t tell him you were coming today.”

William’s jaw tensed just a little at the mention — him. Est’s older brother. The walking red flag neither of them liked to name too directly in the mornings. Not before coffee. Not when they were trying to be okay.

“Thanks,” William said finally.

Est looked down. “You shouldn’t have to thank me for that.”

“I know,” William whispered.

The house creaked as someone walked overhead. A door shut softly in the hall. A kettle clicked off in the background. Life moving on around them, while they stayed paused — two boys trying to navigate love in the crosscurrents of their separate lives.

But then William leaned forward, his forehead brushing against Est’s, gently.

“I’m trying,” he said.

Est nodded. “I know.”

William smiled, small and crooked. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

And for a moment, the quiet between them felt like something else — not distance, but pause. Not tension, but the ache of care that hadn’t yet found the right words.

Then William leaned back, grabbed his coffee, and nodded toward the couch. “Sit with me?”

Est slid down from the table, falling into step beside him.

They didn’t talk much more that morning.

They didn’t need to.

They just sat together on the couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, the mug passed back and forth, the morning sun curling over their shoulders like something soft and forgiving.

And for a while, they were okay. Not perfect. Not fixed.

But okay.

And that, for now, was enough.

Scene — 7:46 a.m. Lykn’s shared house, living room.

The morning unfolded like a slow yawn.

William and Est were still on the couch, nestled into the corner of it. The blanket had slid slightly, exposing bare knees and the hem of Est’s damp hoodie. The coffee mug now rested on the low table, long since emptied and gone cold, but neither of them moved to get more. William’s arm had found its way around Est’s shoulders somewhere between one silence and the next, and Est had let his head fall there — a little awkward, a little perfect.

Then came the soft scuff of socks down the hallway.

First, it was Tui, hair wild and upright like a warning sign, wearing a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a hoodie two sizes too big. He shuffled in, rubbing one eye, and blinked slowly at the pair on the couch.

“Are we having a ‘sad lovers at dawn’ moment?” he asked, voice still scratchy with sleep.

Est chuckled under his breath, not lifting his head. William just gave Tui a look. “It’s almost 8. That’s not dawn.”

Tui dropped onto the far end of the couch with a dramatic sigh, legs up, head falling against the cushions. “It is if you went to bed at three.”

Est gave him a skeptical glance. “Why would you — ”

“Don’t ask,” William muttered. “You never want the answer.”

Then came Lego, walking in with a banana in one hand and a phone in the other, hair already styled like he’d been up for an hour. “Morning. You two look cozy.”

Est made a small noise — somewhere between agreement and tired protest — and buried his face slightly into William’s shoulder. William’s thumb moved gently across Est’s upper arm.

“Everything okay?” Lego asked, glancing between them.

William looked up briefly. “Yeah. Just a quiet morning.”

“Mm,” Lego replied, unbothered, and flopped into the beanbag chair. “Anyone make breakfast?”

“Only regret and coffee,” Tui said, eyes still closed.

Nut appeared next, dressed immaculately even this early, in loose pajama pants and a tank top, his hair tied back loosely. He carried a tray with toast and a small plate of fruit, setting it gently on the table like a mom delivering care.

“Eat something,” he said to no one in particular, but his eyes drifted to William first — a subtle check-in.

William nodded, grateful. “Thanks.”

Nut gave a small smile, then looked around.

“Where’s Hong?”

Everyone glanced toward the hallway.

“Still out,” Tui said. “Didn’t hear him moving.”

Nut sighed softly and reached for a slice of toast. “Let him sleep. He didn’t crash until after three. We had... a long night.”

William looked over, curious but quiet.

Tui arched an eyebrow. “Long night?”

Nut didn’t answer right away. He just tore a corner off his toast and chewed thoughtfully.

“He’s okay?” Lego asked.

Nut nodded. “He’s okay. Just tired.”

Something passed through the room — a shared understanding, even if the details were missing. The kind of silence that’s respectful. Protective.Nut continued, “Just don’t bother him when he comes out. Let him wake up slow.”

“Got it,” Tui said. “No blaring music. No interrogations. No drama.”

“Basically,” Nut said, and shot him a dry look. “So just act the opposite of how you usually do.”

A soft laugh rolled through the room. Light. Easy.

But through it all, William and Est stayed quiet, a little separate. A little wrapped up in each other.

Est had shifted again, now half-lying across William’s lap, legs stretched out across the couch cushions, eyes nearly closed. William’s hand rested in Est’s hair, combing through the soft strands in lazy patterns. They weren’t hiding. But they weren’t performing either. They just were — steady and real in the middle of the group’s messy rhythm.

Lego watched them for a moment before quietly taking a picture with his phone, angling it wide to capture the whole living room — the coffee table, the mismatched socks, the boy draped across his boyfriend like a well-earned sigh. He didn’t post it. He just saved it.

Something about it felt… like home.

And when Hong finally appeared, soft gray hair tousled, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, no one swarmed him. No questions. No noise.

Nut rose gently and met him halfway, saying something too quiet to hear.

And still, William stayed where he was, one hand in Est’s hair, the other resting on his thigh.

In the shifting light of morning, with the group slowly gathering around them, they were the still point.

They weren’t perfect.

They weren’t easy.

But in this house, in this moment, they were steady.

And that mattered more than anything else.

Scene — Late morning, Lykn’s shared living room.

Sunlight danced in through the wide windows, laying golden bars across the hardwood floor. The coffee machine’s last groan echoed from the kitchen, and a summery playlist — Tui’s current obsession — hummed low in the corner.

Nut sat cross-legged on the rug, phone in hand, tapping at dates and rental options. Tui was sprawled out beside him, arms overhead, lamenting the thought of sand in his shoes. Lego reclined in a beanbag, tablet glowing in his lap, ready with half-hearted objections and snack proposals.

On the couch, William leaned back, one arm draped casually over the cushion. Beside him, Est perched on the edge, hair still damp from an early pool session, gaze bright with hope. Hong curled next to Est, notebook in hand, scribbling down “beach karaoke” and sunrise swim plans.

“Beach,” Nut proclaimed, eyes still glued to his screen. “Two nights. No cameras, no rehearsals, just... freedom.”

“I’m in,” Lego said without looking up. “Provided I can bring my boyfriend.”

Tui sat up, mock-solemn. “And SPF 100. I will not come back looking like a lobster.”

Hong cleared his throat, pen poised. “I’ll organize a sunrise swim — if Est’s up for it?” He glanced at Est with an encouraging smile.

Est grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

William gently squeezed Est’s hand, then looked to Nut. “Sounds perfect.”

Est took a breath. “Can I come?”

The group paused. William’s nod was immediate — quiet support in the corner of his lips — while Hong met Est’s eyes with open warmth.

“Of course,” Nut said, tapping his phone. “You’re part of us now.”

Tui chimed in: “Plus, I need someone to rescue me if I get stung by a jellyfish.”

Est laughed. “I’ll save you, as long as you stay still.”

Just then, Lego sat up. “Hey — would it be okay if Diamond came?” His voice was soft, hopeful. “I’d really like him there.”

A moment of thoughtful silence. Then Hong closed his notebook and said, “The more the merrier. He’s welcome.”

Nut nodded. “Just have him bring his own towel — and sunscreen.”

Tui raised a hand. “And diamond-level snacks, please.”

Lego cracked a grin. “He’ll bring his famous homemade granola bars.”

William leaned toward Est, voice low: “Good idea.” He brushed Est’s hair back. “I’m glad you’re both coming.”

Est’s eyes lit up; Hong scribbled “granola bars” under “breakfast.”

The chatter picked up again — discussions of beach house layouts, shared car rides, and late-night board games. Laughter wove through the room. But through it all, William and Est remained a quiet anchor: Est clasping William’s hand when Nut passed him the rental link, William tucking his arm around Est’s shoulders as Hong read aloud the address for the beach house.

Here, in the gentle chaos of planning, they weren’t outsiders. They were woven into the fabric of Lykn’s chosen family — fully, joyfully, and without hesitation.