Archive of Our Own ^beta

William started feeding the cat without really deciding to.

It just… happened.

A white cat, too clean to be feral and too cautious to be anyone’s pet, lingering by the steps outside his apartment building like it belonged there more than anything else did. 

The first time William noticed it, he had been running late, guitar case slung over his shoulder, coffee going cold in his hand. The cat had watched him with unreadable eyes, tail curled neatly around its paws, as if judging whether he was safe.

William had sighed, crouched, and offered half his breakfast sandwich.

The cat hadn’t touched it and had just looked away.

The second day, William brought chicken.

The third, rice and eggs.

By the fourth day, the cat let William sit near it without bolting.

After that, it became routine.

William would sit on the concrete steps after rehearsal, legs stretched out, back aching, and talk. About nothing. About everything. About how loud the band was getting, about the stupid lighting cues that never worked right, about how the city felt too big sometimes. He spoke like the cat understood—like it was the most natural thing in the world to confess his thoughts to a creature who never interrupted him.

Sometimes, the cat would blink slowly at him.

Sometimes, it would flick its tail.

Sometimes, it would lean just close enough that its fur brushed William’s knee.

“Don’t you wanna come inside?” William would ask, every night, hopeful but careful. “I’ve got a couch. And snacks. You’d like the snacks.”

The cat never followed.

It had taken weeks for the cat to trust him this much. William didn’t push. He learned the distance it preferred, the way it startled at sudden sounds, the exact spot between its ears it tolerated being scratched. Trust, he figured, wasn’t something you rushed.

Then it rained.

Not a drizzle. Not a polite shower.

The kind of rain that soaked through shoes in seconds and turned the streets into mirrors. William thought about the cat all day. Through rehearsals. Through makeup. Through the heat of the stage lights and the roar of the crowd. The image wouldn’t leave him: white fur against dark concrete, shivering, alone.

The moment the show ended, William ran.

By the time he reached his apartment building, he was drenched—hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He searched everywhere. Under the stairs. Near the dumpsters. Beneath the narrow overhang where the cat sometimes sat when the sun was too harsh.

Nothing.

His chest felt tight as he rode the elevator up, telling himself not to panic. Cats were smart. Cats found shelter. Cats didn’t need him.

The elevator doors slid open.

There, directly in front of his apartment door, was a small white shape.

The cat sat curled into itself, fur damp, body trembling. It looked up the moment William stepped out, eyes wide and unguarded in a way he’d never seen before.

“Oh,” William breathed, dropping his keys.

He didn’t move right away. Didn’t rush. He ignored the water dripping from his clothes onto the floor and slowly crouched down, careful not to scare it. His heart hammered as he opened his arms—not reaching, not grabbing. Just offering.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. If you want.”

The cat hesitated for exactly one heartbeat.

Then it moved.

It leapt into William’s arms like it had been waiting for permission all along, pressing its cold body against his chest, purring despite the shivers wracking through it. William sucked in a shaky breath and wrapped his jacket around it instinctively.

“That’s it,” he murmured, standing. “I’ve got you.”

Inside, he dried the cat gently with a towel, careful around its ears, laughing softly when it batted weakly at his hands. He set up a makeshift bed with an old hoodie and turned the heat up higher than usual. 

The cat followed him everywhere—padding after him from room to room, watching with an intensity that made William oddly self-conscious.

When he offered cat food, the cat sniffed it once and turned away.

When William sat down to eat, however, the cat climbed into his lap and stared.

“…You want this?” William asked, baffled.

The cat ate whatever William did. Rice. Soup. Bits of fruit. Always politely. Always watching his face like it was reading something written there.

That night, the cat slept pressed against his side, one paw curled into William’s shirt like it was making sure he wouldn’t disappear.

William smiled into the dark.

He didn’t notice the way the cat’s gaze lingered on him a little too knowingly.

Didn’t notice how human its patience was.

Didn’t question why it never tried to leave again.

After all—

the cat had finally found its way home.

A Few Weeks Later

At first, William thought he was just tired.

Rehearsals had been long. Shows were loud. Days blurred together in a way that made memory feel unreliable. So when he came home one evening and found his laundry folded on the couch—neat stacks, socks paired, sleeves smoothed—he stood there for a full minute, blinking.

“…Did I do this?” he asked the empty apartment.

The cat sat on the armrest, tail wrapped around its paws, watching him.

William laughed weakly. “Okay. Sure. I must have.”

He didn’t question how he could’ve folded clothes he distinctly remembered leaving in a wrinkled heap on the floor.

The second time, it was the dishes.

William came home late, exhausted, smelling like sweat and stage makeup. He was already bracing himself for the sink—full from that morning, plates stacked carelessly, a pot soaking because he’d sworn he’d get to it later.

The sink was spotless.

Dry. Clean. Not even a water spot.

William slowly set his keys down. “Nope,” he muttered. “That’s not—no.”

The cat sat on the counter this time, close to the sink. Too close. Its eyes followed William as he approached, pupils wide and unblinking.

“You didn’t,” William said, pointing. “You can’t.”

The cat tilted its head.

William stared at it. The cat stared back.

“…You’re just very good at looking innocent,” William decided, rubbing his face. “That’s it.”

After that, it kept happening.

He would wake up to his guitar carefully placed back on its stand instead of leaning against the wall where he had left it.

His jacket would be hanging up, hood smoothed, pockets emptied.

Once, he found a sticky note on his fridge moved, centered perfectly instead of crooked.

The cat was always nearby.

Watching. Listening.

William started testing things without meaning to.

He left a book open on the coffee table, face-down. When he came back, it was bookmarked.

He tossed his keys onto the counter. Later, they were on the hook by the door.

He mumbled aloud, “Man, I wish I had clean socks,” and the next morning—clean socks. Folded. On his chair.

That one made him sit on the bed for a long time, staring at the cat.

“Can you understand me?” he said quietly.

The cat didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just looked at him with an intensity that made William’s chest feel oddly tight.

“…You’re not just a cat, are you. My little helper.” William whispered, half-smiling, half-afraid of the answer.

The cat padded over and jumped into his lap, warm and solid, purring like the question hadn’t even been asked.

William laughed under his breath and wrapped his arms around it, resting his chin on its head.

“Okay,” he murmured. “We’ll pretend I didn’t notice. Deal?”

The cat’s tail flicked once.

William didn’t see it as agreement.

But it was.

Hallucinations?

William realized he was sick when his hands started shaking too badly to tune his guitar.

He laughed it off at first—sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve, told the guys he was fine. He wasn’t. By the time he got home, his head was pounding, his limbs heavy in a way that made even taking off his shoes feel like too much effort.

The cat knew immediately.

It paced as William fumbled his way inside, tail lashing, eyes sharp and bright in a way that made something uneasy coil in William’s chest. When William sank onto the couch instead of going to the kitchen like he usually did, the cat jumped up beside him at once, pressing insistently against his side.

“Hey,” William murmured, voice hoarse. “I’m okay.”

The cat made a low, unhappy sound in its throat.

William barely registered it before the room tilted.

He remembered heat.

And then cold.

And then something in between.

At some point, he became aware of warmth that wasn’t just the blanket—hands, careful and steady, brushing his hair back from his forehead. A cool cloth at his neck. A spoon pressed gently to his lips.

“Drink,” someone said. The voice was low, blurred at the edges. Familiar in a way he couldn’t place.

William obeyed without thinking. The soup was warm, salty, grounding. He sighed and leaned into the touch at his temple, a soft sound leaving his chest.

The hand in his hair stilled for half a second.

Then it resumed, even gentler.

William drifted in and out of sleep, catching fragments—medicine being shaken, water being poured, someone adjusting the blanket when he shivered. Once, he opened his eyes just enough to see a shape sitting beside him. Not quite the cat. Not quite… anything he could focus on.

“Lego? Tui?” he tried, weakly.

The figure froze.

William blinked, vision swimming, and the shape was gone.

When he woke properly, sunlight was streaming through the curtains. His head still ached, but the worst of the fever had broken. He shifted and realized he was tucked in—properly tucked in. Blanket pulled up to his chest, pillow adjusted beneath his neck.

On the table beside him sat an empty soup bowl. A glass of water. His medicine, lined up neatly.

William stared.

“…The guys,” he murmured, smiling tiredly. “They must’ve come by.”

The cat lay curled against his side, watching him with those same too-knowing eyes.

William reached out and scratched under its chin. “Thanks for staying with me,” he said softly. “I’m sorry if I didn’t feed you enough yesterday. Or… talk to you. I know I’ve been busy.”

The cat pressed closer, purring so hard William could feel it in his ribs.

“Hey,” William whispered, wrapping an arm around it. “You okay?”

The cat’s tail wrapped around his wrist like an answer.

They spent the day like that;slow, domestic, quiet. William moved carefully, still a little weak. The cat followed him everywhere, supervising from the counter as he made toast, sitting at his feet while he showered, watching from the bed while William changed into clean clothes.

At one point, William sat cross-legged on the floor, the cat in front of him.

“I can’t keep calling you ‘the cat,’” he said seriously. “That’s rude.”

The cat’s ears flicked back.

“I mean it,” William continued. “You live here now. You deserve a name.”

The cat narrowed its eyes.

“What about—”

The cat hissed, sharp and sudden, right in William’s face.

William yelped and leaned back. “Okay! Okay, wow. Strong feelings. Got it.”

The cat turned its head away, offended.

William laughed, breathy and fond. “Alright. No name. We’ll stick with ‘the cat.’”

The cat flicked its tail.

William lay back on the couch, the cat climbing onto his chest like it belonged there. He stared at the ceiling, still foggy, still tired, still unaware of how close he’d come to the truth.

“Thanks for being with me,” he murmured, eyes drifting shut.

The cat watched him until he slept.

And didn’t move the entire time.

Possessive Cat?

LYKN didn’t come over all at once.

They trickled in, one by one, like they always did—Nut first, loud and hungry, Hong right behind him, complaining about traffic, Tui carrying a bag of drinks, Lego last. 

The cat was waiting.

It sat on the back of the couch, spine straight, tail wrapped neatly around its paws. Its white fur caught the afternoon light spilling in through the window, almost glowing. When the door opened, its ears flicked but it didn’t move.

It watched.

Nut kicked off his shoes. “So this is the famous cat?”

The cat’s gaze shifted to him. Slow. Assessing.

William didn’t notice. He was too busy grabbing cups. “Be nice,” he called over his shoulder. “He’s picky.”

Hong crouched, grinning. “Hey, buddy. You’re really pretty.”

The cat blinked once.

Then, very deliberately, it turned its head away.

“…Okay,” Hong muttered. “Rude.”

Nut laughed and plopped onto the couch. “Cats are like that. Come here—”

He reached out.

The hiss cut through the room like a blade.

Sharp. Loud. Final.

Nut yelped and jerked his hand back, heart pounding. “WHAT—”

In the same second, the cat jumped down from the couch and walked straight past him, tail held high, fur brushing deliberately against William’s leg before it sat—squarely—on William’s foot.

Not near it.

On it.

William looked down, startled. “Hey.”

The cat leaned into his shin, eyes never leaving Nut.

“That was a warning,” Tui said slowly.

Nut stared. “It hates me.”

“No,” Lego said, still standing near the door. “It doesn’t.”

Everyone looked at him.

Lego crossed his arms. “It’s guarding.”

The cat flicked its tail once, the tip snapping like punctuation.

William laughed, uneasy. “You’re all being dramatic.”

But when Hong tried again—slower this time, careful—the cat’s ears flattened instantly. A low sound rumbled in its chest, not quite a growl, but close enough to raise goosebumps.

William felt it before he understood it.

The cat moved when he shifted. When William stepped into the kitchen, it followed. When he leaned against the counter, it positioned itself between him and the others, body angled outward, watchful.

Possessive.

Nut whispered, “That cat is obsessed with you.”

“It’s just attached,” William said, but his voice lacked conviction.

Lego finally crouched, level with the cat. He didn’t reach out. He just observed.

The cat met his gaze.

Not like an animal.

Like a person weighing a decision.

“…William,” Lego said quietly. “This cat understands you.”

William scoffed. “You’re projecting.”

“Am I?” Lego tilted his head. “Then why does it react before you speak?”

As if on cue, William sighed. “I’m gonna grab water.”

The cat stood before he even moved.

It followed him into the kitchen, hopping onto the counter, eyes tracking his hands as he poured. When he turned, it was already there—close enough that its whiskers brushed his wrist.

Nut stared. “Okay, that’s creepy.”

Hong nodded. “It’s like… anticipatory.”

The cat’s gaze snapped to Hong.

Its pupils narrowed.

William frowned. “Don’t talk about him like that. You’re gonna hurt his feelings.”

The cat pressed its head briefly against William’s arm.

Lego’s expression changed. Subtle. Thoughtful. Troubled.

“That,” he said, pointing gently, “was reassurance.”

William opened his mouth to argue—

—but the words stuck.

Because he remembered the folded laundry.

The clean sink.

The soup.

He shook it off. “You guys are crazy.”

They laughed, but the tension lingered.

When they finally left, the cat sat by the door again, listening until the sound of footsteps faded completely. Only then did it relax, stretching languidly before jumping onto the couch and curling against William’s side like nothing strange had happened at all.

William stared at the ceiling that night.

Lego’s words echoed whether he wanted them to or not.

That cat understands you.

He looked down.

The cat was already watching him.

Who Are You? 

Two days later, rehearsal ended early.

William just came home. Quietly. Early. 

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. His footsteps echoed softly as he unlocked the door and stepped inside—

—and stopped.

Someone was standing in his living room.

Not moving. Not startled. Not yet. 

A man—tall, broad-shouldered—stood with his back to William, folding laundry with careful, practiced motions. 

William’s laundry. 

William had seen fans do weird things but this crossed all lines. 

His hoodie hung off the man’s frame like it had always belonged there.

William’s sweatpants sat low on his hips, tied tight with their string, pulled snug against a waist that dipped in sharply, almost unfairly narrow compared to the breadth of his shoulders. The contrast made William’s breath hitch before anger could catch up.

The man turned.

Small, round eyes widened. Heart-shaped lips parted, surprise flashing across his face before something softer replaced it.

“Oh,” he said.

The word landed wrong.

William’s chest went tight. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

The man flinched. Laundry slipped from his hands, scattering across the floor.

“I can explain,” he said quickly.

William laughed, sharp. “They always say that before the cops show up.”

“No I—the cat,” the man blurted.

William froze. “What? Did you fucking hurt my cat?”

“I didn’t hurt him,” the man repeated, voice urgent. “Because I am him. I’m the cat”

William stared.

What the fuck?

“…Right,” he said flatly. “Of course you are.”

“Wait! Watch,” the man said.

The shift was immediate.

White fur replaced skin, body collapsing inward, bones reforming with a sound that made William’s stomach twist. Where the man had stood, the cat sat—perfect, identical, calm.

William took one step back.

Once again, what the fuck? 

“…Again,” he said. “Now.”

The cat hesitated.

“Back,” William ordered, voice steady despite the storm inside him.

The cat met his gaze.

Then it shifted again.

The man stood there—naked.

William swore and turned away instantly, clapping his hands over his eyes. “What the hell—are you insane—PUT SOMETHING ON—”

But it was too late.

The image had already burned itself into his mind: the strength in his build, the way muscle sat easily on him, the human warmth of him. The same warmth William had felt while sick.

William dragged his hands down his face.

“…How long? No—the laundry, the food when I was sick?” he said quietly. The dots connected too easily in his mind. The answer had been in front of him all this time. 

“Yes,” the man said.

William exhaled.

Slow. Controlled. Angry.

“Get dressed,” he said. “Then you’re going to tell me everything.”

The man nodded immediately.

“Okay,” he said softly.

William didn’t look at him, his mind replaying the scene over and over again.

—

Est sat on William’s couch like he didn’t quite trust it to hold him.

His back was straight, hands folded together too tightly in his lap, fingers pale at the knuckles. He had borrowed one of William’s hoodies—too big, sleeves swallowing his hands—but it did nothing to stop the way he trembled.

William stood in front of him.

Just stood there. Arms crossed. Not pacing. Not yelling. Just staring.

Est was… striking, William realized, in a way that felt unfair given the situation. Tall, broad-shouldered, his frame filling the couch without effort. There was a small mole near his upper lip—just to the side—that William’s eyes kept catching on without permission. His lips were heart-shaped, soft even now, even when pressed together with nerves.

If I met you anywhere else, William thought distantly, I would’ve hit on you.

The thought startled him enough that he shook it away immediately.

This wasn’t the time.

Especially not when Est’s hands were shaking.

“Start talking,” William said finally. His voice was steady, but only because he was forcing it to be. “Why me? Why lie all this time?”

Est swallowed. His throat bobbed. “I didn’t plan it,” he said quickly. “I swear. I wasn’t… looking for anyone.”

William didn’t interrupt.

Est took that as permission.

“I’m human,” he said. “Completely. I just—” he hesitated, breath stuttering, “—I can shift into a cat. That’s it. That’s the curse.”

William frowned. “Curse?”

Est nodded, eyes fixed on his hands. “My family. It runs through us. Not all of us, but enough. It’s not… magical in the way people imagine. It doesn’t make life easier. It just makes you different in a way no one understands.”

William leaned against the table behind him, grounding himself.

“I was tired,” Est continued. His voice softened, frayed at the edges. “Of hiding. Of explaining. Of pretending it didn’t hurt when people looked at me like I was wrong.”

He laughed weakly. “So I ran.”

William’s chest tightened.

“I shifted to survive,” Est said. “At first, it was temporary. A way to disappear. But the longer I stayed like that…” His hands curled into fists. “The harder it got to come back.”

William remembered the cat’s eyes. Too human. Too sad.

“I was stuck,” Est admitted. “Not physically. Emotionally. Depression does that to you—it blurs things. Makes the world smaller. Quieter.”

His breath hitched. “Then you showed up.”

William’s gaze sharpened.

“You talked to me,” Est said. “Like I mattered. Like I understood. You never grabbed. Never chased. You just… waited.”

He finally looked up.

“When it rained that night,” Est whispered, “I didn’t mean to go to your door. I just walked. And somehow… I ended up there.”

Silence pressed in around them.

“You brought me inside,” Est said. “You took care of me. And something in my head—something lifted. The haze. I remembered how to be human again.”

His eyes were wet now.

“I stayed because I was scared,” he said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “Scared if I left, I’d lose it again. Scared you’d look at me the way everyone else does if you knew.”

William’s throat felt tight.

“I never meant to lie,” Est said. “If you want me gone, I’ll go. I can leave tonight. I just—” His voice broke. “Please don’t make me leave in the rain. I’ll be gone in the morning. I promise.”

He bowed his head, shoulders trembling.

That did it.

William moved before he could think.

He crouched down in front of Est, slow and deliberate, the same way he had that night in the hallway. The same careful distance. The same patience.

Est looked up, startled.

William opened his arms.

Just like before.

“Hey,” William said quietly. “I’m not throwing you out.”

Est froze.

“I told you things,” William continued. “Things I don’t even tell the guys. I talked to you every day. I never felt stupid doing it.”

His voice softened. “You took care of me when I was sick. You didn’t have to. You stayed.”

Est hesitated—just like the cat had. Just one heartbeat of doubt.

Then he leaned forward and buried his face into William’s neck.

The sound that broke out of him was raw. Unrestrained. A sob like he’d been holding his breath for years.

William wrapped his arms around him immediately, firm and sure, hand coming up to cradle the back of Est’s head. Est clutched at his hoodie like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

“It’s okay,” William murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Est cried like he finally could.

And William held him—exactly the same way he always had.

—

William made soup. Nothing fancy—just broth, rice, vegetables. The kind you make when words feel too sharp to use. Est sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, shoulders still curled inward like he was bracing for something that never came.

The apartment was quiet except for the low simmer from the stove.

When William set the bowl down in front of him, Est looked up like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to eat.

“You don’t have to rush,” William said softly. “It’s hot.”

Est nodded and took the spoon with both hands. His fingers were steady now. That felt like progress.

They sat together, shoulder to shoulder, not quite touching. The cat—no, Est—shifted restlessly after a while. William noticed the way his gaze kept drifting to the floor, the window, anywhere but his own body.

“I can… shift,” Est said eventually. “If you want. I know this must be uncomfortable for you.”

William looked at him. Really looked. The blanket slipping off one shoulder, the hoodie too big, the way he still seemed ready to disappear if asked.

“You don’t have to,” William said.

Est swallowed. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

William shook his head. “You’re not.”

A pause.

“You can be human here,” William added. “I don’t mind. I want you to be what you’re most comfortable as, be it a cat or human.”

Est’s breath caught. He nodded, eyes shiny, and leaned back into the couch like he was testing whether it would still be there.

—

After Est told him the truth, he got smaller.

Not physically—if anything, Est was all long limbs and broad shoulders in William’s apartment, too tall for the low ceiling fan, knees knocking into furniture he had memorized only from the ground. But the way he moved… it was like he was trying to fold himself inward. Like if he curled enough, the world wouldn’t notice him.

He walked like he was relearning gravity. One careful step, then another. His balance was off; his hands hovered near the wall as if expecting it to disappear. At one point, he nearly triped over nothing at all, catching himself with a sharp inhale, shoulders hunched, eyes wide—already bracing for something that never came.

William watched from the doorway, heart doing that stupid, fond ache.

“It’s okay,” he said gently, even though nothing actually happened.

Est nodes too fast. “Sorry.”

That word came easily to him. Too easily.

Later, when they were standing in front of the bed, there was a strange pause. The room was dim, only the streetlight leaking through the curtains, the quilt rumpled from where William sat earlier. Est lingered at the edge of it, fingers twisting into the hem of William’s oversized shirt.

“I’ll—” Est started, then stopped.

Before William could ask, Est exhaled, closed his eyes—

—and shifted.

The cat appeared where the man stood, smaller, familiar, instantly curling in on himself. He padded to the far corner of the mattress and tucked himself into the tightest ball possible, tail wrapped around his nose, making himself neat. Contained. Out of the way.

William’s chest hurt.

He didn’t say anything. He just climbed onto the bed, lied down on his side, facing away but he knew. He knew exactly where Est was. 

The space between them felt louder than words.

So he lifted the edge of the quilt. Just a little. An invitation without pressure.

There was a beat.

Then—movement.

A soft blur darted under the covers, straight into William’s chest. Est curled there immediately, warm and solid and real, purring like it was instinct, like relief finally had a sound. William exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders, one hand coming up automatically to rest over the little vibrating body pressed to him.

They fell asleep like that.

The next few days were… strange.

Not bad. Just unfamiliar.

William would come home from rehearsal and would instinctively look up—expecting to see Est on the couch, long legs folded awkwardly, nose buried in a book (He had found William’s old books) or staring out the window like he was memorizing the city.

Sometimes, it was Est.

And William would startle. Just a flicker—surprise, not fear—but Est noticed. He always noticed.

The next time William would come home, it would be the cat instead. Sitting politely by the door. Watching.

Some days it switched. Human. Cat. Human again.

Dinner one evening, William set two plates out of habit, then paused. Est was on the chair, tail wrapped around his paws, eyes flicking between the table and William’s face.

William sighed. Not frustrated—just tired of the distance.

“Est,” he says quietly. “Just… shift back.”

The cat froze.

There was a sound, a rush of air—and suddenly Est was there, human again, standing way too close. William yelped and slapped his hands over his eyes, turning his head.

“Not here!” he laughed, mortified. “I meant—give me a second!”

“I—sorry,” Est said, panicked. “I can go back—”

“No,” William replied quickly. “No, don’t. Just—hang on.”

A moment passed.

Then, softly: “You can open your eyes.”

William did.

Est was standing in front of him, barefoot, hair slightly mussed, wearing William’s clothes like they belong to him now. The sleeves falling past his wrists. The shirt clinging to his shoulders in a way that made William’s brain malfunction.

Fondness hits him like a wave.

This man was a cat.

And he was unbearably cute.

And pretty.

They sat. Ate. The silence stretched but it was not heavy.

“I don’t want to be… inconvenient,” Est said finally, staring at the table. “I don’t have anywhere else. But if I stay like this—like me—I don’t want to—”

William cuts in gently. “Hey. You’re not an inconvenience.”

Est looked up, startled.

“You don’t have to be in cat form all the time,” William continued. “You don’t have to hide. If you want to be human, be human. If you want to be a cat—cool. I mean, you’re great at both.”

A flush creeped up Est’s neck, pink spreading across his cheeks. He looked away, embarrassed, fingers curling into the fabric of the shirt.

William absolutely did not think about how good that blush looked on him. He absolutely slammed the door shut on those thoughts.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “That said… we should probably do something about your clothes.”

Est blinked. “My—?”

“I mean,” William rushed on, “you look—uh—really cute in mine. Like. Super cute. But you need your own stuff. Clothes that fit. Properly.”

The blush deepened. William clenched his fist at his side, fighting the urge to grin like an idiot.

“Tomorrow,” William added, softer. “We’ll look at my old clothes.”

Est nodded, slow and careful but there was something lighter in his eyes now.

For the first time since the rain, he didn’t look like he was trying to disappear.

—

In the morning, William opened his closet and frowned.

“…Yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s not gonna work.”

Est stood in the doorway, human again, shoulders slightly hunched like he was bracing for judgment. He tugged at the hem of the hoodie he was wearing—William’s hoodie—pulling it down over his hips as if that might make it fit better.

It didn’t.

The sleeves once again swallowed his hands completely. The fabric draped over his broad shoulders nicely—too nicely—but then fell straight down, loose at the torso before cinching awkwardly at the waist where the sweatpants were tied tight with their drawstring. The string dug into his tiny waist, emphasizing it in a way that made William’s brain short-circuit for half a second. 

That waist would kill William one day.

Est shifted under his stare. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not,” William replied, stepping closer and gently lifting one sleeve between his fingers. “You can’t even see your hands.”

Est instinctively hid them deeper inside the cuffs.

“You deserve clothes that fit. Something that is yours,” William added softly.

That made Est stiffen.

“Does that mean we—I have to go outside?” he asked carefully.

William immediately softened. “Only if you want. We can go somewhere quiet. Middle of the day. Fewer people.”

Est looked down at his feet. He flexed his toes against the floor like he was testing the sensation of standing again.

“What if someone recognizes me?” he asked.

“From where?” William asked gently.

Est’s voice dropped. “From before.”

William nodded slowly. He didn’t push. Didn’t dismiss it. Didn’t ask the million questions he had in his mind. 

“I’ll stay with you the whole time,” he said instead. “If you want to leave, we leave. If you want to turn back into a cat in the car, you can. I’ll throw a jacket over you and we’ll pretend nothing happened.”

That earned him the tiniest huff of laughter.

Est searched his face for a long moment, like he was looking for cracks. When he didn’t find any, he nodded.

“Okay.”

—

The car ride was unexpectedly lively.

At first, Est sat very straight in the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. The seatbelt looked strange across his broad chest, the strap cutting diagonally over muscles.

Then they hit the main road.

And Est lit up.

He leaned toward the window, eyes wide and bright, taking everything in like it was brand new.

“That building used to be a bookstore,” he said, pointing. “The one with the red awning.”

William glanced over. “Yeah. It closed two years ago.”

“Oh,” Est murmured, pressing his palm lightly to the glass. “I used to study there.”

They passed a café.

“That one was family-owned,” Est continued. “The owner used to give me free drinks during finals.”

“It’s a chain now,” William said. “They renovated it last summer.”

Est let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Wow.”

He didn’t sound sad. Just… amazed.

The traffic light turned red. William took the chance to look at him properly.

Est’s profile was sharp in the sunlight. Small, round eyes scanning everything with curious intensity. A faint mole on his upper lip caught the light when he spoke. His hair fell into his face, and he pushed it back absently, like he was still getting used to having hands long enough to do that.

“You missed a lot,” William said gently.

Est hummed.

“I missed being human,” he corrected.

There was no self-pity in it. Just honesty.

William’s fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

—

At the store, Est stayed close.

Not clingy—just… near. His fingers brushed William’s sleeve once, twice, like he needed something solid to confirm this was real.

William pretended not to notice how his heart stuttered every time.

They wandered slowly.

Est touched fabrics like they were fragile treasures. He ran his palm over a soft knit sweater, then pressed it to his cheek experimentally. His eyes widened.

“That’s nice,” William said, smiling.

“It’s warm,” Est murmured, almost surprised.

“You’ve been sleeping under a quilt for a week,” William teased gently.

“That’s different,” Est argued, and then looked faintly embarrassed for arguing at all.

He chose simple things. Neutral tones. Soft cotton shirts. A dark hoodie that actually fit his shoulders properly. Sweatpants that didn’t require strangling his waist to stay up.

When he stepped out of the fitting room wearing a plain black t-shirt and joggers that fit him perfectly, William forgot how to breathe.

The shirt hugged his chest and shoulders, tapering naturally at his waist. The joggers sat low on his hips without bunching. He looked… comfortable.

Confident, even.

Est shifted under his gaze. “Too much?”

William blinked. “No. It’s—no. It’s perfect.”

Est looked at himself in the mirror again, like he wasn’t sure he believed that.

William paid without comment.

When Est noticed the total on the screen, he frowned. “I can—”

“You can’t,” William said firmly. “You don’t even have a wallet.”

“…Right.”

“I’ll consider it repayment for six months of the silent emotional support,” William added lightly.

That earned him a shy smile.

On the way back, Est talked more.

Not hesitantly. Not nervously.

Just… freely.

“I used to swim,” he said suddenly, resting his elbow on the window frame.

William blinked. “Really?”

“Competitively,” Est clarified. “National level. Butterfly was my best stroke.”

William let out a low whistle. “That explains the shoulders.”

Est laughed—really laughed this time. It was warm and bright and filled the car like sunlight.

“I worked hard for those,” he said, mock-offended.

“I can tell.”

Est shot him a look at that tone.

William kept his eyes on the road. Absolutely neutral. Completely innocent.

“And,” Est continued, quieter now but still steady, “I was auditioning. Acting. I was close to signing with GMMTV.”

William nearly swerved.

“Wait—what?”

Est’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

“That’s my company,” William said, staring at him for a second too long before looking back at the road. “My band’s under RISER. Same label.”

Est blinked.

They both went silent.

“…You’re kidding,” Est said.

“I wish I was,” William replied.

They stared at each other at the next red light like the universe had just played a joke on them.

“That’s insane,” Est whispered.

William felt something warm bloom in his chest.

“I think it was meant to be,” he said softly.

Est looked back out the window, but his reflection in the glass was smiling.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe I was just meant to find you.”

There was no hesitation in it. No shrinking.

Just quiet certainty.

William reached over before he could overthink it and squeezed his hand.

Est startled—then squeezed back.

His hands were warm. Solid. Real.

William glanced at him again.

Two years as a cat. Two years alone. Two years carrying a curse and grief and silence.

And now he was sitting in the passenger seat, talking animatedly about swimming meets and auditions and how the city changed its bus routes.

William’s chest felt impossibly full.

“You’re different,” William said before he could stop himself.

Est tilted his head. “Different how?”

“More confident,” William admitted. “In the car. In the store. You weren’t… hiding.”

Est considered that.

“I think,” he said slowly, “it’s easier when I know I’m not alone.”

William’s throat tightened.

“You’re not,” he said firmly.

Est smiled at him then—small, soft, but sure.

When they pulled into the driveway, Est didn’t hesitate before getting out of the car.

He stretched once, experimentally, like he was reacquainting himself with the world.

Then he looked at William and grinned.

“Do I look okay?”

William looked him up and down—deliberately, slowly—and then forced himself to behave.

“You look,” he said carefully, “like you’ve always been here. Very pretty.”

Est’s cheeks turned pink.

William clenched his fist.

No rush.

No fear.

Just warmth expanding quietly between them.

And when they stepped back inside together, it didn’t feel strange anymore.

It felt like home.

Something In Between

Over the course of the next few months, the apartment had begun to feel different.

Not physically. The furniture hadn’t moved. The light still filtered in the same way through the thin curtains in the afternoon. The kettle still clicked off at the same sharp pitch.

But the energy had changed.

Something had shifted.

Not in a dramatic way. Not overnight.

It was quieter than that.

Est had stopped hovering at the edges of rooms.

He had stopped asking, “Is this okay?” before sitting close.

He just… came closer.

Est was no longer simply existing in the space.

He was inhabiting it.

William started noticing it in the evenings first. He would step off the elevator, already bracing himself for the quiet of an empty hallway, and unlock the door expecting the familiar soft sound of paws skittering across the floor.

Instead, the door would open to human silence.

Then movement.

Est standing there.

Not directly in front of the door — never that obvious — but close enough that it was clear he’d been listening for the lock to turn. Sometimes he leaned against the wall, arms folded, like he’d just happened to be passing by. Other times he’d be sitting on the arm of the couch, body angled toward the entryway.

Waiting.

The first few times, William had teased him.

“Were you guarding the door?”

Est had looked faintly offended.

“I heard you in the hallway.”

“But you didn’t know it was me.”

A pause.

“…I did.”

William hadn’t pushed it.

But he’d felt it.

The subtle claiming of routine.

The certainty.

It had been months since Est relied primarily on his cat form, but lately he was shifting less and less without prompting. Even in the evenings, when he used to curl automatically into something smaller and warmer, he stayed human.

William would walk into the living room after changing and find Est sitting upright instead of curled up. Watching television without really watching it. His body turned toward the hallway, like he was tuned to the sound of footsteps.

It was a quiet kind of awareness.

Not anxious.

Just constant.

—

There were smaller things too.

Domestic things.

William would be chopping vegetables and feel a presence settle behind him — not touching at first, just close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from Est’s chest. If he leaned back even slightly, he would make contact.

Sometimes he tested it.

Leaned just enough.

And Est’s hands would come up automatically — one resting at William’s hip, the other bracing lightly against the counter beside him.

Not possessive in the obvious sense.

But protective.

Grounding.

William once turned abruptly, catching Est mid-motion, hand hovering just before touching his waist.

Est froze.

“…What?”

“You keep doing that,” William said, trying to keep his tone light.

“Doing what?”

“Catching me.”

Est blinked down at his own hand like it had betrayed him.

“I didn’t realize.”

That was what unsettled William the most.

He truly didn’t.

The clinginess wasn’t loud.

It was subtle.

Intentional.

If William got up to grab water, Est followed a minute later — pretending he had his own reason.

If William stretched out on the couch, Est drifted over and sat beside him — thigh pressed lightly against his.

If William laughed at something on his phone, Est leaned closer to see.

“What?” Est would ask.

“Nothing.”

Est would hum, unimpressed, and tilt William’s phone slightly toward himself anyway.

William would pretend not to notice how their shoulders fit together.

—

The confidence shift had been gradual, but unmistakable.

Est spoke more easily now. Initiated conversations without hesitation. Interrupted sometimes — softly, but still — like he trusted he wouldn’t be shut down for it.

He had started claiming space on the couch instead of perching at the edge. Started stretching his legs out without checking if they were in the way. Started reaching for William first.

Small touches.

A hand brushing William’s shoulder when passing by.

Fingers adjusting William’s collar before he left for rehearsal.

A quiet, almost absentminded tug at William’s sleeve when he wanted his attention.

The tugging happened more often than anything else.

William would be mid-conversation on the phone and feel the fabric of his shirt shift slightly. He’d glance down to find Est holding onto it — not pulling, not demanding — just maintaining contact.

Like an anchor point.

The first time William pointed it out, Est had gone still, eyes flicking down.

“…Oh.”

He hadn’t let go immediately.

Just loosened his grip slightly.

William hadn’t known what to make of that.

Nights had changed the most.

Est no longer shifted automatically.

He would climb into bed human, lie down carefully, and at some point during the night, drift closer.

It wasn’t immediate.

It happened in increments.

William would wake briefly to feel warmth at his back.

Then an arm over his waist.

Then fingers curling into his shirt.

Once, William had opened his eyes to find  Est’s face was tucked into the curve of his neck, breathing slow and even.

He hadn’t shifted.

Not once that week.

William lay awake longer than he meant to, staring into the dark.

Was this instinct? he wondered.

Was this bonding?

Was this some strange feline imprinting mechanism that he was not qualified to manage?

He had even, in a moment of exhausted paranoia, wondered if this was a form of attachment born from captivity.

Stockholm syndrome but make it shapeshifter.

The thought had unsettled him deeply.

So he tested it.

The next evening, he deliberately stayed on the far end of the couch.

Est sat down beside him.

Close.

Not touching.

But close enough that the heat between them blurred the gap.

William shifted slightly away.

Two seconds later, Est adjusted unconsciously.

Reestablished contact.

Not looking at him.

Not reacting.

Just correcting proximity like it was second nature.

When William finally said, “You’ve been following me from room to room,”

Est had genuinely frowned.

“I have?”

“You knocked on the bathroom door.”

“…I thought you might need something.”

“I was brushing my teeth.”

“Oh.”

There was no defensiveness.

No strategy.

Just mild confusion.

William realized then that Est wasn’t aware of the pattern.

He wasn’t choosing to hover.

He was simply drifting toward where William was.

Like warmth.

Like gravity.

And yet, alongside the clinginess, there was something steadier growing too.

Est stood taller now.

Spoke more firmly.

This was someone who believed he belonged beside him.

And that belief came with instinct.

Cats claimed territory.

Cats guarded their chosen person.

Cats waited by doors.

So when William began coming home to Est already standing there, human and unapologetically present—

When Est reached for him in public without checking first—

When he fell asleep human, curled against him without retreating—

William understood something.

Est wasn’t shrinking anymore.

He wasn’t hiding in smaller forms.

He was choosing to stay.

To be seen.

To attach.

Because he had decided — quietly, firmly — that this was where he belonged.

And William?

William found himself reaching back just as often.

Pulling Est into his side.

Letting their fingers intertwine absentmindedly.

Resting his chin on Est’s shoulder without thinking.

If Est was a little possessive now — if he liked sitting close and touching first and keeping William within arm’s reach —

William didn’t mind.

Not even a little.

Because every time Est leaned in, every time he chose closeness without hesitation—

It felt less like ownership.

And more like trust.

Which is why when rehearsal ended at midnight, William knew something was going to shift between them.

It had already been 11 at night when someone suggested running the last set again.

Then the creative director wanted alternate takes.

Then someone from the label had pulled William aside for a last-minute photoshoot because, “You’re already styled, might as well.”

He had checked the time once.

2:18 a.m.

He had thought, It’ll be over soon.

It was not.

By the time the driver dropped him off, it was 4:07 a.m.

The hallway outside his apartment was silent. Heavy. That deep, almost sacred quiet that only existed after midnight when the world felt paused and fragile.

William unlocked the door carefully.

The click sounded too loud in the stillness.

He winced.

He stepped inside slowly, easing the door shut behind him, slipping off his shoes without turning on the entry light. He assumed Est was asleep. Curled up somewhere warm. Probably shifted into his cat form the way he tended to when he was exhausted—like his body couldn’t decide which form felt safest.

William took two quiet steps into the living room—

—and froze.

Every light was on.

The standing lamp by the couch.

The kitchen light.

The hallway light.

The television was off, but its black screen reflected movement.

Est was pacing.

Back and forth.

Barefoot against the hardwood. The oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. His hair was disheveled, like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself, fingers digging into his sleeves as if he were physically holding himself together.

He looked smaller somehow.

William didn’t breathe.

Est turned.

Their eyes met.

There was something raw in Est’s expression—relief, anger, fear—all tangled together and unfiltered.

Then Est walked toward him.

Not slowly.

Not carefully.

“Where were you?” he demanded.

His voice was tight. Too tight. Like it had been stretched thin for hours.

William blinked, thrown by the force of it.

“Rehearsal—”

“Do you know what time it is?” Est cut in.

William glanced instinctively at the microwave clock.

4:12 a.m.

“I know, I—”

“It’s past four,” Est continued, stepping closer. “You said rehearsal. You didn’t say anything about this.”

His hands were shaking.

William noticed that too late.

He was exhausted. His shoulders ached. There was dried hairspray stiff in his fringe, eyeliner faintly smudged beneath his eyes.

“I got pulled into a shoot,” he started, frustration flickering through his tiredness. “I didn’t plan it—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Est pressed.

The words overlapped. Tangled.

William opened his mouth to snap back—just a little, just enough to defend himself—

And then he saw it.

The sheen of tears gathering in Est’s eyes.

The way his brows were drawn together not in accusation but panic.

Est kept going.

“I didn’t know if something happened,” he said, voice cracking. “I didn’t know if you were hurt. You didn’t tell me before leaving!”

William’s irritation dissolved instantly.

“…Est.”

“I waited,” Est continued, his breathing uneven. “I kept checking the door. I thought maybe I just didn’t hear you. And then it got later and later and I—”

His voice broke.

William stepped forward slowly.

“Hey.”

Est shook his head like he couldn’t stop the spiral.

“You didn’t say anything,” he repeated, softer now. “You didn’t tell me.”

William closed the distance and wrapped his arms around him.

Firm.

Grounding.

Est stiffened at the contact—just for a second—

And then he folded.

Completely.

His hands clutched the back of William’s shirt. His forehead pressed against William’s collarbone. The tension in his body collapsed all at once, like a string pulled too tight finally snapping.

“I’m sorry,” William murmured immediately. “Rehearsal ran late. The photoshoot went longer than I thought. I should’ve told you beforehand. I’m sorry.”

Est’s fingers tightened painfully.

His shoulders shook.

“I thought you left me,” Est whispered.

William went still.

The words felt like something fragile breaking open in his hands.

“I thought,” Est continued, breath hitching, “that maybe you realized I was too much. Or inconvenient. Or that it was easier when I wasn’t here. I thought I was all alone again.”

William’s chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt.

He pulled Est closer.

“Look at me,” he said gently.

Est shook his head against his chest.

“Est.”

William cupped the back of his neck and tilted his chin up carefully.

Est’s eyes were red-rimmed. Wet. His lashes clumped together slightly from tears he hadn’t let fall.

There was no accusation in them.

Just fear.

“You had been alone for almost three years,” William said softly. “Of course you panicked.”

Est swallowed hard.

“I can’t go through that again,” Est admitted. “I can’t wake up and not have somewhere to go back to.”

William pressed his forehead against Est’s.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I came home. To you.”

Est’s breath shuddered out.

“I waited by the door,” he confessed in a rush. “I thought maybe you were just outside and I wasn’t hearing it. And then it got quiet and I thought— maybe you changed your mind.”

William’s heart twisted so sharply it almost hurt.

“I didn’t change my mind,” he said firmly. “I came back. I will always come back.”

Est’s hands slid from his back to his waist, gripping there like an anchor.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said again, but there was no anger left in it now. Just hurt.

“I know,” William answered. “And that was my fault. I won’t do that ever again. I swear.”

Est searched his face like he needed proof carved into it.

“You aren’t mad?” Est asked quietly.

“I’m not mad but I am tired,” William admitted. “But not of you. I will never be tired of you.”

Est’s shoulders loosened slightly.

“Don’t leave without telling me,” he whispered.

“I won’t.”

“And if you’re late—”

“I’ll tell you.”

“And if—”

William kissed his hair.

He hadn’t planned it.

It just happened.

Soft. Instinctive. A gentle press of his lips against the crown of Est’s head.

Est went completely still.

William froze too.

The air shifted.

Est slowly lifted his face.

“You came home,” he said again.

William nodded.

“Always.”

This time, when Est hugged him, it was different.

Not frantic.

Not spiraling.

It was solid.

His arms wrapped fully around William’s waist. His chin resting on William’s shoulder. His breathing gradually steadied until it matched William’s—slow, synchronized, safe.

The lights were still on.

The apartment was still too bright.

But the panic was gone.

And as William held onto Est—still in stage makeup, still smelling faintly of sweat and hairspray—he understood something clearly for the first time:

Est hadn’t been angry.

He had been terrified of being left behind again.

So William tightened his arms.

And he stayed.

“I’m here,” he murmured.

And this time—

Est believed him.

William only loosened his hold when Est’s breathing had steadied completely.

“I should wash up,” William murmured gently after a while. “I still have half a bottle of hairspray in my hair.”

Est’s fingers tightened immediately.

William felt it.

“…Est?”

A small shake of the head against his chest.

“It’ll just be five minutes.”

Another shake.

William pulled back slightly to look at him. Est’s eyes were clearer now, but there was still something fragile lingering there—like the fear hadn’t fully dissolved, just tucked itself away.

“I’ll be right there,” William promised softly. “Bathroom door open. You can see me.”

Est hesitated.

Then, quietly, “Okay.”

William stepped toward the bathroom.

Est followed, standing outside.

Not even trying to pretend he wasn’t.

William didn’t comment on it. Just turned the shower on, left the door cracked, and caught Est hovering in the doorway like a shadow that didn’t trust light.

Steam began to fill the small space. William peeled off his jacket, then his shirt, conscious of Est’s eyes flicking away and then back like he didn’t know where to look.

“I’m not disappearing,” William said gently over the sound of running water.

“I know,” Est replied. But he stayed exactly where he was.

William showered quickly. No music. No lingering. He talked through the door once or twice—small things, pointless things—just so Est could hear his voice.

When he stepped out, towel around his waist, hair damp and falling into his eyes—

The doorway was empty.

For half a second, his heart jumped.

Then he heard it.

A soft thump against the bed.

William walked into the bedroom.

Est was no longer there.

Instead, a familiar white cat sat in the middle of the mattress, tail flicking once before going still. The hoodie William had given him earlier lay folded at the foot of the bed.

The cat looked up at him.

Wide eyes. Unblinking.

“You shifted,” William murmured.

The cat made a small sound—not quite a meow. Not quite anything.

William’s chest softened.

He changed into sleep shorts and slid under the covers.

The moment he did—

The cat moved.

Not cautiously.

Not slowly.

He walked straight across the mattress, stepped over William’s stomach, and curled directly against his chest. Paws pressing into the fabric of William’s shirt. Head tucked beneath his chin.

As if physically verifying he was real.

William exhaled slowly and wrapped one arm around him.

The purring started almost instantly.

Deep. Vibrating. Steady.

“Making sure I’m here?” William whispered.

The cat pressed closer.

William’s fingers slipped into soft fur, stroking gently behind his ears. The purring grew louder.

It wasn’t possessive.

It wasn’t territorial.

It was relief.

William closed his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured into the quiet.

The purring didn’t stop until they both fell asleep.

The next morning, William made a decision.

Est didn’t have a phone.

Est had no way to reach him.

No way to know.

That couldn’t happen again.

So two days later, after another long rehearsal (this one ending at a reasonable hour), William came home carrying a small paper bag.

Est was human when he walked in this time.

He startled slightly at the door opening, but relaxed when he saw William.

“You’re early,” Est said, almost like he was still adjusting to the concept.

William smiled.

“I brought you something.”

Est blinked.

“For me?”

William set the bag on the table and pulled out a brand-new phone.

Est stared at it like it might bite him.

“You don’t have to wait by the door anymore,” William said gently. “You can call. Or text. Or yell at me digitally.”

Est’s eyes flickered up to his.

“…For me?”

“Yes, for you.”

Est stepped closer slowly.

He reached out like he was touching something fragile. His fingers brushed the screen.

“It’s too much,” he said softly.

“It’s not,” William replied. “It’s just so you never have to sit here wondering again.”

That did it.

Est’s throat moved as he swallowed.

“You’ll… answer?”

“I’ll answer.”

“And if you’re busy?”

“I’ll tell you.”

Est nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

—

The first day William left for rehearsal with Est’s new phone fully charged—

He received a text twenty minutes later.

Est: Did you eat?

William smiled in the middle of the studio.

William: Yes, mom.

Three minutes passed.

Est: I am not your mom.

Pause.

Est: But did you actually eat?

William laughed out loud.

The second text came an hour later.

Est: It’s quiet.

William: Do you want the TV on?

Est: No.

Five minutes.

Est: I just wanted to tell you it’s quiet.

William’s chest warmed in a way he couldn’t explain.

Throughout the day:

Est: The neighbor’s dog barked at nothing for 10 minutes.

Est: I tried making tea. It was too strong.

Est: I think I like being human in the afternoon more.

Est: What time will you be home?

William answered every single one.

Sometimes quickly.

Sometimes after rehearsal breaks.

Always.

At one point during practice, his phone buzzed again.

Est: Your pillow smells like you.

William had to physically turn away from his bandmates to hide his expression.

William: That’s slightly creepy.

Est: I didn’t mean it like that.

Pause.

Est: I just meant it’s nice.

William stared at the screen for a long second.

William: I’ll be home at 9.

The reply came immediately.

Est: Okay.

And then—

Est: Drive safe.

When William got home that night at exactly 8:57 p.m., he barely had time to unlock the door before Est was there.

Human.

Hovering.

Trying to look casual and failing miserably.

“You’re on time,” Est said.

William raised a brow. “I said I would be.”

Est nodded, but his shoulders visibly relaxed.

The phone was still in his hand.

“You didn’t have to wait by the door,” William teased gently.

“I wasn’t,” Est lied immediately.

William stepped inside.

Est didn’t hesitate this time.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around William’s waist.

No panic.

No shaking.

Just… choosing.

William hugged him back instantly.

“You talk a lot on the phone,” William murmured into his hair.

A quiet huff against his chest.

“I didn’t know how much was too much.”

William pulled back just enough to look at him.

“There isn’t a too much. Not with you.”

Est went very still.

Very soft.

“Oh.”

William smiled.

“Spam me. Message me every second. I will reply to you.”

Est’s lips twitched.

“Okay.”

And he meant it.

The Selfie

William hadn’t meant to send it.

He’d been sitting at the edge of the stage while the lighting crew adjusted beams overhead. The theater was dim except for the harsh white spotlight angled down at him. Glitter still clung to his cheekbones from makeup touch-ups. His hair had been styled and restyled so many times that it felt stiff when he moved his head.

He was tired.

But it was the good kind of tired.

He lifted his phone to check something and caught his reflection in the black screen. The eyeliner made his eyes look sharper. Older. Less soft.

He snapped a picture without thinking.

And then, equally without thinking, sent it to Est.

No caption at first.

Just the image.

Three seconds later, he added:

William: they put glitter on me again

He didn’t know what he was expecting.

A “nice.”

Maybe nothing.

The reply took longer than usual.

William imagined Est on the couch. Probably sitting too straight. Holding the phone with both hands. Reading too much into everything.

Finally:

Est: You look fine.

William snorted.

Fine?

Fine was what you said about food that wasn’t memorable. About weather that didn’t matter.

He leaned back on his palms and sent another picture—closer this time. Slightly angled. A faint smirk he didn’t fully mean.

William: fine???

The typing bubble appeared.

Stopped.

Appeared again.

Disappeared.

William’s mouth curved slowly. He could see Est overthinking.

Another message came.

Est: The glitter is unnecessary.

William laughed under his breath.

So he’d looked closely enough to critique it.

William: oh so you noticed the glitter

The typing bubble didn’t appear for a long time.

William stared at his screen longer than he should have.

When the reply finally came—

Est: It’s very obvious.

William didn’t believe that for a second.

He imagined Est zooming in. Imagined the way his brows would furrow in concentration. The way he’d bite his lower lip slightly when trying to compose himself.

Something warm spread through William’s chest.

He shouldn’t have liked it as much as he did.

But he did.

So he sent one more.

William: I’ll send one without glitter next time. just for you.

There was no response for several minutes.

William went back to rehearsal, but he kept glancing at his phone between takes.

When he finally checked again, there was no reply.

But the message had been read.

And for some reason, that felt like enough.

The First Call

The call came on another night when rehearsal had run far later than planned.

William had promised he’d text when they wrapped.

He hadn’t yet.

He was packing his guitar, half-listening to his bandmates argue about who had stolen whose pick, when his phone buzzed against the wood beside him. The vibration startled him enough that he nearly dropped the guitar.

He expected a message.

Instead—

Incoming Call: Est.

His heart gave one sharp, startled kick.

Est didn’t call.

Est texted. Est hovered silently in doorways. Est materialized in the kitchen without warning. But he didn’t call.

William answered immediately. “Hey?”

There was a small pause. Faint breathing. Soft, like someone holding the phone a little too close to their mouth.

“…Hi.”

The uncertainty in that one word made William straighten. Est’s voice was quieter than usual. Not upset. Just uncertain. Like he hadn’t fully committed to pressing the call button and was now surprised William had answered.

He stood up automatically, stepping away from the others, weaving between cases and amps until he found a quieter corner near the hallway.

“You okay?” he asked, voice already gentler than before.

A pause.

Long enough that William’s mind began supplying possibilities.

“…Are you done?”

It wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t impatient.

It was small.

William leaned against the wall, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Just finishing. Why?”

Silence again.

He could practically see Est on the other end—sitting upright somewhere in the apartment, probably too close to the front door without admitting it. Knees drawn up. Listening for the elevator. Listening for keys.

“You waiting up?” William asked softly.

A soft inhale. Then, very honest:

“Yes.”

William swallowed.

The honesty of it pressed somewhere warm inside William’s chest.

He imagined Est standing in the entryway again, not directly in front of the door but close enough to hear the elevator. Arms probably folded. Or fingers hooked into his sleeves.

“You don’t have to,” William said, even though he already knew the answer.

“I know,” Est replied quickly. Then, after a beat, “I wanted to.”

William swallowed.

There it was again.

Not obligation.

Choice.

“I’m packing up,” William said. “Ten minutes.”

“You don’t have to rush,” Est added, almost immediately. “Finish properly.”

William smiled despite himself, shrugging into his jacket as he balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“I want to,” he said.

There was a faint shift of air on the other end. Like Est had moved closer to something.

“Where are you?” William asked casually.

“…Living room.”

Liar.

William could hear the subtle echo in his voice—the way sound bounced slightly off the entryway wall.

“Not by the door?” William teased gently.

Silence.

Then, softer, “Maybe.”

William’s smile widened.

“You’re predictable.”

“You’re late.”

There was no bite to it.

Just fact.

William stepped outside the studio, the night air cool against his still-warm skin. He could hear distant traffic humming through the city, headlights streaking past.

“I told you rehearsal might run long,” he said lightly.

“You said you’d text.”

William winced.

“I know.”

The word wasn’t accusatory.

But it wasn’t light either.

There was a small scuffing sound on Est’s end, like he’d shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I checked twice,” Est admitted quietly.

“Checked what?”

“…Your message.”

William’s chest tightened.

“You could’ve texted me,” William said softly.

“I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Interrupt.

As if William’s time belonged elsewhere.

“You wouldn’t be interrupting,” William said immediately.

Another pause.

“I didn’t know if you were busy.”

“I was busy,” William said gently. “But you’re not an interruption. I’m sorry for not texting.”

“I wasn’t upset,” Est said quickly.

“You called.”

“…I didn’t mean to.”

William huffed out a quiet laugh. “You don’t accidentally press call, Est.”

A beat of silence.

“…I was holding my phone,” Est admitted. “And then it rang.”

William blinked. “It rang?”

“…I pressed it.”

The mental image hit him like a wave.

Est sitting there, staring at William’s contact name. Thumb hovering. Arguing with himself. Pressing it before he could talk himself out of it.

“You could’ve just texted,” William said softly.

“I know.”

“But you didn’t.”

A very small, very honest answer:

“I wanted to hear you.”

William’s throat went tight.

He didn’t respond immediately, because if he did, he might say something too soft. Too revealing.

Instead he said, lightly, “You’re cute.”

There was an immediate intake of breath.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Silence.

Then, quieter:

“…Am I annoying?”

William almost walked into incoming traffic.

“What?”

“I just—” Est faltered. “You’re busy. And I keep— calling. Or waiting. Or—”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

He understood now.

Est hadn’t even realized he was doing it.

The drifting closer. The hovering. The waiting near doors. The listening for keys. The calling.

It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t manipulative.

It was instinct.

“You’re not annoying,” William said firmly. “You’re… attached... like a cat.”

A tiny noise of distress.

“That sounds worse.”

William laughed softly. “It’s not. It’s sweet. It's...cute”

Silence.

“…It is?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“…You don’t mind?”

William’s heart did something unfair in his chest. “Est. I stayed on the phone this whole time because I like that you’re there.”

There was the faintest hitch in Est’s breathing.

“…Oh.” William could picture his ears turning red.

William slid into the back seat of the car when it pulled up, giving the driver the address with a distracted nod.

“I’m in the car,” he said.

“Mm.”

“Traffic’s light.”

“Good.”

They fell into silence again, but it wasn’t empty.

William could hear it—how quiet he was, how attentive. Every now and then there would be a faint rustle, like Est adjusting where he was sitting. Once, a small thud and then a whispered, “Sorry,” as if he’d knocked something over even though William couldn’t possibly see it.

“Did you drop something?” William asked, amused.

“…Maybe.”

William laughed softly. “You’re so suspicious.”

“I’m not suspicious.”

“You sound suspicious.”

A tiny huff.

William pictured him pouting.

The mental image made his chest ache in that fond, helpless way he’d been feeling more and more lately.

“You pacing?” William asked.

“…No.”

“You always pace.”

A longer silence this time.

“…Maybe a little.”

William leaned back against the seat, watching streetlights pass overhead in golden streaks.

“I can hear you moving,” he said gently.

“I don’t like when it’s quiet,” Est admitted.

The confession was small.

Unprotected.

William’s fingers tightened slightly around his phone.

“Is it quiet right now?”

“Yes.”

“TV’s off?”

“Yes.”

“Lights on?”

“…All of them.”

William huffed a soft, fond breath.

“You’re going to raise the electricity bill.”

“I don’t care.”

That one came out faster.

More honest.

William felt something in his chest loosen and ache at the same time.

He let the silence settle again.

Then, deliberately, he started describing things.

“There’s a taxi next to us with neon underlights,” he said casually. “It looks ridiculous.”

Est hummed.

“There’s a stray cat near the alley by the convenience store. White with a black tail.”

“…Is it cold?” Est asked.

“A little.”

“Did it look skinny?”

William blinked.

“Maybe.”

“Did it run?”

“It bolted when a truck passed.”

A quiet exhale.

“Good,” Est murmured.

William smiled to himself.

“You worried about the cat?”

“…Maybe.”

William let the corner of his mouth curve upward.

“You sound like you want to adopt it.”

“I don’t,” Est said quickly.

“You absolutely do.”

“I do not.”

William laughed softly, the sound low and warm in the dim car.

The driver glanced at him briefly in the rear-view mirror, then looked away.

“Are you sitting?” William asked.

“…No.”

“You should sit.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to wear a path into the floor.”

Another small silence.

Then, reluctantly, “Okay.”

William listened.

There was a soft rustle.

Then the faint dip of couch cushions compressing.

“You sat?” William asked.

“Yes.”

“On the edge?”

“…Maybe.”

“Est.”

A pause.

“…In the middle.”

“Good.”

William adjusted in his seat, feeling the fatigue in his shoulders but not wanting the call to end.

“You don’t have to stay up,” he said again, softer now.

“I want to be awake when you get here.”

The words landed heavier than before.

William swallowed.

“You could just sleep,” he offered gently. “I’d wake you.”

“I don’t want to miss it.”

Miss what?

The sound of the lock?

The door opening?

The moment of confirmation?

William’s chest tightened.

“You won’t miss anything,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Est replied.

But he didn’t sound convinced.

The car slowed as they turned onto William’s street.

“I’m close,” William said.

A shift on the other end.

Fabric moving.

Footsteps.

“You stood up,” William said softly.

“…Yes.”

William smiled.

“You’re at the door again.”

A breath.

“Yes.”

This time he didn’t deny it.

When the car finally pulled into the apartment parking lot, he didn’t hang up.

“I’m downstairs,” he said quietly.

“…Okay.”

The line stayed open.

William walked through the lobby. Took the elevator up. The doors slid open—and there he was.

Est was exactly where he’d imagined.

Human and standing a little too straight in the hallway, like he hadn’t been waiting there at all. Like he hadn’t clearly been listening for the elevator ding.

He was barefoot.

He had William’s hoodie on.

His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times.

He was holding his phone in both hands.

They were still connected.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Est slowly lowered the phone from his ear.

“…Hi,” he said, softer in person.

William ended the call and stepped closer.

“You were waiting at the door,” he said gently.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I was just— near it.”

William smiled.

“You made it,” Est said.

It wasn’t relief loud enough to echo.

It was quiet.

Steady.

But it was there.

William stepped forward and brushed his fingers lightly against Est’s wrist.

“I told you I’ll always come back,” he murmured.

And then Est did something that made his heart absolutely give up.

He stepped forward.

Not confidently.

Not dramatically.

Just— forward.

Until he was standing close enough that the front of his hoodie brushed William’s jacket. Close enough that William could feel his warmth.

Est hesitated.

Then he leaned in. Not a full hug. Not at first.

Just his forehead pressing lightly against William’s shoulder.

Like a cat nudging for attention.

William froze for half a second.

Then he melted.

His hand came up automatically, resting at the back of Est’s head, fingers sliding into his hair. He felt the way Est exhaled against him—like tension he hadn’t admitted to finally letting go.

“You’re clingy,” William murmured fondly.

“…Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Est shifted, arms slowly wrapping around William’s waist.

And that was new.

That was bold.

William’s breath caught, but he wrapped his arms around him fully this time.

Est pressed closer.

Closer.

Like proximity alone was the goal.

“I just—” Est started, voice muffled against William’s chest. “When you’re not here it’s too quiet.”

William closed his eyes.

“You know,” he said softly, “if this is some weird cat instinct thing, you’re really leaning into it.”

Est went very still.

“…Is it bad?”

William laughed, pressing a kiss into his hair. “It’s devastating.”

“…Devastating sounds bad.”

“It means I’m weak,” William admitted.

Est pulled back just enough to look at him. His cheeks were pink.

“…Oh.”

And then, like something clicked, Est leaned in again.

This time deliberately.

Full hug. Arms tight. Face tucked under William’s chin.

And William, who had once joked about Stockholm syndrome and transferred traits, realized something quietly and honestly in that moment:

If this was instinct—

He didn’t mind being the one Est chose to cling to.

Not at all

Shy Cat

The concert had been louder than rehearsal.

Brighter.

Hotter.

William’s ears were still ringing faintly when he unlocked his apartment door, the bassline from the final song still echoing somewhere behind his eyes. The stage lights had burned white across his vision for nearly an hour. Sweat had dried against his collarbones. Applause still pulsed faintly in his veins.

He knew he looked different.

He could feel it.

His stage shirt was fitted and dark, clinging across his shoulders and tapering at his waist. The sleeves hit just right on his arms. His hair had been styled deliberately messy, falling into his eyes in a way that had made the crowd louder than usual. The eyeliner hadn’t smudged this time.

It made his gaze heavier.

Sharper.

He stepped inside quietly.

The apartment was dim, only the kitchen light left on.

And Est—

Est was not at the door.

William paused just inside the entryway, glancing around dramatically.

“Oh?” he called lightly, toeing off his shoes. “Not waiting for me at the door tonight?”

There was a soft clink from the kitchen.

Est stood near the counter.

Human.

Barefoot. As usual. 

Wearing one of the newer shirts they’d bought together—the fitted one. The one that hugged his torso just a little too well. His hair was loose, falling softly over his forehead. He looked like he’d been standing there for a while and pretending he hadn’t.

“I wasn’t waiting,” Est said immediately.

William hummed skeptically, stepping further inside and closing the door behind him. “Mm. Interesting. Because usually you’re right here.” He gestured to the exact spot beside the door.

“I was getting water,” Est replied, lifting the glass in his hand as proof.

The glass was empty.

William’s mouth twitched.

“Oh, I see. Hydration. Very urgent.”

Est blinked once. “It was.”

William set his bag down slowly, deliberately taking his time, aware—very aware—of Est’s eyes tracking him.

From the doorway.

To his shoulders.

To his waist.

Then snapping back up too quickly.

William didn’t comment on it yet.

He walked toward the kitchen, casual. Unhurried.

Est did not move.

The air felt warmer the closer William got.

“What?” William asked lightly as he reached the edge of the kitchen. “No dramatic greeting?”

“I greeted you.”

“You said ‘I wasn’t waiting.’ That’s not a greeting.”

Est’s lips pressed together.

William stopped just a step away from him.

Up close, he could see it.

The faint flush climbing Est’s neck.

The way his fingers curled slightly around the glass.

The way his breathing had gone just a touch shallow.

William tilted his head.

“You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m not,” Est repeated, but his gaze flicked downward again.

William took one slow step forward.

Est instinctively stepped back.

The counter met his lower back with a soft, telltale thud.

William almost laughed.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Cornered.”

“I’m not cornered.”

“You hit the counter.”

“That was on purpose.”

“Mm. Sure.”

William rested one hand on the counter beside Est’s hip. Not touching him. Just there.

Est’s shoulders went rigid.

“Was it good?” Est asked, voice slightly strained. Like he was trying very hard to be normal.

“The concert?” William shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. It was good.”

Est swallowed.

William noticed.

“You look…” Est started, then stopped.

William leaned just slightly closer. “Different?”

Est nodded once.

“How?”

Est hesitated far too long.

William’s grin turned slow and dangerous.

“Harder to look at,” Est muttered finally.

William’s pulse jumped.

“Harder?”

Est’s eyes widened, like he immediately regretted saying it out loud.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Harder how?” William pressed, lowering his voice slightly just to make it worse.

Est’s fingers tightened around the glass.

“You just—” He exhaled sharply. “You look like that.”

William blinked. “Like what?”

Est gestured vaguely at him. “Like that.”

“That is not descriptive.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” William said innocently.

He leaned in just a little more.

Not enough to touch.

Enough to make Est’s breathing falter.

“You’re staring again,” William murmured.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m—”

His sentence cut off as William lifted his free hand and very lightly tapped beneath Est’s chin, guiding his face upward.

Their eyes met fully.

And Est froze.

Completely.

Wide-eyed. Pupils blown. Like his brain had short-circuited.

William felt it like static between them.

“Oh,” he said softly. Pretty, so pretty.

Est’s ears turned pink. “You’re wearing makeup,” Est accused weakly.

“And?”

“It’s unfair.”

William almost laughed. “Unfair?”

“It makes your eyes—” Est stopped himself abruptly.

“Makes my eyes what?” William prompted.

Est’s gaze dropped again.

William leaned in a fraction closer.

“Say it.”

The silence stretched.

Then—

“I’m shifting,” Est mumbled.

William’s eyes widened. “Don’t—”

Too late.

The shift was fluid now. Smooth. Familiar.

One blink—

And the cat stood on the counter instead.

Tail puffed slightly.

Ears angled back—not in aggression, but pure, overwhelming embarrassment.

William stared at him.

“You shifted because I wore makeup.”

The cat glared at him.

William stepped closer, resting his elbows on the counter.

“You know I can still see you, right?”

The cat looked away dramatically.

William reached up and gently scratched behind his ear.

The purr started almost immediately.

Traitor.

William’s lips twitched.

“You could’ve just said I looked good.”

The cat glared at him.

Actually glared.

William had both palms braced on the counter now, leaning in just slightly, amused in a way he probably shouldn’t have been.

“Oh, what?” he teased lightly. “You can critique my eyeliner but can’t handle being looked at?”

The cat’s tail flicked sharply.

William smirked. “You’re the one who said I was hard to look at.”

A low, indignant sound vibrated from the cat’s chest.

“Oh, so now you’re embarrassed?” William continued, softer now, leaning closer. “That’s new.”

The cat’s ears flattened.

William could practically see the decision forming.

“…Don’t,” he warned gently, but there was laughter in his voice.

Too late.

The shift happened in that fluid, seamless way William was still getting used to.

One blink.

One breath.

And Est was sitting on the kitchen counter.

Human.

Completely human.

William’s brain registered several things at once.

The height difference from the counter.

The way Est’s legs dangled slightly.

The breadth of his shoulders.

And—

No clothes.

William’s eyes widened for half a second before instinct kicked in and he squeezed them shut immediately.

“Oh my— Est!”

The air felt ten degrees hotter.

There was a startled inhale from in front of him.

Silence.

Then—

“…Oh.”

William did not open his eyes.

“You forgot,” he said tightly.

“I—” Est cut himself off.

William could hear the faint scrape of movement against the counter. The subtle shift of skin against polished stone.

That did not help.

“You cannot just shift back without thinking,” William muttered, still keeping his eyes firmly shut. “That is not how this works.”

There was a small, flustered huff.

“You were teasing me.”

“That does not negate basic logistics!”

He became acutely aware that his hands were still planted on either side of Est, effectively boxing him in.

If he opened his eyes—

No.

Absolutely not.

“Shift back,” William ordered, face heating.

There was a pause.

“…No.”

William’s eyes snapped open on reflex before he could stop himself.

And that was a mistake.

Because Est was sitting on the counter, shoulders squared but visibly flustered, hands gripping the edge beside him.

Bare skin. Defined collarbones. The faint rise and fall of his chest.

And that stupid, unfair mole above his upper lip.

And before his eyes could follow the muscle down, William immediately squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Est!”

“What?” Est shot back defensively, though his voice wavered slightly. “You were the one crowding me.”

William became painfully aware of how close he actually was.

His hands were still braced on the counter. His body angled between Est’s knees. Not touching but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off him.

That was not helping anything.

“You’re not allowed to argue while naked,” William said firmly.

“I forgot,” Est muttered.

“Yes. I noticed.”

Silence.

William exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Shift back or grab a towel,” he said, tone steadier now. “Those are your options.”

There was a beat.

Then a softer, smaller voice:

“…Are you going to move?”

William’s brain stalled.

Because right.

He was effectively trapping him there.

He swallowed and forced himself to step back immediately, turning around as he did.

“I am not looking,” he announced.

There was a flicker of movement behind him.

The soft rush of fabric being grabbed.

A drawer opening.

William kept his gaze fixed firmly on the opposite wall.

A few seconds later—

“You can look.”

William turned slowly.

Est now wore one of the newer fitted shirts again—slightly wrinkled from being yanked on too quickly.

Est’s face was still flushed.

But his chin was tilted up now.

Defensive. Trying to regain composure.

William stared at him for a moment too long.

“…You can’t just do that,” William said finally, voice lower than before.

Est’s brows furrowed faintly. “Do what?”

“Shift without thinking.”

Est hesitated.

Something vulnerable flickered through his expression again.

“You were laughing at me,” he said quietly.

William’s irritation dissolved instantly.

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” he corrected gently. “I was teasing.”

There was a difference.

Est studied his face carefully, like he was checking for cracks in the statement.

William stepped closer again but slower this time. No crowding. No boxing in.

“You don’t have to shift every time you get embarrassed,” William added softly.

Est’s ears turned red again.

“I wasn’t embarrassed.”

William raised an eyebrow.

“You shifted.”

Est looked away.

William exhaled through his nose, fighting back a smile.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered.

Est glanced back at him.

And for the first time since the shift, there was something almost playful in his eyes.

“Close your eyes faster next time,” Est said.

William stared at him.

“…There will not be a next time. Right? Right?”

Est’s lips twitched.

And William had to look away first.

Because the truth was—

He hadn’t closed his eyes fast enough.

And the image of Est sitting on that counter, startled and flushed and unfairly beautiful, was now permanently burned into his mind.

Which was a problem.

A very big problem.

Jealous Cat

William nearly tripped over his own shoes bursting through the apartment door.

“Est—!”

The door slammed against the stopper with a loud thud. His voice echoed down the hallway, bright and breathless and entirely too loud for the hour.

“I have news.”

He didn’t even wait to see where Est was. He just kicked off his shoes mid-stride and headed further inside, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.

“I mean actual news. Not rehearsal gossip. Not ‘we might maybe possibly’ news. Real news.”

Est was on the couch, legs tucked beneath him, flipping absentmindedly through something on his phone. He looked up calmly as William stormed in like a hurricane.

“You’re loud,” Est observed mildly.

“I know.”

William dropped his bag dramatically onto the chair and ran both hands through his hair, practically vibrating. “We got offered a brand deal.”

Est blinked once. “You did?”

“No. We did. As in the band. As in LYKN.” He stepped closer, unable to stand still. “Sponsored event. Full setup. Media. The whole thing.”

Est’s lips curved slightly. “That’s good.”

“It’s not just good,” William said, leaning forward, eyes bright. “It’s insane.”

Est nodded, patient.

William started pacing.

“They confirmed it,” he continued, grinning as he walked into the living room. “It’s a full campaign. Photo shoots, behind-the-scenes clips, maybe even a short commercial. And it’s with—”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“—cats.”

Est stilled slightly.

William didn’t notice yet.

“They do premium stuff. Accessories. Grooming lines. Interactive toys.” He grinned wider. “And the event is centered around cats.”

Est’s head snapped up so fast William actually flinched.

“…What?” Est asked.

The word came out too sharp. Too immediate.

William blinked. “What?”

Est stared at him.

Completely still.

“…What?” William repeated, slower.

Silence.

Not neutral silence.

Strange silence.

Est’s face did something… unreadable.

His mouth pressed into a thin line. His eyes narrowed just slightly. His jaw tightened, then relaxed, then tightened again.

It was such a bizarre expression that William’s smile faltered.

“…What?”

“Cats,” Est repeated flatly.

“Yeah?”

“You’ll be working with cats.”

“Yes?”

Another beat.

Then, without another word, Est shifted.

It happened in that fluid, seamless way William had grown used to — one blink and the man on the couch was gone, replaced by a sleek white cat landing lightly on the cushions.

Before William could process it, the cat hopped down.

And walked away.

“Est?” William called.

No response.

The cat’s tail flicked once as he disappeared down the hallway.

“Est—?” William straightened. “Hey— what just—?”

He stood there for a full two seconds in stunned silence.

“…What just happened?”

He looked toward the hallway.

Nothing.

No answering sound.

“…Est?” he called, confused now.

No response.

“…Did I say something wrong?”

It took him less than five minutes to go after him.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

He checked the kitchen.

Empty.

The bathroom.

Empty.

His chest tightened faintly as he walked toward the bedroom.

He pushed the door open gently.

And there he was.

Curled up on William’s pillow.

Not at the foot of the bed.

Not by the blanket.

On the pillow.

The one William slept on every night.

The white fur was stark against the dark pillowcase. The cat had tucked himself into a tight loaf, tail wrapped around his body, chin resting firmly where William’s head usually went.

Claiming it.

William stared for a long moment.

Then exhaled slowly.

“…Oh.”

He stepped inside and sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

The cat didn’t look at him.

William reached out cautiously, brushing his fingers along the soft fur down Est’s back.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You okay?”

The fur was warm under his hand. Soft. Familiar.

The cat shifted slightly — not into the touch.

Away from it.

He turned his head so his face pointed toward the wall instead of William.

William blinked.

“…Okay.”

He tried again, softer this time, fingers brushing along the cat’s side in a slow, soothing motion.

Still no reaction.

William sighed quietly.

Then, because he knew exactly which spot the cat disliked being touched, he gently poked Est’s side.

Immediate reaction.

A sharp hiss.

William couldn’t help the fond smile that spread across his face.

“Oh, so you can react,” he said softly.

The cat glared at him. It was a very human glare.

William leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees so they were eye level.

“I don’t speak cat,” he said gently. “But I do speak human. If you want to shift and talk to me.”

The cat’s ears flicked.

No movement.

William tilted his head.

“…Are you mad?”

Nothing.

“Was it something I said?”

Silence.

“…Was it because of the cats?”

The reaction was immediate.

Est turned his face sharply back toward the wall.

William froze.

“…Wait.”

He stared at the back of his furry head.

“…Are you jealous of the cats?”

The cat’s tail twitched once.

Slow.

Deliberate.

William’s mouth fell open.

“No,” he breathed. “No way.”

Silence.

“Est,” he said softly, fighting a grin. “Are you jealous of event cats?”

The tail flicked again.

Stronger.

“Oh my god,” William whispered, half-delighted, half-astonished. “You are.”

The cat puffed slightly.

William couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“Est. They’re promotional cats. They don’t even know me.”

A low, offended rumble.

William leaned closer, voice dropping teasingly soft.

“You think I’m going to abandon you for corporate-sponsored kittens?”

The cat finally whipped his head around to glare at him properly.

There it was.

Possessive. Indignant. Deeply insulted.

William’s heart melted instantly.

“Shift back,” he coaxed gently. “Come on. Talk to me.”

No movement.

William reached forward, cupping the cat carefully and lifting him into his lap. Est didn’t fight him—but he also didn’t relax.

He sat stiffly in William’s arms.

William rubbed under his chin lightly.

“Please? William leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you?”

A slow blink.

Nothing.

William leaned down, pressing his forehead lightly to the top of his head.

There was a tense pause.

Then warmth.

Movement.

And suddenly William was squeezing his eyes shut out of instinct as the bed shifted under the weight of a human body instead of a cat.

He kept his eyes closed stubbornly for a second.

“I’m not looking,” he muttered.

When he opened them carefully, Est was sitting up against the headboard, duvet pulled up around his chest.

Their faces were close.

Very close.

Close enough that William could see the faint mole above Est’s upper lip. The faint flush dusting across his cheeks. The slight downturn of his mouth.

He was pouting.

Actually pouting.

William’s brain short-circuited at the pout alone.

“Oh no,” he breathed softly. “You’re actually upset.”

“I’m not,” Est muttered.

“You ran away.”

“I did not run.”

“You fled.”

“I walked fast.”

“You teleported.”

Est glared.

William reached up gently and held Est’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing lightly along his cheeks when Est tried to look away.

“Nope,” William said softly. “Look at me.”

Est resisted for half a second.

Then stilled.

His eyes met William’s.

There was something vulnerable there beneath the stubbornness.

“…What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

Est’s gaze flickered away.

Silence.

William waited.

Est’s fingers clutched the duvet tighter.

Finally, quietly, he said, “Am I not enough?”

William’s brain short-circuited.

“…What?”

Est swallowed.

“You’re excited to work with other cats.”

William stared at him.

Est’s brows furrowed faintly. “You’ll be touching them. Holding them. Playing with them.”

William’s mouth fell open.

“…Est.”

“You won’t need me there.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

William felt the full weight of it then.

He shifted closer on the bed until their knees bumped under the blanket.

“You think I’m replacing you?” he asked gently.

Est didn’t answer.

Which was answer enough.

William’s chest ached.

“I don’t want other cats,” William said quietly. “I already have you.”

Est’s eyes flickered up.

William leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently to Est’s.

“You’re not a prop,” he murmured. “You’re not a brand deal. You’re—”

He hesitated.

Then softer—

“You’re mine.”

Est inhaled sharply.

“You’re not going to play with those cats,” Est said quietly.

William blinked.

“…What?”

“You’re not,” Est repeated, more firmly now. “You’re my human.”

William almost laughed.

Then he saw Est wasn’t joking.

His grip tightened slightly around William’s shirt.

“You’re mine,” Est added, stubborn and serious in a way that made William’s chest feel too full. “You don’t need other cats.”

William’s amusement softened into something warmer.

“Est,” he said gently. “It’s a sponsored event.”

“I don’t care.”

“They’re going to be there.”

“I don’t care.”

William brushed his thumbs along Est’s cheekbones again.

“You can’t be jealous of professional cats.”

“I can,” Est said immediately.

William huffed a quiet laugh.

“I am the only cat in your life,” Est insisted, eyes unwavering now. “So you will take me.”

William blinked.

“…Take you.”

“Yes.”

“To a brand event.”

“Yes.”

“You want to attend a showcase because you’re jealous.”

“Yes.”

William stared at him.

Est stared back.

Completely serious.

William’s laughter started small—

Then grew—

Then softened into helpless affection.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I am correct.”

William shook his head, still holding his face gently.

“You really think I’m going to forget about you because someone hands me a kitten for a photo op?”

Est’s expression tightened slightly.

“…You looked excited.”

William’s heart dropped just a little.

He softened completely.

“I was excited,” he admitted. “Because I thought you would be.”

Est blinked.

“…Why?”

“Because you’re a cat.”

A pause.

Est’s pout deepened slightly.

“I am your cat,” he corrected quietly.

The possessiveness in it wasn’t sharp.

It was fragile.

William’s hands slid from Est’s cheeks to cradle the back of his neck gently, pulling him forward until their foreheads nearly touched.

“You are,” William agreed softly. “And no event cat is replacing you.”

Est searched his face for a long moment.

“You won’t pet them.”

William hesitated.

Est narrowed his eyes.

“…You won’t pet them,” Est repeated.

William exhaled slowly, smiling helplessly.

“I will behave appropriately at a public function.”

“That means no.”

“That means I will try very hard not to get distracted.”

Est’s grip tightened slightly in warning.

William laughed softly and pressed a gentle kiss to Est’s forehead.

“You are ridiculous,” he murmured fondly.

“I am the only cat,” Est insisted.

William pulled him into a proper hug then, wrapping both arms around him tightly.

“Yes,” he said into his hair. “You’re the only one that matters.”

Est melted almost instantly at that.

The tension left his shoulders.

His arms slid around William’s waist.

And just like that—

The jealous, possessive cat became soft again.

But as William held him, he couldn’t help smiling to himself.

Because he had just learned something very important.

Corporate cats?

Completely harmless.

Jealous shapeshifter cat?

Far more dangerous.

And infinitely cuter.

The Event

William had, quite genuinely, forgotten.

Not the brand deal. Not the schedule. Not the time call from his manager.

He had forgotten Est’s threat.

Mostly because every time he remembered it, his brain supplied the image of Est sitting on the bed with that offended pout and declaring, I am the only cat in your life, and William would immediately dissolve into helpless fondness instead of taking him seriously.

So when the morning of the event arrived, William was focused on other things — wardrobe confirmations, call times, hair styling notes, the fact that he was going to perform in front of an audience full of press and influencers and several extremely well-groomed cats.

He stepped out of his bedroom half-dressed, tugging his jacket on—

And stopped.

Est was standing by the front door.

Human.

Fully dressed.

Shoes on.

Hands loosely clasped in front of him like someone patiently waiting for a ride to the airport.

William blinked once.

“…What are you doing?”

Est looked up calmly.

“Waiting.”

William narrowed his eyes slowly.

“For what.”

Est tilted his head slightly, like the answer was obvious.

“For you.”

Silence stretched.

William’s stomach dropped.

“…No.”

Est raised one eyebrow.

“Est.”

A pause.

“…Are you serious?”

Est did not answer verbally.

Instead, he reached for the doorknob.

William lunged forward immediately. “Wait— wait, wait, wait—”

Est glanced at him, mildly.

“What will I tell my manager?” William demanded in a hushed panic. “What will I tell the boys? What will I tell the company? ‘Sorry, I brought my sentient shapeshifting—’”

“Tell them I’m your cat,” Est said simply.

William stared at him.

“You can’t just— that’s not—”

Est’s expression did not waver.

Then, without further discussion—

He shifted.

Fluid.

Effortless.

One blink and the cat sat neatly by the door.

He looked up at William.

Then, very deliberately—

He lifted both front paws slightly.

Like he was asking to be picked up.

William’s brain shut down.

He stared at him.

The cat blinked once.

Slowly.

Waiting.

And because instinct was stronger than logic—

William bent down and picked him up.

Immediately.

Effortlessly.

Cradling him against his chest like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“…This is a terrible idea,” William muttered faintly.

The cat pressed into him smugly.

William walked out in a daze.

The car was already waiting downstairs.

His members were inside.

P’Ko stood outside with a clipboard and a coffee.

William approached slowly.

Cat in arms.

His brain still had not caught up with his body.

P’Ko looked up first.

Then froze.

“…William.”

William smiled weakly.

“Yes?”

“…You have a cat?”

Silence.

Behind the tinted windows, the members noticed.

One by one, heads turned.

There was visible shifting in their seats.

A subtle collective lean backwards.

Because they remembered.

William’s cat.

The one that didn’t like anyone.

The one that tolerated no one.

The one that had very pointed opinions about personal space.

“Oh,” Nut murmured quietly. “He brought it.”

Est preened.

Actually preened.

He lifted his chin slightly and burrowed deeper into William’s chest like this was all going exactly according to plan.

William didn’t know whether to laugh or apologize.

Instead, he did the worst possible thing.

He cuddled Est closer.

P’Ko blinked several times.

“Since when do you have a cat?”

“…Recently?” William offered weakly.

“And you didn’t think to mention this?”

“I didn’t think he’d want to come.”

The cat flicked his tail in offense.

P’Ko stared.

“…He?”

William froze.

“…His name is Est,” William said automatically.

The name slipped out before he could stop it.

The car went quiet.

Tui coughed.

“You named your cat Est?”

William’s ears turned red.

“It just… suited him.”

Est made a soft, pleased sound and tucked his face under William’s chin.

The betrayal was immediate.

“Oh,” Lego whispered. “He likes that.”

William wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

P’Ko rubbed his temple.

“…Fine,” he sighed finally. “As long as he doesn’t scratch anyone important.”

William nodded fervently.

“He won’t.”

Est blinked. That was technically not a promise.

The event venue was polished and immaculate.

Branded backdrops.

Soft instrumental music.

Tasteful floral arrangements.

And cats.

Several impeccably groomed, professionally trained cats in carefully curated play areas.

The moment William stepped inside—

Est stiffened.

William felt it immediately.

The warmth in his arms shifted from relaxed to alert.

“Oh no,” William murmured under his breath.

The first handler approached with a bright smile.

“Oh! You brought your own baby!”

Before she could reach—

A low warning rumble vibrated through Est’s chest.

The woman froze.

William cleared his throat.

“He’s… shy.”

Shy was one word for it.

Possessive menace was another.

Est turned his face into William’s jacket and refused to look at anyone.

But the moment someone else stepped too close—

His eyes snapped open.

Sharp.

Watchful.

The members kept their distance.

They had learned.

Tui leaned toward a fan later and whispered, “William’s cat only sleeps and only lets William touch him.”

Which was true.

Because when William adjusted his hold and gently scratched under Est’s chin—

The cat melted instantly.

Purring loud enough for the nearest camera mic to probably pick up.

Fans squealed.

William’s ears burned.

“He doesn’t usually do this,” he lied softly.

Est burrowed further into him in response.

A photographer crouched lower.

“Can we get a shot of him looking at the camera?”

William leaned down slightly and whispered against Est’s ear, voice soft and private beneath the noise.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “You look very handsome today.”

Est’s ear twitched.

“You’re the prettiest cat here,” William added under his breath.

The purr deepened.

And slowly—

Reluctantly—

Est lifted his head.

Perfect pose.

Chin high.

Eyes half-lidded.

Completely regal.

The camera flashes went wild.

William couldn’t stop smiling.

At one point, one of the brand’s feature cats was brought closer for a photo pairing.

William shifted slightly to introduce them.

“Est,” he whispered gently, “be nice.”

The other cat blinked curiously.

Est—

Hissed.

Sharp. Immediate. Unapologetic.

The handler jumped.

William coughed quickly to cover it. “He’s… selective.”

Est turned and shoved his entire face into William’s collarbone.

Possessive.

Clear.

Mine.

William’s face burned.

“You cannot fight sponsored animals,” he whispered urgently.

Est refused to look at the other cat again.

The rest of the event continued similarly.

No one else was allowed to touch him.

If a hand got too close—

Warning glare.

If someone leaned in too far—

Tail flick.

But with William?

He was soft.

Melting.

Clingy.

Every time William adjusted him, Est pressed closer.

When William laughed at something, Est nudged under his chin like he was reminding him who he belonged to.

And William—

William was completely, utterly whipped.

By the end of the event, P’Ko simply shook his head.

“I don’t know what’s stranger,” he muttered. “The cat or the fact that it only likes you.”

William smiled down at the warm weight in his arms.

Est blinked slowly up at him.

Content.

Victorious.

And William, walking out of that event with eyeliner slightly smudged and ears still red, realized something very clearly—

Est hadn’t just come to the event.

He had claimed it.

And William.

Publicly.

—

The event had technically ended.

The official photos were done. The brand representatives were satisfied. The press had cleared out.

Backstage was loud in the comfortable way.

Not stage loud. Not event loud.

Just LYKN loud.

Half-peeled outfits. Water bottles rolling on the floor. Someone arguing about who stole whose in-ear monitor. P’Ko pacing with his phone pressed to his ear. The air still faintly warm from lights and nerves.

William sat on the couch with Est curled in his arms like a small, self-satisfied emperor.

He had not put him down since the last photo.

Est was draped across his forearms, chin resting against William’s wrist, tail flicking lazily. Completely at ease.

Completely in control.

Hong was the first to break the invisible boundary.

“He looks calmer now,” Hong said, stepping closer with cautious curiosity.

William automatically adjusted Est higher against his chest.

“He’s fine,” he said.

Hong crouched down slowly. “Can I try?”

William opened his mouth—

Est didn’t hiss.

Didn’t puff.

Didn’t glare.

He just blinked.

And stayed still.

William froze.

Hong’s fingers brushed gently along Est’s head.

Nothing happened.

No warning rumble.

No defensive tail flick.

Just calm acceptance.

William felt something very stupid and very primal twist in his chest.

It was subtle.

But it was there.

He tightened his hold slightly.

Hong glanced up with a grin. “Relax. I’m not stealing him.”

“I’m relaxed,” William said.

He was not relaxed.

Lego stepped closer too. “He really only likes you?”

“Yes,” William said immediately, too quickly. His pulse thundering in his ears.

Est’s ears flicked, subtle but noticeable.

Lego crouched on the other side. “Let’s test that.”

William narrowed his eyes.

Lego extended a hand slowly, testing boundaries.

Est leaned—just slightly—into the touch. A small, confident lean that belonged entirely to him.

William’s jaw tightened. His chest tightened further, so fast it was almost painful. He swallowed hard, voice catching.

The other members noticed instantly.

“Ohhh,” Nut said.

“Why are you gripping him like that?” Hong asked innocently.

“I’m not gripping him.”

“You are.”

Est lifted his head.

Looked at William.

And there it was.

That glint.

That dangerous, smug little spark.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” William muttered under his breath.

Est blinked.

Slowly.

Then—

Stood up in William’s arms.

Before William could process it, Est stepped lightly onto Lego’s knee.

The room went quiet.

Lego froze.

“Uh.”

Est sat.

Calm.

Allowing it.

William stared.

His brain short-circuited.

“You—”

Lego cautiously petted him again.

Est allowed it.

Hong burst into laughter. “He upgraded!”

William’s ears turned bright red.

“I don’t care,” he said too quickly.

“Oh, you absolutely care,” Hong said, grinning wide.

“I do not!” William shot back.

Est’s gaze lifted to meet William’s, blinking lazily, smugly.

And then–

The shift started.

William’s heart froze. He saw the ripple beneath the fur. The warmth of the body changing. The tiny, uncanny twitch in the tail.

“Don’t—” he warned, voice tight, panicked.

But it was already too late.

The fur thinned.

The body elongated.

And right there—

In the middle of backstage—

In front of all the members—

Est shifted.

Fully.

Human.

Completely human.

Very naked.

The room went completely silent.

For one perfect, terrible second, time froze.

Lego fell backward, scrambling for leverage. Hong whipped around like that would make it less mortifying. Tui members covered his eyes too late, peeking through fingers. P’Ko arrived in that exact instant, stopped mid-step, frozen in disbelief.

Then chaos.

“WHAT THE HELL—”

“OH MY GOD—”

“HOW—”

William reacted instinctively. He lunged for the nearest jacket, wrapping it around Est like it was the only barrier between him and total catastrophe.

“EYES UP!” William barked.

“I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING!” Lego yelled defensively from the floor.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” William demanded in a furious whisper, yanking Est toward him.

Est tilted his chin, smug and amused, completely unbothered by the chaos. Arms crossed under the jacket, hair slightly mussed, chest pressing lightly against William’s—unintentional, but devastating.

“You were jealous,” Est said calmly, deliberately.

William’s knees went weak. “…I was not!” he insisted, but his voice betrayed him.

“You were,” Est corrected, eyes narrowing just enough to make William’s heart do a painful flip.

“I was not!”

“You tightened your grip,” Est continued mildly.

Hong, still facing the wall, raised a hand. “He did.”

“TRAITOR,” William snapped.

Lego peeked over his shoulder cautiously. “He looked like he was guarding treasure.”

William’s face was now the exact shade of a tomato.

“I was not guarding anything!”

Est tilted his head.

“You are my human,” he said evenly.

William buried his face in Est’s shoulder, heat rushing through him. “This is humiliating.”

Est slid one arm around William’s waist under the jacket, pressing closer. Warm, soft, utterly confident.

“And you are mine,” he whispered, voice low, teasing, victorious.

Hong cleared his throat, grinning despite himself. “So… are we done with the spontaneous nudity?”

Est’s smirk was infuriating, infuriatingly calm.

“Yes,” William said firmly, tightening his hold just a fraction more. “Absolutely done.”

Est tilted his head, eyes glinting, voice soft and smug. “You were jealous,” he repeated one last time, as if it were a victory carved in stone.

William exhaled slowly, completely melted. “…Maybe,” he admitted, because what else could he say?

P’Ko pinched the bridge of his nose. “Someone explain to me why there is a naked man backstage.”

“He was the cat!” Lego blurted.

Silence.

P’Ko lowered his hand slowly.

“…I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

William dragged Est fully against him, holding the jacket closed with one hand.

“You cannot just shift in front of people,” William hissed.

“You were jealous,” Est repeated calmly.

“I was not jealous!”

“You didn’t like it.”

William faltered.

He did not like it. At all.

Hong turned around cautiously now that Est was covered. “You were glaring.”

“I was not glaring!”

“You were glaring.”

Est leaned closer, lowering his voice.

“You didn’t want me sitting on him.”

William’s brain short-circuited.

“Because you are a menace!”

“You didn’t want him touching me.”

“That is not—”

William stopped.

Because it was exactly that.

Est’s lips curved slightly.

Soft.

Victorious.

“You were jealous,” he concluded.

The members made synchronized dramatic gasps.

“I WAS NOT—”

“You tightened your arms.”

“I was preventing another shift!”

“You were guarding.”

“YOU SHIFTED ON PURPOSE!”

“Yes.”

The honesty hit like a truck.

William stared at him.

“You did that deliberately?”

Est nodded once.

Calm.

Confident.

“I wanted to see.”

“See what?”

“If you would react.”

The room went quiet again.

William swallowed.

“…And?”

Est leaned closer, nose nearly brushing William’s.

“You did.”

William’s ears burned so hot they could have powered the stage lights.

Hong coughed dramatically. “This is better than the event.”

Lego nodded solemnly. “I almost died, but it was worth it.”

P’Ko turned toward the door. “I am filing for emotional compensation.”

William buried his face briefly in Est’s shoulder.

“This is humiliating.”

Est slid his arms around William’s waist under the jacket.

“And you are mine,” he said softly.

William froze.

The chaos blurred around them.

The laughter.

The teasing.

The absolute disaster of a backstage scene.

Est rested his forehead lightly against William’s collarbone.

Possessive.

Certain.

And as William sat there, holding his catastrophically chaotic, smug, possessive shapeshifter against his chest while his entire band screamed in disbelief—

He realized two things.

One:

He was never living this down.

And two:

Est absolutely won.

The end.