Chapter Text
The You Maniac set was loud in a very specific way—like a storm you paid professionals to choreograph.
Someone shouted for a sandbag. Someone else swore because a cable had become sentient and tried to trip an intern. A row of lights burned hot enough that sweat formed instantly at the base of Est’s neck, sliding down the line where his jaw met his throat—unfairly elegant even while exhausted.
William loved it.
He hovered near the monitor like an excited puppy who’d learned the word walk, leather jacket creaking every time he leaned in too close. His hair was slightly damp from the heat and his grin had that dangerous brightness that meant: I’m about to cause problems on purpose.
“Okay,” William said, voice pitched just loud enough for Est to hear but not loud enough for P’Ko to yell at him. “Tell me that wasn’t insane.”
Est didn’t look up right away. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve with the slow, careful precision that made everyone on set secretly believe he was always in control—even when his eyes softened every time William looked his way.
“It was fine,” Est said. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “You improvised three lines.”
William’s eyes widened in theatrical offense. “They were necessary.”
“They were unhinged.”
William beamed like Est had given him a bouquet. “Exactly.”
From a few steps away, Kin laughed, full-body and helpless. “You two are terrifying.”
Barcode, already in character makeup—cool, composed, and somehow always looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine—crossed his arms. “I feel like I’m third-wheeling and I’m literally in the show.”
“That’s the You Maniac experience,” William said cheerfully, as if he were welcoming them to a theme park. “Welcome.”
Est shot him a look that was ninety percent warning and ten percent fondness he tried to hide. “Please don’t scare them on day one.”
“I’m not scary,” William said, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m charming.”
“You’re loud,” Est replied, deadpan.
Barcode snorted. Kin covered his mouth, failing at hiding a smile.
Somewhere behind them, a crew member called, “Reset in five!”
The set shifted. People moved with practiced urgency. Props were returned, marks were checked, a makeup artist dove in like a medic on a battlefield.
William bounced once on his heels and—without thinking—leaned closer to Est as they turned toward their marks.
It was tiny. Barely anything. A shoulder brushing a shoulder. A hand hovering near Est’s wrist like William forgot, for half a second, where they were.
But Est noticed.
He always did.
Because off-camera, when the world wasn’t watching, William’s touches weren’t careless. They were language. I’m here. I’ve got you. Don’t float away.
On-camera, it was all written into the script.
A fake relationship between two red-flag opposites, chaotic and unhinged, a romance that started as a lie and turned into something worse—something real.
In real life…
In real life, they were already there.
They had been there for a while, tucked between schedules and security and the polite, practiced distance of two people the public adored too much. In the spaces where the cameras couldn’t follow—shared late-night dinners, quiet mornings before calls, William leaving tiny doodles on Est’s sticky notes like an idiot, Est folding William’s hoodies without being asked like it meant something.
Fans saw chemistry.
Fans didn’t see keys.
Fans didn’t see the way William’s voice changed when he said Est’s name in the dark.
“Places!” the assistant director yelled.
William’s face flipped into character like a switch. Smirk sharp, body loose, reckless energy held on a leash he liked biting through.
Est slid into his own role the way he used to dive into a pool: clean, controlled, inevitable.
And then—
A ripple of whispers cut across the set.
Not the usual oh my god they’re so cute whispers, or that line was crazy whispers.
These were different. Sharper. Curious. Heads turning toward the entrance.
Est noticed first—because swimmers learned early to feel vibrations before they saw the wave.
William followed his gaze—and immediately gasped like he’d been shot.
“NO WAY.”
Tui was already waving from across the room, grinning like he owned the air. Hong followed, hands in his pockets, calm eyes taking everything in with that quiet, observant intensity that always made William behave for approximately five seconds. Nut and Lego trailed behind them, wide-eyed like kids on a field trip, clearly delighted by the chaos of a drama set.
“LYKN is visiting?” Barcode asked, sounding half impressed and half doomed.
William was already moving. “MY PEOPLE.”
Tui clapped him on the shoulder like he was claiming property. “So this is where you’ve been disappearing to.”
William laughed too loud. “I have a job!”
Hong’s gaze slid past him to Est—one slow, measuring look that somehow felt like it saw everything and said nothing.
Then Hong raised an eyebrow. “You look…” he paused, like he was choosing the most dangerous word possible, “…very in love.”
Est nearly choked on absolutely nothing.
“I—” Est started, and his entire soul tried to exit his body. “This is a work environment.”
“Sure,” Nut said solemnly, as if they were in court.
Lego nodded with exaggerated seriousness. “Very professional.”
William, traitor that he was, didn’t help at all. He leaned closer to Est just to be annoying, grinning like sunshine with teeth. “They’re just jealous because I get to fake date you.”
Est muttered through his teeth, “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Fake,” William repeated lightly.
For half a second, his eyes flicked to Est’s—too long, too warm, too honest.
Something unspoken settled between them like a hand laid gently over a heartbeat.
P’Ko’s voice cut through the moment from behind, sharp and practiced. “William. Don’t distract Est. Save the chaos for after the take.”
William straightened instantly, saluting like a soldier. “Yes, sir. I’ll behave.”
No one believed him.
Not even Est.
They reset again, and now LYKN clustered near the monitors, watching with open fascination like they were studying a rare animal in its natural habitat.
The camera rolled.
William came alive.
He delivered his lines with that magnetic recklessness—the “crazy hot guy” energy the script demanded, all heat and grin and trouble. He moved like he owned the space, like rules were suggestions made for other people.
Est met him with calm precision. Cool gaze, posture like a blade. Controlled, cold, the kind of “crazy cold guy” who didn’t raise his voice because he didn’t need to.
On paper, it was fake dating.
In the room, it didn’t feel fake.
Even the crew seemed to go quieter when they were close.
“Cut!” the director called, satisfied. “Good. Very good. Again—same energy.”
Nut leaned toward Hong, speaking under his breath. “Do they always look like that?”
Hong didn’t look away from the monitor. “Yeah.”
Nut waited.
Hong finished, soft and grim, “That’s the problem.”
Est stepped back, exhaling, the tension easing from his shoulders like someone finally untied a knot. He reached for his water bottle—
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
Once.
He ignored it.
It vibrated again, insistent, pressing against his thigh like a pulse.
William noticed immediately because William noticed everything about Est, even the things Est tried to hide.
“You okay?” William asked, voice casual for everyone else and careful just for him.
Est nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just—probably nothing.”
The phone buzzed a third time.
This time, it felt… heavy. Like the vibration carried intention, not just a notification.
William’s smile softened; the playful edges dropped away. “Hey,” he said quietly, stepping closer so his body blocked the view from the monitors. “You don’t look like ‘nothing.’”
Est’s throat tightened. He forced air into his lungs like he was surfacing after a long dive.
“I’ll be right back,” Est murmured, and slipped away before anyone could stop him.
He pushed through the door into the hallway outside the set.
The sound dulled instantly—like someone had shut the world behind glass.
He pulled out his phone.
Unknown Number.
Multiple missed calls.
One message.
Est’s thumb hovered, then tapped on the message.
This is the Royal Heritage Council.
Mr. Supha Sangaworawong, we have verified your royal lineage.
Please contact us immediately.
For a second, Est couldn’t process the words.
Royal Heritage Council.
Verified your royal lineage.
His heart began to hammer so hard it felt like it might crack his ribs open and spill everything he’d never understood about his family onto the floor.
His dad’s silence about family.
The vague, careful answers.
The way his parents always insisted on privacy with a desperation that never matched the questions.
The past he’d never been allowed to touch—suddenly, violently real.
Est’s vision tunneled.
He barely noticed the soft click of the door behind him.
“P’Est?”
William’s voice—gentle now, stripped of character and playfulness—reached him like a hand.
“They’re asking if you’re ready for the next setup,” William added, then stopped when he saw Est’s face. The words died immediately.
“Hey…” William’s brows drew together. “What happened?”
Est turned.
He knew how to act. He knew how to smile through exhaustion. He knew how to hide pain behind professionalism.
But this was different. This wasn’t a scene.
This was his life tilting sideways.
For a long moment, he couldn’t speak at all.
Then, voice low and shaken, he managed, “I think…”
He swallowed.
“I think someone just told me my life isn’t what I thought it was.”
William didn’t joke. Didn’t tease. Didn’t try to lighten it.
He stepped closer, instinctive, and his hand brushed Est’s sleeve—gentle, grounding, familiar. Like he was reminding Est that no matter what this message meant, William was still real. Still here.
“Okay,” William said quietly, like he was making a decision out loud. “Then we slow down.”
Est’s eyes stung, shocking him with how close to breaking he already was.
“You don’t have to figure it out alone,” William continued, voice steady despite the tremor hiding underneath.
Behind them, the set buzzed on—lights blazing, cameras waiting, friends laughing like nothing had changed.
But outside the studio walls, something old and powerful had reached out.
And somewhere in the distance—somewhere beyond scripts and schedules and the safe lie of a “pair”—
A crown long forgotten was starting to cast its shadow.