Chapter Text
Est doesn’t like unexpected visitors.
He likes structure—predictability, routine, knowing exactly how his day will unfold. It’s the only way he manages everything: work and expectations.
So when his mom knocks on his door one random Saturday morning and says—
“Sweetheart, we have a visitor. Come downstairs.” —he already feels the disruption before he even sees it.
Downstairs, laughter spills into the living room.
Not polite laughter.
The loud, familiar, years-have-been-erased kind.
And when Est steps in, he sees it immediately:
His mom—smiling wider than he’s seen in years.
And beside her— Another woman, just as bright, just as warm.
“Est!” his mom calls. “Come here, honey. I want you to meet someone.”
This is how he learns about the past.
About high school days.
About late-night study sessions, shared lunches, secrets whispered in classrooms.
About a friendship that faded—not because they wanted it to, but because life got in the way.
“A decade,” the woman says, laughing softly. “Can you believe it?”
“More than that,” his mom replies. “But look at us—it’s like nothing has changed.”
And then—
“William! Come here!”
There’s a pause.
A beat.
Footsteps from the hallway.
And then him.
William doesn’t walk in like a guest.
He walks in like he already owns the space.
Hair slightly messy, shirt half-tucked, expression somewhere between amused and indifferent.
Until his eyes land on Est.
Then something shifts.
Not dramatically.
Just… attention.
“This is my son,” the woman says. “William.”
“And this is Est,” his mom adds.
A handshake should follow.
Something polite.
Normal.
Instead—
William tilts his head slightly, eyes scanning, curious.
“…You look strict.”
Est blinks.
“…You look irresponsible.”
Silence.
And then—
Their moms burst out laughing.
The idea comes up casually.
Too casually.
“Actually,” William’s mom says over lunch, “we’ve been looking for a place near his university.”
His mom perks up. “Oh, Est’s place is just walking distance.”
Est pauses mid-bite.
“…What?”
“It’s perfect,” his mom continues, already thinking ahead. “You have that extra room.”
“It’s not a room,” Est corrects. “It’s storage.”
“Then clean it.”
William, meanwhile, leans back in his chair, watching the conversation unfold like it’s entertainment.
“You’d let me stay here?” he asks, smirking slightly.
Est doesn’t hesitate.
“No.”
“Est.”
“Mom.”
But the thing about mothers who just reunited after ten years?
They don’t take no for an answer.
“Just for a while,” his mom insists. “Until they find a place.”
“Exactly,” William’s mom adds. “Temporary.”
Temporary.
That word always sounds smaller than it actually is.
Est exhales slowly.
Weighs the situation.
Knows he’s already losing.
“…Fine.”
William grins.
Not grateful. Not polite.
Just—
interested.
Living with William is— disruptive.
He moves in two days later.
With too many bags, too little organization, and zero regard for personal space.
Est notices everything immediately:
Shoes left in the wrong place
Music playing too loud
Alarms that don’t get turned off
“Can you at least try to follow basic structure?” Est says one morning.
William, half-asleep on the couch, cracks one eye open.
“…Can you at least try to relax?”
They don’t fight.
Not really.
But they clash.
Constantly.
Est wakes up early.
William doesn’t.
Est keeps things clean.
William… doesn’t.
Est is controlled.
William is chaos.
And yet— somehow—they settle.
Not comfortably.
Not peacefully.
But into something that works.
It happens by accident.
William wakes up too early.
Which, in itself, is already unusual.
The room is quiet.
Sunlight slipping through the curtains.
And below— Est.
Already awake.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, fixing his watch, preparing for the day like he always does.
William watches him for a moment.
Not thinking much.
Just observing.
And then—without really planning to— he says:
“…Good morning, baby girl.”
The silence that follows is immediate.
Heavy.
Sharp.
Est freezes.
Slowly turns his head.
“…Excuse me?”
William blinks.
Processes what he just said.
And then—smiles.
“Oh,” he says, voice still rough from sleep. “Didn’t mean that.”
Pause.
“…Or maybe I did.”
Est stares at him.
Completely unimpressed.
“…Don’t call me that again.”
William stretches lazily, rolling onto his back.
“No promises.”
And just like that— it begins.
Day 2.
“Good morning, baby girl.”
“Stop.”
“No.”
Day 5.
“Good morning, baby girl.”
Est throws a pillow.
William laughs.
Day 10.
“Good morning, baby girl.”
“…Morning.”
And that’s when it changes.
Slightly.
Subtly.
But enough.
Because now—
Est responds.
Not with the same words.
Not with the same tone.
But he doesn’t ignore it anymore.
Doesn’t reject it as strongly.
And William notices.
Of course he does.
Routine is dangerous.
Especially when you don’t realize you’re building one.
By the second week—it’s automatic.
William wakes up just enough.
Looks down.
“Good morning, baby girl.”
Est pretends it doesn’t matter.
But he times his mornings around it now.
Without realizing.
Until— one day— it doesn’t happen.
William oversleeps.
Completely.
And Est— stands there.
Longer than usual.
Coffee in hand.
Looking up at the bunk.
“…William.”
Nothing.
“…William, wake up.”
A groan.
“What?”
Est hesitates.
This is stupid. It shouldn’t matter.
“…Nothing.”
He turns away.
But something in his chest feels—off.
Behind him, William squints down at him.
Confused.
And then realizes.
A slow grin spreads across his face.
“Oh,” he says softly.
“Good morning, baby girl.”
Est doesn’t turn around.
“…You’re late.”
But he doesn’t sound annoyed.
He sounds— relieved.