Chapter Text
Est sat alone on a park bench as the city moved around him.
People walked past in pairs, in groups, with laughter tucked between their shoulders and phones glowing in their hands. Cars rushed by beyond the trees. Somewhere far enough to feel like another world, someone was singing a birthday song too loudly outside a cafe, the cheerful melody floating into the night air before breaking apart in the wind. Something that should have also been playing for him – after all, he had turned twenty-eight today. He should have had a big birthday bash with balloons, cake, gifts, and all his loved ones surrounding him. But he had stopped wishing for such things a long time ago.
He looked down at his hand.
There was a sharp cut across his palm, red and angry, the skin split where broken wood had sliced through earlier. Blood had dried in thin, dark lines along his fingers. It stung faintly whenever he moved, but he barely felt it. Pain in the body was simple. It had a place. It could be cleaned, wrapped, and pressed down until it stopped bleeding.
This thing inside his chest had no shape.
His eyes were swollen from crying. They burned every time he blinked, but there were no tears left. He had spent them already, each one dragged out of him until even his grief seemed exhausted. Now he just sat there, empty and cold, with his birthday passing over him like rain over stone.
Earlier that morning, he had been fired. Not because of anything he had done. Not truly. They had called it restructuring. Reorganizing. A necessary shift for the future of the company. They had used clean words, neat words, words polished enough to hide the dirt underneath. Then they had looked at him across the conference table and said he had not been pulling his weight.
Est still remembered the way his manager had avoided his eyes. Not pulling his weight. He had stayed late for that company more times than he could count. He had answered messages past midnight, fixed mistakes that were not his, covered for people who smiled at him in the pantry and then let him drown in meetings. He had swallowed every unfair comment, every extra task, every silent dismissal, because he thought hard work would be enough. And also because he needed the damn money.
It had not been. By noon, his desk had been packed into one small cardboard box. By evening, his life had burned down completely. Est pressed his injured hand against his thigh and shut his eyes.
And then a couple of hours ago, he had gone home earlier than planned. He had not wanted to. But right now he wanted the familiarity of his own home, if that could even be called a home anymore, so he can celebrate his day in some sort of peace. Part of him had been ashamed, even though he had done nothing wrong. He had imagined William seeing his face and immediately knowing. He had imagined the disappointment first, then the lecture, then the quiet, heavy condescending distance that had become so familiar between them.
What he hadn’t imagined, however, were the heels by the door. He had not imagined the soft, breathless sounds coming from the bedroom. Their bedroom. Their bed. The same bed where he and William had slept for years. The same bed where Est had once curled into William’s arms believing, foolishly, that there were places in the world where he was safe.
And William had not looked sorry when confronted. That was the part Est could not stop seeing. Not the stranger scrambling for clothes. Not the ruined sheets. Not even the way William’s face had shifted from shock to irritation, as if Est had interrupted something inconvenient.
It was the lack of remorse that did it for him. No panic. No pleading. No desperate apology.
Now the night pressed around him, and the cut in his palm throbbed, and his phone sat dead in his pocket after hours of non-use because what was the point anymore?
He opened his eyes and stared at the dark path ahead and asked something to the universe his mom believed in so much.
How did we get here?
Est did not know how long he sat there after the question formed in his heart.
The park remained quiet around him, but the quiet had changed. It no longer felt like emptiness. It felt like the world was holding its breath.
The wind brushed against his face, colder now, slipping beneath the collar of his coat and raising goosebumps along his skin. Est lowered his hand from his mouth and looked down at his injured palm again. The cut had opened slightly from the pressure, fresh blood welling along the line, bright and almost unreal beneath the weak glow of the park lamp.
He should get up. He should go somewhere. A hospital, maybe. A pharmacy. A hotel. Anywhere that was not the apartment where William had shattered the last piece of him and looked annoyed by the sound.
But his legs felt heavy. His body felt borrowed. Every part of him had gone distant, as if he were watching himself from the other side of glass.
Then, above him, the clouds shifted. It was small at first, just a thin tear in the dark blanket of the sky. Est noticed it only because he had been staring upward without seeing anything. Through the break in the clouds, a single star appeared. Pale. Trembling.
And then it moved. Est blinked. The star streaked across the sky, fast and silver, leaving a thin trail of light behind it. For one brief second, the whole night seemed to split open.
A shooting star.
Est’s lips parted. He had not seen one since he was a child. Back then, his mother had told him to make a wish quickly before the light disappeared, as if the universe were a busy clerk who only accepted prayers during office hours.
He almost laughed. The sound never came. Instead, something inside him rose all at once. Not hope. Hope had died hours ago in a bedroom that smelled like perfume that was not his. This was something sharper. Something desperate enough to be ugly.
Est looked at the fading trail in the sky, his swollen eyes burning again.
“I wish…” His voice cracked. The park blurred.
“I wish I had never fallen in love with William.”
The words slipped out, quiet but complete. His throat tightened around the rest of it, but the wish kept unfolding inside him, louder than speech.
If he had never met and fallen for William, maybe his life would have been different. Maybe he would have chosen himself earlier. Maybe he would have finished that higher degree he always wished for. Maybe he would have kept the friends he slowly stopped seeing because William did not like them, or because William needed him, or because it was simply easier not to explain why his boyfriend’s moods ruled the weather in their home.
Maybe he would have laughed more. Maybe he would have become someone stronger. Maybe he would not have spent years shrinking himself into a shape William could tolerate.
His chest clenched so hard it hurt. Maybe he would not know what it felt like to love someone who used to hold him like treasure, then one day began treating him like a degraded piece of furniture.
Because he had loved William. And that was the cruelest truth. He had loved him with the foolish devotion of a boy who had thought forever was something two people could build if they just kept choosing each other. He had loved William when William was kind. He had loved him when William became proud. He had loved him through every cold word, every missed anniversary, every doctor’s appointment, every counselling session, and every smile that no longer reached his eyes.
He had loved him long after it stopped saving either of them.
The star disappeared. For a moment, nothing happened. Then pain exploded behind Est’s eyes.
He gasped and bent forward, both hands flying to his head. The cut on his palm smeared blood against his temple, but he barely noticed. His skull felt like it had been split open and filled with white fire. The world lurched beneath him.
“AHHHH!” The sound tore out of him without permission. No, not pain. Pressure. It was as if something enormous had placed its hand on his brain itself and was folding it inwards.
The park lamps stretched into long golden lines. The trees bent and warped, their branches twisting like ink in water. The distant traffic became a roar, then a hum, then a high ringing that pierced straight through his thoughts.
Est tried to stand, but his legs failed.
He slid from the bench to the ground, knees hitting the pavement. His vision flickered. For one terrifying second, he saw William’s face again, not the William from tonight but the younger one, the boy from university with bright eyes and wind-messy hair, laughing at him across a crowded courtyard.
Est reached out blindly. The ground vanished. Then everything went black.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
When Est woke, the first thing he felt was warmth. Not the sharp cold of the park pavement beneath his cheek. Not the night air biting at his skin. Warmth. Sunlight, soft and gold, pressing against his eyelids.
The second thing he felt was pain, but not the same pain as before. His head ached, dull and heavy, like the aftermath of crying too much. His body felt strangely light. Too light. The stiffness in his shoulders was gone. The deep exhaustion settled into his bones after years of trying to hold himself together was gone too.
Est opened his eyes. Blue sky stared back at him. He froze. There were no clouds. No park lamps. No dark trees. No city night wrapped around him like a funeral cloth.
Instead, sunlight spilled through the leaves above him, turning them translucent green. Somewhere nearby, students were talking. Laughing. A bicycle bell rang twice. Shoes slapped against pavement. The air smelled of cut grass, iced coffee, and the faint dustiness of old classroom buildings baking under the afternoon sun.
Est’s breath stopped.
He pushed himself up too quickly and immediately regretted it. The world spun, tilting sideways. He caught himself with both hands against the ground. Grass. He was lying on grass. Not the park grass from the one near his apartment.
Wait…. He knew this place.
His heart began to pound. Slowly, Est looked around. There was the old fountain with the cracked stone rim. There was the arts building with ivy crawling up one side. There was the long walkway lined with rain trees, their branches arching overhead like a green tunnel. Students moved along the path in loose groups, carrying backpacks and notebooks, wearing uniforms and casual clothes, their faces younger than they should have been.
No. Est’s fingers dug into the grass. No, no, no. This was impossible.
He knew this courtyard because he had spent too many afternoons here, sitting beneath these trees with textbooks open and snacks scattered between him and his friends. He knew the fountain because William had once jumped into it on a dare during midterms week and gotten them both scolded by security. He knew the arts building because his second-year elective had been on the third floor, in the classroom with the broken air conditioner and the window that never shut properly.
His first day of the second year of uni.
The thought struck him so sharply that he nearly stopped breathing.
Est looked down at himself. His hands were smaller. Younger. The skin was smooth, unmarked by the faint scars and calluses he remembered. The cut across his palm was gone. Completely gone. His sleeves were not the ones he had worn to work that morning. He was wearing a university shirt, faded jeans, and sneakers he had thrown away years ago after the soles split during the rainy season.
His bag lay beside him. A bag he had not owned since he was twenty-three.
Est touched his face with trembling fingers. His cheeks were softer, his jaw less sharp. His hair fell over his forehead in the style he used to wear before William once said it made him look cute, and Est had kept it that way for three years.
His stomach twisted. This was a dream. It had to be. A hallucination. A breakdown. A cruel little play staged by his exhausted mind before it finally collapsed. But the grass was real beneath his fingers. The sun was indisputably warm on his neck. The voices around him rose and fell with impossible clarity.
Est’s breath came faster. He grabbed his bag and tried to stand, but dizziness dragged him back down to one knee. His palms pressed into the earth. His heart hammered so violently he thought he might be sick.
“Calm down,” he whispered to himself. “Est, calm down.”
But how was he supposed to calm down when time had somehow cracked open and swallowed him whole?
Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. Est went still.
For a second, the whole courtyard seemed to fade - the laughter, the bicycles, the sunlight through the leaves. Everything narrowed to the shape of that shadow stretching across the grass toward him.
Then a voice came from above.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Est’s entire body turned cold. He knew that voice. Even younger, even softer, even untouched by the arrogance and cruelty that would one day sharpen it, he knew it. That voice had whispered promises against his hair. It had laughed into his neck. It had called his name in anger. It had broken him in a bedroom years from now, wearing someone else’s scent like a confession.
Slowly, Est looked up.
Eighteen years old. Bright. Careless. Beautiful in a way that hurt to see again. His hair was slightly messy from the wind, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his brows drawn together in genuine concern. Sunlight caught along his face, turning him almost golden, the exact way Est remembered and had tried so hard to forget.
William crouched slightly, holding out a hand. “Can you stand?” he asked.
Est stared at that hand. Once, he had taken it. Once, that hand had pulled him up from the ground and into the beginning of everything.
His throat closed. No. Not again. Never again.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The front door had already closed. The sound was not loud. It was not dramatic. It did not shake the walls or rattle the expensive frames hanging in the hallway. It was just a soft click, the kind of sound that belonged to ordinary evenings, to someone stepping out for groceries or leaving for work.
But to William, it sounded like the end of the world. He did not move. His eyes remained fixed on the hallway, in the empty space where Est had disappeared.
Est. His Est. The man he had loved since university. The man who had once filled every corner of William’s life with warmth, laughter, and the kind of patience William never deserved. The man who used to look at him like William was someone worth staying for.
And now Est had walked away. Broken. Hurt. In pain.
Est should have been angry. That would have been easier. William could have taken the anger. He could have let Est scream at him, curse him, hit him, demand an explanation, demand truth, demand something. Anything.
But Est had only looked at him. Those swollen, devastated eyes had landed on William for one unbearable second, and William had seen the exact moment something inside Est died. Then Est had left, his hand swiping the blunt edge of the side table he had asked William many times to sand over.
William’s knees almost gave out. Behind him, the girl was saying something. A question. Maybe his name. Maybe an apology. He did not hear it. It came to him through water, distant and useless.
He only saw Est’s face. He only saw the hurt, the pain, the finality.
William turned slowly toward the window. From their bedroom, he could see the front of the condo building far below. The evening had thickened into city night, streetlights glowing against the wet pavement. For a moment, he saw nothing. Just cars. Shadows. Strangers moving through their lives as if William’s had not just cracked open.
Then he saw him. Est walking out of the building. Small from this height. Alone. Shoulders slightly hunched. One hand curled close to his chest.
William lifted a trembling hand to the glass. “Est,” he whispered.
The name fogged the window. Est did not look back. Of course, he did not. Why would he?
In Est’s eyes, William had cheated on him.
In Est’s eyes, William had brought someone into the same bed where they had slept, loved, fought, healed, broken, and tried again.
In Est’s eyes, William had done the final unforgivable thing.
William let out a sound that barely counted as a breath. Then the tears came. Silent. Slow. Hot tracks slipped down his face while his mouth stayed shut, while his body stood rigid, while the whole room smelled like ruin. He cried without sobbing, because if he made a sound, he was afraid he would never stop.
This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? This was the point. Est would leave now. Est would hate him. Est would finally stop trying to save a man who had become nothing but poison in his hands.
William pressed his forehead to the cold glass. “Goodbye, baby,” he whispered, but his voice broke on the word Goodbye. But it was necessary to say it.
Because Est deserved peace. Because Est deserved love that did not drag him into debt, fear, shame, and filthy little lies. Est deserved a warm home, gentle mornings, someone who remembered his birthday without needing three alarms and still failing anyway. Someone who did not flinch at bank calls. Someone who did not wake shaking because his body wanted poison more than air.
Someone who was not William. A useless, dirt-poor, limping addict who could not even take care of himself. The thought twisted through him, sharp and familiar. William squeezed his eyes shut.
He had arranged tonight like a butcher arranging flowers. Cruel enough to be believed. Ugly enough to make Est never come back. He had thought, stupidly, that if Est hated him, then Est would be free.
So why did it hurt? Why did his chest feel like something was clawing out of it? Why did every breath feel stolen?
He could not see Est anymore. It might have been seconds since he saw his small, distinct figure cross the condo courtyard. Or minutes. What he saw instead was a shooting star, tearing across the sky, falling the way his life soon would.
William’s hand slipped against the glass. “I hope you don’t come back, baby,” he whispered, crying harder now. “Please don’t come back into the darkness.”
Be happy without me. Please. Find someone kind. Please. Forget me. Please. Hate me if you have to. Please. Just live.
But his heart did not understand mercy. It beat Est’s name against his ribs like a trapped bird throwing itself at a cage.
Est. Est. Est.
William staggered back from the window. The room tilted. His head pulsed suddenly, violently, pain bursting behind his eyes like lightning trapped inside his skull. He gripped the edge of the dresser, but his fingers slipped. The floor seemed to rise and fall beneath him.
His breath caught. Why was his mind spinning? Why did it feel like the whole world had turned inside out?
“Est…” he choked.
The ceiling blurred. William reached for the window one last time, as if he could still touch the shadow of the man walking away from him.
Then his knees buckled. And everything went black.