Silent Bond || EstWilliam au

One

The past year had been nothing short of transformative for William, though to many, it was a transformation shrouded in quiet, controlled solitude.

The William of today was almost unrecognizable from the bratty, carefree boy everyone once knew. He had become someone disciplined, someone driven, as if the person he used to be was buried deep beneath layers of newfound maturity. His days were structured, his goals clear. From the moment he woke up until he went to bed, William had a strict schedule, all revolving around schoolwork, extracurricular activities, and self-improvement.

The teachers at school noticed the changes immediately. Gone were the days when William would skip class just to hang out with his friends, or lazily scroll through his phone during lessons. Now, he sat attentively, his eyes sharp with focus, taking meticulous notes and asking thoughtful questions. He didn't sit at the back anymore, hiding behind his laid-back attitude; instead, he took a seat near the front, actively participating in class discussions. The teachers, once exasperated by his indifferent attitude, were now proud, impressed by his sudden and consistent determination.

It wasn't just in the classroom that William had changed. His grades had shot up, reflecting the effort he was now putting into his studies. The William who had once scoffed at the idea of studying hard now spent hours in the library, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks, practicing problems, revising theories, and seeking out help whenever needed. He refused to let distractions get in the way. There were no more video games, no late-night chats with friends, and certainly no more ditching homework. Every part of his day was dedicated to becoming better.

Beyond academics, William threw himself into extracurricular activities. He joined clubs he'd previously ignored—debate, chess, and even the music theater. He excelled in sports too, throwing himself into practices with the same determination that fueled his academic success. His natural athleticism helped him shine on the field, and before long, he was leading the school's soccer team to victory. His trophy cabinet, once empty, began to fill with medals and awards for his achievements, as if to symbolize the new chapter in his life.

To everyone around him, William was a success story—a once directionless boy turned model student. But beneath the surface, something remained deeply unsettled. His mother, who now worked from home at Est's request, to keep William company and under his mom's constant care, was the first to notice the subtle cracks in his façade. Though William appeared to be thriving on the outside, there was a coldness to him now. He didn't talk much anymore, not even to his mother, whom he had always seek comfort to. He would speak when necessary, answering her questions or sharing brief updates about his day, but gone was the lively, sometimes bratty boy who used to fill their house with his endless chatter.

William's mom did everything she could to care for him—she cooked him his favorite meals, tried to engage him in conversation, and even joined him for his soccer matches. But no matter what she did, there was a distance between them that hadn't been there before. William's face had become a mask of calm, collected maturity, but his eyes held a sadness, a heaviness that his mother couldn't reach. She knew, deep down, that this transformation wasn't just about growing up—it was about what had happened between him and Est.

Est. The name itself was almost forbidden in their house now, at least when William was around. Whenever his mom brought him up, even in passing, William would change the subject, his face tight with unresolved emotion. He had worked hard to push Est out of his thoughts, to bury the pain of their separation beneath all of his new achievements. But his mother saw through the act. She saw the way his shoulders tensed whenever he heard Est's name, the way his expression closed off when she showed him Est's messages.

And Est—he was doing everything he could from afar, though it wasn't nearly enough. From California, he would call or message William's mom every few weeks, asking about how his brother was doing. Each time, she would give him glowing reports of William's progress—the good grades, the sports trophies, the clubs he had joined. She would send him pictures of William's achievements, certificates, medals, and candid shots from soccer matches where William was always front and center, the star of the game.

Whenever Est heard these updates, a mixture of pride and sadness would swell in his chest. He was so proud of William—proud of how hard he was working, proud of the person he was becoming. But alongside that pride was a deep, gnawing ache. His mom would always end her updates with the same words, "But William's changed. He doesn't talk much anymore, Est. He's different now. He's quieter, more closed off. I think he misses you, but he won't say it."

Est knew, deep down, that William was still hurting. He knew that his little brother, the boy who had once clung to him so tightly, was still angry—angry at him for leaving, angry at him for not telling him sooner. And now, even though Est tried to stay in touch, even though he called and messaged his mom regularly to ask about William, he felt powerless. He was thousands of miles away, buried under his own workload of research and events, and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't come home. Not yet.

It wasn't as if Est hadn't tried to come back. Every time his mom asked him to, saying that William needed him, Est would look at his packed schedule and feel a wave of frustration. Between his studies, his research, and the events he had to attend, finding time to fly home had become almost impossible. Holidays came and went, and each time, Est found himself stuck in California, unable to make the trip back. It wasn't that he didn't want to come home, he did, desperately—but the demands of his new life in California kept pulling him further away.

William's mom had begun to worry more and more as the months went on. She could see how her son was bottling up his emotions, hiding them beneath his newfound focus on school and sports. But what scared her the most was how well he was hiding it. Even she, his own mother, couldn't read his emotions anymore. It was shocking to see how a spoiled and childish boy before this can transform into a very secretive person. William had become a master of keeping his feelings under wraps, of presenting a calm, controlled version of himself to the world. It was as if he had built a wall around his heart, one that even she couldn't break through.

One evening, after another long day of work, William's mom sat him down for dinner. She had prepared one of his favorite meals—grilled chicken with mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables—and she hoped, as she always did, that this might be the night William opened up. But as they sat across from each other, the conversation was as stilted as ever. William gave short, polite answers to her questions about school and soccer, but he didn't volunteer any information beyond that.

Finally, after a long pause, his mom decided to bring up Est again.

"You know," she began, carefully, "I talked to Est last night."

William's fork froze halfway to his mouth, but he didn't look up. His mom pressed on.

"He asked about you. He always asks about you. He's so proud of you, Will. He saw the pictures of your trophies, your grades. He couldn't stop talking about how amazing you're doing."

For a moment, William didn't respond. Then, quietly, he set his fork down and looked up at her, giving a faked smile. "That's good," he said flatly, before picking up his fork again and continuing to eat.

His mom sighed, her heart aching. She knew that deep down, William still cared—still missed his brother—but he was hiding it so well, even from himself.

Later that night, as William lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he thought about Est. He hadn't spoken to him in a year. Not a single word. He had blocked his number, cut him off from social media, and built a wall around himself that even Est couldn't climb. And yet, every day, he still thought about him. About the way things used to be. About the brother he had lost.

But he didn't let himself dwell on it for long. He couldn't afford to. Not now.

He had a new life to focus on. And he wasn't going to let anything distract him from that—not even his own feelings.