Silent Bond || EstWilliam au

Sixteen

The hospital room was quiet except for the soft clicks of William's game controller. He sat propped up in bed, focused on the screen in front of him, his mind escaping to another world. The door creaked open, without looking up, eyes still on the screen, William muttered, "You're late, Hong. I thought you wouldn't come."

There's a short silence before the walk in person answer.

A voice he hadn't heard in years answered softly, "I'm sorry."

William froze, his hands gripping the controller tightly as if it could ground him. That voice—he recognised that voice so well. He hadn't heard it in for years, but it was still ingrained in his memory. Slowly, his eyes flicked toward the door.

Est stood there, hesitant, looking at William as though he wasn't sure if he should take another step. William's heart stopped. It felt as if time itself had paused. He stared at Est, disbelief written across his face. He saw  Est carrying a box of dessert from his favourite cafe, but he could care less, his mind blank.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment, both caught in a painful silence that was filled with years of unresolved tension. Both didnt break their eye contact.

As William sat there, stunned, staring at Est, everything he had buried over the past years surged back with terrifying force. The emotions came like a flood, each one crashing into the next, threatening to drown him. Anger. Sadness. Longing. Confusion. Pain. They swirled inside him, twisting tighter and tighter in his chest.

He was angry—angry at Est for leaving, for cutting him off without a word, for disappearing when he needed him most. How could he just leave like that? How could he abandon William when they were supposed to have each other's backs? That betrayal burned deep in his gut.

But along with the anger came sadness—this hollow, aching sadness that had been with William since the day Est walked out of his life. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, to fill it with other things, it never went away. He had missed him. He missed Est more than he could ever admit, even to himself. There were nights he'd lie awake, wondering what he had done wrong, why Est had turned away from him. He missed the way Est would check up on him, nag him about his reckless behavior, and tease him. He missed feeling like he had someone who understood him without needing to explain himself.

That longing stirred painfully in his chest, mixing with confusion. Why now? Why, after all these years, had Est suddenly come back? And what was William supposed to do with that? Part of him wanted to lash out, to scream and demand answers, while another part of him wanted nothing more than to break down and cry, to let Est hold him like he used to when things were too much.

But he couldn't—he wouldn't let himself do that. He had learned to live without Est, to push those feelings down. Yet, here they were, bubbling back up to the surface, uncontrollable and wild. His mind couldn't keep up with the onslaught. It was too much. Far too much.

His head started to pound, first just a dull ache, but quickly intensifying as the emotions stormed through him. His heart raced, and his vision blurred as he tried to keep everything inside, to stop himself from exploding. The pain shot through his skull, sharp and relentless, making it impossible to think clearly.

Est's voice reached him again, "How are you?"

William's resolve broke.

The simple question, so casual yet so loaded, tore through the last of his defenses. His hands flew to his head, clutching at his temples as the pounding grew unbearable. His breath came in ragged gasps, and all the emotions he had fought so hard to suppress crashed over him, breaking him apart from the inside out. His heart ached, his chest felt too tight, and the pressure in his head was excruciating, as though his skull was being split in two.

A small sob escaped him, followed by another, and then another, until the tears flowed freely, his body trembling from the weight of it all. He couldn't stop it now—the anger, the sadness, the grief, everything he had shoved down over the years, it all came pouring out, uncontrollable and overwhelming.

"William!" Est's voice was frantic now as he rushed to the younger's side, putting the box at the nightstand, grabbing his shoulders. "What's wrong? What's happening?"

William didn't answer. He couldn't. All he could do was clutch his head, the pain blinding him, while his body hunched forward, curled in on itself as if trying to protect him from the tidal wave of emotions ripping through him.

Est, panicking, but keep his emotions in check. He fumbled for the button next to William's bed, slamming his hand down on it. "I need a doctor now, the patient is in pain."

Within moments, nurses burst into the room, their faces a mix of concern and urgency. William's mother rushed in behind them, her eyes widening in horror at the sight of her son, curled up in pain, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Please step outside," one of the nurses said softly but firmly. "We need to keep him calm. Too much stimulation will only make it worse."

Est hesitated, torn between wanting to stay and knowing he had to leave. His legs felt heavy, his body stiff as he backed away from the bed, his eyes never leaving William's trembling form.

As Est and William's mother stepped into the hallway, the door quietly closed infront of them, sealing them outside in a cold, sterile silence. Est leaned back against the wall, the adrenaline rushing out of him now, leaving behind a deep, hollow ache in his chest. He hadn't meant to hurt William—not like this. But seeing him in so much pain made it all too clear just how much damage his absence had caused. He had hoped—foolishly—that time would have healed things, that maybe William had moved on. But the reality was far worse. His return had reopened every wound William had buried.

After what felt like an eternity, a doctor came out of the room, his expression grim but calm. William's mother rushed to him immediately, her voice shaking with fear. "Doctor, please, what happened to my son?"

The doctor exhaled, his voice steady and reassuring. "William had an emotional overload, likely brought on by his post-concussion syndrome. His mind and body couldn't cope with the emotional strain, which caused a severe headache. We've given him pain relief medication and ask him to sleep. He'll be fine, but he needs rest. Please, let him be for now. Don't overwhelm him further."

Est's stomach twisted painfully at the doctor's words. Emotional overload. Strain. His fault. It all came back to him. William's condition—his pain—it was all because of him.

The doctor left, and the hallway fell silent again. Est sank onto a nearby bench, burying his face in his hands. He couldn't hold back anymore. The guilt, the shame, the overwhelming sorrow he felt for what he had caused—it all came rushing out. His shoulders shook as he cried quietly, his tears spilling between his fingers.

William's mother sat beside him, gently placing a hand on his arm. "Est, please, don't blame yourself for this. It's not your fault."

But Est couldn't look at her. His voice cracked as he spoke. "I should've been there. I shouldn't have left him."

"You didn't leave him out of spite," she said softly, trying to comfort him. "You were both young. You needed space. You did what you thought was best."

Est shook his head, his breath hitching as another sob escaped him. "I should've stayed."

She sighed, her own heart breaking as she saw the pain Est was in. "Est, William is strong. He just needs time. You both need time."

But Est couldn't shake the crushing weight of guilt. No matter how much she reassured him, the truth was clear: William was suffering because of him. And there was no way to undo the damage he had caused.