Silent Bond || EstWilliam au

Eighteen

Saturday came, bringing with it a bright morning sun that filtered through the curtains of William's hospital room. He lay in bed, absently scrolling through his phone, trying to distract himself from the mild headache that still lingered after the previous night's emotional breakdown. The door creaked open, and Hong walked in with a soft smile, a small bag of snacks in hand.

"Morning," Hong greeted, placing the bag on the side table. "Brought you some goodies."

William offered a small smile. "Thanks, man. You didn't have to."

The doctor came in not long after, holding a clipboard and speaking with the calm, authoritative tone of someone who had done this countless times before. "William, you're all set to go home today. Just make sure to take your medication on time, get plenty of rest, and come back for a check-up in a week."

William nodded, barely paying attention to the details. He'd heard it all before, every time he ended up in the hospital for one reason or another. The idea of going home was comforting, though. He was tired of sterile walls and beeping machines.

With the discharge papers signed, William and Hong gathered his things, and before long, they were in the car, William leaning against the window as the driver navigated through the busy streets of the city. His mother wasn't around—she'd flown out for an emergency work trip. It felt strange not having her hovering over him, making sure he was alright. But in a way, it was a relief too. He didn't want her to worry more than she already had.

When they arrived home, Hong helped carry William's small suitcase inside, rolling it through the door as William kicked off his shoes with a sigh of relief. The familiarity of his house, the comforting stillness, made him feel like he could finally breathe again.

"Alright, I'll unpack your stuff for you," Hong said, heading toward the stairs with the suitcase in hand. "You should probably rest."

William flopped down on the couch, glancing toward the television. "I've had enough of resting," he mumbled. His eyes darted to the PS5 sitting neatly on the shelf. "Come on, let's play for a bit. It's Saturday."

Hong frowned slightly, glancing back at William. "You really should be resting, though. The doctor said—"

"I've been lying down for days," William interrupted, half-jokingly. "If I rest any more, I'll turn into a vegetable. One game won't kill me."

Hong hesitated for a moment, then sighed, giving in. "Fine, but just one game."

They spent the next couple of hours playing, their voices filling the quiet house with the sound of laughter, groans of frustration, and the occasional curse word from William when he lost a round. For a while, it felt like everything was normal again—just two friends hanging out, playing video games, forgetting about the outside world.

But by noon, Hong had to head back home. He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. "Alright, I've gotta go. Mom wants me to help out with some stuff."

William nodded, giving him a lazy wave. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for hanging out."

"Take care of yourself, okay? And rest." Hong pointed at him, a mock stern expression on his face. "Don't just play games all day. If you need anything, call me."

"Alright," William replied, rolling his eyes. "I will."

After Hong left, the house felt too quiet again. William wandered upstairs, heading to his room for a shower. The warm water felt good against his skin, washing away the remnants of the hospital stay. Once he'd dried off and changed into a pair of comfortable pajamas, he unpacked his clothes from the suitcase, gently placing it in the wardrobe. Then he made his way downstairs, his stomach growling in protest.

As he walk down the stairs, a familiar, mouth-watering scent hit him—something rich, savory, and nostalgic. His steps quickened, and he rounded the corner into the kitchen, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

There, laid out on the table, was a spread of food. Not just any food—his favorite dishes. A steaming bowl of chicken curry, served with soft, fragrant jasmine rice, a side of crispy fried eggplant, and a small plate of sautéed vegetables. His heart skipped a beat as he stared at the feast before him, his mind racing.

His mom wasn't home. Hong hadn't mentioned ordering anything. He hadn't heard anyone come in.

But he knew, deep down, who had done this. Who else could it be? Who else knew exactly how he liked his food, the perfect balance of spices and herbs, the little details only someone close to him would remember?

Phi Est.

William swallowed, his throat tight as he moved toward the table. He sat down, picking up the fork with a trembling hand. For a moment, he hesitated, staring at the food as memories rushed back to him all at once. Memories of Est cooking for him, laughing in the kitchen as he prepared meals just like this one. He could almost hear Est's voice, playful and soft, asking him if the curry was too spicy or if he wanted extra rice.

The first bite felt like a punch to the chest. The flavor was exactly as he remembered—warm, comforting, familiar in a way that made his heart ache. He froze, the fork halfway to his mouth as a flood of emotions hit him all at once. The taste brought everything back, all the memories he had tried to bury, all the feelings he had tried so hard to forget.

His eyes burned with unshed tears as he chewed slowly, the food tasting both delicious and bittersweet. He missed this. No matter how hard he tried to push it all away, no matter how much he told himself he hated Est for leaving, for abandoning him—deep down, none of that mattered. What mattered was that he missed him.

A single tear slid down William's cheek, quickly followed by another. He didn't bother wiping them away. He didn't stop eating, even as his vision blurred and his chest tightened with the weight of his emotions. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. He ate because it was all he could do to hold onto the past, to hold onto the pieces of Est that were still here, still within reach.

And yet, with every bite, the realization hit him harder. Est had been here—he had come into the house, put the foods he cooked, and left without a word. Without seeing him. Without talking to him.

But that was William's fault, wasn't it? He was the one who wasn't ready. He was the one who told his mother he didn't want to see Est, that he didn't want to forgive him. And maybe that was still true. Maybe he wasn't ready to face him, to forgive him for leaving. But as he sat there, eating the food that tasted just like the past, a part of him wished that Est had stayed. A part of him wished that Est had waited, that he had stayed long enough to see him, even if William wasn't ready.

Because deep down, he wanted to see Est. He wanted to yell at him, to scream, to cry, to ask him why—why he left, why he didn't come back sooner, why he thought it was okay to walk back into his life like nothing had changed. But he also wanted to hug him, to tell him how much he missed him, to tell him that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hate him. He couldn't stop loving him.

The tears continued to fall as William finished his meal, his heart heavy and full of conflicting emotions. He pushed the plate away, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

Est was here, in the same country as him. He had cooked for him, cared for him in the only way he knew how—silently, from a distance.