Chapter Text
William remembers the first time Est ever called him a “good boy.”
It had been half a joke, half a sigh, the words slipping out as Est leaned over a messy studio desk and wiped charcoal from William’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.
“You’re such a good boy,” Est had murmured, smiling without looking at him, eyes still scanning the sketch on the easel. “Always on time. Always responsible. My parents would worship you.”
William had swallowed and said nothing, because the words lodged sharply in his chest.
Good boy.
He’d left a race at 3 a.m. that same night. Helmet under his arm, knuckles bruised from holding onto the bike at insane speeds, t-shirt stuck to his back with sweat, tattoos still humming with leftover adrenaline. He’d showered twice before meeting Est the next morning, scrubbing away the smoke and exhaust and neon, pulling on a crisp button-up and a cardigan like armor.
Est had smiled at him like he was made of soft things and safety.
William had decided, then, that he would rather be split in two than watch that look die.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
By day, William was the kind of business student that made professors nod approvingly.
He sat near the front, took structured notes in neat handwriting, and wore pressed shirts. His hair was always pushed back, his sleeves always rolled exactly to the wrist and not a millimeter higher. People assumed it was a style choice, something clean and minimal.
It was not.
Under the fabric, ink crawled over his skin in black and deep red: serpents and birds, wheels and smoke, a saint with a broken halo across his shoulder blade, and a roaring engine wrapping around his side like a ribcage. His first tattoo sat over his heart, lines of flame curling protectively around a tiny, carefully drawn star.
Nobody at uni had seen them.
Nobody except the guys at the warehouse, the ones who cheered when he pulled up on his bike, helmet visor down, leather jacket creaking as he swung his leg over the seat.
At night, in an industrial lot on the edge of the city, William wasn’t the calm business student with the neatly ironed shirt. He was the one who never lifted his visor until the last moment, the one whose engine everyone recognized by the way it screamed.
He raced for the money, sure, but that wasn’t the real reason. The real reason was simpler, sharper. Riding was the only time the noise in his head quieted. The only time he didn’t have to think about being two different people.
Because the second he stepped into Est’s world – the cluttered art studios, the paint-splattered jeans, the half-finished canvases leaning against every wall – something soft inside him curled up and watched.
He loved it there. And he was terrified of ruining it.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Est, for his part, thought William was made of straight lines and soft edges. By all accounts, William should have been the most boring boyfriend in the world.
At least, that’s how Est’s friends liked to tease him.
“Business major?” Daou would say with an exaggerated grimace, poking Est’s cheek across the cafeteria table. “You’re dating a spreadsheet, babe.”
Est would roll his eyes and pretend to be offended, but privately he liked that about William. He liked the pressed shirts, the neat handwriting in his notebooks, the way his pens were always lined up in a straight row during study sessions. He liked that William’s planner looked like a battlefield carefully controlled – color-coded blocks of time, each one filled with lectures, part-time shifts, group projects.
Reliable. Steady. Safe.
William never showed up late. William never forgot a date. William never raised his voice at him, never once.
“Your boyfriend is a good boy,” Punch would sing-song, leaning her chin on her palm. “So polite. So respectful. I bet he apologizes if he breathes too loud.”
Est would smile, half dreamy, half exasperated. “Maybe I like polite.”
The truth was, he did. After a string of messy crushes and one disastrous almost-relationship that had left him with ugly words replaying in his head for months, William had been… quiet.
Gentle. The first time William had taken his hand, he’d done it so carefully, like Est was something priceless.
And okay, maybe Est liked that William always wore long sleeves, even when they were crammed into the stuffy campus café. It made him look… proper. Buttoned-up. The kind of guy who volunteered for group presentations and brought extra printed copies “just in case.”
He’d teased him about it once.
“Don’t you ever get hot?” Est had poked at his cuff, fingers brushing the firm line of William’s wrist beneath the fabric. “What are you hiding, hm?”
William had laughed, quick and a little tight. “Bad fashion choices,” he’d said, tugging his sleeve back down. “Trust me, you don’t want to see.”
He watched him sometimes in the campus café, one elbow on the table, chin in his hand as he pretended to scroll his phone while William spread out his color-coded notes. There were always highlighters. There was always a planner. William had this thoughtful, slightly absent look when he read, like his mind was three steps ahead.
Est liked drawing him like that – quiet, composed, shirtsleeves covering wrists, collar buttoned. He’d filled half a sketchbook with William’s profile alone.
“You’re staring,” William would say sometimes without looking up.
“You’re handsome,” Est would answer, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
It always made William’s ears go red.
Est figured that was the wildest thing about his boyfriend: the way William could go from calmly answering questions in a tutorial to blushing around the word handsome. His friends joked that William was a “future CEO” type. Est privately called him “my responsible golden retriever” in his head.
He never once imagined William doing anything even vaguely illegal. The most rebellious thing he’d ever seen William do was drink an iced coffee at 10 p.m. during finals.
So when Daou slung an arm around his shoulders one Friday afternoon and said, “Oi, Est, there’s this thing tonight,” Est did not, in any way, expect his safe and steady boyfriend to be involved.
“‘Thing’ as in…?” Est asked warily, shifting his portfolio bag higher on his shoulder.
Daou’s grin was all teeth. “You know. Small street event. Cars. Bikes. Smoke. Freedom. You’ve been locked in the studio for weeks. Come breathe a little.”
Est narrowed his eyes. “That sounds illegal.”
“That sounds fun,” Daou corrected. “And anyway, you don’t have uni tomorrow. Come on, I promise I’ll get you home before your good boy boyfriend calls to tuck you in.”
Est swatted him with his sketchbook. “He does not tuck me in.”
“He would if you asked,” Daou shot back. “Come, Est. Live a little. I swear, if anything weird happens, we bounce. Just look, sketch some cool bikes, we go.”
Sketching. That was the word that did it.
Est hesitated, thinking of his current project: movement and machinery, the way speed distorted light. His professor had complained that his references were too still.
“Fine,” Est said, sighing dramatically. “But if we get arrested, I’m calling William.”
Daou laughed. “Please don’t. He sounds like the type who would lecture the cops.”
Est snorted, shoulders relaxing. “He sort of is.”
He texted William as he let Daou drag him outside.
EstCola 🎨:: going out w Daou tonight, won’t be late 💛
The reply came quickly.
Willy 🐻: Where are you two going?
Willy 🐻: Do you have a jacket? It’s colder at night.
Est smiled unconsciously.
EstCola 🎨:: i’ll be fine, baby 😌
EstCola 🎨:: tell you about it tomorrow
There was a pause.
Willy 🐻: Okay. Don’t do anything crazy. And get home safe.
“See?” Daou crowed, peering at his screen as they waited for the bus. “Good boy. He probably tucks his shirts into his pajamas.”
Est bumped him with his shoulder, but warmth bloomed in his chest. “Shut up.”
He had no idea how wrong he was.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The illegal race wasn’t in some movie-style downtown alley like Est had imagined.
It was bigger. Rougher.
Daou drove them out toward the industrial edge of the city, where the streetlights thinned out and warehouses hunched like metal beasts along the road. They parked behind a row of trucks, and Daou led Est through the crush of people with the easy confidence of someone who had been there many times.
Music thumped from somewhere, bass vibrating through Est’s chest. The air was thick with exhaust, cigarette smoke, and the kind of excitement that felt almost poisonous. Neon washed over everything – bike lights, modified cars, LED strips stuck where they didn’t belong.
Est’s nose wrinkled, but his hand was already reaching for his sketchbook.
He saw a group of bikers first: helmets under their arms, patches on their jackets, ink crawling up their necks. They were laughing, shoving each other, the energy between them sharp and restless.
“Stay close,” Daou said, leaning in to shout over the noise. “And try not to look too pretty. They’ll eat you alive.”
Est nodded, eyes darting everywhere.
This was… a lot.
He’d grown up around galleries and art markets, gentle chaos and people who used words like “composition” and “texture” with reverence. This was different. Everything here was fast and loud and lit like a warning sign.
He shouldn’t like it. But his fingers itched.
He flipped open his sketchbook and started capturing quick shapes: the curve of a bike frame, the twist of someone’s arm as they tightened a bolt, smoke coiling under yellow streetlights.
“See?” Daou said smugly. “Good inspiration. And nobody died yet.”
“Yet,” Est muttered, but his eyes were already locked on the starting line.
Two bikes rolled into place, engines snarling. The crowd pushed forward. Someone shouted odds. Someone else whistled. The sound made goosebumps rise on Est’s arms.
The riders revved once, twice.
Est frowned.
One of them was taller than the other, broad-shouldered beneath a fitted leather jacket. His helmet was matte black, visor down. Even with his face hidden, something about the way he sat on the bike was… precise. Controlled. His gloves flexed once on the handles, and Est saw a flash of ink where the cuff of his jacket rode up.
His stomach did a strange, slow flip.
“Who’s that?” Est shouted, nodding toward him.
Daou followed his gaze, then laughed low. “That? That’s Ghost.” He wiggled her fingers in mock-spookiness. “Nobody knows his real name. Shows up, wins, takes the money, disappears. Total asshole, from what I’ve heard. Don’t get near him.”
Est swallowed, weirdly fascinated. The nickname didn’t fit; there was nothing insubstantial about the way the rider’s thighs gripped the bike, nothing ghostly about the size of his shoulders. He looked solid. Mean.
Dangerous.
He shouldn’t have been thinking about how those shoulders would look under a shirt, sleeves rolled up.
He shook himself. He had a boyfriend. A very wonderful, very real, very good boyfriend who was probably still in the library right now, highlighting something about financial ratios or –
The signal went off. The bikes leapt as if pulled by invisible strings.
The crowd exploded, screaming, hands in the air. Est’s breath caught as the two bikes shot forward, engines howling, bodies leaning into the curve of the road like they were made for it. For a moment it looked like they were flying, wheels barely touching asphalt.
Est didn’t blink.
“Do they ever crash?” he shouted to Daou.
“Sometimes!” he yelled back, entirely too gleeful. “Don’t worry, they usually live!”
The rider Daou had pointed at – Ghost – moved differently. Sharper. Cleaner. He didn’t wobble on the tight turns, didn’t overcompensate on the straightaway. Every movement was exact, efficient. Beautiful.
Est’s pencil moved almost on its own, sketching the angle of his shoulders, the lines of light trailing behind him. They vanished around a bend, the crowd holding its breath in a shared, electric silence.
A beat. Another.
Then the roar came back, louder, closer, and Est realized they were already returning, a blur of noise and color. The black-helmeted rider crossed the makeshift finish line first. The lot erupted.
Daou yelled in Est’s ear, but Est didn’t hear any of it.
Because as the rider slowed, easing the bike to a stop, as people shoved forward to clap his back and slap his helmet, he reached up and, almost lazily, flicked the visor up. And Est’s whole world tilted sideways.
Because under that helmet, sweat-dark hair falling over his forehead, jaw set, lips parted from exertion –
Was William. His William.
The same William who straightened Est’s brushes in the studio. Who apologized to spiders before carrying them outside. Who color-coded his calendar and scolded Est for ignoring deadlines.
Standing astride a bike that still thrummed with speed, eyes blown wide, tattoos licking up his throat where his jacket had shifted.
Est’s heart tripped, skipped, then slammed painfully on the next beat.
“What,” he said softly, the word ripped from somewhere low in his chest.
William pulled the helmet fully off, shaking out his hair. Someone shouted his name – some nickname Est didn’t catch – and William turned, eyes scanning the crowd. For a fracturing second, Est thought: maybe I misread it. Maybe this is someone else with the similar face –
William’s gaze found him.
It was like being punched and held at the same time.
Shock flashed first – sharp and naked. Then panic, curling quick around it. William took a half-step forward, one hand tightening on the helmet, knuckles white against black.
Est’s breath stuttered.
Beside him, Daou let out a low whistle. “Oh,” he said. “Oh shit.”
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Est didn’t remember when he started walking.
He only realized he’d moved when the crowd shifted around him, a strange little bubble of space opening up as he and William stared at each other.
William glanced away just once, as someone grabbed his shoulder, trying to pull him into the celebration. He shrugged them off hard enough that the guy stumbled. Then he was moving – cutting through the bodies between them, leaving the bike where it was.
“Est,” he said when he was close enough to be heard.
His voice was different. Rougher. It had a gravelly edge that Est had never heard in their quiet library conversations or lazy Sunday mornings.
Est’s hands shook around his sketchbook.
He looked at William’s jacket, at the tattoos peeking from the collar, at the way his chest still heaved from the race. The words good boy flashed stupidly through his mind, then shattered and fell away.
“Don’t,” Est said, his voice thin.
William flinched. “Let me explain.”
“You race,” Est said, the world ticking too loudly in his ears. “You – this – ” He waved his hand vaguely at the bike, the crowd, the oily smoke in the air. “This is you?”
“It’s not all of me,” William said quickly, stepping closer. “It’s just – ”
“Just the part you hid from me?”
William’s mouth opened, then closed. For once, he didn’t seem to have a polished answer ready. His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes darting over Est’s face like he was searching for a foothold and finding nothing.
From the corner of his eye, Est saw movement.
A man in an oversized hoodie had been watching them from a few meters away, eyes trailing over Est in a way that made his skin crawl. He had that hungry, lazy stare of someone who’d had too much to drink and too little practice respecting boundaries.
He stepped closer now, curiosity and something uglier mixing on his face.
“You know Ghost?” the man asked, leering slightly. His gaze slid down Est’s body and back up. “Didn’t think you’d be into this crowd, sweetheart.”
Est instinctively shuffled closer to William. William noticed. His jaw tightened.
“Back off,” he told the man evenly, body angling between them. “He’s with me.”
“Oh,” the guy said, eyebrows climbing. “He’s yours? Didn’t know you shared, Ghost. He’s so pretty.” His eyes dragged over Est again, slower this time. “You wanna let him watch from somewhere more private? I know a spot you know – Pretty thing like you, you should smile more – ”
William moved.
It wasn’t a wild lunge or a dramatic shove. It was terrifyingly controlled.
One second, his hands were empty. The next, one fist was twisted in the front of the man’s hoodie, slamming him back against a metal pole with a hollow clang. The helmet dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
“You don’t talk to him,” William said quietly.
Quiet didn’t mean gentle.
His voice had the same force as a revved engine, tightly leashed and dangerous. The man’s eyes went wide as William’s forearm pressed against his collarbone, tattoos flexing under the leather. The thrumming background noise of the crowd faded around them, people pulling back with the instinctive awareness that something serious was happening.
“Whoa, whoa,” the man said, trying to laugh, but it sounded high and thin. “Relax, man, I was just – ”
“Just what?” William’s eyes were dark, focused in a way Est had never seen. “Just looking at him like he’s something you can buy? Just suggesting you’d take him somewhere?” His voice dropped even lower. “You think you can touch him?”
The man blanched. “I didn’t even touch him – ”
William’s fist slammed into the metal next to the man’s head, leaving a dent.
Est jumped.
His heart pounded wildly. Part of him wanted to pull William back, to say it was fine, to drag him away from this and pretend he’d never seen any of it. Another part – a darker one – thrummed hot and wild at the sight of William like this: wild and sharp, every line of him carved in defiance.
“I said,” William repeated, enunciating every word, “you don’t talk to him. You don’t look at him. You pretend you never saw him.” His face was close enough that Est could see the fine tremor in his jaw, the barely controlled rage in his eyes. “Or I will make sure you never come near this place again.”
The man nodded quickly, hands up. “Okay. Okay. I got it, man, fuck. Chill.”
William stepped back abruptly, letting him go like he was something disgusting. The man slunk away, eyes down, disappearing into the crowd. William took a shaky breath, then turned back to Est.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice soft again, and the flicker between those two versions of him made Est’s head spin.
Est swallowed. His mind was a mess: the revelation that his sweet, organized boyfriend raced illegally, the flash of violence, the way William’s body had moved without hesitation to shield him. His skin buzzed, overwhelmed.
“I…” Est said, but the rest of the sentence refused to form.
Behind William, people had gone back to celebrating. The other racers were roaring off for another round. The warehouse lights flickered, casting everything in a strange, unreal glow.
“Est,” William tried again, reaching for him.
Est stepped back.
He saw the hurt flash through William’s eyes like a blade.
“I need to go home,” Est said, words tumbling out too fast. “I need – I need to think.”
“I’ll take you,” William said immediately. “We can talk – ”
“No.” Est’s voice came out harsher than he intended. William recoiled. Est pressed a trembling hand to his forehead. “No. I… I can get a ride with Daou.”
He turned before he could see William’s reaction and pushed his way back through the crowd. Behind him, he thought he heard William call his name once – raw, desperate – but he didn’t look back.
If he did, he wasn’t sure he’d keep walking.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The ride back to Est’s condo was a blur. Daou drove in tense silence, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Est stared out the window, the city lights smearing into streaks through the glass.
“Est,” Daou said finally, voice gentle. “You okay?”
Est let out a hoarse laugh. “Do I look okay?”
“Well,” Daou said carefully, “you look like you just watched your boyfriend turn into a Fast & Furious extra, so… no.”
Est squeezed his eyes shut.
Images crowded his mind: William’s bike slicing through the dark. The helmet coming off. The tattoos, the leather, the way his fist had crashed into metal like it was nothing. The way he’d said you don’t talk to him, like the words were a promise carved in stone.
“Did you know?” Est asked quietly. “About him?”
Daou grimaced. “I… knew there was a guy who raced who looked like him. But I thought I was imagining it. I mean, your boyfriend is like… cardigan-core. I figured there was no way.”
Est huffed out a weak sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.
Daou’s voice softened. “He looked scared, you know. When he saw you. Like really scared.”
“He lied to me,” Est said, throat tight.
“Did he?” Daou asked. “Or did he just… not tell you everything yet?”
“It’s the same thing.”
Daou didn’t argue.
Est watched his reflection in the window – pale, eyes too wide. He thought about all the times William had dodged questions about his evenings. The way he’d always carefully chosen long sleeves, even in heat. The little bruises on his knuckles, the ones he’d dismissed as “accidents” or “clumsiness.”
It had been right there.
He’d just never thought to connect William with something dangerous.
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Daou said quietly as they pulled up in front of Est’s condo. “Just… get some sleep. Talk to him when you’re ready.”
Est nodded mutely.
He stepped out, hugged his sketchbook to his chest like a shield, and went upstairs.
The condo was dark when he entered. He dropped his bag by the door and stood in the hallway, listening to the hum of the fridge, the ticking of the clock. Here, everything was the same as it had been that morning. The mug William had used for his coffee sat in the sink. A sweater Est had borrowed lay draped over the back of the couch.
But Est felt like someone had picked up his life and shaken it.
His phone buzzed.
Willy 🐻: Est. Please let me know you got home safe.
Another buzz.
Willy 🐻: Please.
The third message came a minute later.
Willy 🐻: I’m outside your building. Can I come up?
Est stared at the screen, heart pounding.
He thought about ignoring it. About letting William stand there in the dark, engine cooling, hands in his pockets, staring up at the windows and wondering which one was Est’s. He thought about the way William had looked at him at the race: like the rest of the world had dropped away.
His thumb moved before his brain caught up.
EstCola 🎨: Door’s open.
He dropped the phone on the table and sank onto the couch, pressing his palms into his eyes. By the time he heard the knock, his heart was hammering so hard it hurt.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
William stepped inside like the room was holy ground he didn’t deserve.
He’d changed. The leather jacket was gone, replaced by a plain black hoodie. But the hoodie did nothing to hide the faint bruises on his knuckles, or the way his hands shook as he closed the door gently behind him.
They stared at each other across the small living room, a dozen memories hanging heavy between them: shared meals, late-night study sessions, sleepy kisses with morning breath and no makeup.
“Hi,” William said quietly.
Est swallowed. “Hi.”
The silence that followed was loud. William shifted his weight, as if fighting the urge to cross the distance between them. “You got home okay?”
“Yes,” Est said, voice flat.
A few beats of silence and Est staring at William and William pleadingly staring back –
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Est asked, voice shaking. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to see you there? I thought – I thought I didn’t even know you.”
William’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “You do know me.”
“Do I?” Est gestured at him wildly. “Because the William I know doesn’t speed through dark streets for prize money while people cheer. He doesn’t – he doesn’t slam people into poles and threaten them like that.”
William’s jaw set. “That guy was going to hurt you.”
“He was going to flirt badly,” Est shot back. “You escalated.”
William’s eyes flashed. “You think I don’t see those guys? I know what they are. I know what they do when nobody stops them. I am not letting that happen near you. Ever.”
The intensity in his voice stole Est’s breath.
“You can’t decide that for me,” Est whispered, but it came out weak.
“I’m not deciding for you,” William said, softer now. “I’m deciding for them. They don’t get near you. They don’t get to talk to you like that. They don’t get to make you feel unsafe even for one second.”
Something ached deep in Est’s chest.
“It’s not your job to protect me from the entire world,” he said.
William laughed once, humorless. “Then it’s a job I already failed at.”
Est blinked. “What?”
William looked away, shoulders hunching. “The reason I started racing… It wasn’t just for money. It was because the first time I saw one of these events, I watched a kid get knocked off his bike. Nobody stopped. Not the other racers. Not the people in charge. Everyone stepped around him like he was part of the scenery while he lay there, bleeding.”
His hands trembled slightly at his sides.
“I helped him up,” William continued. “Got him to a clinic. It took an hour to convince him to go because he was more scared of getting banned from racing than dying of a head injury.”
Est swallowed, listening despite himself.
Est sucked in a breath. The honesty in that one sentence hit him like a Daou to the ribs.
“That’s when I realized what this place was,” William said. “It’s… lawless. Nobody here is going to look out for you. Not really. So I started racing. At first it was just for the adrenaline. But then I realized… if I’m the one winning, I can call shots. I can pull people out. I can stop some of the worst shit from happening. I can put money back into people who actually need it. It’s stupid, I know. But it felt like… if I’m going to be here, I’m going to be useful.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes tired. “And then I met you.”
Est’s breath hitched.
William’s gaze went soft and devastated all at once. “I didn’t tell you because I knew how it looked. And because – ” He hesitated, looking suddenly young. “Because I liked the way you saw me.”
Est blinked.
“The first time you dragged me into the studio,” William said quietly, “you put charcoal on my face by accident and then laughed like it was the best thing that had happened all week. You called me a good boy and you meant it. And I…” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to give that up. I didn’t want you to look at me and see what those guys see at the races. Someone dangerous. Someone… ugly.”
Est’s eyes stung. “So you lied,” he whispered.
“You walked away tonight.” William’s eyes lifted, raw and unguarded. “And it felt like dying.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
The raw fear in his eyes hit Est harder than any speech could have.
“This world is ugly,” William said. “I didn’t want it touching you. I didn’t want you standing in the middle of it, breathing this air, listening to those guys talk. I wanted you as far away from it as possible. So I thought… if I can just keep it separate, then I can be the version of me you like when I’m with you. The safe one. The one who knows how to use a planner and makes you tea when you forget to eat.”
He took a step closer, stopping when Est didn’t move away.
“But tonight you were there,” he said, voice shaking. “And that guy looked at you like you were something he could drag away. And I swear to god, Est, for one second I wanted to burn that whole place to the ground. Every bike, every car, every person. Just so you’d never have to flinch like that again. So you’d never have to look at me and wonder if I’m dangerous too.”
Est’s heart pounded, throat tight. He thought of the way William had slammed his fist into the metal. The way his body had moved between Est and the man like there was no other option.
“You are dangerous,” Est said softly.
William’s face crumpled.
“But not to me,” Est added, all the anger and fear and love swirling together in his chest. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re dangerous to everyone else, but when it comes to me, you’re just – ” His voice wobbled. “You’re just this idiot who thinks I’ll shatter if you tell me the truth.”
Tears flickered in William’s eyes. He blinked them back stubbornly.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should have told you. You don’t owe me forgiveness. You don’t owe me anything. If you want me to quit, I’ll quit. I’ll sell the bike. I’ll delete every contact I have from that place. I’ll walk away and never look back.”
The words tumbled out in a rush, desperate and sincere.
Est stared.
“You… love racing,” he said, stunned.
“I love you more,” William replied without hesitation. His voice was quiet but absolutely steady. “If it comes down to it, there’s no world where that’s even a question.”
The room spun a little.
William took a breath. “But if you don’t want me anymore – ” His voice cracked on the last word, and he forced himself to continue. “If you can’t look at me now without seeing that shit, then tell me. I won’t argue. I won’t beg. But I’ll still… keep you safe. Even from a distance. Even if it’s just making sure those races never come near the parts of town you hang out in. You won’t know I’m doing it, but I will.”
It wasn’t the most rational promise, but Est heard the truth in it. He also heard the broken edge beneath it.
“Stop talking like I’m already gone,” Est whispered.
William swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to talk like you’re still mine.”
Est’s lungs stuttered.
He looked at William – really looked at him. At the tremor in his fingers, at the way his shoulders hunched like he was bracing for impact. At the boy he loved, coiled tight with fear and fury and willingness to burn everything for him.
He thought of how it had felt to see William on that bike. The terror, yes. But also something else, something bright and sharp and undeniably alive.
“You scared me,” Est said, voice small.
William nodded. “I know.”
“You made me feel like I didn’t know you,” Est continued. “Like maybe the version of you I had in my head was… fake.”
“It’s not,” William said immediately. “That version is real. I promise. I just… also have this other part. The part that rides. The part that hits. The part that doesn’t hesitate when someone looks at you the wrong way.”
He took a slow breath.
“I don’t know how to make those parts make sense together,” he admitted. “But they’re both me. I wanted to choose for you which one you saw. That wasn’t fair.”
Silence stretched between them, full and heavy.
Est felt like he was standing at the edge of something. He could walk away. Close the door on this version of William and keep his life tidy, uncomplicated. Find someone who never broke the rules, who never risked their neck for adrenaline, who never scared him by slamming their fist into metal.
He could also choose this messy, terrifying version. The one who was ready to dismantle his whole world at Est’s first word.
“Est.” William took half a step toward him, then stopped himself like he wasn’t sure he had permission. “Please. Tell me how to fix this.”
Est’s fingers twitched at his sides. He didn’t know what to do with William like this – messy, shaking, looking at him like Est was the only solid thing in the room.
“You can start by telling me everything,” Est said, voice softer now. “No more hiding.”
“Anything,” William said instantly. “Everything. I’ll tell you anything you want. Just… don’t shut me out.”
The words lodged in Est’s throat. He looked at William’s hand – bruised, trembling, still stained with someone else’s blood. He should have been afraid.
But he wasn’t.
He stepped closer.
“Come here,” Est said softly.
William froze. “Est – ”
“I said, come here.”
His voice left no room for argument.
William moved slowly, like every step might be the one where Est changed his mind. When he reached the couch, he stopped again, eyes searching Est’s face for permission.
Est’s throat burned.
“Sit,” he whispered.
William sank down beside him, leaving a careful gap between them. His hands twisted in his lap, traces of grease still faintly visible along his nails. Est stared at those hands, remembering how they’d cradled his face, held his waist, wiped sleep from his eyes.
“Give me your hand,” Est murmured.
William hesitated, then obeyed, palm up.
Est took it, tracing the bruised knuckles lightly with his thumb. William shivered.
“These hands,” Est said quietly, “hold my coffee when I’m juggling too many things. They drive me across town when I’m too tired to walk. They carry my canvases even when they’re heavy and you pretend they’re not.” His fingers followed the curve of a tendon. “They also punch people who scare me.”
William’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry.”
Est shook his head. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty.”
He looked up, meeting William’s eyes.
“I’m saying… they’re the same hands. Same person. I can’t pretend I like only half of you and erase the rest. That’s not how this works.”
Hope sparked faintly in William’s gaze, cautious and painful.
“I’m angry,” Est said. “I’m still angry. And I don’t know yet what I think about you racing. I need time to process that.” He took a breath. “But I know one thing.”
“What?” William whispered.
“I still love you.”
The word hung between them, fragile and fierce.
William’s fingers tightened around Est’s hand like a lifeline. His shoulders shook once, a tremor running through him like a fault line resetting.
“You do?” he rasped.
Est nodded, blinking back tears. “You idiot. Of course I do. I’m just… going to have to add ‘terrifying illegal racer’ to the list of things I love about you, apparently.”
A startled, broken laugh burst out of William.
Est exhaled, looking away for a moment. “I need… boundaries. Rules. If we’re going to figure this out.”
“Anything,” William said instantly. “Tell me.”
“First,” Est said, “you don’t get to decide for me what’s too ugly for me to see. If you’re in that world, I’m not going to bury my head in the sand. You talk to me. You tell me when you have a race. You come back to me in one piece. No disappearing. No lies-by-omission.”
“Yes,” William said. “Done. I swear.”
“Second,” Est continued, “you take safety seriously. No stunts for show. No racing when you’re exhausted. No picking fights to prove a point.”
William winced. “I don’t – ”
Est shot him a look.
“…okay. I sometimes,” William amended. “I won’t. Not anymore.”
“And third,” Est said quietly, “you remember that you don’t have to burn everything alone. If something scares you, if something feels too big, you bring it to me. We’ll figure it out together. You don’t just… decide you’ll be the one to fix it and keep me in the dark.”
William’s throat worked. “Okay,” he whispered. “Together.”
“Together,” Est echoed.
“Can you tell me more about this – your other world?” Est asked curiosity spiking in his eyes.
For the next twenty minutes, William talked. About the bike he’d rebuilt from scrap at seventeen. About racing to pay off loans his family didn’t know he’d taken. About the rush of it, the danger, the part of him that didn’t know how to stop once he started winning.
About Ghost – the name people used because he always disappeared before anyone could get close.
Except Est.
“I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you,” William whispered at one point, voice barely audible. “Not when I hadn’t cleaned myself up yet.”
Est’s breath hitched. “You’re not dirty, William.”
William laughed once – short, disbelieving. “You didn’t see me that time.”
But Est had seen him tonight.
And he still wasn’t sure which version of William scared him more – the disciplined good boy he thought he knew, or the man who Daoued someone without hesitation to protect him.
The truth was, both versions scared him.
Both versions pulled at him.
He realized, distantly, that he was shaking. The adrenaline of the night was crashing, leaving him hollow and raw.
William noticed. Of course he did.
“You should eat,” William murmured. “You didn’t have dinner.”
Est let out a watery laugh. “Of course that’s what you think of right now.”
“You get faint if you skip meals,” William said, a touch of his usual exasperated softness returning. “You’ll get a headache.”
Est’s eyes softened.
“Stay,” he said before he could overthink it. “While I make something.”
William stared. “Are you sure?”
“If you leave now, I’m going to spiral,” Est admitted. “So. Stay. Sit there. Look repentant or something.”
William huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. “I can do repentant.”
He didn’t let go of Est’s hand until Est gently tugged it free to stand up.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The kitchen was small and familiar. Est moved on autopilot: water in the pot, noodles from the cupboard, egg from the fridge. His hands remembered the motions, even if his mind was still replaying the race in loops.
Behind him, he heard William shift, then slide down to sit on the floor by the large living room window. It was his usual spot when he visited – a habit he’d never fully explained.
Est glanced over his shoulder.
William sat with his back against the wall, one knee up, arm draped over it. The city glowed behind him, lights smeared like a painting through the glass. The hoodie was bunched faintly at his wrists.
Est’s fingers itched again.
He stirred the noodles, threw in the seasoning, cracked the egg, watched the whites bloom in the boiling water. The simple, homely smell filled the room: salt and steam and something like normalcy.
He split the noodles into two bowls and carried them out, handing one to William wordlessly.
William took it, bowing his head slightly in thanks. His fingers brushed Est’s for half a second, warm and solid.
They ate in silence.
The sounds were small and domestic: the clink of chopsticks, the soft hum of the fridge, the occasional distant honk from the street below. It was almost absurd, how normal it felt to sit there eating cheap noodles after everything that had just happened.
Est slurped a mouthful and burned his tongue.
“Careful,” William murmured automatically.
Est swallowed, blinking away sudden tears that had nothing to do with the heat.
“You always sit there,” Est said after a moment, nodding toward the window. “Why?”
William glanced back at the glass, then down at his bowl. “I like the view,” he said. “And… it feels safer. If someone tried to do anything, they’d have to go past me first.”
Est stared. “You’re guarding my window?”
William flushed faintly. “I know it’s stupid. But it makes me feel better.”
Warmth spread through Est’s chest in complicated waves.
He finished his noodles, set the bowl aside, and drew his knees up to his chest, studying William from this new angle. The hoodie was a barrier, he realized. A softer, less obvious version of the cardigan. A line between Est and the ink underneath.
“Take it off,” Est said quietly.
William choked on a noodle. “What?”
“The hoodie,” Est clarified, heart picking up speed. “Take it off.”
William stared at him, searching his face for a sign of mockery or anger. He must not have found any, because after a moment, he set the bowl aside and obeyed.
He tugged the hoodie over his head in one smooth motion, the movement unhurried. Controlled. Almost… sensual, though Est doubted William meant it to be. The hoodie peeled off his shoulders, revealing a black sleeveless tshirt underneath.
And the tattoos.
Dark ink wound up both arms – sharp lines, geometric shapes, curling patterns that dipped under his shirt and disappeared somewhere across his chest and back. Est’s breath stuttered.
“Keep going,” Est said, eyes locked on the ink. “I want to see all of it.”
William’s eyes darkened.
“Est,” he murmured, voice low. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay with this.”
“I’m not pretending,” Est said. His fingers curled in the fabric of his sweats. “I want to see. All of it. I need to put the pieces together properly, or I’ll just keep imagining worse things.”
For a moment, William just looked at him.
Then, slowly, something in his posture shifted.
The shirt rose, revealing ridges of muscle, faint scars, more ink, more heat – Est’s mouth went dry. William dropped the shirt onto the floor without looking away from him.
Est felt something molten slide down his spine and snake around and settle in his lower stomach.
He reached for his sketchbook on instinct.
William’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. “You want to draw me like this?”
“I – ” Est swallowed. “Yes. But later.”
Because right now, drawing was impossible.
Right now, every nerve in his body had tunneled its attention onto the man in front of him – tattooed, breath unsteady, eyes darkening with something that made Est’s skin prickle.
Est moved closer.
Until he could feel the heat radiating off him. His fingertips hovered over William’s chest, breath coming in short pants.
“Can I…?”
William’s inhale shuddered. “Anything you want, pretty boy.”
Est’s stomach dropped.
He touched him.
Just the lightest brush – fingers tracing the edge of a tattoo curving over William’s collarbone. William’s breath caught, muscles tightening under Est’s touch.
Est traced another line. And another.
His fingers drifted down the curve of William’s arm, over the thickest part of his bicep, following the ink like it was a map. William exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering half-closed.
“You’re warm,” Est murmured without thinking.
“Only for you,” William whispered back.
Heat flooded Est’s cheeks.
His touch slid lower, feeling the flex of muscle beneath his palm. William’s hand came up – slow, hesitant – resting on Est’s waist without pulling him closer.
That restraint made Est’s pulse stutter. He leaned in before he realized he was doing it. His lips brushed just above one tattoo, feather-light.
William made a sound – half inhale, half groan – fingers tightening on Est’s waist before immediately forcing themselves to relax.
“Est,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Baby, you can’t… you can’t touch me like that unless you know what you’re doing to me.”
Est kissed another line of ink, a little firmer this time. Then another. His mouth traced the tattoo curving over William’s shoulder, slow and deliberate. William’s body went taut, breath coming out in short, uneven bursts like he was fighting every instinct he had.
Est’s hands slid up, resting on William’s shoulders as he lifted his head to look at him.
William looked undone. Absolutely wrecked.
“Come here,” William whispered.
And he climbed onto William’s lap – straddling him, settling over him with a confidence he didn’t know he possessed. William’s hands flew to Est’s hips, holding but not pulling, shaking with restraint.
“Baby – ” William’s voice broke. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Est leaned in until their foreheads touched, breath mingling.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
William exhaled like he’d been drowning. Est’s fingers slid into his hair. His lips traced the tattoo along William’s neck. William’s grip tightened, finally pulling Est forward with a low, helpless groan as heat spiraled between them –
Est’s mouth found William’s as if drawn by something inevitable – a pull older and deeper than either of them had ever admitted out loud. The first brush of lips was gentle, questioning, almost reverent… but William answered without hesitation.
He kissed Est back like he’d been holding his breath for years, like this moment was something he’d rehearsed only in dreams.
The world fell away.
William’s fingers slid up Est’s spine, tracing the ridges beneath his shirt, learning every dip and curve as though he needed the map committed to memory. Est shivered under the touch, his hands gathering in the fabric at William’s shoulders, pulling him closer, closer still.
Their bodies fit with a shocking kind of rightness.
Est angled his head, deepening the kiss – not urgent, but hungry in a slow-burning way, full of quiet yearning and something dangerously close to devotion. William made a sound low in his throat, a sound Est felt as much as he heard, vibrating between them.
Their hands roamed with hesitant curiosity at first – fingertips brushing warm skin, learning the shape of each other in small, stolen strokes. But the longer they held each other, the bolder they became. Est skimmed his palms down William’s ribs; William’s touch swept over Est’s hips, his jaw, the fluttering pulse at his throat.
Each new contact drew another shiver, another hitch of breath.
Heat gathered between them, slow and steady, not rushing toward anything – just building, rising, wrapping around them until Est didn’t know where he ended and William began. William’s lips softened into something almost tender, like he wanted to savor it, memorize it, cherish it.
“Est,” William whispered against his mouth, voice shaking just a little.
Est swallowed, leaning in until their foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the warm space they’d created. “Don’t stop,” he breathed.
William didn’t.
He tugged Est’s oversized tshirt up with a growl, eyes narrowing as more bare skin was revealed.
“Take it off,” he said, voice low and commanding. “Or I’ll rip it off.”
Est didn’t argue. His breath stuttered as he obeyed, lifting the hoodie over his head and tossing it to the floor. He was already trembling – half from anticipation, half from the way William looked at him like he was something sacred and filthy all at once.
William’s breath hitched, pupils dilating as he drank him in.
“You’re mine,” he said hoarsely, pulling him close and moving up against him creating the most pleasurable grinding feeling. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” Est whispered, hips moving without abandon.
A growl rumbled from William’s chest. “That’s right.”
He kissed him again – deeper, warmer, with a certainty that said he wasn’t going anywhere. Their hands kept exploring, relearning each other in slow, deliberate passes, mapping heat and skin and the soft vulnerable places neither had shown anyone else.
He moved his lips to his jaw, pressing his mouth to Est’s collarbone, then lower – licking a slow stripe across his chest. His tongue circled one nipple before he sucked it in, hard and deliberate, until Est whimpered and bucked beneath him.
“You’re so sensitive here,” William murmured, watching Est’s chest rise and fall in shallow bursts. “I love watching you come apart from just this.”
He shifted slightly, fingers flexing on Est’s hips as his fingers came up to roll and pinch one nipple while his mouth returned to the other, sucking and flicking with maddening precision. Est’s breath hitched hard, his head thrown back, hands grasping blindly at William’s arms.
“William….please” he moaned, hips twitching.
“What, baby?” William teased, his voice low and wicked. “You like when I play with you like this? Like knowing I can make you beg just from this alone?”
Est could barely speak, his entire body flushing under William’s touch. He arched up, chasing the sensation, and William rewarded him with a sharp bite just under the nipple before soothing it with his tongue.
“You’re so responsive,” William growled. “So fucking perfect.”
He dragged his mouth down Est’s stomach, nipping as he went. But before continuing lower, he came back up – one hand teasing Est’s chest again while the other gripped his thigh possessively.
“I’m going to take my time,” he said darkly, flicking his tongue once more across Est’s swollen nipple and smirking at the way he shuddered. “And when I’m done, you won’t be able to walk without remembering exactly who did this to you.”
And he did.
He worshipped him – mouth, tongue, teeth – slow and deliberate, marking Est with every pass. His lips trailed every inch of his body, leaving red blooms behind. His fingers never strayed far from Est’s chest, returning again and again to pinch, tease, and roll those aching peaks until Est was crying out, helpless and trembling under him.
William undressed Est with a fervent want, making him sit back on his lap completely nude and shivering. Est came apart the first time just from William’s mouth and hands working him into ruin.
But William wasn’t done.
He adjusted him so that Est's twitching hole was right on top of his jean-covered hardness, kissing his shoulder before whispering hotly into his ear, “I’m not through with you yet.”
And he wasn’t.
William pushed his jeans down to free his member, lined it up with Est, and then took him – hard, deep. There was no pretense of patience anymore. No softness. Just raw need and dominance, the kind that made Est whimper beneath him, gasping with every powerful thrust that drove him deeper into madness.
William’s hands gripped his chest, his hips not just to steady him, but to own him – palms spread wide, thumbs grazing over flushed skin and sensitive peaks, teasing until Est could do nothing but arch, trembling and breathless. Every grind of his hips was calculated, punishingly slow, then brutally fast, leaving Est wrecked and begging.
“God, look at you,” William rasped, his voice dark, broken, reverent. “You take me so fucking well.”
Est’s fingers clawed at William’s shoulders and his back, thighs shaking, his body hypersensitive from how many times William had already pushed him to the edge and beyond.
William kept moving, kept claiming, mouth pressed to Est’s chest as he licked and bit over the flutter of his heartbeat, leaving deep red marks where his teeth sank into skin.
“This,” he growled against his skin, biting just above his heart, “is mine.”
His hand slid down, wrapping around Est’s length again just to make him feel it – his body oversensitive, every nerve ending sparking from the overstimulation, every stroke too much and not enough.
“You’re mine, Est,” William groaned, snapping his hips one last time, grinding in deep as his release spilled inside him. “All fucking mine.”
Est sobbed into William’s shoulder, his vision going white due to the power of his own release, shattered and trembling.
When it was over – when the last tremor had passed and the only sounds in the room were their ragged breaths and the faint buzz of the air conditioner – William leaned back completely on the couch pulling Est onto his chest, drenched in sweat, body still humming with need that hadn't fully eased.
Est melted against him, finally understanding the truth – This was the man William really was. Dangerous, protective, devoted.
And all of it was his.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Est woke slowly.
Not because he was tired or sore – he definitely was, bone tired and deliciously sore – but because his body was wrapped in a warmth his mind didn’t recognize at first. A weight draped over his waist. A slow, steady breath ghosting across the back of his neck. Something solid and impossibly warm pressed against his spine.
For a moment he didn’t move.
He let the memory of last night glow through him like embers – slow, consuming heat, the soft drag of William’s hands on his skin, the way William had kissed him like he’d been starved for it. The way Est had climbed into his lap without thinking, guided more by instinct and want than logic.
The sound William made when Est’s lips touched his tattoos. The way William said please like he’d never said it to anyone before.
Est’s heart fluttered.
Then he felt William shift behind him.
A soft inhale. A slow exhale.
Then an arm slid more firmly around Est’s waist, pulling him in – a gentle but possessive hold, like William thought Est might disappear if he loosened his grip even a little.
“Good morning,” William murmured, voice husky from sleep.
The sound slid down Est’s spine like a warm shiver.
“…Morning,” Est whispered, not daring to turn yet.
William’s hand splayed over his stomach – a protective gesture, a grounding one. His thumb traced slow circles on Est’s skin, lazy and intimate in a way that made heat pool low in Est’s belly.
“You okay?” William asked quietly, lips brushing the shell of Est’s ear. “I didn’t – hurt you, did I?”
Est shook his head, cheeks warming. “No. You were… perfect.”
William exhaled, relief washing through the breath. “Thank God.”
A pause. Then, a little louder, a little more teasing: “Although you were the one who climbed into my lap, pretty boy.”
Est’s face went hot instantly. “I – don’t remind me.”
William chuckled, a low, rumbling sound in his chest that Est felt more than heard. “What? I should remind you. That was the best moment of my life.”
Est shoved his elbow back half-heartedly. William caught it easily, laughing under his breath.
They fell into silence again, warm and easy this time. William shifted until he could press his face into the back of Est’s shoulder, breathing him in.
“You smell like my jacket,” William murmured.
“You smell like engine smoke,” Est shot back.
“Sorry,” William whispered. “I should’ve showered before – ”
“It’s fine,” Est interrupted, softer than intended. “It’s… kind of you.”
William froze behind him. “…Me?”
Est swallowed. “I mean – it’s part of you. The real you. All of you. And I… I want to know all of you.”
William didn’t speak for a moment. Then Est felt it – William’s arm tightening, pulling him close with a kind of reverence that made Est’s breath catch.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” William whispered into his shoulder. “You look at me like I’m someone worth forgiving.”
Est finally turned in his arms.
William’s eyes were open now – dark lashes brushing his cheeks, pupils still blown soft from sleep. His hair was a complete mess, flattened on one side, sticking up on the other. He looked younger. Softer. And yet… the tattoos snaking over his shoulders made him look dangerous even like this.
A contradiction that shouldn’t have worked. A contradiction Est found himself drawn to like gravity.
William reached up, brushing a thumb across Est’s cheek. His hand was warm, steady despite everything he’d confessed the night before.
“I meant everything I said,” William murmured. “No more secrets. No more lies. If you want out of this – if last night was too much – I’ll walk away. Just say it.”
Est’s stomach dropped. Walk away?
After everything? After how William held him like he was something irreplaceable? After how William looked at him like he was the only softness left in the world?
“No,” Est said instantly. “Don’t walk away.”
William breathed in sharply, eyes flickering with something tender and desperate.
Est continued, softer now. “But you have to let me in. All the way. Not just the parts you think are safe.”
William nodded once – obedient, almost instinctively so – but then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Est’s, their noses brushing.
“You already have all of me,” he murmured. “You had me the first time you made me try your terrible iced latte.”
“Hey – !”
“It was awful,” William insisted, smiling. “You kept saying ‘just one more sip’ like you were torturing me.”
Est used both hands to shove his face away, but William only laughed more, catching Est’s wrists and kissing the inside of one palm. That soft, lingering kiss did something molten to Est’s insides.
“You didn’t show me all your tattoos,” Est whispered. “They go…I don’t know. Everywhere.”
William smirked. “You want to see the ones on my back?”
Est’s breath hitched. “M-Maybe.”
William rolled onto his stomach without hesitation, propping his chin on his folded arms like he was offering himself up.
The blanket slipped down his hips.
And Est forgot how to breathe.
Ink covered almost all of William’s back – geometric patterns intertwined with sharp black strokes, sweeping curves cutting across muscle. The design framed his spine, dipped toward his waist, vanished under the blanket.
Est’s fingers hovered inches above the ink.
William turned his head slightly. “You can touch.”
Est did.
Lightly at first – fingertips tracing the long line of William’s spine. William inhaled sharply, muscles rippling under Est’s touch.
“Ticklish?” Est teased, voice soft.
“No,” William said too quickly.
Est dragged his fingers lower, watching William’s breath stutter. “Liar.”
William turned his face away, biting back a sound that made warmth curl low in Est’s belly.
“I need to sketch this,” Est whispered, more to himself than anything.
“You can,” William said, voice muffled in the pillow. “Whenever you want. For as long as you want. I’ll sit like this for hours if you ask.”
Est blinked. “You’d… do that?”
William lifted his head, expression solemn. “Est. I’d do anything you ask.”
Anything.
The weight of the word pressed against Est’s skin. He leaned down, unable to stop himself, and pressed a slow kiss between William’s shoulder blades.
William’s breath hitched – sharp, helpless.
“Pretty boy,” he murmured, voice dangerously low, “you keep touching me like that and we are never getting out of this bed.”
Est felt heat flood his face. “We…We’re not doing that again right now. I am still sore”
William’s lips curved wickedly. “Not unless you ask.”
Est buried his face in his hands. “You’re impossible.”
William reached back blindly and found Est’s thigh, squeezing gently. “And you’re the only person in this world I’d be impossible for.”
Est felt something soft and terrified bloom in his chest.
He curled up beside William rather than above him, resting his head between his shoulder blades. William shifted carefully to accommodate him, pulling the blanket up and over both of them.
“No more secrets?” Est whispered.
“No more secrets.” William turned his head just enough to brush his lips against Est’s hair. “Not from you.”
Est closed his eyes.
For the first time all night, he felt steady. And surrounded by warmth, wrapped up in arms inked with stories he still didn’t know yet, Est realized something –
He didn’t just want the good boy version of William. He wanted all of him.
Even the parts that burned.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Est had been staring at the bike for a full minute without moving. Not because it was scary – not exactly. But because it was William’s, in a way nothing else in the world seemed to be.
The matte black body. The clean, lean lines. The faint scratches along the side where Est knew William must’ve tipped too hard on a turn. The symbol near the handlebars painted in dark red – a stylized ghost mark.
William leaned against the bike, watching Est with a smile that was far too soft for someone who used to race for money and pride in the dead of night.
“Well?” William asked. “Hate it?”
Est took a breath. “It feels… dangerous.”
William’s smile widened, slow and crooked. “Only when I’m on it.”
“And when I’m on it?” Est asked before he could stop himself.
William straightened.
He stepped behind Est, hands sliding gently around his waist, breath warm against Est’s ear.
“When you’re on it,” William murmured, “there is nothing in this world that could make me go fast enough to risk losing you.”
Heat climbed up Est’s neck all the way to his ears. “You – can’t just – say things like that – ”
“But it’s true,” William whispered.
Before Est could combust entirely, voices echoed across the abandoned lot.
“GHOST!”
“HEY – GHOST!”
“BRO, YOU ACTUALLY SHOWED UP BEFORE SUNSET?”
William groaned under his breath. “I told them not to yell.”
“You have friends?” Est teased.
“I have… people,” William muttered. “Please don’t judge me based on them.”
The biker crew approached – four of them, all messy hair and leather jackets and cocky grins. They slowed when they saw Est.
Then their gazes flicked to William.
Then – collectively – they exploded.
“Oh my god, Ghost brought a boyfriend – ”
“He’s real?”
“You kept saying you needed to go ‘study with Est,’ we thought that was code for depression naps – ”
“Look at him – he’s tiny – Ghost, you’re going to snap him in half – ”
William stepped forward instantly. “Shut up.”
All four smirked like they’d been waiting for this moment all their lives. One of them – a tall guy with blond streaks and too many earrings – leaned down to study Est like he was some rare species.
“So you’re Est,” he said, grin widening. “Ghost doesn’t shut up about you.”
“Dead,” another muttered dramatically. “I’m dead. Exploded. Just bury me here.”
William’s jaw flexed. “Do you want me to actually bury you?”
The whole group cackled.
Est, cheeks burning, ducked his head. “He… talks about me?”
“TALKS?” the blond barked a laugh. “Dude, he ruins races because you text him. One time he slowed down mid-run because his phone buzzed and he thought it might be you asking him to buy milk – ”
William turned the color of a sunset. “Stop. Talking.”
But it was too late.
Est was staring at him, lips parting slowly, disbelief blooming into something warm and stupidly soft in his chest.
“You slowed down – to get milk?”
William cleared his throat. “…You needed it for your coffee.”
The crew broke into hysterics.
One guy wheezed, “Ghost, you’re whipped. Absolutely whipped.”
“Pathetically whipped.”
“Embarrassingly whipped.”
William grabbed Est’s wrist – not hard, but pointedly – and pulled him flush against his side.
“I’m allowed to be whipped,” William snapped. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Est choked.
The biker crew screamed.
“OH MY GOD, HE SAID IT – ”
“BOYFRIEND CONFIRMED – CAN I TAKE A PHOTO – ”
“GHOST HAS FEELINGS – SOMEONE ALERT THE GOVERNMENT – ”
William whirled on them. “Touch your phone and I slash your tires.”
They shut up immediately. …for four seconds. Then blond guy leaned toward Est, dramatically whispering, “So, boyfriend – bless you for putting up with this idiot. Does he still pretend he sleeps eight hours a night?”
William physically stepped between Est and blond guy. “No more questions.”
The teasing didn’t stop.
Because the more they teased William, the more William’s hand tightened possessively around Est’s waist – warm, heavy, claiming.
Est couldn’t help noticing:
Every time one of the guys leaned too close, William shifted. Every time someone joked about Est being cute, William’s jaw clenched. Every time someone even looked at Est too long, William stepped into the line of sight.
It was ridiculous. It was childish. It was… kind of hot.
Est leaned up on his toes. “William.”
William looked down immediately. “Yeah?”
“I want to ride it.”
William blinked. “Ride… the bike?”
Est nodded.
Dead silence fell over the crew.
One of them whispered, “Ghost never lets anyone ride with him.”
Another whispered back, “He barely lets us look at the bike.”
William swallowed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
William exhaled – slow, careful, like Est had just asked to touch a match to gasoline.
“…Okay,” he murmured. “But only if you hold on to me the whole time. Tight. Really tight.”
One of the bikers snorted. “Smooth.”
William flipped him off without looking.
He guided Est to the bike carefully, checking every buckle, every strap, treating Est like something precious. Est swung a leg over and settled behind him, arms wrapping around William’s waist.
And the moment Est’s chest pressed to his back – William’s posture changed. He went still. Then soft. Then deadly focused, protective instincts wrapping around both of them like a shield.
“Est,” he said softly, “I’m going to go slow.”
“Okay.”
“And if you’re scared, you tell me.”
“Okay.”
“And if you don’t hold on tight, I’m stopping.”
Est teased lightly, “Maybe I want to hold on tight.”
William made a noise – somewhere between a groan and a prayer. The crew collectively screamed again.
“HE’S GONE – ”
“GHOST IS GONE – ”
“THIS IS THE END – SOMEONE WRITE HIS OBITUARY – ”
William revved the engine once – just enough to make them jump.
“Bye,” he said flatly, and pulled off.
The bike surged forward smooth and steady – not the wild speed William used in races, but a careful glide, slow, deliberate. Est rested his cheek against William’s back, feeling the vibrations rumble through him.
The wind brushed past them. The city lights streaked into soft blurs. William’s hand slid over Est’s thigh, anchoring him.
“I like this,” Est whispered into his back.
William’s reply came low, ragged: “I’d give up racing for you.”
Est tightened his arms around him. “I don’t want you to give it up. I just want you safe.”
William’s breath caught. Then –
“I can be both,” he whispered. “For you, I can be anything.”
And behind them, far in the distance, the biker crew’s voices echoed faintly into the night:
“HE’S SO WHIPPED – ”
“WE’RE PUTTING THIS IN THE GROUP CHAT – ”
“GHOST HAS A BOYFRIENDDDD – ”
William sighed into the wind. “Never bringing you to meet them again.”
Est smiled against his back. “Yes you will.”
And William didn’t argue – because he knew Est was right.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
William never let anyone ride in front. It was his rule. His boundary. His unbreakable law of physics.
Until Est said, very quietly: “…Can I try sitting in front? Just once?”
William froze like someone had unplugged his brain.
“In… front?”
Est nodded. “I want to see what you see. When you ride.”
William opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Est,” he said weakly, “if you sit in front – your back will be against my chest.”
“I know.”
“And I’ll have to put my hands on you.”
“I know.”
“And you’ll be between my arms. Like – fully. Completely. Right there.”
“I. Know.”
William inhaled like he’d been hit. The biker crew, from the distance, paused their conversation like meerkats sensing drama.
Rex whispered, “Bro this is it. This is how Ghost dies.”
William swallowed hard.
Then softer, as if the word was breakable: “…Okay. Come here.”
Est approached the bike, heart pounding, and William lifted him – lifted him – onto the front seat with hands firm around his waist. Est let out a small sound of surprise.
William nearly combusted.
“You’re… light,” William murmured, voice rough.
Est turned red instantly. “Shut up.”
William didn’t.
He wrapped his arms around Est from behind, hands gripping the handlebars over Est’s smaller ones, chest pressed fully and warmly against Est’s back.
Est could feel William’s heart pounding… hard and fast.
“William?” Est whispered.
“Give me a second,” William whispered back, forehead dropping to Est’s shoulder. “I’m – processing. This is – this is a lot.”
Est smiled, flustered. “You’re soo dramatic.”
“Est,” William said, dead serious, “you’re sitting between my arms, touching the entire front of my body, on my bike. I am seconds from ascending.”
From across the lot –
HE’S HUGGING HIM LIKE A SEATBELT HOLY SHIT
GOST IS SO GONE MAN – THIS IS HIS FUNERÅL
William ignored all of it. He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of Est’s ear – barely there, but enough to make Est’s breath stop.
“Ready?” William whispered.
Est nodded.
William guided the bike forward slowly, his arms enclosing Est, his chest flush against Est’s back, every breath and heartbeat shared. The city moved around them, but the world had shrunk to this – Est in front. William holding him like something sacred.
Both of them seeing the road together.
“William,” Est whispered, voice trembling. “This is… incredible.”
William tightened his arms just slightly.
“No,” he murmured into Est’s neck.
“You’re incredible. I just get to follow.”
Est’s heart melted.
And behind them, faintly, the biker crew cheered, hollered, and placed exaggerated bets about how long William would survive riding like this with his sanity intact.
William didn’t care.
He already knew: He’d burn every road in the city for his beautiful boy in front of him.
THE END :)