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The ER clock read 2:18 a.m., its digital red glow casting a harsh, artificial light over the sterile linoleum of the trauma centre. Senior trauma resident Est Supha had been awake long enough that time had stopped feeling real; the seconds seemed to stretch and warp, blending into a singular, exhausting blur of antiseptic smells and distant sirens. His hair was slightly messy, due to the number of times he’d run his hands through it in frustration or deep thought throughout the night. With the sleeves of his scrubs pushed up, his forearms and faint, bruise-like shadows under his eyes that no amount of industrial hospital lighting could hide, he looked every bit the weary veteran of a graveyard shift.

However, when the paramedics wheeled the latest patient in, the fatigue vanished. Est was already in full professional mode, focused, calm, and intensely serious.

“Alright,” he said smoothly, his voice steady as he stepped alongside the moving bed. “What have we got?”

“Male, mid-twenties, fell down stairs, suspected tibia fracture,” the paramedic reported, checking off the vitals as they moved toward a curtained bay.

Est nodded once, absorbing the information, and turned his attention to the patient. It was only then that he actually looked at the man. The patient lying on the gurney looked utterly miserable. His eyes were watery and rimmed with red, his face was a sickly shade of pale, and he was clutching the hospital blanket to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the land of the living.

“Hi,” Est said, keeping his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m Dr Supha, trauma resident. I’m going to take care of you.”

The patient let out a miserable sniff, his bottom lip trembling slightly. “My leg is broken,” he said, the words thick with self-pity.

“We’ll confirm that,” Est replied evenly. He was already beginning his physical assessment, his eyes narrowing as he examined the obvious, angry swelling distending the skin of the lower leg. “Pain scale, one to ten?”

“Eleven.”

Est nodded, completely unfazed by the hyperbole. He had heard every number in the book tonight. “Okay. I’m going to ask a few questions. What’s your name?”

“William,” the patient sniffed, looking small against the white sheets.

“Alright, William,” Est said, jotting the name down on his tablet with a rhythmic tap of the stylus. “Tell me what happened.”

William took a shaky, hitching breath, looking away toward the monitors. “I… fell down the stairs.”

Est nodded once, prompting him to continue. “Did you trip? Miss a step?”

There was a long, pregnant pause. William’s expression shifted from pain to a deep, simmering embarrassment. He looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. “…I was sleepwalking.”

Est’s pen paused for half a second. The rhythm of his documentation faltered, just for a heartbeat, but his face remained a mask of perfect professional gravity. “Sleepwalking,” he repeated, his voice flat as he dutifully wrote it down.

“Yeah.”

Another short, heavy pause hung between them. Est cleared his throat. “And do you suffer from sleepwalking regularly, or was this a first time?”

William looked like he regretted every life choice that had led him to this specific cubicle. He hesitated, his voice dropping to a sheepish murmur. “…I was looking for cereal.”

The pen stopped. Completely.

Est stared at the screen of his tablet for three full seconds, the silence in the room suddenly deafening. Then, with agonising slowness, he looked up. His eyes met William’s. And that’s when it happened. A small, traitorous sound escaped him—a short, sharp pfft.

He tried to swallow it immediately, pressing his lips into a thin line and turning his head slightly away to stare at a tray of gauze. But the damage was done. William’s eyes widened, shimmering with a sense of profound betrayal.

“Why are you laughing?!” he cried, his voice cracking on the final syllable. “I fell down the stairs!”

Est covered his mouth with his hand, his shoulders beginning to shake with the silent, rhythmic tremors of a man losing a battle with his own composure. “I’m—sorry,” he said quickly, his voice muffled by his palm. He took a sharp breath, trying to reclaim his professional dignity. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re literally laughing!”

“I’m not—”

Another laugh slipped out, a jagged sound that filled the small bay. Est turned his back for a second, rubbing his face vigorously as if he could scrub the amusement away. “Twenty-three-hour shift is making me forget my bedside manners,” he muttered to the wall.

William looked outraged, his face flushing a blotchy pink. “I am crying in pain right now!”

“I know,” Est said, spinning back around and nodding fervently. “I know. I’m sorry.” He took a deep, cleansing breath and tried again, forcing his voice into its deep, professional register. “Okay. So you were sleepwalking.”

“Yes!”

“Looking for cereal.”

“Yes!”

“And then what happened?”

William gestured weakly, his hands trembling. “I tripped over my cat!”

That was the breaking point. Est lost the battle entirely. A tired, jagged laugh escaped him again before he could even think to suppress it. William pointed an accusing, shaking finger at him.

“You’re a terrible doctor!”

“I promise I’m not,” Est insisted, though he was still fighting a wide, uncontrollable smile. “Just… extremely tired.”

“My leg is broken!”

“Yes, it probably is.”

“You’re still laughing!”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Est lied, his voice straining.

“You are!”

Est paused, his eyes crinkling. “…a little.”

William groaned dramatically, a sound of pure agony and ego-death, and dropped his head back onto the thin hospital pillow. “I hate this hospital.”

Est stepped closer again, his demeanour softening as he reached out with careful, expert hands to check the alignment of the leg. “Alright,” he said, moving back into the flow of care. “Let’s get you some pain meds and an X-ray.”

William glared at him through a sheen of fresh tears. “If you laugh again while touching my leg—”

“I won’t.”

Est carefully shifted the leg, just a fraction of an inch, to check the stability.

William’s mouth fell open.“AAAAAAAA—”

The scream echoed through the ER. Est froze instantly, his hands hovering mid-air. “…okay, we won’t move it.”

William glared at him, his chest heaving. “I want a different doctor.”

Est sighed, scribbling a final note on the digital chart. “Unfortunately for you,” he said calmly, his dry wit returning, “it’s two in the morning, and I’m the only trauma resident on duty.”

William sniffed miserably, looking like a kicked puppy. “This is the worst night of my life.”

Est glanced at him briefly, his expression softening just a fraction. “Well,” he said dryly, “next time, maybe eat the cereal before going to sleep.”

William stared at him in stunned silence. “…you’re still making jokes.”

Est shrugged slightly, a weary movement of his shoulders. “I am sorry. It’s a reflex.”

William groaned and buried his face in the pillow, his voice muffled. “…Cap’n Crunch wasn’t worth it.”

Est huffed another quiet, genuine laugh. “Yeah,” he said, turning to prep the transport. “It rarely is.”

The X-ray room was significantly colder than the rest of the ER, filled with the hum of heavy machinery and the smell of ozone. Est stood beside the lead-lined table, his sleeves still rolled up, and his expression returned to its usual, stoic seriousness. The earlier laughing incident had mostly worn off. Mostly.

William sat on the edge of the hard table with his injured leg supported by a series of blue foam blocks. He looked pale, brittle, and deeply offended by the laws of physics and biology.

The radiology tech adjusted the massive overhead arm of the X-ray machine. “Alright,” she said, her voice clinical. “We’re going to need him to shift a little so we can get the right angle.”

William immediately looked panicked. “No.”

Est looked up from the chart, his brow furrowing. “We have to move it slightly,” he explained.

“No.”

“William.”

“No.”

The tech tried again, her voice gentler. “Just a little—”

The moment Est reached toward the leg to help reposition it, William reacted. He didn’t grab Est’s sleeve or his wrist. He grabbed him. Both of William's arms wrapped around Est’s torso, clinging to the resident like a desperate koala to a eucalyptus tree.

Est froze, his hands suspended in the air. The tech froze, her hand on the machine. William simply buried his face in Est’s shoulder, his grip tightening.

“It hurts,” he mumbled miserably into the blue fabric of the scrubs.

Est blinked slowly, staring at the sterile white wall over the top of William’s messy head. “William,” he said carefully, “you’re hugging your doctor.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t hug your doctor.”

“I can if my leg is broken.”

From the corner of his eye, Est saw the tech biting her lip, trying desperately not to laugh. Est let out a long, defeated sigh. “Alright,” he said. “But I still need to move the leg.”

William tightened his grip immediately, his fingers digging into Est’s back. “No.”

“William.”

“No.”

“You’re twenty-something years old.”

“And my leg snapped like a breadstick!”

Est looked at the tech. The tech simply shrugged, offering no help. Est sighed again, accepting his fate as a human life raft. He gently adjusted the position of the fractured limb while William continued to cling to him with surprising strength.

“Okay,” Est said, leaning back slightly once the limb was set. “Hold still.”

The machine buzzed with a low, vibrating hum. A few minutes later, the digital images flickered to life on the nearby monitor. The tech leaned closer, her eyes widening. “Oh wow.”

Est stepped over to join her, his professional curiosity piqued. “Yeah,” he said, pointing at the screen. “That’s definitely fractured. Spiral break right there.”

Behind him, William was still holding onto his arm, refusing to let go of the physical connection. “…am I going to die?”

“You broke your tibia, not your soul,” Est remarked.

William sniffed, wiping his nose with his free hand. “Still tragic.”

Est pulled up the chart to enter the final orders for the night. “Alright. We’ll splint it tonight, and orthopaedics will see you first thing in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Est tapped the tablet, his mind moving to the next administrative step. “Do you have someone we should call?”

William went very still. The dramatic energy seemed to drain out of him for a moment. “…no.”

“Family?”

“No.”

“Friend?”

William shook his head with such violence it looked painful. “Absolutely not.”

Est raised an eyebrow, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Why?”

William looked horrified. “Because this is embarrassing.”

“You broke your leg.”

“Looking for cereal while sleepwalking!”

Est paused, the logic finally hitting home. “…fair.”

William crossed his arms over his chest. “If my friends find out about this, they will never let me live it down. Ever.”

Est shrugged, turning back to the equipment. “Your call.” He looked back at the X-ray screen for a moment, checking the margins of the image. But then, something caught his eye—not on the scan, but on the radiology tech.

She was staring at William with a very specific, wide-eyed look of realisation. She leaned toward Est, her voice a frantic whisper under her breath. “Oh, my god.”

Est glanced at her. “What?”

She leaned closer, her eyes darting between the patient and the screen. “That’s William.”

“Yes,” Est said slowly. “That’s the name on the chart.”

Her eyes widened further. “No. William.”

Est blinked, his exhaustion making him slow on the uptake. “…yes?”

“The pop star,” she hissed.

Est turned slowly to look at the man on the table. He took in the messy hair, the oversized, expensive-looking hoodie, and the way he was currently clinging to the bed rail with enough drama for a Shakespearean lead.

“…you’re a singer?” Est asked.

William squinted at him, looking suspicious. “…yes?”

Est blinked again. “Huh.”

William’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, huh?”

Est shrugged lightly, returning to his notes. “I don’t really listen to music.”

The radiology tech looked like she was about to faint from the sheer blasphemy of the statement. William, meanwhile, stared at Est like the doctor had just admitted to a heinous crime.

“You don’t know who I am?”

Est tilted his head, studying the young man’s face. “You’re William with the broken leg.”

The tech made a small, choking noise in the back of her throat. William pointed at himself, his voice rising in disbelief. “I’m famous!”

Est nodded politely, his tone unchanged. “Congratulations.”

“That’s not a normal response!”

Est ignored the outburst and began checking the splint supplies. “Does being famous make the fracture less painful?”

The wind seemed to go out of William’s sails. “…no.”

“Then the treatment’s the same.”

William stared at him in pure, unadulterated disbelief. “…this hospital is unbelievable.”

Est smirked slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Good news, though.”

“What?”

“You’ll have a great story for your next interview.”

William groaned and dropped his head back onto the blocks, defeated by the only man in the city who didn't care about his charts on the Billboard 100.

The ER was no longer quiet. It was 4:02 a.m., and the calm, low-energy atmosphere of the night shift had been completely demolished by the arrival of one very stressed, very loud manager.

Est was standing at the nurses’ station, squinting at the screen as he finished the final entries on William’s chart, when a man in a hoodie and glasses rushed toward him like a heat-seeking missile.

“You’re the doctor? I am William’s manager. I got a call—”

Est looked up, his expression a wall of calm. “Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“Room six.”

The manager’s eyes darted to the tablet in Est’s hand. “So… how bad is it? Tell me the truth.”

“Tibia fracture,” Est said. “Clean break. It’s painful, but it’s manageable. Ortho will be in to see him in a few hours.”

The manager let out a massive, shuddering sigh of relief. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine. God, I thought it was something way worse when I got the call.” He paused, his relief curdling into suspicion. He narrowed his eyes. “…how did it happen?”

Est hesitated for the briefest of moments, weighing the concepts of patient confidentiality against the sheer absurdity of the truth. He decided on honesty. “He fell down the stairs.”

The manager nodded slowly. “Okay.” Another pause. “…why did he fall down the stairs at this time of night?”

Est rubbed the back of his neck, his own exhaustion making him a little more blunt than usual. “…He was sleepwalking.”

The manager blinked. “Sleepwalking?”

“Yes.”

“…Why was he sleepwalking? He never sleepwalks.”

Est took a breath. “…Looking for cereal.”

Silence descended on the nurses’ station. The manager stared at Est. Est stared back. Then, the manager leaned his elbows on the counter and burst out laughing. It was a full, helpless, wheezing laughter that drew looks from the triage nurses.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. “I’m never letting him live this down. Ever.”

Est sighed, feeling a strange pang of sympathy for the pop star. “You’re not helping his embarrassment.”

“I don’t care,” the manager said immediately, wiping tears from behind his glasses. “This is the funniest injury report I’ve ever heard. I need to call the others.”

Est frowned slightly. “The others?”

“The band.”

Five minutes later, the quiet of Room Six was replaced by the chaotic sounds of a group call. William was sitting up in bed, his leg now encased in a temporary splint, looking pale and deeply annoyed as his manager held the phone up like a trophy.

Four distinct voices answered the call simultaneously.

“Is he dead?” Nut’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“Please tell me he didn’t do something illegal,” Hong added.

“A freak accident??” Tui asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Lego’s voice came last: “Wait, is this a prank?”

The manager grinned like a shark. “Worse.”

William groaned into his hands. “Don’t tell them. Please.”

It was too late. “He broke his leg,” the manager announced.

The phone exploded into a cacophony of sound. “WHAT?” “HOW?” “WHAT DID YOU DO??”

William buried his face in the pillow, trying to disappear. Est leaned against the wall near the door, quietly observing the chaos like a field scientist watching wildlife in its natural, highly agitated habitat.

The manager spoke dramatically. “Go on,” he said, looking at Est. “Tell them, Doctor.”

Est blinked. “…why me?”

“Because it sounds funnier when you say it.”

William pointed a weak, trembling finger from the bed. “Don’t you dare.”

Est sighed, but the sleep deprivation had finally stripped away his filters. “Your bandmates deserve the truth,” he said.

“NO THEY DON’T.”

Est spoke over him. “He was sleepwalking.”

The phone went dead silent. “…sleepwalking?” Lego asked slowly.

“Yes.”

A pause. Hong spoke next, his voice cautious. “Okay…?”

Est crossed his arms over his chest. “…Looking for cereal.”

The phone exploded again, but this time it was laughter. Nut started laughing so hard his voice cracked into a high-pitched wheeze. “YOU BROKE YOUR LEG FOR CEREAL??”

Hong was barely coherent. “Baby,” he said between gasps of laughter, presumably to Nut, “he risked his life for breakfast.”

Nut wheezed. “I don't know whether to laugh or cry”

Tui shouted, his voice echoing in the small room, “WHAT CEREAL WAS IT??”

William couldn't help himself. He shouted back from the bed, his voice full of defensive pride, “CAP’N CRUNCH!”

The laughter somehow intensified, reaching a pitch that made the radiology tech poke her head into the room. Lego gasped for air. “BROKE HIS LEG FOR CAP’N CRUNCH!”

Nut was still howling. “This is the stupidest injury I’ve ever heard. We should put it in the liner notes.”

Hong added sweetly, “At least it wasn’t cornflakes.”

William threw a spare pillow over his face. “I hate all of you.”

The manager shook his head, still chuckling. “You idiots just got back from a three-month world tour.”

Nut wheezed. “WAIT.”

Hong immediately caught the thread. “Oh my god.”

Tui gasped dramatically. “Hold on—hold on—”

Lego shouted, his voice full of glee, “I forgot! THIS WAS THE FIRST DAY OF THE BREAK!”

The manager pointed at William like a prosecutor delivering a closing argument. “Yes!” He turned the phone toward the bed so they could see the miserable patient. “You guys finished a world tour. One full month of break. One entire month where he could have done literally anything. He could have gone to a spa, he could have flown to a private island.”

Nut was crying from laughter now. “You could have gone to the beach!”

Hong added, “Or slept!”

Tui shouted, “OR GONE ON VACATION!”

Lego cackled. “OR NOT FALLEN DOWN THE STAIRS!”

The manager continued, his voice rising in theatrical frustration. “But no! The first thing he does after coming home from tour—” he pointed dramatically at the splint “—is break his leg chasing cereal!”

Lego wheezed. “Bro didn’t even last twenty-four hours.”

Hong laughed, “The tour didn’t break him. Cap’n Crunch did.”

Tui gasped. “Imagine explaining this to the label.”

Nut spoke again through his fading laughter. “Doctor, can you confirm something for us?”

Est looked up from the chart, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “Yes?”

“Is it medically possible to prescribe this man some common sense?”

Est answered with a perfectly straight face. “Unfortunately, that’s outside my speciality.”

The manager erupted into fresh laughter. William groaned louder, the sound muffled by the pillow. “This hospital is evil,” he whimpered. “Absolute evil.”

Est just clicked his pen shut, finally finished with the paperwork. It was going to be a long morning.

The next morning, the chaos of the early hours had receded, leaving the ER in a state of restless quiet. The relentless neon hum was the only constant as the shift change began.

Est Supha sat at a cluttered workstation, his eyes burning from a lack of sleep as he tapped out his final overnight shift notes. The orthopaedic consult had finally trickled through the system, confirming what they already knew, William’s tibia was a clean but significant break. Surgery was scheduled for later that afternoon, and the pop star would be moved to the surgical floor for a few days of recovery and physical therapy.

Est saved the file and stretched his stiff neck, assuming that was the end of his involvement. In a trauma centre this size, he saw dozens of patients a night. To him, William was just another case—a memorable one, certainly, given the cereal-based origins of the injury—but a closed file nonetheless.

He was wrong.

When Est walked onto the inpatient ward that afternoon to follow up on some pending labs for a different patient, he found himself passing Room 412. He paused, glancing at the name on the door, and stepped inside to check the post-op orders.

The moment the door swung open, William, who had been looking sullenly at a plate of lukewarm hospital jello, visibly brightened. His entire posture shifted, his eyes widening with a spark of recognition.

“Oh,” William said, his voice lifting. “It’s you.”

Est paused at the foot of the bed, clipboard in hand, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. “…Yes.”

“You’re my doctor,” William stated firmly, as if declaring a legal fact.

Est glanced down at the chart, then back at the patient. “Actually, Orthopaedics is technically your primary team now. I’m just a resident from the ER checking on the handoff.”

William frowned, his lower lip protruding in a stubborn pout. “But you’re the one who knows my leg. You saw it when it was at its worst.”

“That’s not exactly how medicine works, William.”

William crossed his arms over his hospital gown, looking like a disgruntled prince. “I don’t care. I like you better. The other guy has cold hands.”

Est let out a long, slow sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “William.”

“Yes.”

“You met me less than twelve hours ago.”

“And you fixed my leg,” William insisted.

“I stabilized your leg. The surgeons fixed it.”

“Same thing.”

Est stared at the ceiling for a moment, praying for patience. It was becoming increasingly clear that this was going to be a very long admission.

Unfortunately for Est’s professional boundaries, things only escalated from there.

Sometime between the first and second day post-op, William had developed a very specific, very physical coping mechanism for his pain and anxiety. The staff had started calling it the "Koala Cling."

It started during the first time the nursing staff had to help him shift into a sitting position to prevent pneumonia.

“Alright,” Est said, having been caught in the room during rounds. “The nurse and I are going to help you sit up now.”

William looked at the bed rails with genuine terror. “Is it going to hurt?”

“A little,” Est replied honestly.

“…Define little.”

“Let’s find out.”

The moment the nurse reached for the specialised pillow and shifted the weight of William's splinted leg, the pop star panicked. He didn’t reach for the bed rail or the trapeze bar. He reached for Est.

In a flash, William’s arms were around Est’s waist, his face buried deep into the resident’s shoulder. It was an exact replay of the night in radiology.

Est froze, his hands awkwardly hovering in the air as he felt the sudden weight of a grown man clinging to him. The nurse stopped what she was doing and let out a heavy, judgmental sigh. “Oh, my god.”

William’s voice was a muffled vibration against Est’s scrubs. “It hurts. It really hurts.”

Est stared at the fluorescent lights above. “Yes,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of his usual warmth. “That is because you had several metal pins inserted into your bone yesterday.”

William didn't move. If anything, his grip tightened, his fingers bunching the fabric of Est’s white coat. “I don’t like it. Make it stop.”

“You can’t hug your doctor every time something hurts, William.”

“I absolutely can. It’s therapeutic.”

The nurse shook her head, moving around to the other side of the bed. “This is ridiculous. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Est looked down at the human backpack currently attached to his torso. “William.”

“Yes.”

“Let go.”

“No.”

“William.”

“No.”

The nurse eventually had to step in, physically prying William’s fingers off Est’s waist like she was removing an octopus from a coral reef. “Hands off the resident,” she said firmly, pointing a finger at him.

William looked at her with a look of pure betrayal. “He’s comforting! He has a calming aura.”

“He’s working,” the nurse corrected.

“And he smells like expensive coffee,” William added, as if that justified the assault.

Est sighed, smoothing out his wrinkled scrubs. “Please, for the love of God, do not say that out loud where the Chief of Surgery can hear you.”

The problem was that once the seal was broken, it became a habit.

Every time Est entered the room for the rest of the week, William’s face lit up like a golden retriever spotting its favourite human in a crowded park. “Oh! It’s you! You’re back!”

And somehow, without fail, the Koala Mode would activate. Est would approach to check a pulse or a bandage, and—cling.

“William,” Est would say, his voice weary.

Cling.

“William, let go.”

The grip would only tighten.

“William, I literally need both of my arms to examine you. This is a physical impossibility.”

“I’m emotionally fragile right now,” William would mumble into his bicep. “The anesthesia did things to my psyche.”

“You broke your leg chasing cereal in your sleep. Your psyche was already a question mark.”

“That’s traumatic! I’m a victim of my own hunger!”

By day three, the nursing staff had lost all patience. One of the senior nurses finally stood at the foot of the bed, pointing her pen at William with menacing intent. “New rule, Mr. Pop Star.”

William blinked, his arms still loosely looped around Est’s elbow. “What rule?”

“No hugging the resident. No touching the resident. If you need a hug, we will find you a stuffed animal.”

William gasped, a sound of pure theatrical scandal. “That’s discrimination! I am a paying patient!”

“You’re a grown man!”

“I’m injured!”

Est quietly pretended to be deeply fascinated by the heart rate monitor, trying to maintain some shred of dignity while the nurse forcibly peeled William off him for the fourth time that hour.

The rest of the band visited several times throughout the week, turning the small inpatient room into a chaotic clubhouse.

Nut and Hong showed up first, spending the better part of two hours recounting the cereal incident to every nurse who walked by. Tui arrived later with a bag of snacks, half of which he finished before William even got a chance to look at them. Lego, ever the content creator, spent his time filming a dramatic TikTok of William complaining about the lack of flavour in the hospital's mashed potatoes.

At one point, while William was distracted by a spirited argument with Lego over a video filter, Nut leaned over to Est.

“So,” Nut said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “He does the koala thing with you, too?”

Est’s head snapped up. “…Too?”

Hong nodded sympathetically from the corner. “Yeah, he’s a clinger. When he gets stressed or tired, he picks a person and attaches. He’s like a barnacle.”

Nut grinned, watching William reach out to grab Est’s sleeve without even looking. “Looks like you’ve been chosen. You’re his official emotional support doctor now.”

Est sighed, the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I did not sign up for this in med school.”

By the end of the week, the entire floor had noticed the shift.

The nurses whispered about it at the station. William followed Est with his eyes whenever the resident walked past the glass doors. His mood, which could be prickly and demanding with the PT staff, instantly transformed into sunshine the second Est arrived for rounds.

If another resident came in his place, the disappointment was palpable.

“Where’s Dr Supha?”

“He’s busy in the ER, William.”

“…Oh.” The light in the room would practically dim.

It was this behaviour that eventually led to Est being cornered by a head nurse at the station. She leaned over the counter, giving him a knowing look. “You know he likes you, right? Like, really likes you?”

Est blinked, his exhaustion making him dense. “As a doctor? I suppose I’ve provided consistent care.”

She gave him a look of such profound pity that he felt the urge to apologise. “Sure, Est. Just a doctor.”

Back in the room, William was lying in bed, scrolling through a barrage of messages in the band’s group chat. His leg felt better, but the thought of being discharged—of leaving this specific environment—felt strangely hollow.

William threw the phone on the bed.

“Shut up.”

Right then, the door pushed open. Est stepped inside, clipboard tucked under his arm, looking as tired and professional as ever.

William’s face illuminated instantly. “Oh! Hi! You’re here!”

Without thinking, driven by a week of reinforced habit, William reached out both arms, leaning forward for the inevitable cling.

This time, Est was faster. He caught William by the shoulders, keeping him at arm's length before the hug could land. “No.”

William blinked, his arms hanging awkwardly in the air. “…Rude.”

Est sighed, his expression softening just a fraction, though his voice remained firm. “You are recovering well. You’re being discharged tomorrow. Let’s keep your dignity intact until then.”

William looked at him sheepishly, his fingers twisting in the hospital blanket. He went quiet for a moment, then looked up through his lashes. “…Can I hug you after I’m discharged? Like, as a civilian?”

Est stared at him for a long, silent moment. He looked at the pop star’s hopeful face, then back at the door. He shook his head, already turning to make his exit.

“We’ll discuss that never,” Est called back over his shoulder.

Behind him, William didn't look discouraged. He just grinned into his pillow, looking very much like a man with a very obvious, very permanent puppy crush.

William’s discharge day arrived with a suddenness that caught Est off guard. One moment, the room had been a revolving door of chaotic bandmates, nursing interventions, and koala sightings; the next, the digital chart simply read: Discharge Today.

Est finished his morning rounds, the familiar weight of his clipboard feeling slightly heavier as he stepped into Room 412. The atmosphere had shifted. The television was off, and the pile of snacks Tui had brought was finally gone. William was sitting on the edge of the bed, his crutches leaned against the nightstand. His leg was still encased in support bandages, but he looked stable, his face regained its usual colour.

“Oh,” William said, his voice quiet as his eyes met Est’s. “It’s you.”

Est nodded, stopping at the foot of the bed. “Yes.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The room felt strangely, uncomfortably quiet compared to the high-energy drama of the past week. The absence of the other bandmates made the space feel larger and more sterile.

Est cleared his throat and looked down at the chart to break the tension. “Your exit X-rays look good,” he said, his voice retreating into professional neutrality. “The alignment is perfect. You’ll still need the crutches for a few weeks to offload the weight, but the internal healing is ahead of schedule.”

William nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on his hands. “Okay.”

Another pause stretched between them. Est adjusted the papers on his clipboard, lingering on the physical therapy schedule. “So… your PT instructions are all here. I’ve highlighted the exercises. You have your follow-up with the ortho team in two weeks.”

William nodded again, his usual spark replaced by a subdued, almost sombre energy. “Okay.”

It was oddly formal. There was no koala clinging, no dramatic complaining about the hospital jello, and no teasing from the nurses. Just a quiet, clinical parting.

Est cleared his throat again, feeling a strange tightness in his chest he attributed to his double shift. “Well. That’s everything. The transport team will be up in ten minutes to wheel you down.Your manager is waiting outside”

William hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of the hospital mattress. Then, he said softly, “Thanks.”

Est looked up from his tablet. “For what?”

“For fixing my leg,” William added quickly, finally looking up.

“That’s my job, William. I was just the first one on call.”

“…Still.”

Est gave a small, genuine nod. “Take care of it. No more midnight snack runs.”

William picked up his crutches, moving with practiced care as he stood up. He hobbled toward the door, stopping briefly as he drew level with Est. For a heartbeat, Est thought he saw William’s shoulders lean in—the ghost of a habit, the beginning of a hug. But William pulled back.

Instead, he just offered a small, bittersweet smile. “Bye, Dr. Supha.”

“Goodbye, William.”

Then, he was gone.

And that was it.

William didn’t come back. Not the next day for a forgotten item, nor the next week for a casual hello. The nurses eventually stopped making "koala" jokes, redirected by the arrival of a difficult gallbladder case in Room 412. The room got another patient, then another. The hospital, in its infinite, rhythmic cycle of trauma and recovery, returned to its status quo.

But sometimes, when Est walked past the hallway of the surgical wing, he caught himself glancing at the door of 412. Just for a second. He told himself it was just a lingering reflex from a particularly memorable patient. People came into the ER all the time; they were broken, they were mended, and they left. That was the fundamental contract of his profession.

Still, every now and then, in the quiet lull of a 3 a.m. shift, he thought about the way William’s face used to light up the second he crossed the threshold. He shook it off every time. Probably just boredom, he reasoned. A captive audience seeking entertainment during a dull recovery.

Two months later, the ER doors slid open around 6 p.m. It wasn't a "trauma evening"—no multi-car pileups or high-fall victims—just a steady, manageable stream of flu symptoms and minor lacerations.

Est was hunched over the central station reviewing lab results when a nurse nudged his shoulder. “Dr. Supha.”

He didn't look up from the screen. “I’m almost done with the CBCs, give me five minutes.”

“No,” she whispered, sounding amused. “There’s someone here asking for you.”

Est frowned, finally looking up. “For me? I don't have any appointments.”

The nurse nodded toward the main entrance. Est followed her gaze and froze.

Standing just inside the sliding glass doors was William. He wasn't the pale, miserable patient in a hospital gown anymore. He was wearing well-fitted jeans, a stylish oversized hoodie, and a baseball cap pulled low, though his eyes were bright and full of a nervous, electric energy. There were no crutches. No cast. No limp.

And in his hands was a massive, striking bouquet of blue roses.

Est blinked, his brain momentarily failing to compute the image. “…William?”

William smiled sheepishly, taking a few hesitant steps forward. “Hi, Est.”

Est stepped away from the station, moving toward him while still trying to process the sight. “You’re walking. You’re actually walking.”

“Orthopaedics cleared me this morning,” William said, his voice gaining strength. “Full weight-bearing. I’m even allowed to start dance rehearsals next week.”

“That’s good,” Est said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. “That’s really good.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause followed. The chaotic symphony of the ER—the beeping monitors, the distant shouting, the rustle of plastic—continued around them, but a strange, quiet bubble seemed to form between the two of them.

Est glanced down at the blue roses. They were vibrant, almost glowing under the harsh hospital lights. “…Did someone else in the hospital get discharged? Are those for a friend?”

William laughed nervously, the sound light and familiar. “No.”

He took a deep breath, his knuckles whitening slightly around the stems, and held the flowers out toward Est. “These are for you.”

Est stared at them, his hands remaining at his sides for a moment. “…Why?”

William rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “So, here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking about this for exactly sixty days.”

Est waited, his heart rate monitor—if he’d been wearing one—likely echoing the erratic rhythm in his chest.

“I wasn’t sure if this was weird,” William continued quickly, the words tumbling out. “But I didn’t want to come by any earlier because, technically, you were still my doctor. Or at least, you were part of the team.”

Est blinked. “…Okay.”

“And that felt like breaking a rule. A big one.”

“That is a very real rule,” Est confirmed.

“Right.” William gave another nervous smile. “But as of nine o'clock this morning, my treatment is officially finished. I’m discharged. I’m a free man.”

Est slowly began to understand the deliberate nature of the silence over the last two months. William looked directly at him, his gaze steady and hopeful.

“So now I’m here as a regular person. Not a patient. Just William.” He pushed the blue roses into Est’s hands, and this time, Est took them. “And I was wondering…”

Est looked down at the velvet petals, then back up at the man who had once broken his leg chasing cereal and spent a week clinging to him like a desperate koala.

“…Yes?” Est prompted.

William’s smile was shy but determined. “If you’d go on a date with me. A real one. Somewhere that doesn't smell like antiseptic.”

Est stared at him, the two months of silence suddenly making perfect sense. “You waited until the bandages came off.”

William nodded seriously. “Ethical dating. I didn't want to get you in trouble.”

Est huffed a small, tired laugh despite himself. “That’s… surprisingly responsible of you, William.”

William grinned, his confidence returning. “I try to surprise people. It’s part of the charm.”

Est looked at the roses again, then at the man standing before him. The fatigue of the shift seemed to lift, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the hospital’s heating system.

“…You disappeared for two months,” Est said, his tone teasing.

William nodded. “I was giving you time to miss me. Strategic absence.”

Est raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold strategy for a pop star.”

“Did it work?”

Est looked at him for a long moment, taking in the hopeful curve of his mouth and the way his eyes searched Est’s face for an answer. Finally, Est leaned in slightly.

“…I’m off at eight.”

William’s face lit up immediately—that same radiant, room-brightening glow that Est had remembered from the inpatient ward. “Dinner?”

Est sighed, but there was a genuine smile tugging at his lips now. “Dinner.”

William pumped his fist quietly, a look of pure triumph on his face. “Totally worth breaking my leg.”

Est immediately pointed a warning finger at him over the top of the roses. “If you ever break another bone just to get my attention—”

“I won’t! I swear!”

“…I will personally refuse to treat you. I'll send you to the guy with the cold hands.”

William laughed, the sound bright and infectious, drawing smiles from the nearby nurses. “Deal. It's a deal, Dr Supha.”

Est watched him turn to leave, already feeling the shift in the air. The hospital was still the same, but the ending of this particular case was far better than anything he could have written in a chart.