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The air on the central plaza of the university didn't just chill when the trio walked through; it seemed to solidify.
To the average onlooker, it was a scene straight out of a high-budget noir thriller. In the center walked William, a freshman whose arrival had been anticipated with the kind of hushed dread usually reserved for incoming hurricanes. He was tall, sharp-jawed, and dressed in a crisp black shirt that screamed “I have a secret offshore account and I know three ways to break a man’s spirit with a look.”
Flanking him were the legendary juniors: Pond, the older brother, who wore an expression of perpetual, icy boredom, and Perth, whose rugged aesthetic and silent demeanor had earned him the nickname “The Silent Reaper” among the sophomore class.
As they moved toward the Engineering building, the sea of students parted. A group of freshmen literally scrambled backward, one of them dropping a full iced Americano that splattered across the pavement. Nobody dared to laugh. The silence was heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of their expensive boots.
“Look at them,” a girl whispered, hiding behind a pillar. “The brothers and their enforcer. William looks even meaner than Pond. I heard he hasn't smiled since 2018.”
“I heard they’re here to take over the student council by force,” her friend replied, trembling.
In reality, inside William’s head, a very different monologue was occurring: I am so hungry. Is it too early for a corn dog? If I eat a corn dog now, will P'Est think I’m a child? I want a corn dog. I want P'Est. I want a corn dog delivered by P'Est.
“William,” Pond muttered, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down the spines of everyone within a ten-foot radius. “Stop brooding. You look like you’re contemplating a felony.”
“I’m not brooding,” William hissed back, his voice equally deep. “I’m thinking about processed meat. And why did that guy drop his coffee? Is there a bee? I hate bees.”
“Just keep walking,” Perth advised, his eyes scanning the horizon like a hawk. “We have a reputation to uphold. If we don’t look like we’re about to commit a crime, people start asking us for directions to the library, and I don't know where the library is.”
They reached the steps of the Faculty of Arts, where the rest of the group was waiting. Standing at the top of the stairs were three figures who looked significantly more relaxed, yet infinitely more powerful.
Est, a junior with the kind of effortless cool that made him the unintended center of every room, was leaning against a railing. Next to him were Phuwin and Santa, the sophomores who effectively ran the group’s social calendar (and their lives).
As the "intimidating" trio approached, the student body held its collective breath. This was it. The clash of the titans.
William locked eyes with Est. His face was a mask of stoic intensity. He looked like he was about to challenge Est to a duel for the very soul of the university. He stepped onto the curb, his gaze never wavering, his aura of danger reaching its peak—
And then his toe caught the edge of the concrete.
With the grace of a newborn giraffe on ice skates, William stumbled. His arms windmilled wildly, his "scary" black shirt bunching up as he lurched forward. He managed to stay upright, but the momentum carried him right into Est’s chest.
The silence that followed was deafening. The onlookers waited for the explosion. Would Est be offended? Would William lash out in embarrassment?
Est didn't flinch. Instead, he let out a loud, melodic peal of laughter that cut through the tension like a knife. He reached out, grabbing William’s shoulders to steady him.
“Nice one, freshman,” Est teased, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. “The curb 1, the terrifying William 0.”
Perth let out a snort, and Pond covered his mouth to hide a grin.
William, meanwhile, underwent a total molecular transformation. The terrifying freshman disappeared. In his place was a blushing, pouting boy who immediately ducked his head and hid behind Est’s shoulder, clutching the sleeve of Est’s denim jacket.
“It was slippery,” William mumbled into Est’s neck, his voice now three octaves higher and dripping with "puppy energy." “Est, tell them it was slippery. My boots have no grip. I’m a victim of bad architecture.”
“You’re a victim of your own feet,” Phuwin chimed in, stepping forward to pat William’s head condescendingly. “Honestly, Pond, why is your brother like this? You promised us a menacing addition to the group. This is just a large golden retriever in a dark shirt.”
Pond sighed, his "scary" facade crumbling as he pulled Phuwin into a side-hug, resting his chin on the younger boy's head. “I tried. I told him to look like he hated everyone. He practiced in the mirror for an hour. But then he saw a picture of Est and his face just... melted.”
“I do not melt!” William protested from behind Est, though he was currently nuzzling Est’s ear. “I am a threat! People are literally running away from me!”
“They’re running because they think you’re a hitman, Will,” Santa said, grinning as he hopped over to Perth. Without a word, Perth’s arm went around Santa’s waist, pulling him flush against his side. The "enforcer" was now preoccupied with adjusting Santa’s collar and checking if he’d worn enough sunscreen. “They don’t realize you’re actually just a simp with a bad sense of balance.”
A group of passing freshmen watched the scene in utter confusion. They saw the most feared men on campus—the ones rumored to be involved in underground racing rings and high-stakes corporate espionage—currently acting like a bunch of softies.
Pond was pouting because Phuwin wouldn't let him hold his heavy backpack.
Perth was whispering something into Santa’s ear that made the younger boy giggle and swat him playfully.
And William? William was currently refusing to let go of Est’s waist, following him toward the cafeteria like a lost duckling.
“Is... is that the same guy?” a student asked, pointing at William. “The one who looked like he was going to burn the building down?”
“Yeah,” another replied, watching as Est fed William a piece of gum. “I think he’s... I think he’s purring?”
The University Cafeteria was a battlefield of social hierarchy, and the "Big Six" (as the student forum had dubbed them) always occupied the central, long table.
Usually, the tables surrounding them remained empty. Nobody wanted to be caught in the crossfire of whatever "business" they were discussing. Today was no different. The atmosphere at the center of the room was heavy with what appeared to be a high-stakes negotiation.
William sat at the head of the table, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Est sat beside him, watching him with an amused expression. Across from them, Pond and Phuwin were leaning in close, their voices hushed and urgent. Perth and Santa were huddled over a single phone, their faces grim.
A brave sophomore sitting three tables away whispered to his friend, “Look at their faces. Something's going down. Maybe a territory dispute? Or a fallout with the Dean?”
In reality, the "negotiation" was reaching a boiling point.
“I’m telling you, the ratio is 2:1,” Pond insisted, his voice low and dangerous. “If you put too much milk in the Thai tea, it loses its soul, Phuwin. It’s a betrayal of the tea leaves.”
Phuwin rolled his eyes, taking a defiant sip of his drink. “It’s called a 'latte' for a reason, Pond. I like it creamy. If I wanted to drink liquid dirt, I’d go to your house and lick your garden.”
Pond gasped, a hand flying to his chest. He looked at Perth for support. “Did you hear that? The disrespect. After I bought him this drink with my own hard-earned allowance.”
Perth didn't look up. He was busy holding the phone for Santa, who was intensely focused on a mobile game. “Don't involve me. Santa is about to beat the final boss. If he loses because of your tea trauma, I will actually have to kill you.”
“See?” the eavesdropping student whispered. “The Silent Reaper just threatened a man’s life over a tea dispute. So cold.”
Meanwhile, William was still staring at the orange on his tray. He poked it. Then he looked at Est. Then he poked the orange again.
“William,” Est said, trying to suppress a smile. “What are you doing?”
“It has skin,” William complained, his voice dropping into that specific, low-frequency whine he reserved only for Est. “The skin is very tight, Est. If I try to peel it, my fingers will get all sticky. Then I won’t be able to hold your hand for at least ten minutes while I go wash them. That’s ten minutes of wasted time.”
Est sighed, but his eyes were full of fondness. He reached over, took the orange, and began peeling it with practiced ease. “You are the most dramatic freshman in the history of this institution. You know that, right?”
“I’m a man of priorities,” William stated firmly. He leaned his chin on Est’s shoulder, watching the orange-peeling process with the intensity of a surgeon. “And my priority is skin-to-skin contact.”
“Down catastrophically,” Santa muttered, not looking up from his game. “Perth, feed me a fry.”
Without missing a beat, Perth picked up a french fry, blew on it to make sure it wasn't too hot, and held it to Santa’s lips. Santa took a bite, eyes still on the screen.
The cafeteria onlookers were reeling. They saw Pond Naravit—the man who supposedly hadn't cried since his hamster died in 2012—currently begging Phuwin for a "tiny, tiny sip" of his milky tea. They saw Perth, the "bad boy" of the Engineering faculty, acting as a human phone-stand and snack-dispenser.
And then, the final blow to their reputation occurred.
A stray soccer ball from the courtyard flew through the open cafeteria window. It bounced off a chair and headed straight for their table.
In any movie, William would have caught the ball mid-air with one hand without even looking, continuing his cool conversation. In reality, William saw the ball, shrieked a very high-pitched “AH!”, and dove headfirst into Est’s lap to seek shelter.
The ball hit a water bottle, which tipped over, soaking Pond’s expensive leather folder.
Pond stared at the water. He looked at the soccer ball. He looked at the group of terrified freshmen who had come to retrieve the ball.
The freshmen froze. This was it. They were going to be expelled. They were going to be disappeared. Pond was standing up. His face was a mask of cold fury. He stepped toward them, his shadow looming large.
“Which one of you,” Pond began, his voice vibrating with menace, “is responsible for this?”
The smallest freshman pointed a shaking finger at himself. “I-I’m sorry, sir! It was an accident!”
Pond leaned in, eyes narrowing. “You better be sorry. Because that water... it splashed on my boyfriend’s favorite limited-edition keychain.” He pointed to a tiny, sparkly cat hanging from Phuwin’s bag. “If this cat gets a water stain, you are going to help me find a replacement on eBay. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find the ‘Glitter Paws’ collection from 2023?!”
The freshmen stared at him.
“Go,” Pond commanded, waving them away. “Before I make you research shipping costs from Japan!”
As the kids ran for their lives, Pond turned back to the table, his bottom lip trembling as he looked at Phuwin. “Phu, is the cat okay? Tell me the cat is okay.”
Phuwin patted Pond’s cheek. “The cat is plastic, you idiot. It’s fine. Sit down and eat your rice.”
“Okay,” Pond said instantly, sitting back down and opening his mouth for a spoonful of food that Phuwin was offering him.
Est finished peeling the orange and held out a segment. William, still hiding in Est’s lap, popped his head up like a prairie dog and took the fruit directly from Est’s fingers.
“See?” William said, muffled by orange. “I told you I was a threat. Those kids were shaking.”
Est rubbed the back of William’s neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. “Sure, Will. You’re a real menace. Now get off my lap before people think I’m carrying a giant toddler to my 2:00 PM lecture.”
“Never,” William declared, tightening his grip. “The curb might be out there. It’s safer here.”
The rumor mill was already churning. By dinner time, the story would be that William had "subdued" a rogue projectile with his bare face to protect his "boss," and that Pond had "threatened a group of students with a secret Japanese tracking device."
But as the six of them left the cafeteria—William still clinging to Est’s arm, Pond and Phuwin bickering over a cat keychain, and Perth carrying Santa’s bag—the truth was clear to anyone actually paying attention.
They weren't the kings of the campus. They were just six boys, deeply in love, and absolutely, 100% ridiculous.
If the cafeteria incident had been a minor crack in their "scary" reputation, the mid-term season was about to be a full-blown tectonic shift.
As the six of them left the cafeteria, the plan had been simple. Est, being the most academically responsible member of the group, had decreed that they needed a "focused, distraction-free environment" to prepare for the upcoming exams. Since William was a freshman drowning in introductory sociology, and the others were facing the nightmare of junior-year engineering and business law, a group study session seemed like a mature, adult solution.
They retreated to one of the private glass-walled study rooms in the library—a room usually reserved for honors students or people who look like they’ve forgotten what sunlight feels like.
The students outside watched them enter with a sense of awe.
“Look,” a sophomore whispered, clutching a stack of flashcards. “The elite are gathering. They’re probably calculating market trends or designing a bridge.”
Inside the room, the door hadn't even fully clicked shut before the "intellectual giants" collapsed into a state of total academic anarchy.
Est had barely opened his laptop before he felt a heavy weight settle onto the back of his neck. William, rather than sitting in his own perfectly functional ergonomic chair, was attempting to occupy the same space as Est.
“William,” Est said, his voice a mix of patience and growing amusement. “There are six chairs in this room. Why are you currently trying to sit in my lap while I’m trying to read about urban planning?”
“I’m cold,” William lied shamelessly, burying his face in the crook of Est’s neck. “The library’s air conditioning is set to ‘Arctic Tundra.’ I’m conserving body heat. It’s a survival tactic. Plus, your chair has a better view of the door in case of... threats.”
“The only threat is you failing your ‘Intro to Sociology’ quiz because you haven't opened your textbook,” Est replied, though he didn't actually push William away. Instead, he adjusted his position so William could rest his chin on Est’s shoulder, effectively turning Est into a human backrest.
William let out a contented hum. He didn't open his textbook. Instead, he started playing with the drawstrings of Est’s hoodie, his "intimidating" freshman aura replaced by the sheer, unadulterated energy of a cat that had found a sunbeam.
Across the table, the brothers were proving that blood is thicker than water, but study notes are apparently worth more than blood.
Pond, who was supposed to be studying "Advanced Corporate Finance," was currently staring blankly at a graph that looked like a plate of spaghetti. He looked to his left, where Phuwin was meticulously highlighting a textbook with three different colors, his notes so organized they looked like they had been printed by a professional press.
Pond’s hand snaked out, his fingers inching toward Phuwin’s notebook.
Slap.
“Ow!” Pond yelped, pulling his hand back. “Phu! That was uncalled for! I’m your boyfriend! I’m the man who bought you that organic açai bowl this morning!”
“And I’m the student who actually attended the lectures you slept through,” Phuwin said, not even looking up from his page. “Get your own notes, Pond. Or better yet, read the syllabus. It’s only been available for twelve weeks.”
“But your handwriting is so pretty,” Pond pouted, leaning in until his nose was touching Phuwin’s temple. “It’s like art. I can’t focus on my own notes because they look like they were written by a caffeinated squirrel. I need your energy, Phu. Just let me borrow the chapter on 'Market Volatility'.”
“No,” Phuwin said firmly, though his lips twitched.
“Please?” Pond whispered, his voice dropping into that deep, husky register that usually made people on campus tremble in fear. He leaned closer, his lips brushing Phuwin’s ear. “If you let me see the notes, I’ll let you pick the movie tonight. Even if it’s one of those three-hour documentaries about fungi.”
Phuwin paused. He turned his head, his face inches from Pond’s. The tension in the room shifted. For a second, it looked like they were about to have a serious, romantic moment.
“Make it two documentaries,” Phuwin bargained.
“Deal,” Pond chirped, instantly snatching the notebook and sprawling across the table like a victorious viking.
In the corner, Perth was actually trying. He really was. He had his structural engineering manual open, a mechanical pencil in hand, and a look of grim determination on his face. He looked like a man who could calculate the load-bearing capacity of a skyscraper in his sleep.
Then, Santa shifted.
Santa, who was supposed to be studying "Creative Media," had decided that the table was too hard. He had moved to the floor, leaning against Perth’s legs, using Perth’s thigh as a pillow while he scrolled through a digital mood board on his tablet.
Perth’s pencil hovered over a complex diagram. He stared at the page. Then he looked down at Santa.
Santa looked up, his eyes wide and bright. “Perth? Do you think this shade of ‘Electric Teal’ is too aggressive for a logo design? Or is it just aggressive enough?”
Perth looked at the screen. He didn't know anything about electric teal. He knew about reinforced concrete and tensile strength. But Santa was looking at him like his opinion was the only thing that mattered in the universe.
“It’s... it’s perfect,” Perth said, his voice softening into a tone that would have shocked his classmates. “Everything you pick is perfect.”
“You didn't even look,” Santa teased, poking Perth’s knee.
"I'm looking now,” Perth murmured, abandoning his pencil entirely. He reached down, his large hand cupping Santa’s cheek, his thumb stroking the younger boy’s skin. The skyscraper calculations could wait. Santa was talking about color theory, and Perth was prepared to listen until the sun went down.
About forty minutes into this "serious" session, the door to the study room creaked open.
A senior named Mark, who was the head of the Debate Team and someone who took "academic rigor" very seriously, walked in. He had heard the "Big Six" were in here and had come to ask for their help with a campus-wide fundraiser, expecting to find a room full of focused, intimidating leaders.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The scene before him was not one of intellectual greatness.
1. William was no longer even pretending to study. He was sitting on the floor between Est’s legs, his head resting on Est’s lap. Est was typing one-handed because his other hand was busy playing with William’s hair, twirling the dark strands around his fingers.
2. Pond was lying across the table, his head resting on Phuwin’s shoulder, snoring softly. Phuwin was using Pond’s back as a literal desk, resting his notebook on Pond’s spine to continue his highlighting.
3. Perth and Santa were in the corner, sharing a single pair of headphones, watching a video of a cat failing to jump onto a counter and whispering excitedly to each other.
4. The table was covered in an alarming amount of snacks: three bags of chips, a box of donuts, two cups of bubble tea, and what looked like a literal pile of beef jerky.
“Uh... hello?” Mark stammered.
The six heads turned in unison. For a split second, the "scary" masks flickered back into place. William sat up, his eyes narrowing. Pond woke up instantly, his expression shifting to a cold, "who-dares-disturb-me" glare. Perth stood up, his towering frame casting a shadow over the room.
Mark gulped. Oh no. I’ve interrupted a secret council meeting.
“We’re... we’re busy,” William said, his voice deep and forbidding. He stood up, towering over Mark, looking every bit the "Campus Threat Level" everyone feared. He stepped closer, his jaw set, his presence suffocating.
“Right,” Mark whispered, backing away. “I-I’ll just come back later. Sorry to interrupt the... strategy.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, William’s shoulders dropped.
“Is he gone?” William asked, his voice returning to its soft, puppy-like state.
“He’s gone,” Est laughed, pulling William back down. “Good job, Will. You really scared him.”
“I’m hungry again,” William announced, reaching for a donut. “Est, can you break this in half for me? If I do it, the sugar will get on my fingers and then I can’t touch your face.”
“You are truly a menace to society,” Est sighed, but he broke the donut in half and fed it to him anyway.
In the hallway, Mark was frantically texting his friends: Don't go into Study Room 4. I think William was about to interrogate me. They’re in there surrounded by classified documents and they look like they haven't slept in days from planning something big.
Inside the room, the "something big" was Pond accidentally spilling his bubble tea on himself and Phuwin chasing him around the table with a wet wipe while calling him a "clumsy giant."
Academic disaster? Yes.
But as William leaned back against Est, feeling the steady heartbeat of his favorite person, he decided that Sociology could wait. Being a "scary" boyfriend was a full-time job, and he was currently excelling at the "simp" portion of the curriculum.
The legend of the "Study Room Strategy Meeting" had spread across campus like wildfire. By Friday night, the student body was convinced that William, Pond, and Perth were planning a hostile takeover of the university’s extracurricular budget. Little did they know, the only thing "hostile" about the trio was their shared inability to function if their boyfriends were more than six inches away.
The setting was the annual "Neon masquerade" hosted by the Business Faculty. It was the kind of party where the bass was loud enough to vibrate your teeth and the blacklights made everyone’s white shirts glow with ghostly intensity.
When the six of them walked in, the music didn't stop, but the conversation certainly did.
Pond led the way, looking like a high-fashion villain in a silk shirt unbuttoned just one notch too far. Perth followed, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans, his gaze sweeping the room with a cold, analytical precision that suggested he was looking for snipers (he was actually looking for the snack table). And then there was William.
William had fully leaned into his "Freshman Prince of Darkness" aesthetic. He wore a black leather jacket and a look of such profound boredom that three people immediately decided to leave the bar area just to give him more space.
“The vibe is off,” William muttered, leaning close to Est’s ear so he could be heard over the EDM remix of a pop song. “There are too many people here. And that guy in the corner has been looking at you for three seconds. That’s two seconds too many.”
Est, looking radiant in a white denim jacket that glowed brilliantly under the UV lights, patted William’s cheek. “Will, he’s the DJ. He’s looking at everyone. It’s literally his job to see if the crowd is enjoying the music.”
“I don’t like it,” William grumbled, stepping closer until he was essentially a second skin behind Est. He wrapped an arm firmly around Est’s waist, pulling him back against his chest. To the rest of the party, it looked like a terrifying display of territorial dominance. To Est, it felt like a giant, warm, vibrating radiator.
As they moved toward the center of the room, Pond and Perth unintentionally began their "Guard Dog" routine.
Pond was walking next to Phuwin, but "walking" was a generous term. He was more like a moon orbiting a planet, constantly circling Phuwin to block anyone from bumping into him. Every time a student tried to pass by, Pond would puff out his chest and stare them down with a silent, icy glare until they scurried away.
“Pond, stop it,” Phuwin whispered, leaning back into Pond’s space. “You’re scaring the freshmen. That girl just dropped her glow-stick because you looked at her like she was a war criminal.”
“She was drifting into your personal space, Phu,” Pond said, his voice dropping into a low growl that he thought sounded cool, but Phuwin knew was just his 'I-need-a-snack' voice. “I am the shield. I am the bulwark. No one touches the Phuwin unless they pass the Naravit trial.”
“The Naravit trial is just you staring at people until they feel awkward,” Phuwin sighed, but he secretly reached back and hooked his finger into Pond’s belt loop, keeping him close.
Perth, meanwhile, was taking his job even more seriously. Santa was a social butterfly; he wanted to say hi to everyone, dance a little, and take photos for his social media. But every time Santa moved, Perth moved.
When Santa stopped to talk to a classmate about a photography project, Perth didn't stand to the side. He stood directly behind Santa, his arms crossed over his massive chest, looking like a hired bodyguard. He didn't say a word. He just breathed.
The classmate, a nervous guy named Top, started sweating. “S-so, Santa, about the... the lighting for the shoot...”
Perth took a half-step forward. His shadow swallowed Top whole.
“Uh, actually, I’ll just email you!” Top squeaked, turning tail and vanishing into the crowd.
Santa turned around, hands on his hips. “Perth! You scared him! We need that project for our midterms!”
Perth’s "scary" expression vanished instantly, replaced by a look of pure, concentrated guilt. “He was standing too close, Santa. I could smell his cologne. It was mid-range. You deserve high-end cologne scents in your vicinity.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Santa laughed, pulling Perth down by his collar to plant a quick kiss on his nose. The "Silent Reaper" turned bright red under the blacklights, his terrifying aura evaporating into a puddle of shy, devoted boyfriend energy.
The group eventually found a corner booth, which they claimed by the sheer power of looking like they owned the building.
William was the worst offender. He had successfully cornered Est in the innermost seat of the booth. If Est wanted to leave to get a drink, he had to physically climb over William, which William was very much in favor of.
A brave junior from the Cheerleading squad, unaware of the internal dynamics, approached the table. She was looking at William, who was currently looking particularly brooding as he watched Est sip a soda.
“Hi,” she said, leaning over the table. “I’m Sarah. I haven't seen you around much. Are you—?”
William didn't even let her finish. He didn't look at her. He just tightened his grip on Est’s shoulder and said, “I’m taken. I’m busy. I’m occupied. I am unavailable for the foreseeable future and possibly the next three lifetimes.”
Sarah blinked, startled. She turned to Pond, who was currently feeding Phuwin a grape. “Oh, I was actually going to ask if you guys were—?”
“NO,” six voices shouted in unison.
The word hit the air with the force of a sonic boom.
William, Pond, and Perth said it with protective ferocity.
Est, Phuwin, and Santa said it with a mix of pride and "get-a-load-of-these-idiots" amusement.
The girl took a step back, her hands raised in surrender. “Okay! Got it! The table is... very occupied!”
As she hurried away, Est nudged William with his elbow. “Will, you didn't even let her ask the question. She might have been asking for directions to the bathroom.”
“She was looking at my jawline,” William insisted, burying his face in Est’s neck. “I saw it. I have peripheral vision for threats to our relationship, Est. I am a highly tuned instrument of fidelity.”
“You’re a highly tuned instrument of being a dork,” Est corrected, but he ran his fingers through William’s hair, causing the "terrifying" freshman to close his eyes and lean into the touch like a pampered housecat.
Despite their efforts, the party was reaching its peak, and the "Separation Anxiety Trio" was starting to lose their cool.
Pond was currently in a standoff with a guy who had dared to ask Phuwin for a pen.
“A pen?” Pond asked, his voice dripping with suspicion. “In a dark club? What are you signing? A contract? A marriage license? Use your own ink, buddy.”
Perth was literally standing in a circle around Santa on the dance floor, his arms extended like he was guarding a perimeter in a riot. Santa was dancing happily to a remix, oblivious to the fact that Perth was essentially acting as a human fence, preventing anyone from getting within three feet of him.
But the climax of the night came when the music slowed down for a rare ballad.
The "scary" trio immediately converged on their partners. William grabbed Est, Pond grabbed Phuwin, and Perth grabbed Santa. They didn't just dance; they hovered. They swayed with a level of intensity that suggested they were afraid their boyfriends might float away if they didn't hold on tight enough.
An outsider watching them would have seen three of the most "dangerous" guys on campus looking absolutely wrecked by affection. William was whispering something into Est’s ear that made Est laugh and blush. Pond was resting his forehead against Phuwin’s, looking like he was in a trance. Perth had his chin hooked over Santa’s shoulder, his eyes closed, looking more at peace than he ever did in a lecture hall.
“Look at them,” a girl whispered from the edge of the dance floor. “I heard they were cold-blooded.”
“Cold-blooded?” her friend replied, watching William trip over his own feet while trying to spin Est, only to be caught by Est with a grin. “They’re not cold-blooded. They’re just... they’re just hopelessly, embarrassingly in love.”
As the song ended, the "Big Six" headed for the exit. They had reached their social limit. William was already complaining that his leather jacket was too heavy and he needed Est to carry it. Pond was asking Phuwin if they could stop for late-night noodles because "guarding you is high-calorie work."
They walked out of the party exactly as they had walked in: in a tight-knit formation that made people move out of their way.
To the rest of the school, they were still the intimidating, rich, and stoic "Big Six." But as they reached the parking lot and William immediately started whining because Est wouldn't let him drive his car, the truth remained their best-kept secret.
They weren't scary. They were just six boys who had found their home in each other, and they didn't care who knew it—as long as they didn't have to be more than an arm's length apart.
The morning after the neon masquerade, the university’s anonymous confession page was in a total meltdown. Despite the blatant displays of affection at the party, the "scary" reputation of the brothers and Perth had taken a bizarre, dark turn.
Instead of people realizing they were softies, a new theory had taken root: The Heartbreaker Protocol.
"I saw William holding Est like his life depended on it," one post read. "It’s definitely a power play. He’s probably a cold, emotionless heartbreaker who uses 'closeness' as a psychological tactic. Nobody that handsome is actually that clingy. It’s a facade."
Another comment claimed: "Pond and Perth are just as bad. They look at Phuwin and Santa like they’re property. They’re probably stoic robots behind closed doors. They don't have feelings; they have targets."
When the group gathered for brunch at their usual outdoor terrace, Est was the one who read the rumors aloud, his voice dripping with mock-seriousness.
"Apparently, Will," Est said, poking William’s cheek as the freshman tried to steal a fry, "you are an 'emotionless ice king' who uses me for 'social positioning.' Your eyes are 'windows to a void where a heart should be.'"
William paused, a fry halfway to his mouth. He blinked, his dark, puppy-like eyes widening in genuine hurt. "A void? I’m not a void! I’m a high-functioning romantic! I have so many feelings I literally can’t breathe when you leave the room for more than five minutes!"
"The internet thinks we're cold, boys," Pond sighed, leaning back and looking at Perth. "They think we're heartbreakers. Me! I haven't broken a heart in my life. I’ve only ever had mine stepped on by Phuwin’s refusal to wear the couple-hoodie I bought him."
"We need to fix this," Perth said, his voice deep and gravelly, though he was currently busy cutting Santa’s pancake into perfect, bite-sized squares. "The reputation is getting in the way of our brand. We’re supposed to be the most devoted boyfriends on campus."
"I have an idea," Santa chirped, a mischievous glint in his eye. "If they think you're cold and emotionless, let's give them the opposite. Extreme public affection. No more 'cool' standing. No more 'stoic' walking. Just 100% unfiltered simp energy."
Est and Phuwin exchanged a glance. They knew this was a dangerous game, but the prospect of watching the three "intimidating" men crumble into piles of affectionate mush in public was too good to pass up
"Fine," Est agreed, a predatory smile playing on his lips. "Let’s fix the rumors."
The plan began on the campus shuttle. Usually, the trio stood like pillars of granite, arms crossed, looking like they were guarding the bus.
Today, as the shuttle filled with students, William didn't stand. He sat down and immediately pulled Est onto his lap.
"William!" Est hissed, though he didn't move. "There are empty seats."
"I am a heater, P'Est," William announced loudly, his voice carrying to the back of the bus. He wrapped his arms around Est’s waist, burying his face in Est’s shoulder and let out a long, dramatic sigh of contentment. "You are my favorite weight. I feel nothing but warmth and love. My 'void' is currently filled with your presence."
The students around them froze. One girl actually dropped her phone. William didn't care. He started humming a soft melody, rocking Est back and forth like a giant baby.
Across the aisle, Pond was holding Phuwin’s hand—but not just holding it. He was kissing every single knuckle, one by one, while staring into Phuwin’s eyes with an expression so intensely "devoted" it looked like he was witnessing a miracle.
"Phuwin," Pond whispered, loud enough for three rows of people to hear. "Your cuticles are exquisite. I am so lucky to be your servant."
Phuwin turned bright red. "Pond, you’re doing too much."
"I can't help it! I'm a warm, emotional man with a surplus of love!" Pond cried.
By noon, the group moved to the central lawn, the most populated spot on campus. This was where the "Simp Allegations" were officially confirmed.
Perth, the man rumored to be a "Silent Reaper," was currently sitting on a bench with Santa. But Perth wasn't just sitting. He had a small bottle of lotion and was meticulously moisturizing Santa’s hands as if they were made of ancient, fragile silk.
"Is the pressure okay?" Perth asked softly, his voice echoing in the quiet of the lawn. "I don't want your skin to feel neglected, Santa. I am here for you. Always."
Santa was suppressing a laugh so hard he was shaking. "It’s great, P'Perth. You're so... attentive."
A few yards away, William and Est were walking toward the library. Or rather, Est was walking, and William was attached to him like a backpack. William had his arms looped over Est’s shoulders from behind, his chin resting on Est’s head, shuffling his feet along with Est’s steps.
"Will, I can't walk like this," Est laughed.
"Then I'll carry you," William suggested, immediately dropping to one knee to offer a piggyback ride. "A heartbreaker would make you walk. A simp carries you to the third floor. Hop on, my king."
A group of students stopped to watch.
"Is... is William kneeling?" one asked.
"He's been like this all day," another whispered. "I saw him wiping a smudge off Est's shoe with his own sleeve earlier. It’s not 'cold.' It’s... it’s borderline obsessive."
The final act of the "reputation fix" occurred in the quiet study zone.
Usually, the trio looked like they were plotting a coup in the library. Today, they looked like they were auditioning for a Victorian romance novel.
William was sitting at a desk with Est, but instead of studying, he was literally "babying" him. He was holding a juice box for Est, holding the straw to Est’s lips every few minutes.
"Hydrate, my love," William whispered. "Knowledge requires fluids."
Pond was sitting behind Phuwin, braiding a small section of Phuwin’s hair while whispering "affirmations" into his ear. "You are smart. You are beautiful. You are the CEO of my heart."
Phuwin was trying to hide his face in his textbook, his ears crimson. "Pond, people are filming us."
"Let them!" Pond declared, standing up. He grabbed a nearby whiteboard marker and wrote in giant letters on a glass partition: POND NARAVIT IS DOWN CATASTROPHICALLY FOR PHUWIN.
Perth, not to be outdone, had draped his own jacket over Santa’s shoulders, then draped another sweater over that, and was currently fanning Santa with a notebook. "Are you too warm? Too cold? Tell me your needs, Santa. I am your vessel."
By the end of the day, the group met back at their cars. William, Pond, and Perth looked exhausted but proud.
"We did it," William said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Nobody thinks I'm a heartbreaker now. I was so affectionate I think I actually broke a rib hugging Est."
"Yeah," Pond agreed, checking his phone. "The rumors have definitely changed."
He turned the screen toward the group. The campus confession page had been updated.
> NEW POST: "Okay, update on the Big Six. They aren't heartbreakers. They are actually much scarier. They are Obsessive Simp-Bots. I saw William carrying Est’s backpack, his water bottle, and his umbrella while Est was just walking normally. I saw Perth moisturizing Santa’s elbows. This isn't 'stoic.' This is a level of devotion that defies the laws of physics. They aren't dangerous to the school... they're just dangerously in love. Honestly? It’s a lot to handle."
> COMMENT: "I saw Pond write a poem on a whiteboard. It didn't even rhyme. It just said 'Phuwin is the sun' twenty times. I’m scared for their boyfriends' sanity."
William’s face fell. "Obsessive? I'm not obsessive! I'm just... attentive!"
Est laughed, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around William’s neck. He pulled the younger boy down and kissed his forehead, right in front of a passing group of students.
"Don't worry, Will," Est whispered. "I like the 'obsessive' version of you. It’s much more entertaining than the 'scary' one."
Phuwin and Santa nodded in agreement, each leaning into their respective boyfriends.
"We like being the ones in charge," Santa teased, poking Perth’s chest. "It’s fun having the scariest guys on campus acting like our personal assistants."
Perth sighed, but his hand immediately went to Santa’s waist, pulling him close. "If the campus wants to call us simps, let them. As long as I'm your simp, I don't care."
Pond nodded solemnly. "To be a simp is a calling. A vocation. A lifestyle."
William looked at Est, his eyes shining with that familiar, intense "puppy" light. "Does this mean I can keep holding your juice box tomorrow?"
Est rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop the grin. "Only if it’s apple juice, Will. Only if it’s apple juice."
The "Big Six" drove off-campus, leaving behind a student body that was no longer afraid of their "dangerous" vibes—but was deeply, deeply confused by how three such intimidating men could be so utterly, hopelessly whipped.
The "Heartbreaker" rumors were dead. Long live the "Simp Allegations."
The "Simp Allegations" didn't just stick; they became the new campus law. By the time midterms were over, the student body had reached a collective understanding. The "Big Six" weren't a secret society or a campus mafia. They were simply three very intimidating men who had been utterly domesticated by three very sharp-witted boyfriends.
The fear hadn’t entirely vanished—it had just shifted. People no longer moved out of the way because they thought William would pick a fight; they moved because they didn't want to get caught in the middle of Pond and Phuwin’s tenth debate of the day about whether or not a hotdog was a sandwich.
The Saturday following the rumor-fixing campaign, the group had taken over the campus lawn for a "celebratory" picnic that had quickly devolved into a found-family disaster.
William was, predictably, glued to Est’s side. He was currently lying with his head in Est’s lap, looking up at him with such sheer adoration that Santa had dubbed it the "Will-Gaze."
"Est," William murmured, poking Est’s thigh. "Look at that bird. It looks lonely. Do you think we should adopt it? We could raise it to deliver your favorite snacks to class."
Est snorted, tapping William’s nose. "It’s a pigeon, Will. It would eat my snacks, not deliver them. Also, focus. We’re supposed to be planning the group trip."
Across the picnic blanket, the junior-sophomore power dynamic was on full display. Pond and Perth were currently locked in a heated, low-stakes argument over the "correct" way to fold a beach towel.
"It’s about aerodynamics, Perth!" Pond shouted, waving a striped towel in the air. "If you fold it like a burrito, it traps the sand. You have to do the flat-stack method!"
Perth, looking as rugged and stoic as ever, didn't raise his voice, but his intensity was palpable. "The burrito method is more compact for the trunk. You’re just bad at spatial reasoning, Pond. That’s why you can’t park your car without Phuwin’s help."
"I heard that!" Phuwin yelled from the cooler, where he and Santa were busy organizing the drinks. "And he’s right, Pond! You hit a trash can last Tuesday!"
"It was in my blind spot!" Pond wailed, looking at Phuwin for comfort.
Santa leaned over, patting Perth’s shoulder. "Let it go, Perth. We’re using my car anyway, and I’m the one packing it. You two sit down and eat your grapes before I make you both sit in the back seat."
The two "scary" juniors immediately shut up and sat down.
It was a loud, cozy, ridiculous mess. Passersby watched as the formidable William got scolded by Est for trying to share his sandwich with a squirrel, and as the "Silent Reaper" Perth was forced to wear a flower crown Santa had woven for him. They were popular, they were feared for their intensity, but mostly, they were just deeply, happily taken.
As the sun began to dip, casting a golden-orange glow over the lawn, the atmosphere between William and Est started to change. The playful "puppy energy" was still there, but it was being overtaken by something much more heavy and electric.
Every time Est’s fingers brushed against William’s neck, William’s breath hitched. Every time William leaned in to whisper a joke, his lips lingered just a second too long against Est’s ear. The teasing from the group started to fade into the background.
"Hey," Est whispered, his voice dropping into a register that made William’s stomach flip. "I think I’m done with the picnic."
William sat up instantly, his dark eyes searching Est’s. The hunger in Est’s gaze was unmistakable. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Est breathed. "Let's go back to the dorm."
They didn't even say a formal goodbye. William just grabbed their bags, gave a distracted wave to Pond—who was currently being lectured by Phuwin on the importance of sunscreen—and practically pulled Est toward the parking lot.
The door to the dorm had barely clicked shut before they were on each other.
The tension that had been building all day—through the "obsessive" public displays and the picnic touches—snapped. William pinned Est against the door, his hands framing Est’s face as he crashed their lips together. It wasn't the soft, sweet kiss of the campus lawn. It was desperate and hot.
"Couch," Est gasped against William’s mouth, his hands tugging at William’s shirt. "Can't wait... can't make it to the bed."
They tumbled onto the plush sofa in the center of the living room, a tangled mess of limbs and frantic breathing. William was hovering over Est, his hands wandering under Est's shirt, feeling the smooth skin he'd been craving all day.
Knowing their own habits, they had long ago stashed "essentials" in the crevices of the couch cushions. Est reached down, his fingers finding the familiar bottle of lube.
"Wait," Est said, his voice shaky but commanding. He pushed against William’s chest. "Stop. Don't touch me yet."
William froze, his pupils blown wide. "Est, please..."
"No," Est smiled, a wicked, beautiful look. "Stay right there. Watch me."
William sat back on his heels, his chest heaving. He was a "simp," a "puppy," and right now, he was a very needy one. He watched, whining low in his throat, as Est took the lube. Est’s eyes stayed locked on William’s as he began to prepare himself, his movements slow and deliberate.
"I want to help," William groaned, his hands clenching into the fabric of the couch. "P'Est, I want to touch you so bad."
"Not yet," Est whispered, his head tilting back, a small moan escaping his lips as he made sure he was ready for William.
The sight was driving William to the edge of his sanity. He was the "scary" freshman who could clear a room with a look, but here, he was at the mercy of the older boy he adored.
Finally, Est set the bottle aside. But before William could move, Est crawled forward, pulling William’s jeans down.
"Babe?"
Est didn't answer with words. He gave William the blowjob of his life, his focus entirely on making William lose control. William’s head fell back against the cushions, his hands finally finding Est’s hair, his hips bucking instinctively. Just as William reached his limit, his breath coming in jagged sobs, Est suddenly pulled away.
"P'Est! No!" William whined, his voice cracking. "Why would you do that?"
"Because I want you inside me first," Est said, turning around and getting onto his knees, leaning his chest against the back of the couch. He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes blown and dark. "Now, Will."
William didn't need to be told twice. He moved behind Est, his hands gripping Est’s hips, squeezing his butt with a possessive force that left marks. As he entered, they both let out a synchronized moan that echoed in the quiet room.
William began to move, his thrusts steady and deep. The "guard dog" energy from the party was back, but directed entirely into the way he held Est. Suddenly, William angled his hips and hit Est's prostate.
Est’s eyes rolled back, his body going limp against the couch-back as a high, broken sound escaped him. "Oh god, Will... right there..."
William growled, a low, primal sound, redoubling his efforts. He was consumed by the feeling of Est around him, the way they fit together so perfectly.
After a few minutes of frantic friction, William pulled Est back, flipping him over so Est was sitting on his lap, facing him. Est wrapped his legs around William’s waist, taking control of the rhythm. He rode William into oblivion, his hands braced on William’s shoulders, their chests heaving against one another.
"You're mine," William rasped, his hands sliding up Est’s back. "The whole school thinks I'm obsessed, They're right. I am."
"I know," Est gasped, his head dropping onto William’s shoulder.
For their final position, Est lay back on the length of the couch, his legs spread wide over the armrests. William moved between them, entering him one last time. He started thrusting hard, the leather of the couch squeaking beneath them.
William reached down, pressing his palm firmly against Est’s lower stomach. As he pushed in deep, he could feel the shape of himself through Est’s belly.
Est’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into William’s forearms. "Fuck, baby... I love how big you are... I can feel you..."
That was the breaking point. They kept going, the pace frantic and desperate, until Est cried out, his body shuddering as he came first. The sensation of Est tightening around him sent William over the edge. He followed shortly after, a loud groan escaping him as he spilled deep inside.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was their synchronized, heavy breathing. William collapsed onto Est’s chest, his face buried in his neck.
"I want to stay in you all night," William mumbled, his voice thick with sleepiness and satisfaction.
Est let out a weak, breathless laugh, his hand coming up to swat William’s shoulder weakly. "Absolutely not, William. You're heavy, and we're on the living room couch. Get off."
"No," William protested, nuzzling Est's skin.
"Will," Est scolded, though he was smiling. "The others might drop by for a 'post-picnic snack.' Move."
William eventually pulled out, a small whine escaping him as he watched his seeds spill out of Est. He reached for a discarded shirt to help clean them up, his "devoted boyfriend" instincts returning in full force.
By the time they finally made it to the actual bedroom, the moon was high over the campus. Tomorrow, they would go back to being the "Big Six"—the intimidating, rich, stoic men that the university whispered about. They would walk the halls with sharp jaws and cold eyes.
But as William pulled Est into his arms under the covers, he knew the truth. They weren't scary. They were just six boys who had found the only people in the world who could handle their brand of chaos.
And they were very, very taken.