Archive of Our Own

“I beg your pardon?”

Est stood at the edge of the pool, water still sliding down his arms, chlorinated air clinging to his skin. His goggles hung loose around his neck, fogged lenses tapping lightly against his chest as he turned to stare at Lego. The student manager looked… careful. That alone was enough to make Est uneasy.

Lego swallowed, fingers tightening around his clipboard like it might shield him. He had practiced this speech, clearly. “Before you react,” he said, attempting calm and failing just a little, “yes. Coach knows.”

Est’s brow twitched. “Then why,” he said slowly, voice deceptively even, “are you telling me like this is some kind of rumor?”

“Because,” Lego exhaled, shoulders slumping, “he’s currently in the dean’s office. Right now. That’s why.”

Est straightened, the muscles in his back pulling tight. “For what.”

“To negotiate,” Lego replied. He shifted his weight, sneakers squeaking faintly on the wet tiles. “Apparently, the soccer team’s coach was already called in. Coach thought it’d be best if they talked face to face.”

That did it.

The water dripping from Est’s hair suddenly felt cold.

He turned away without another word, grabbing his towel and slinging it over his shoulders as he headed for the locker area. The pool behind him echoed with the sounds of his teammates finishing laps, laughter bouncing harmlessly off the walls, blissfully unaware.

“Negotiate,” Est muttered under his breath as he yanked open his locker. “As if this is a business deal.”

He stripped out of his swim cap and shoved it inside, movements sharp, efficient. There was a pressure building behind his ribs now, familiar and unwelcome.

“Does that rascal know about this too?” he asked, not looking back, already tugging on a clean shirt.

Lego blinked. “Rascal?”

Est shot him a look through the mirror. “Don’t play dumb.”

“Oh,” Lego said. “Ah. Him.”

William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong. Soccer royalty. Campus darling. Captain with a crown permanently glued to his head.

“I actually don’t know,” Lego admitted. “Coach only told me five minutes ago. I was supposed to brief you first before—uh—anything exploded.”

Est scoffed, jamming his feet into his shoes. “That ship sailed the moment they thought this was a good idea.”

He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, already heading for the exit.

“Wait,” Lego called. “Where are you going?”

Est paused at the doorway, hand on the frame. His reflection stared back at him through the glass, eyes sharp, mouth set in a line that promised trouble.

“To the office,” he said.

Then he was gone, footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving behind the smell of chlorine, unanswered questions, and a student manager quietly wondering how bad this was about to get.

Because everyone knew one thing. Merging teams was inconvenient. Merging those two captains was a disaster waiting to happen.

EST slowed only when he reached the office door.

Voices bled through the thick wood, measured and careful, the kind people used when they believed reason could still save them. He pushed it open anyway.

Inside, the air felt heavier. Two coaches sat across from the headmaster, papers spread between them like shields. Coach Rachanon from the swimming team was seated, jaw tight, hands clasped together like he was holding himself back. Across from him stood Coach Somchai of the soccer team, arms crossed, posture rigid but controlled. The dean sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, looking tired in that way administrators perfected.

And standing in the middle of it all, perfectly at ease as if he owned the room, was William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong. Of course he was standing.  Tall. Broad-shouldered. Still in his training jacket, zipper half-down, hair slightly damp like he’d just come from practice himself. 

Est stopped just inside the doorway, unnoticed for a beat too long.

“Well, William,” the headmaster was saying, fingers steepled on the desk, voice calm in that practiced way administrators mastered over decades, “the entire resort has already been booked exclusively for your team. It’s large. Very large. I believe the swimming team can squeeze in without any issues.”

William turned toward the desk, shoulders stiff. “Sir, with all due respect, I’m offering a solution. I can fund their accommodation elsewhere. They’ll still get their team building. We won’t be forced into an arrangement that disrupts ours.” he said smoothly. Too smoothly. 

The words landed like a slap. Casual. Effortless. Throwing money at the problem like it was pocket change.

Est let out a short laugh. Sharp. Deliberate.

“Wow,” he said, stepping fully into the room now. “Thank you, Your Highness, for the concern and generosity.”

Every head turned. 

Their eyes met, and something old and familiar snapped into place between them. Recognition. Irritation. A rivalry sharpened by too many previous encounters and not enough patience. William stiffened first. Not visibly, not in a way anyone else would notice, but Est saw it. He always did. The slight tightening of his jaw. The way his eyes flicked over, already annoyed.

“I believe,” Est continued, voice bright with something dangerous underneath, “we don’t need those.”

The swimming coach’s shoulders sagged in quiet relief. Lego, who had trailed in behind Est, looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

“Captain Est,” the headmaster greeted, brows lifting. “Good timing.”

Est inclined his head politely. Respectful. Controlled. His pulse, however, was loud in his ears. “Sir. With all due respect, I’d like to understand why my team is being affected by a last minute decision made for another sport.”

The basketball coach wasn’t there. Funny how that worked.

The dean cleared his throat. “Est, I understand your frustration. Truly. But the basketball team submitted a petition directly to the board. It was approved. My hands are tied.”

“And so you tie ours instead,” Est replied, gaze unwavering. “We planned this months ago. We trained for it. Budgeted for it. And now we’re the ones adjusting because a more popular sport asked for more?.”

Coach Rachanon placed a calming hand on Est’s arm, but Est barely felt it.

“We’re not asking for special treatment,” Est continued. “We’re asking not to be punished for being small.”

“We’re simply reallocating resources,” the headmaster said. “The basketball team submitted a petition. Increased audience reach, higher projected returns—”

“And we lose our team building because of it,” Est cut in, still calm, still smiling. “We’re already the smallest team in the university. Five members. One scholar quota. Minimal funding. We adjusted every time before. Why are we adjusting again?”

William scoffed quietly. He didn’t even try to hide it.

Est’s eyes snapped to him. “Care to share something, Captain?”

William met his gaze without flinching. His expression was cool, superior in a way that always made Est’s fingers itch. “Just surprised,” he said. “Didn’t know squeezing meant demanding equal treatment.”

There it was.

Est smiled, all teeth and zero warmth. “Didn’t realize you were buying decisions now.”

“I’m trying to protect my team.” William didn’t take his eyes off Est.

Est stepped further into the room, dropping his bag by the wall. “By pushing mine aside?”

“You’re five people,” William shot back. “We’re fifteen.”

“And somehow that makes us disposable?” Est.

“This isn’t about disposability,” William said, irritation creeping into his voice now. “It’s about logistics.”

Est laughed again, softer this time. “Funny how logistics always land on the smallest team.”

Coach Rachanon stood abruptly. “Est—”

“William, not now.”Coach Somchai could only sigh.

The headmaster raised a hand. “Gentlemen. Please.”

Est took a slow breath. Don’t bite. Not yet. “We trained for months expecting this team building,” he said instead, turning back to the desk. “It’s not a vacation. It’s preparation. Mental conditioning. Bonding. You’re asking us to compromise our program because another team asked for more.”

William stepped forward. “And you expect us to compromise ours because your team couldn’t draw enough attention?”

The room went still.

Est smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. “Careful,” he said softly. “That sounded like you’re blaming us for something we don’t control.”

William’s lips curled. “I’m stating facts.”

“Enough,” the headmaster said sharply now. He looked between them, tired. Knowing. “This is precisely why I wanted both captains involved. You don’t have to like it. But merging the teams is the most efficient solution.”

William exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw. “Look. I get that you are trying to make it fair. But merging teams with completely different training cultures, schedules, and priorities is a disaster waiting to happen.”

Est crossed his arms. “We finally agree on something! Miracles do happen.”

William glared. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Coach Somchai shot William a warning look.

The dean leaned back in his chair. “We really can’t undo the board’s decision. The basketball team’s petition was approved, and the funding has already been reallocated. What I can do is ensure that the swimming team still has its own space.”

He turned to Est. “The soccer team has the largest venue, thanks to William’s family resort. Other teams are using event halls or smaller areas. This is the best solution we could come up with so your team still has access to proper facilities.”

Silence stretched.

Est folded his arms, considering. Anger buzzed under his skin, but his mind stayed clear.

“So our choices are,” he said slowly, “merge with soccer, or train at the university pool while everyone else builds team cohesion somewhere better.”

The dean didn’t deny it. William shifted, discomfort flickering across his face for just a second. Est noticed. He always did.

“And materials?” Est asked.

“Provided,” the dean said. “All necessities are covered.”

Est exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t expect my team to act like guests on a trip they didn’t ask to be invited to.”

William’s jaw clenched. “Trust me,” he said. “The feeling’s mutual.”

They stared at each other across the office, pride colliding, neither willing to step back. Outside, the campus went on as usual. Inside, something had already begun to fracture.

Est picked up his bag and turned toward the door.

Lego barely gave the door time to close before he followed Est into the hallway.

The administrative wing smelled faintly of old paper and air-conditioning that had given up years ago. Their footsteps echoed, Est’s faster, sharper. He didn’t look back. His jaw was set, eyes forward, shoulders tight in a way Lego recognized. This was the version of Est that meant business. Not loud. Not explosive. Just dangerously focused.

“Uhm,” Lego started, then matched Est’s pace. “Should I announce it in the group chat or would you rather hold a meeting?”

Est stopped walking.

The sudden halt almost made Lego crash into his back.

For a second, Est said nothing. He stared at the far wall, at a framed photo of the university’s first swim team from decades ago. Boys lined up stiffly by a pool that looked nothing like the one they trained in now. The photo had always annoyed him. Nostalgia without context. Pride without support.

“Call for a meeting,” Est said.

His voice was steady. Too steady.

Lego nodded immediately. “Got it.”

He was already unlocking his phone as Est resumed walking, slower now, the heat from earlier cooling into something heavier. Lego typed quickly, thumbs moving on muscle memory more than thought.

Swimming Team (Crownridge University)
swimming hall. Asap.

 4:30pm

Sent.

The three dots appeared almost instantly. One by one.

The reply bubbles bloomed almost immediately. Question marks. Confused stickers. One very dramatic “HUH???” from Tui that made Lego winces. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and trailed after Est, who had already slowed, anger cooling into something heavier. Something he could carry.

The swimming hall greeted them like it always did. Cool air. The clean sting of chlorine. The low, steady hum of the pool, patient and unmoved by administrative nonsense. Est stepped onto the deck and paused, eyes flicking across the water like he was checking in with an old friend before a difficult conversation.

People started arriving in ones and twos.

They crossed the quad in silence. The late afternoon sun hung low, washing the campus in gold, students lounging on benches, laughing, living lives blissfully detached from budget cuts and board petitions. Est barely noticed them. His mind was already ahead, running through what he would say. What he wouldn’t. 

Tui first, hair still damp, brows already pulled together like he sensed bad news in the walls. Then the others. Fourth. Sea Dechchart. A couple of freshmen recruits hovering near the lockers, whispering nervously.

“Why does this feel ominous?” Punch muttered under his breath.

Daou elbowed her lightly. “Because it is.”

“The fuck?” Punch and Daou lingered by the entrance, leaning against the wall like they were trying not to take up space. They weren’t part of the team. 

“Wait, why are you and Daou here? You aren’t part of the team.”  Tui noticed them first and lifted a brow to Est. “You called backup?”

Est didn’t look back. “Emotional support,” he said flatly.

Punch gave a small salute. “We’ll just stand here and judge silently.”

Est waited until the chatter thinned on its own. He didn’t rush them. Let the silence stretch until it settled, until everyone was looking at him without realizing when they started.

“We’re merging with the soccer team for team building.”

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water. For half a second, nobody reacted. 

Then the ripples came.

“You’re kidding.”

“No way.”

“With who?”

“Please tell me this is a joke.”

Tui stared at Est like he was waiting for the punchline. “Merging? Why?.”

“The basketball team petitioned the board,” Est continued. “Their budget increase was approved. Other teams had to adjust. That includes us.”

“So we’re the sacrifice,” someone muttered.

“No,” Est said, sharper now. “We’re the afterthought. There’s a difference.”

He shifted his weight, toes right at the edge of the pool. The water reflected light onto his face, moving slowly, steady as breath.

“This team building is mandatory,” he went on. “Attendance will be checked. Facilities and materials are covered and fix. We’re not guests. We’re not tagging along. We’re there because we belong there.”

Est exhaled, slow and deliberate. “Same venue. Same duration. Two weeks.”

That did it.

Two weeks.

Someone actually laughed. It came out sharp and disbelieving, like their body rejected the idea before their brain could catch up. Another person groaned and dropped onto the bench, hands sliding down their face.

“Two weeks with soccer?” Fourth said. “Like… all of them?”

For a moment, the panic threatened to swell, but it didn’t quite tip over.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t really that bad.

Some of the soccer players were familiar faces. Classmates. Blockmates. People they borrowed notes from or passed in the hallway with nods and half-smiles. A few of them had even watched swim meets before, cheering a little too loudly for people who barely knew the rules. On any normal day, sharing a space with soccer wouldn’t have been a problem at all.

Everyone in the room knew that. What made it dramatic wasn’t the team. It was the captains.

The idea of William and Est breathing the same air for two whole weeks, occupying the same venue, crossing paths more than once a day. That was where the collective unease settled. Not fear. More like morbid curiosity mixed with the certainty that something was bound to snap eventually.

People shifted, glances sliding unconsciously toward Est, then away again.

Civil, they could handle it. Polite nods. Shared schedules. Awkward small talk.

But Est and William?

That was a different equation entirely.

Est caught the shift in energy and let out a quiet huff, not quite a laugh. He could feel it too, the weight of that unspoken thought pressing in from all sides.

“Relax,” he said, voice even. “I don’t bite.”

A beat.

“Much.” because he indeed bit William before… to be fair, it was William's fault.

A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the group, tentative at first, then a little braver. Not because the situation had suddenly become funny, but because humor was the only way to loosen the knot sitting in everyone’s chest.

Sea leaned back against the lockers, arms crossed. “I mean… most of them are fine. I literally sit beside Nut in econ.”

“Hong helped me cram for calculus,” someone else added. “Dude barely talks, but he’s chill.”

Heads nodded. Agreement came easily there. Soccer, as a team, wasn’t the enemy. They were just athletes like them. Overworked. Under-rested. Dragged into decisions they didn’t make.

It always circled back to the same two names.

Punch glanced between Est and the floor, then said what everyone was thinking but didn’t quite want to voice. “It’s just… you and him in one place for that long. What a headline.”

Daou hummed in agreement. “Two weeks is a lot of mornings.”

“And evenings,” Tui added. “And shared schedules.”

“And shared breathing,” Fourth muttered.

Est shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. He could feel their concern, layered with curiosity, layered with something close to protectiveness. It warmed him more than he expected.

“We’re not going to implode,” Est said. “No matter how much the universe might want that.”

He glanced around the hall again. The familiar faces. The scuffed tiles. The pool that had seen him angry, exhausted, triumphant, and everything in between.

“This doesn’t have to be a disaster,” he continued. “Everyone else can stay civil. Professional. Normal.”

His gaze sharpened, just a little.

“I’ll handle the dramatic part.”

That did it. A few chuckles broke free. Someone muttered, “God help us,” under their breath.

Lego, standing quietly near the office door, watched the mood settle into something steadier. Not excitement. Not dread. Just readiness.

Est bent down, picking up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder again. Two weeks echoed in his mind, heavy but not unbearable.

Two weeks of shared space. Shared silence. Shared tension. He didn’t look forward to it, not even a tiny bit. No. Not really. But he wasn’t backing down either. 

THE resort was a sunlit paradise. Really, it could have fooled anyone into thinking this was supposed to be fun. A massive mermaid fountain dominated the front porch, water cascading in lazy arcs, sunlight catching it like tiny scattered jewels. The tiles around it gleamed, clean, impossibly white, and the surrounding gardens smelled faintly of tropical blooms and freshly cut grass.

The swimming team and a handful of soccer players were scattered around the porch, some sitting on the stone benches, some leaning against the low walls, others perched on the fountain’s edge like it might actually entertain them. They had been here for nearly an hour. An hour courtesy of the university’s bus, which had dropped them off promptly and left, leaving them in what felt like a tiny slice of paradise with no one to dictate how they survived the wait.

Est leaned against a carved column, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes scanning the horizon. He had dubbed the eventual arrival “Royal Highness” William in his head, complete with sarcasm he didn’t even bother to hide. Punch and Daou were with him, hovering near enough to step in if someone tried to snap him in half with conversation, or if he started mumbling something sharp at the air.

“Why are we the first ones here?” Est muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

“Courtesy of punctuality, apparently,” Tui replied from across the porch, tossing his backpack onto the ground. He gave Est a look that said, I feel your pain, captain.

“Punctuality? Or the universe trying to make me wait in the sun for the Royal King?” Est snapped,voiced dripping with violence, gesturing vaguely toward the road where the bus had vanished.

“Both?” Punch offered with a shrug, leaning casually against the fountain. “Honestly, though… it’s kind of peaceful out here.”

“Peaceful?” Est shot him a glare that could have carved marble. “You haven’t met him yet. You will see why nothing peaceful lasts more than five minutes when he’s around.”

Daou stifled a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s like a royal decree waiting to happen. You know it’s going to be dramatic.”

The team had settled into a sort of semi-organized chaos. Some were scrolling on their phones. Others were tossing a small frisbee back and forth. Lego, ever the dutiful student manager, was pacing near the fountain, checking his watch with one hand and tapping a clipboard with the other.

Meanwhile, the resort staff had been kind enough to bring them snacks and drinks, trays of finger sandwiches, fresh fruit, and iced teas. Est had grabbed a plate but paused, frowning.

“Uh… captain?” Tui asked, pointing. “Why do you have that weird dessert nobody else got?”

Est tilted the plate toward them—a small pastry with a glossy, caramel-colored glaze, sprinkled with tiny edible gold flakes.

“Why do I have that?” Est said slowly, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Maybe it’s the royal treatment. Maybe the universe just knows I’m the only one worth this level of perfection.”

“Uh…” Fourth leaned over, peering at the pastry. “Or maybe someone just messed up orders? I mean, it looks… fancy.”

“Fancy doesn’t even start to cover it,” Sea murmured. He looked like he wanted to reach for it but was too polite—or too smart—to risk it.

“Est, you’re not sharing that, are you?” Tui asked warily.

Est smirked, glancing at Punch and Daou for backup. “Oh, I could. But that would require generosity. And generosity is not part of my schedule today. Or tomorrow. Or the next—” He paused, thinking. “—two weeks.”

Punch nudged him gently. “Maybe save some of that energy for when Royal Highness arrives?”

Daou grinned. “Yeah. You might need it. Two weeks of ‘drama in person.’”

Est pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that was mostly unrepeatable. Then he glanced down at the dessert again. Gold flakes glittered in the sunlight, almost laughing at him.

“Fine,” he said finally, with a sigh that was half resignation, half disbelief. “But I get first bite. Always.”

The team laughed quietly, the tension loosening just a fraction. For a moment, the fountain’s steady trickle, the hum of the tropical air, and the gentle chatter around him made everything feel… almost normal.

Almost. Because they all knew that the calm would end the moment William’s car pulled up. And no amount of fancy desserts or serene fountains could prepare them for that.

The sound of engines broke the hum of the fountain.

A long, sleek university van rolled up the curved driveway, dust kicking up in small clouds behind it. The team perked up immediately, eyes swiveling toward the entrance. Lego muttered something about timing, Tui shifted on his feet, and Est, standing slightly apart from the group, let out a slow, deliberate exhale that felt like it could cut glass.

“Royal Highness,” Est muttered, voice low, eyes narrowing. Punch and Daou exchanged a glance as if to say, Yep. Brace yourself.

The van doors opened.

William stepped out first, crisp in his polo and khaki shorts, sunglasses low on his nose. His posture screamed effortless control, the kind that made people notice without even trying. Behind him, Nut, Hong, and a few other soccer players followed, laughing easily, tossing bags over their shoulders, clearly unbothered by the tropical heat.

Est’s arms crossed, jaw tight. Two weeks of this. Two weeks of him, and there, in the middle of it, was William—smug, untouchable, perfectly composed.

William spotted Est instantly. The recognition flashed across his face, subtle but sharp, like he’d just seen an old, unwelcome problem.

Est didn’t flinch. Not a step. He raised an eyebrow instead.

“You look… cheerful,” William said, voice smooth, carrying that infuriating confidence.

“Don’t start counting your victories yet,” Est replied evenly, though the words carried a weight that made the air between them pulse. “You’ve barely arrived.”

A few of the swimmers exchanged nervous glances. A laugh escaped Tui’s throat, barely contained. Lego’s clipboard was suddenly more interesting than the conversation. Punch muttered, “Yep. Drama is imminent.”

Keen stepped forward, grinning at William. “Nice timing, man. Took you long enough.”

“Traffic,” William said breezily. His gaze flicked once over the swimming team, lingering just long enough on Est to make everyone else stiffen. Then, smoothly, he turned to survey the porch. “And I see we’ve been keeping ourselves busy.”

Est’s eyes followed him, sharp, deliberate. “Apparently. Mostly trying to survive the boredom while waiting for you.”

“Survive me?” William raised an eyebrow. “I think you exaggerate.”

“That’s what you think,” Est muttered, voice low, not for anyone else but him.

Hong chuckled quietly behind William. Nut elbowed him subtly. “Don’t feed the fire,” he said under his breath.

The fountain splashed lazily between them, the water sparkling in the afternoon sun. The pool of light and sound somehow highlighted the distance—and the tension. Everyone else moved around it carefully, a few trying to strike casual conversation with the soccer players, others staying closer to Est. Punch hovered like a shield, Daou like a scout.

“Wow,” Sea said softly to Tui, voice just loud enough for them to hear. “Just… wow. They’re… really not hiding it.”

Tui snorted. “Hiding what?”

“Hatred,” Sea whispered, eyes darting back and forth. His voice lowered down to whisper “Or… you know, sexual tension. Or… both.”

Est tilted his head, watching William as he approached. Every movement was deliberate. Every step is carefully measured to draw attention without effort.

William finally stopped a few feet from Est, arms crossed, grin teasing. “So,” he said. “You’re officially stuck with me for two weeks.”

Est didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. “I’ve survived worse,” he said slowly. “But not you. Not yet.”

A faint ripple of tension, like a current moving through the water of the fountain, threaded the air. The rest of the teams leaned just slightly, not wanting to intrude, not wanting to miss a single syllable. Just here for the plot to unfold.

William’s grin didn’t falter. “Challenge accepted,” he said. “Though I have to warn you… I play dirty.”

Est’s lips twitched in the faintest of smirks, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I was born ready.”

For a moment, silence settled. Then Lego cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Uh… welcome, everyone. Rooms are assigned. We’ll be moving inside shortly.”

The spell broke. People started shifting again, moving toward the resort entrance, grabbing their bags, murmuring among themselves. The fountain gurgled innocently, oblivious to the storm brewing at its edge.

Est lingered a second longer, eyes fixed on William as he walked past. Punch nudged him gently. “You okay?”

Est exhaled. Warmth, frustration, and that familiar thrill tangled together. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Just… counting the minutes until I get my first victory.”

Daou smirked. “You’ll need more than minutes. This is going to be two weeks of hell.”

Est let a corner of his mouth lift. “Then let’s make sure it’s entertaining.”

And with that, they followed the others inside, the fountain glimmering behind them, oblivious, as if it hadn’t just witnessed the opening act of a war neither of them planned to surrender.

Everyone was gathered in the central hall, a high-ceilinged space that smelled faintly of polished wood and sea breeze. Sunlight spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bouncing off the tiled floor and highlighting the golden threads in the curtains. The room was large enough to hold both teams without feeling cramped, yet intimate enough that the tension in the air could be measured almost physically.

Lego stepped forward, hands clasped in front of him, clipboard tucked under his arm. “So, as you have been notified,” he began, voice steady but warm, “coaches will only be coming here from time to time to check on their respective groups. Room assignments will be announced by the captains later.”

He paused, glancing toward both William and Est, whose stares had already begun a subtle war of wills across the room. Lego swallowed, continuing carefully. “The east wing will belong to the soccer team, while the west wing will be for the swimming team. As for team-building areas, as both coaches had planned, the pool and the event hall near it will be for the swimming team. The beach area along the event halls nearby will be for the soccer team.”

He let it sink in, then added, “Areas are intentionally assigned to accommodate the teams’ populations. These areas are exclusive for teams from 6 a.m. to 5 p.m. The rest of the evening is for personal use and leisure. Medics are also on standby in case anyone needs them during our stay.”

A faint murmur ran through the room. Some students nodded, taking it in. Others whispered to one another, curious about the logistics.

Est, arms crossed, tilted his head slightly toward William, who stood smugly with one hand on his hip, scanning the room as if sizing up the “competition.”

“So,” Est muttered just loud enough for William to hear, “I guess your ‘exclusive’ kingdom isn’t as big as your ego.”

William’s lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “Careful, captain. My ego has a better safety record than your swimming schedule.”

The room stiffened slightly. Lego exhaled audibly, shifting his weight. He glanced at both captains. “Okay, okay, let’s not escalate before breakfast, lunch, and dinner even start,” he said quickly, raising his hands in a neutralizing gesture. “This afternoon is free time. Help yourselves to familiarize yourselves with the resort. Foods are available upon request, except during midnight. You can explore, enjoy, and relax. Let’s keep the first impression friendly.”

Tui, leaning casually against a column, muttered under his breath to Fourth, “Friendly. Ha.”

Fourth snorted. “Yeah, friendly until someone steps on the fountain.”

Sea, tilting his head toward the back, whispered, “I’d pay to see William get soaked first.”

Punch, ever the voice of reason—or comic relief—nudged Est lightly. “Or the other way around. You know, dramatic justice?”

Daou laughed, low and conspiratorial. “Either way, we’ll need popcorn.”

Est shot a glance at them, half amused, half exasperated. “Popcorn or not, I am not letting him think he runs the show. Two weeks. He will learn.”

William, catching that, grinned. “Oh? I thought I already did.”

“Not yet,” Est said flatly, voice like a steel trap. “And don’t push it.”

Nut, hovering near William, gave him a small, warning elbow. Hong, standing by silently, shrugged with a subtle, “Enjoy yourself” expression.

Lego clapped his hands lightly to regain attention. “All right, everyone, let’s give the resort some breathing room. Check your rooms, grab a drink, get a feel for your areas. And, um…” He glanced meaningfully at the two captains. “Try not to start a war before dinner.”

A few soft chuckles floated around. The teams moved, murmuring among themselves, some more cautiously than others.

Tui elbowed Est lightly. “This is going to be fun,” he whispered.

Est didn’t respond immediately. He let his gaze linger on William, then finally muttered, “Fun is not the word I’d use.”

Punch leaned closer. “It’ll be memorable, though. Promise.”

Daou smirked. “Better than boring, at least.”

And somewhere behind them, the fountain gurgled, oblivious, as if it knew it was about to witness two captains and their teams clash in ways that no university briefing could ever anticipate.

The teams fanned out, wandering, stretching, and inspecting the grounds. The swimming team mostly stuck together, though Tui, Fourth, and Sea occasionally drifted toward the fountain to watch the sparkling water, pretending to admire it while stealing glances at the east wing, where the soccer team had already claimed a corner of the resort.

Est followed a little behind, Punch on one side, Daou on the other. Both were his shadow, hovering with protective insistence, though neither was quite sure what they were protecting him from, except the obvious, glaring figure that had just arrived.

William had strolled in with Nut and Hong, taking his time, laughing lightly, arms spread wide as if he owned the place already. Every glance he gave in Est’s direction carried that infuriating ease, the kind that made even the most confident swimmers shift slightly in their seats.

Est grumbled under his breath. “Two weeks of that… just wonderful.”

Punch leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You survived the briefing. You can survive outside.”

“Briefing was only verbal warfare,” Est muttered. “This… this is full-contact diplomacy.”

Daou chuckled. “At least you’ve got backup.”

Est shot him a glare that could have burned paint. “I do not need backup. You two are here for moral support and, officially, for the coach’s sanity. Not mine.”

“You say that now,” Punch said, smirking, “but when Royal Highness starts walking around like the resort is a chessboard… you’ll be happy we’re here.”

And he would. Est knew it.

Across the courtyard, William was already being fussed over by his own entourage. Nut had a clipboard, checking logistics. Hong was leaning lazily against a railing, smiling faintly as if enjoying every second of the swimmers’ visible discomfort.

Est shifted his bag, the strap digging slightly into his shoulder. He took a step forward, deliberately approaching the fountain where the swimming team had congregated. The others were murmuring quietly, trying to figure out how to stay casual while William and his group roamed within eyesight.

“Are we seriously supposed to… coexist with them?” Sea whispered, frowning. “Two weeks, in the same resort. In the same air.”

“We’ll be fine,” Est said, though his tone was sharper than intended. “Ignore them. Stick to your areas. Swim. Train. Survive.”

Fourth, fiddling with a loose tile by the fountain, muttered, “Survive is the key word here.”

Punch nudged Est gently. “Or entertain yourself. That’s also valid.”

“Entertainment is secondary to survival,” Est corrected, watching William now, who had noticed him and tilted his head slightly, just enough to make a spark flare between them.

Daou nudged Est’s arm, whispering, “Don’t let him see you flinch.”

“I don’t flinch,” Est said, voice low, but his hands curled into fists just a little.

Meanwhile, a small tray had appeared near the fountain, courtesy of the resort staff. Fresh fruit, iced tea, and the same dessert from earlier—the one with the glossy caramel and gold flakes.

“Uh… captain?” Tui said, pointing. “You still have that… dessert.”

Est lifted it slightly. “Yes. And it’s staying with me. Priority number one.”

Daou snorted. “You’re going to have to fight for it soon if he notices.”

“Who?” Est asked, not looking up.

“Royal Highness,” Daou said quietly, eyes flicking toward William.

Est’s jaw tightened. “Then we fight.”

Punch clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. But… maybe save some for strategy.”

The swimming team murmured, some laughing quietly at the absurdity of the situation. The rest of the afternoon passed in a strange mixture of nervous energy, cautious exploration, and small bursts of humor. Some swimmers wandered the gardens, others tested the pool. Punch and Daou hovered near Est, quietly redirecting him from staring daggers at every move William made, offering commentary that sometimes made him snort despite himself.

Est, glancing across the fountain at William now laughing with Nut and Hong, allowed himself a small, private smile. Two weeks. It was going to be a long two weeks. But he would make it through. And he would make sure William learned, one way or another, that he didn’t run the show here.

The fountain gurgled between them, the water sparkling like it knew exactly what kind of storm had just begun.

Next day. 

The pool hall smelled like chlorine. Not the sharp kind that burned the nose, but the familiar one. The kind that wrapped around the swimming team like a fluffy blanket they didn’t realize they’d missed until it was back around their shoulders. It was cool inside, echoes bouncing softly off tiled walls, water shimmering under the lights like it was waiting to be disturbed.

Excitement buzzed low and constant.

Not loud yet. Just that jittery energy that came before something fun or chaotic. Or both.

The team gathered at the center of the pool deck, shoes kicked off, bags tossed aside without care. Some were stretching. Some were already arguing about rules they hadn’t even heard yet. A few freshmen hovered close together, trying to look brave while clearly hoping nobody called them out first.

Est stood near the pool, hands on his hips, scanning the group like a general pretending he wasn’t smiling.

“Okay,” he said, voice cutting through the noise easily. “Before anyone does something stupid.”

A pause.

“That includes you,” he added, pointing vaguely at Fourth, who had already crouched suspiciously close to the water.

Fourth raised both hands. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Exactly,” Est replied. “That’s how it starts.”

A few laughs broke out. The tension eased. Just a little.

“This isn’t training,” Est continued. “No lap times. No drills. No drowning allowed unless it’s accidental and mildly entertaining.”

“Hey,” Tui protested. “Define accidental.”

Est ignored him. “This is team-building. Which means we’re doing games. Activities. Things that are meant to make us closer.”

Sea groaned. “I already know you. Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Est shot back. “I need you to trust each other. Preferably without threatening bodily harm.”

Punch, lounging against the wall with Daou beside him, stage-whispered, “He means emotional vulnerability.”

Daou nodded solemnly. “The scariest sport of all.”

Tui pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you two here again?”

“For morale,” Punch said proudly. “And legal reasons.”

“For your coach’s sanity,” Daou added. “We’re listed as part-time assistants. Very official.”

Tui muttered, “Emotional support my ass.”

The first activity started out messy. Predictably.

They were split into small groups, tasked with ridiculous challenges involving pool floats, blindfolds, and an alarming amount of trust. Someone immediately misunderstood the instructions. Someone else slipped. Someone else laughed so hard they had to sit down.

Chaos bloomed.

“Why are you running?” Sea shouted as Fourth sprinted across the wet tiles.

“I panicked!”

“You’re blindfolded!”

“That’s why!”

Punch’s commentary echoed from the sidelines, waving pompoms. “No, no, trust the process! Or don’t! Chaos is also growth!” 

Daou cupped his hands around his mouth. “Remember! Friendship is built through suffering!”

“SHUT UP,” three swimmers yelled in unison.

Est watched it all from the side, arms crossed, lips twitching. This. This was his team. Loud, messy, ridiculous. Alive. They argued. They stumbled. They figured it out together anyway.

Someone fell into the pool fully clothed. There was cheering. Someone else tried to help and almost followed. Towels were thrown. Accusations flew next.

“YOU PUSHED ME.”

“I GUIDED YOU.”

“That was a SHOVE.”

Lego appeared midway through the chaos, slipping inside quietly like a very prepared ghost. He carried extra towels, water bottles, and a small basket of necessities balanced expertly in his arms. He paused, surveyed the scene, and sighed.

“…I see things are going well.”

Est glanced over, then walked toward him, stepping around a pile of tangled limbs and laughter. “Thanks, Lego.”

Lego smiled, adjusting his grip. “Always at your service, cap.”

Then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “By the way, the staff gave this to me. Said someone from the soccer team asked them to pass it to you.”

He handed Est a small cooling pack and a mini fan, still neatly wrapped.

Est blinked.

“Oh.”

That was it. Just that. Soft. Unassuming. Confused.

He turned the items over in his hands, the fan catching the light. Practical. Thoughtful. Unnecessary.

Between the swimming hall and the soccer side stood a line of tall, decorative plants. Thick leaves. Intentional placement. Just enough to create distance without fully cutting sightlines. Just enough privacy for both teams to pretend they weren’t aware of each other.

Est took a step closer to the greenery, peering through the leaves.

Voices drifted faintly from the other side. Laughter. A whistle. Someone complaining about sand.

Then he saw Nut.

Nut, standing near the edge of the soccer area, already looking at him. When their eyes met, Nut’s grin widened impossibly, eyebrows waggling like he’d just pulled off a successful prank. He lifted his chin and nodded once.

Est huffed a quiet laugh.

“Oh,” he said, stepping back. “Must’ve been from Nut.”

Tui, dripping wet and holding a pool noodle like a weapon, squinted at him. “Nut?”

“Yeah,” Est shrugged. “Remind me to thank him later.”

Despite Nut being William’s best friend, Est had never had an issue with him. They shared electives. Ran into each other at bars. Exchanged notes once when both forgot a deadline. Normal things. Human things.

They’d talked about stupid stuff. About stress. About expectations. About things that didn’t make it into casual conversation.

Secrets too. Were they about world peace? Or William’s downfall? Only the heavens knew. And they were staying quiet.

“Oho,” Sea Dechchart said suddenly, narrowing his eyes. “I see some sparks here, huh.”

The room seemed to freeze for half a second.

Everyone turned.

“What’s the meaning of this, cap?” Fourth demanded dramatically.

“Cap,” Sea added, dripping sarcasm. “Why are you invading the enemy’s lair like that?”

Est stared at them. Slowly. Deliberately.

“I was thanking a friend,” he said flatly. “Not defecting.”

Punch clapped. “Diplomacy! Aha ha ha.”

Daou nodded. “International relations are important.”

The swimmers burst into overlapping commentary, half-teasing, half-suspicious, energy bouncing off the walls again.

Est shook his head, slipping the cooling pack into his hand.

Lunch break.

The swimmers burst into overlapping commentary, half-teasing, half-suspicious, the kind of noise that bounced off tiled walls and refused to settle. It lingered even as they filed out of the pool hall, dripping, laughing, arguing about who cheated and who absolutely did not. By the time lunch was announced, that restless energy had shifted shape. Sharper now. Hungrier. Less forgiving.

The dining hall sat at the heart of the resort, wide and open, all wood and glass and ocean air. Ceiling fans spun lazily overhead, stirring the smell of food into something almost cruel. Rice steamed in covered trays. Platters of grilled fish and chicken glistened under warm lights. Somewhere near the back, something sweet and buttery perfumed the air just enough to make stomachs growl audibly.

Everyone had submitted their request lists early that morning. A strategic move. Less about organization and more about survival. Lego had stressed it twice, clipboard hugged to his chest, eyes haunted by the mental image of athletes descending on an unprepared kitchen. So when lunch was finally served, it came out smooth. No shouting. No riots. Just a steady stream of very hungry people clutching trays like lifelines.

Both teams filtered in together.

Swimmers. Soccer players. Blue shirts mixing with white, familiar faces blurring into new combinations. There was no announcement about seating. No invisible line down the middle of the room. People simply drifted where they felt comfortable. Or curious.

Est entered last.

Of course he did.

He had stayed behind, making sure everyone on his side had towels, had water, and had stopped roughhousing long enough to at least pretend they were fine. Only when he was satisfied did he grab his own tray and head inside.

He stopped just past the doorway.

The dining hall buzzed. Laughter rose and fell in waves. Chairs scraped. Someone clapped when an extra plate arrived. It was loud in that warm, communal way that made places feel alive.

And right there, in the middle of it all, was betrayal.

Not dramatic betrayal. Worse. Casual.

Est’s eyes scanned the room once. Then twice. Slower the second time, like he was hoping his brain had misfired the first. His team was everywhere. Not clustered together. Not even loosely grouped. 

Integrated. Oh no.

Tui sat at a long table near the windows, leaning forward, elbows on the table, laughing openly at something Nut was saying. Nut, William’s right-hand man, animated as ever, clearly enjoying the audience. Sea Dechchart sat two seats down, listening to Hong with surprising focus, nodding like they were deep into a conversation that mattered. Fourth had wedged himself between two soccer players he barely knew and was already stealing fries off someone else’s plate without shame.

And Punch. And Daou. Right there. Comfortably seated in William’s circle.

Punch had one leg hooked around the bench, posture relaxed, laughing mid-chew. Daou was nodding thoughtfully, gesturing with his fork like he was contributing something profound to the discussion. They looked like they belonged.

Est just stood there, tray heavy in his hands, disbelief creeping up his spine.

“…Really?” he muttered.

It came out quiet. Flat. Dangerous.

Punch looked up first, because of course she did. She spotted Est instantly and broke into a grin like this was all part of the plan. “oh hey, cap.”

Daou followed, waving cheerfully. “You’re late. Food’s good.

Est took a step forward, eyes never leaving them. “Why,” he asked slowly, each word weighed and measured, “are you sitting with them.”

Nut glanced between Punch and Daou, then at Est, grin widening. “We’re vibing.”

“We are not vibing,” Est snapped.

Hong lifted his glass calmly. “It just happened.”

“Like nature,” Fourth added, mouth full. “Beautiful. Unstoppable.”

Est stared at him. “You are dead later.”

Punch scooted sideways, patting the empty space beside him with exaggerated friendliness. “Come on. Sit. You’re blocking the airflow.”

“This,” Est said, gesturing vaguely at the entire table, “looks suspiciously like fraternizing.”

Daou tilted his head, thoughtful. “Fraternizing implies intent. This is more… social curiosity. Chill, man.”

Nut laughed. “We bonded over shared suffering.”

“Over food,” Hong corrected mildly.

“And trauma,” Fourth added again, because he had apparently chosen chaos as his personality for the day.

Est pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaled slowly, then exhaled like he was trying not to commit a crime. “I leave you alone for one hour.”

Punch shrugged. “One hour is a long time.”

Daou nodded solemnly. “Relationships form. Trust is built.” 

“Betrayal,” Est said flatly.

From the far end of the table, William finally looked up.

He had been mid-conversation, posture loose, elbow resting comfortably on the table. When his eyes met Est’s, something flickered. Recognition. Amusement. A quiet, infuriating calm.

He took the scene in at a glance. Est standing there. His friends embedded in William’s space like they’d always belonged. The way the swimmers didn’t look uncomfortable. The way no one was flinching.

A slow smile tugged at William’s mouth.

“Problem?” he asked.

Est’s gaze snapped to him. “I turn my back for five minutes.”

“And the borders dissolve,” William said lightly. “Tragic.”

“They’re undercover,” Punch said quickly, pointing his fork at Est. “Gathering intel.”

“For the greater good,” Daou added.

William raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Est said. “And I suggest you don’t get used to it.”

William leaned back in his chair, arms crossing loosely, completely at ease. “Relax. It’s lunch.”

“No wars between meals,” Nut added helpfully.

“That’s historically inaccurate,” Est shot back.

Despite himself, Est finally set his tray down and sat, stiff-backed and clearly unhappy about the proximity. The bench creaked under the shift. He stabbed at his food with more force than necessary, eyes flicking around the table.

His team looked… fine. Too fine. Wtf.

Laughing. Talking. Trading stories with people they’d only nodded at in hallways before. No tension. No awkwardness. Just athletes being athletes. Hungry. Loud. Humans.

It unsettled him.

William caught his eye again. This time there was no challenge in it. No sharp edge. Just observation. Curiosity. Like he was filing something away for later.

Est looked away first.

“Next meal,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “I’m assigning seats.”

Punch snorted. “Dictator behavior.”

Daou smiled. “Strong leadership.”

Laughter rippled across the table again, blending with the hum of the dining hall. Chairs scraped. Cutlery clinked. Someone down the row nearly spilled their drink from laughing too hard. Outside, the ocean breeze slipped through the open windows, carrying salt and warmth and that strange, quiet feeling that something fundamental had shifted. Not broken. Shifted. Like a floorboard creaking under new weight.

Until.

“Hey, Est.”

The voice was unfamiliar. Clear. Slightly hesitant, but not enough to be shy.

Est looked up.

The guy standing beside the table wore the soccer team colors, hair still damp from an earlier rinse, posture relaxed in a way that suggested confidence rather than arrogance. He held a plate carefully, like it mattered. Like this moment mattered.

“I’m Gemini,” he said, offering a small smile. “From the soccer team.”

A few heads turned. Then more. Conversations at nearby tables softened, volume dipping instinctively.

“I requested this,” Gemini continued, lifting the plate just slightly. Scallops. Perfectly seared. Still steaming. “They said you liked seafood. Thought you might want something better than cafeteria chicken.”

The dining hall didn’t go silent.

It froze.

Forks paused mid-air. Punch stopped chewing. Daou’s eyebrows climbed so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. Fourth, seated a few spaces away, went very, very still, eyes fixed on the scallops like they’d personally offended him.

Someone coughed. Loudly. On purpose.

“Well,” Punch said into the void, voice far too amused for the situation, “that’s very bold.”

Est blinked.

Once.

Then he stood, just enough to acknowledge Gemini without towering over him. “Hey,” he said, polite by reflex, confusion edging in. “You… didn’t have to.”

Gemini rubbed the back of his neck. “I know. I just—uh.” He smiled again, softer now. “I’ve admired you for a while. The way you lead. The way you swim. And I was hoping—”

The sentence never finished. A chair scraped loudly from the far end of the table. The sound cut clean through the air. “I also wished him death,” William’s voice said calmly, “but not on my resort.”

Every head snapped toward him.

William hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t need to. It carried anyway, smooth and deep and edged with something dangerous underneath. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, eyes locked not on Gemini yet but on Est.

Then he turned.

“And he’s allergic to whatever you’re holding right now,” William added, gaze settling on the scallops. “I suggest you place it in front of me instead. I’d gladly eat it.”

The room felt tighter.

Est whipped his head toward William. “I am not allergic.”

“You are,” William said without missing a beat.

“To scallops?”

“To attention,” William replied smoothly. “But seafood too, if I remember correctly.”

“You do not,” Est shot back. “And stop pretending you know my medical history.”

Gemini stood there, caught between them, plate hovering awkwardly like it might explode. “Uh… I can just—”

“No,” Est said quickly, turning back to him. “It’s fine. He’s lying.”

William smiled thinly. “You fainted at that gala.”

“That was champagne,” Est snapped. “And you pushed me.”

“You tripped,” William corrected. “Dramatically.”

Punch leaned toward Daou, whispering loudly, “Is this foreplay or homicide?”

Daou squinted. “Unclear. I’m scared either way.”

Around them, tension coiled. Not loud. Not explosive. Just tight. Like everyone could feel the invisible line stretching thinner with every word.

Fourth finally moved, shifting in his seat, eyes darting between Gemini and Est. “Uh,” he muttered, “maybe we should all just… eat?”

Sea shot him a look. “Read the room.”

Gemini swallowed, then laughed softly, clearly trying to defuse the moment. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

William’s gaze flicked back to him, sharp now. Assessing. “You didn’t. You just picked bad timing.”

“And worse manners,” Est added, shooting William a glare. “I can accept my own food.”

William leaned closer. “You don’t have to.”

“Oh my god,” Punch muttered. “They’re doing it again.”

Nut, seated a little further down, watched the exchange with a look that was far too knowing. Hong, beside him, kept his expression neutral, fingers tapping once against Nut’s knee under the table. A quiet signal. Not now.

Sea noticed. Filed it away.

Gemini finally placed the plate down gently in front of Est anyway. “If you don’t want it, that’s okay. I just thought—”

Est hesitated. The scallops smelled incredible.

William noticed the hesitation immediately. “Don’t.”

“I will,” Est said stubbornly.

“You’re doing this out of spite.”

“You started it.”

William’s jaw tightened. “On my resort.”

“There it is,” Daou whispered. “The possessive language.”

Punch nodded. “Drink every time he says ‘my.’”

The air buzzed. Not angry. Charged. Curious. A dozen different thoughts collided in the space between the two captains, and everyone could feel it building. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just rivalry anymore. It was something sharper. More personal. Less controlled.

Gemini slowly backed away, murmuring a quick, “Enjoy,” before disappearing toward another table. Fourth watched him go, expression unreadable, fingers clenched loosely in his lap.

Sea leaned toward fourth, voice low. “Are you okay?”

Fourth shrugged, eyes still on the table. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Est finally sat back down, pushing the plate slightly away, appetite gone. William leaned back too, satisfied, like he’d won something invisible.

Around them, conversation cautiously resumed. Louder this time. Forced laughter. Nervous jokes. But the damage was done. The line had been crossed. And everyone felt it.

Lunch continued.

No one relaxed.

And that, more than anything, made his stomach twist. Because wars were easier to manage than this. And lunch wasn’t even over yet. God forbid.

Around them, conversation cautiously resumed, but it no longer felt natural. It felt rehearsed, like everyone had collectively decided to press play again and hope the awkwardness would eventually tire itself out. Laughter rose in uneven bursts. Someone joked too loudly about dessert. Another nearly knocked over a glass just to have something to react to. Plates scraped. 

Chairs shifted. The ocean breeze drifting in through the windows should have been calming, but instead it carried the weight of unfinished tension, salt and heat and something sharp beneath it.

The damage wasn’t loud. It didn’t announce itself. It simply settled in, thick and uncomfortable, clinging to the air between tables. Every few seconds, someone’s eyes flicked toward the captains, checking. Measuring. Waiting to see if it would erupt again.

Est pushed his plate forward, appetite completely gone. The scallops stared back at him, glossy and innocent, like they hadn’t just ruined his mood. “Fuck that bastard,” he whispered, voice tight, barely moving his lips.

Punch leaned in immediately, elbow on the table, grin already forming. “Which one?” she asked, far too entertained for the situation.

Est didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the plate as if sheer willpower might make it disappear. “Don’t play dumb.”

Daou, seated across from them, tilted his head thoughtfully. “Technically,” he said, lowering his voice like a courtroom lawyer, “he did save you from a potential allergic reaction.”

Est snapped his head up. “I am not allergic.”

Punch nodded solemnly, as if delivering a diagnosis. “You are. Just not to scallops.”

Est narrowed his eyes. “Finish that sentence carefully.”

“To rich men with control issues,” Punch said easily, shoveling rice into his mouth. “And unresolved sexual tension.”

Est kicked her under the table. Hard.

Across the hall, William sat rigid in his chair, posture immaculate, expression unreadable. To anyone watching casually, he looked composed. Unbothered. The perfect captain even while eating. But Nut noticed the details. The way William hadn’t touched his food. The way his fingers tapped once against the table before going still. The way his jaw clenched when laughter from the swim team side carried just a little too far.

William’s gaze lifted.

It found Est instantly.

The connection snapped into place like a live wire. Not accidental. Not soft. It was sharp and deliberate, eyes locking with the kind of intensity that made people nearby suddenly feel like they were intruding on something private. Est lifted his chin, refusing to look away. William’s lips curved faintly, not a smile, more like a promise or a threat. It was impossible to tell which.

Punch nearly choked on his drink. “I swear,” he muttered, coughing, “if they start making eye contact any harder, I’m leaving.”

Daou squinted. “This is either going to end in bloodshed or in a supply closet.”

Lunch ended messily, relief arriving in the form of motion. Chairs scraped back with more enthusiasm than necessary. Players scattered, grateful for the excuse to leave the charged air behind. Conversations picked up again once distance was created, but no one forgot what had just happened. It followed them out like a shadow.

The afternoon activities continued regardless.

For the swim team, salvation came quickly. The pool hall welcomed them back with open arms, the familiar scent of chlorine wrapping around them like muscle memory. The sound echoed just right. Voices bounced off tiled walls. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone slipped and cursed. It was chaos, but it was their chaos.

Punch and Daou immediately went to work, flanking Est like highly unserious bodyguards.

“Deep breaths,” Punch said, clapping him on the back. “In through the nose. Out through the desire to strangle a soccer captain.”

Daou nodded sagely. “Violence is bad for your skin.”

Est snorted despite himself, tension leaking out bit by bit. His shoulders loosened as the noise swallowed him up. Soon enough, the hall returned to its earlier state of controlled disaster. Fourth argued about rules no one had agreed on. Sea pretended not to cheat and failed spectacularly. Punch attempted to demonstrate encouragement and ended up falling into the pool fully clothed, to no one’s surprise. Daou filmed it, laughing so hard he nearly dropped his phone.

“Emotional support my ass,” Tui muttered fondly, shaking his head.

On the other side of the manicured plants that separated the teams, the soccer side told a very different story.

If the swim team’s chaos was warm and loud, the soccer team’s was structured suffering.

William had always been professional. Responsible to a fault. He was the kind of captain who knew everyone’s weak points and schedules, who showed up early and stayed late, who demanded excellence but earned loyalty in return. His drills were intense, yes, but fair. Calculated.

This afternoon felt different.

The sun beat down harder than usual, sand sticking to sweat-damp skin. Warm-up drills blurred into conditioning, which somehow never ended. One set became two. Two became four. Groans rippled through the line as players pushed past their limits.

“Again,” William said, voice calm, carrying easily over the sound of heavy breathing.

Hong bent over, hands on his knees. “Captain,” he panted, “we already did five sets.”

William didn’t even glance at him. “Six builds character.”

“This is supposed to be team building,” someone muttered under their breath. “Not a death march.”

William heard it. Of course he did.

He stopped pacing and turned to face them, eyes sharp. “Team building doesn’t mean resting,” he said evenly. “It means discipline. Focus. Trust. And not getting distracted by things that aren’t your priority.”

His gaze flicked toward the plant barrier for half a second. Nut followed it and felt something cold settle in his stomach.

Oh.

He jogged up beside William as the team dragged themselves back into position. “You good?” Nut asked casually, matching his stride.

William nodded once, too quick. “Fine.”

Nut studied him. The tension in his shoulders. The way his jaw was set like stone. “Because,” he said carefully, “this feels less like conditioning and more like punishment.”

William stopped walking. Turned to face the team.

Silence fell immediately.

“Do you think I’m being unfair?” William asked, voice calm but edged.

No one answered. Not because they agreed. Because they were afraid to be wrong.

“I’m preparing you,” William continued. “The competition won’t care if you’re tired. Or distracted. Or busy looking at things you shouldn’t be looking at.”

A few players groaned openly this time. Keen dropped to the sand, dramatic and exhausted. “This is cruel,” he muttered.

William raised an eyebrow. “Cruel builds winners.”

Nut watched him closely, searching for the crack beneath the control. The tell. The reason. “Maybe,” Nut said lightly, stepping closer, “we could switch drills? Something less… you know, murderous.”

William considered it, jaw flexing.

“Fine,” he said at last. “Sprints.”

The collective despair was immediate and loud.

As the whistle blew and players took off running, Nut stayed beside William, voice low. “You know,” he said, trying one last time, “if something’s bothering you, you could just say it.”

William’s eyes stayed fixed on the field. “There’s nothing bothering me.”

Nut glanced toward the plants again, then back at his best friend. “Right,” he murmured. “Of course.”

But as the afternoon wore on, one thing became painfully clear. This wasn’t about training. And William, for the first time in a long time, was losing control.

Dinner came quietly, almost suspiciously so.

The dining hall was dressed up for the evening, warm lights strung along the beams, long tables polished to a shine that reflected plates and tired faces. The ocean outside had darkened into a deep, steady hush, waves rolling in slow and patient, like they had all the time in the world. Compared to lunch, this felt like a ceasefire. A fragile one. The kind everyone agrees to because they’re exhausted, not because the war is over.

William was nowhere to be seen.

Nut delivered the news with a shrug when a few curious glances started circling the soccer side. “Captain’s got matters to attend to,” he said casually, like that explained everything. “Fancy ones.”

Punch snorted from the swim team table, twirling her fork between her fingers. “Of course he does. Rich people don’t disappear. They attend to matters.”

Est glanced around once, just to be sure. No sharp eyes. No tension snapping across the room. His shoulders loosened despite himself.

“Huh,” Daou murmured, leaning back in his chair. “So this is what peace feels like.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Fourth said, immediately suspicious. “Peace never lasts.”

Dinner passed without incident. Plates were emptied. Someone argued over dessert portions. Sea stole a roll from Keen’s plate and got smacked lightly for it. Gemini sat a few seats away from Fourth, talking animatedly, laughing too loud, clearly trying to recover from lunch. Fourth pretended not to notice how often he looked over.

Punch leaned toward Est, lowering her voice. “You look calmer.”

“I am calmer,” Est replied, poking at his food. “Amazing what happens when a certain someone isn’t around breathing judgment.”

“Wow,” Punch said. “Character development.”

Halfway through the meal, Lego finally appeared, slightly disheveled, hair damp, tablet tucked under his arm like it had become an extension of him. He scanned the hall, relief flashing across his face when he spotted the swim team intact and not actively committing crimes.

“There you are,” he said, sliding into an empty chair. “Sorry. Crisis with room keys. Someone from badminton tried to steal an entire wing.”

Daou blinked. “How.”

“Don’t ask,” Lego sighed. “I won, though.”

Est raised his glass slightly in salute. “Hero.”

“Always,” Lego replied, smiling tiredly.

By the time dinner wrapped up, the atmosphere had softened. Not friendly, exactly, but lighter. People stood, stretched, drifted back toward their respective wings in small groups. Laughter echoed faintly down hallways. Someone started playing music somewhere far off.

Nut lingered near the exit, chatting briefly with Hong before turning toward the east wing. He had barely taken three steps when quick footsteps sounded behind him.

“Hey.”

Nut turned just in time to see Est jogging up, hands shoved into his pockets, hair still damp from an earlier rinse. He slowed to a stop a step away, catching his breath, eyes bright in the dim hallway light.

“I forgot to thank you earlier,” Est said, tone casual but sincere.

Nut blinked. “Thank me?”

Est nodded. “Yeah. For the cooling pack and the mini fan. Earlier this morning.”

Nut frowned slightly, confusion settling in. “Uh huh?” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t give you anything though.”

Est’s smile faltered.

“You didn’t?” he asked, brows knitting together.

Nut shook his head. “Nope. I was with the team the whole time. I mean, I would’ve given you one if you needed it, but… yeah. Wasn’t me.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“Oh,” Est said slowly.

Somewhere down the hall, the lights flickered once, then steadied.

Est let out a short laugh, more confused than amused. “Huh.”

Nut watched his expression carefully. “Why?”

Est shook his head, stepping back. “No reason. Guess I just assumed.”

Nut hummed, clearly unconvinced but choosing not to press. “Well,” he said lightly, “whoever it was, they’ve got good timing.”

Est nodded, still distracted. “Yeah. Guess they do.”

They parted ways after that, Nut heading toward his wing, Est standing there a moment longer, staring down at the floor like it might offer answers.

The next day arrived without grace.

If the night had lulled everyone into believing peace was possible, the morning existed solely to correct that delusion. The resort woke up loud. Doors opened and closed too hard. Someone dropped a tray before seven in the morning and let out a string of curses impressive enough to echo down the corridor. The ocean was calm, smug even, like it knew it was about to witness nonsense.

Goodbye, last night’s fragile truce.

Breakfast was meant to be simple. Civil. Nourishing. A basic human right before physical exertion and emotional stress.

It failed spectacularly.

The dining area buzzed with early-morning energy, half-awake athletes lining up with plates in hand, hair still damp or tied messily back. Est arrived with the swim team, sunglasses perched on his head like a crown, expression already unimpressed. Punch yawned beside him, stretching her arms overhead.

“I swear,” she muttered, “if something dramatic happens before coffee, I’m choosing violence.”

Fate, apparently, took that as a challenge.

At the head of the buffet line stood William.

Perfectly put together. Fresh shirt. Sleeves rolled just enough to be annoying. He was speaking calmly to the chef, pointing at a tray like it had personally offended him.

“I requested the protein-heavy breakfast set,” William said, voice even but firm.

Est slowed to a stop the second he heard it.

“No,” Est cut in smoothly, stepping forward and placing his plate down with a decisive clink. “You requested it. I claimed it.”

William turned, eyes narrowing a fraction. “Excuse me?”

Est smiled sweetly. Dangerously. “I ordered that set last night. Very clearly. Very politely. With less scowling.”

The chef blinked between them, already sweating. “I can make two—”

“That’s not the point,” William said, gaze never leaving Est.

“Oh?” Est tilted his head, mock curious. “Then what is the point, your highness? Territorial behavior? Breakfast dominance?”

Punch covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. “Oh, he woke up sassy.”

William stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You don’t need that much protein.”

Est scoffed. “And you don’t need to micromanage my diet.”

“This is for athletic performance.”

“And mine isn’t?” Est shot back. “Newsflash, Beckham. Swimming is also a sport.”

William’s jaw tightened. “You already had a special dessert yesterday.”

Est leaned in, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. “Oh my god,” he said softly, eyes glittering. “Are you jealous of my dessert now too?”

The chef cleared his throat loudly. “Sir. I can make another plate. It’s really not—”

“No,” Est said, holding up a finger without looking away from William. “I want this one.”

William laughed once, sharp and humorless. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Est shrugged. “You breathe on purpose. I endure it.”

A few people in line started backing away, plates clutched like shields.

“Captain,” Hong murmured from behind William, “maybe we should just—”

“No,” William interrupted.

“Wow,” Punch whispered to Daou. “Breakfast enemies-to-lovers speedrun.”

“I hate that you’re right,” Daou whispered back.

William folded his arms. “You don’t even like eggs.”

Est gasped, offended. “How dare you assume my relationship with eggs?”

“You complained about them last semester.”

Est’s eyes widened. “Why do you remember that?”

Silence.

William’s lips parted, then closed again. The chef froze. The room leaned in.

Est recovered first, straightening up with a smirk. “Creepy.”

William scoffed. “Memorable.”

Est laughed softly. “Flattering.”

The chef took the opportunity to slide another identical plate onto the counter. “There. Two sets. Problem solved.”

Est glanced at it, then back at William. “See? We could’ve avoided all this.”

William grabbed his plate. “You started it.”

Est picked up his. “You exist.”

They walked away in opposite directions, shoulders brushing deliberately as they passed. Est glanced back once, just to make sure William noticed.

He did.

Punch watched them go, stirring her coffee slowly. “I give it three days.”

“Three days for what?” Fourth asked.

“For them to either kill each other,” Punch said calmly, “or make out behind the storage room.”

Daou nodded. “Both seem equally likely.”

And somewhere between scrambled eggs and unspoken tension, the day officially began.

They ended up at the same table. What’s new.

No one planned it. No one suggested it. It just… happened. Like the universe had a sense of humor and an agenda. The long dining table still had plenty of empty seats, but somehow William set his plate down at the exact moment Est did, directly across from him, close enough that their knees nearly touched.

Punch paused mid-step. Slowly turned. Then deliberately sat down too, because there was no way she was missing this.

“Well,” she said brightly, “look at that. Destiny.”

Est shot her a warning look and dropped into his chair, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. He picked up his fork with exaggerated care. “I don’t know who approved this seating arrangement, but I’d like to file a complaint.”

William sat with practiced ease, rolling his shoulders once like he was settling into a meeting rather than a battlefield. “You’re free to move,” he said mildly.

Est smiled without warmth. “And deprive you of the joy of my presence? Cruel.”

Across the table, Nut cleared his throat, already regretting his life choices. Hong stared resolutely at his plate like it might swallow him whole.

For a few seconds, only the sound of cutlery filled the space. Eggs were poked. Toast was buttered. Bacon cracked loudly under Est’s fork.

William glanced up, casual. Too casual.

“You know,” he said, voice smooth, conversational, “you were a lot quieter last night.”

Est froze.

Just for half a second. Barely noticeable. Then he resumed cutting his food, slow and precise. “I slept,” he replied coolly. “It’s this thing people do when they’re not haunting others.”

William hummed. “Shame.”

Est looked up, brow arching. “Excuse me?”

William leaned back slightly, chair creaking. “You just missed me because I wasn’t around last night,” he said, tone light, almost teasing. “I get it.”

The table went still.

Punch’s fork stopped mid-air. Daou choked on his drink. Fourth’s eyes widened so hard he nearly fell off his chair.

Est stared at William, incredulous. Then he laughed. Soft. Dangerous.

“Oh,” Est said, tilting his head. “Is that what you tell yourself when you disappear without warning?”

Nut coughed. “Captain—”

William ignored him. His eyes never left Est’s. “You noticed.”

“I noticed the absence of noise,” Est shot back. “It was refreshing.”

William smiled, slow and deliberate. “So you admit you noticed.”

Est leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, closing the distance in a way that felt intentional. “Careful,” he murmured. “You’re starting to sound like you want my attention.”

William matched the lean, voice dropping just enough. “You already have it.”

Punch slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m going to scream.”

Hong muttered, “Please don’t.”

Est scoffed, straightening. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just prefer my mornings without unnecessary drama.”

“And yet,” William replied smoothly, cutting into his eggs, “here you are. Sitting with me.”

Est gestured vaguely around them. “Limited seating.”

“There were six empty tables.”

Est paused. Blinked. Then smiled brightly. “Must’ve missed them.”

William chuckled, low and pleased. “Seems to be a habit.”

The tension stretched, not sharp now but humming, threaded with something uncomfortably warm. Around them, the rest of the table pretended very hard to eat breakfast normally.

Punch leaned toward Daou and whispered, “They’re flirting.”

“They’re threatening each other,” Daou whispered back.

“Same thing,” Punch replied.

William stood first, lifting his plate. “Enjoy your breakfast,” he said to Est, voice polite again, mask sliding back into place. “Try not to miss me today.”

Est didn’t look up as he replied, tone lazy. “Don’t worry. You’re very hard to ignore.”

William paused, just for a fraction of a second, before walking away.

Est finally exhaled, shoulders dropping.

Punch turned to him slowly. “So,” she said, eyes sparkling, “how was sleeping without him?”

Est stabbed a piece of bacon. “Finish your food.” but the faint smile at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

The rest of breakfast unraveled slowly, like a knot loosening after being pulled too tight.

William’s absence left a strange vacuum at the table. The chair across from Est stayed empty, still slightly warm, which annoyed him more than it should have. He focused on his plate with unnecessary intensity, chewing like the bacon had personally wronged him.

Punch watched him over her coffee, eyes sharp and amused. “You know,” she said casually, “for someone who claims he’s easy to ignore, you sure look like you’re replaying the conversation.”

Est didn’t look up. “I’m replaying my restraint.”

Daou snorted. “Historic moment.”

Fourth poked at his eggs, glancing between Est and the empty chair. “So… are we allowed to talk about what just happened or is that a later trauma?”

“Later,” Est said flatly.

They eventually dispersed, the dining hall emptying into sunlight and noise. The resort was fully awake now. Staff moved briskly along paths, setting up equipment. Somewhere near the beach, a whistle blew. Laughter drifted from the soccer side. Too loud. Too alive.

Est rolled his shoulders once, like he was shaking something off.

Morning activities resumed, separate but close enough to be annoying.

The swim team gathered near the pool, towels slung over shoulders, skin already damp with anticipation. The water shimmered under the sun, calm and inviting. This was his space. Where his thoughts quieted. Where everything made sense.

“Alright,” Est called, clapping once. His voice carried easily. “Today’s focus is trust. Coordination. And not drowning each other.”

“Coward,” Punch muttered.

They split into pairs, laughter bubbling up again, the earlier tension slowly dissolving into familiar rhythm. Est walked along the pool’s edge, correcting posture here, tossing a sarcastic comment there. He looked relaxed. In control.

But every so often, his eyes drifted.

Past the plants. Past the tiled path. Toward the beach.

The soccer team was already in motion. Running drills. Sprints. William stood near the sidelines, arms crossed, posture rigid, voice carrying instructions with sharp precision. He looked infuriatingly good doing it. Sunlight caught in his hair. Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt.

Est clicked his tongue quietly. Disgusting.

“Cap.”

Est turned to see Sea beside him, squinting toward the same direction. “You’re staring.”

“I’m supervising,” Est corrected.

Sea hummed. “At the beach.”

Est narrowed his eyes. “You want laps?”

Sea smiled sweetly and backed away.

The morning passed in flashes of movement and noise. Water splashing. Bodies cutting clean lines through the pool. Cheers when someone nailed a difficult drill. Punch slipped again. On purpose this time. Daou applauded like it was an Olympic event.

By late morning, Est finally allowed himself to sink into a chair, towel draped around his shoulders, skin cooling. He watched his team laugh and argue and exist, pride settling warm in his chest.

This was why he did it. Why he cared so much.

A shadow fell across him.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Est looked up.

Nut stood there, hands in his pockets, expression carefully neutral. He glanced toward the pool, then back at Est, like he was approaching a wild animal.

“Depends,” Est replied. “Are you here to fight on behalf of your captain?”

Nut sighed. “God, no. I value my life.”

Est laughed softly, tension easing. “Good answer.”

They stood there for a moment, side by side, watching the chaos. The sounds overlapped faintly now. Whistles. Laughter. Water against tile. The plants between them rustled in the breeze, a flimsy boundary doing its best.

Nut cleared his throat. “So… about yesterday.”

Est raised an eyebrow. “Which part?”

“The part where William acted like an unhinged soap opera character.”

Est smiled thinly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Nut shook his head, half-amused, half-exasperated. “He’s not usually like this.”

“Everyone says that,” Est replied lightly. “Right before someone does something very stupid.”

Nut glanced toward the beach. William was pacing again, barking orders, intensity dialed just a little too high. Nut grimaced. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Est leaned back, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Tell him to relax.”

Nut laughed. “You think he’d listen to me?”

“No,” Est said honestly. “But it’ll annoy him.”

Nut snorted. “Fair.”

He hesitated, then added, quieter, “For what it’s worth… the breakfast thing?”

Est tilted his head.

Nut shrugged. “He doesn’t tease people like that.”

Est’s pulse jumped, traitorous and quick. He masked it immediately with a scoff. “Congratulations. I’ve unlocked a new achievement.”

Nut smiled faintly. “Just saying.”

He headed back toward the east wing after that, leaving Est alone with his thoughts and the distant sound of William’s voice.

Est exhaled slowly, staring up at the sky.

Two weeks.

He laughed under his breath, equal parts dread and something dangerously close to anticipation.

“Trouble,” Punch said suddenly, plopping down beside him. “You’re smiling.”

Est glanced at her. “Am not.”

Punch leaned in, grinning. “You are so screwed.”

Est didn’t deny it.

Not when the wind shifted, warm and teasing, carrying William’s laughter across the space between them. It wasn’t even loud. Just a brief sound, unguarded, unfamiliar. It slid under Est’s skin like it knew the way.

It’s just day two, he thought dimly, and he can already feel it. The slow, traitorous weakening of walls he spent years building. Brick by careful brick. Discipline. Distance. Control.

Shit.
Bad news.

The realization didn’t hit like a punch. It crept. A slow bloom of panic that stayed just below the ribs, not enough to knock him over, just enough to unsettle him. Enough to make his fingers curl against the towel in his lap.

this can’t be good.
i can’t let it lie open like this.
i spent years protecting it.
it can’t be happening now.

He inhaled through his nose, steady. Exhaled just as deliberately. Around him, the swim team was still laughing, splashing, arguing over who cheated last round. Punch was mid-story, arms flailing dramatically. Daou was pretending to be offended. Life went on. The world didn’t end just because his internal balance tilted.

Est stood up abruptly.

“Cap?” Sea called, confused.

“I need to talk to Lego,” Est said, already walking away.

Punch squinted after him. “That was a panic walk.”

“That,” Daou replied solemnly, “was a man realizing he’s in danger.”

Est found Lego near the administrative desk, buried under schedules and laminated papers. He didn’t bother easing into it.

“We need to adjust lunch and dinner,” Est said, voice low but firm.

Lego blinked. “Adjust how?”

“One hour earlier,” Est replied without hesitation. “Both.”

Lego frowned. “That puts you ahead of the soccer team.”

“Yes.”

Lego hesitated. “Is there… a logistical reason?”

Est met his eyes evenly. “Self-preservation.”

Lego stared at him for a second longer, then sighed like a man who had seen too much in too little time. “I’ll make it work.”

“Thank you.”

By lunchtime, the change was noticeable.

The swim team filed into the dining hall early, sunlight still strong through the windows, the space quieter, calmer. No soccer jerseys. No sharp eyes. No magnetic pull across tables.

Est sat down and felt his shoulders loosen immediately.

“This is nice,” Punch said, stretching her legs out. “Peaceful. Like a monastery.”

“Don’t romanticize it,” Est muttered, sipping his drink.

Daou leaned in. “So this is intentional.”

Est shot him a look. “Eat your food.”

They finished lunch without incident. No sparks. No tension humming under the surface. No William. Est told himself this was good. Smart. Strategic. He told himself that twice, just to be sure.

Dinner followed the same pattern. Earlier. Controlled. Safe.

Except safety, it turned out, was fragile.

That evening, the resort corridors glowed softly under warm lights, footsteps echoing faintly as teams drifted back toward their wings. Est walked a few steps behind the others, mind finally quieting, when voices carried down the hall ahead.

Soccer voices.

Laughter. Familiar cadence.

William.

Est stopped short, instinct flaring hot and immediate. He turned on his heel, already calculating an alternate route, when he collided solidly with someone stepping out of the shadows.

“Careful,” William said easily.

Too close.

Est looked up, pulse betraying him. William stood there in casual clothes now, hair still damp, sleeves rolled up. Relaxed. Infuriatingly so.

“I thought you were done eating,” William added, glancing down the hall behind Est. “You’ve been avoiding us all day.”

“I’m managing my time,” Est replied coolly, masking the spike of adrenaline. “Try it sometime.”

William smiled faintly. “That what this is?”

Est crossed his arms. “What does it look like?”

William stepped closer, just enough to be deliberate. “It looks like you’re running.”

Est laughed, sharp and defensive. “From you? Don’t flatter yourself.”

William leaned in anyway, voice dropping, intimate without permission. “Then why change the schedule?”

Est’s jaw tightened. “Coincidence.”

William’s eyes searched his face, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“And you’re still in my way,” Est shot back.

For a moment, neither moved. The hallway felt smaller. Warmer. Est was suddenly very aware of the sound of his own breathing, of how close William was, of how easy it would be to lose ground here.

He stepped past William deliberately, shoulder brushing his. A warning. A retreat.

“Goodnight, Captain,” Est said without looking back.

William stayed where he was, watching him go. Est didn’t turn around. But long after he reached his room, heart still racing, one thought echoed louder than the rest.

Avoiding him wasn’t going to be enough. 

Not when the other captain seemed bent on turning every second of Est’s life into a strategic hell. Every glance, every word, every smirk felt calculated, like a chess move he wasn’t prepared to counter yet.

The following day, the universe decided to make things worse.

The dining hall had barely woken to the sound of footsteps and clattering trays when the soccer team graced it with their presence—an hour early, perfectly timed to interrupt the swim team’s already precarious sense of peace. Est had made the executive decision to skip breakfast that morning, citing “a sudden, mysterious diet,” which, in reality, was an attempt to create a buffer zone between him and William.

He had barely made it to the pool area, intending to let his team warm up without incident, when he froze.

A breakfast set sat neatly on the side table, perfectly arranged: eggs, toast, fruit, a small steaming cup of coffee. A note rested on top in familiar, neat handwriting:

“Don’t forget to eat your breakfast, Est.”

Est blinked. Tilted his head. Pulled the note closer.

Was this from Gemini again? Maybe. Probably. Surely.

He knew better than to assume.

Punch, who had silently appeared behind him, snorted. “You look ridiculous staring at a plate like it’s an enemy soldier.”

Est shot her a look over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”

“Dangerous?” she asked, suppressing a laugh. “It’s breakfast. Eggs. And maybe a little fruit.”

Est glared at the eggs as if they had personally betrayed him. “Exactly. It’s breakfast. And whoever left this knows exactly how to make me feel guilty about not eating.”

Daou peeked over, tilting his head. “Or… it’s someone trying to invade your emotional defenses with protein.”

Est frowned. “Yes. Exactly that.” He sniffed the plate as if it might reveal more secrets. The smell of toasted bread and cooked eggs felt too innocent, too domestic, too… deliberate.

Punch leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially. “I think the note’s the most dangerous part. Whoever wrote it knows you’ll spend the next hour questioning every relationship you’ve ever had with breakfast.”

Est pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, “I am not going to fall for this…”

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to move the plate away.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small, infuriating part of him—the part that hated being outmaneuvered, hated being caught off guard—recognized the challenge.

And it made his chest beat a little faster.

Punch sighed dramatically and sat down on the edge of a lounge chair. “You realize,” she said, “that if it is Gemini, this is just a warning. If it’s not Gemini, congratulations. You’re officially on someone else’s radar.”

Est narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t need warnings. I need… space.”

“Space?” Punch echoed, raising an eyebrow. “From… breakfast notes?”

Est didn’t answer. He stared at the plate, at the neat handwriting, at the steaming cup of coffee. Somewhere between suspicion and irritation, something else stirred—something hotter and more dangerous than the morning sun reflecting off the pool water.

He sighed. The battle lines were drawn, and breakfast was officially the first skirmish.

“Guess I’ll eat it,” he muttered, picking up the fork with deliberate caution, “but only because ignoring someone this clever would be a strategic disaster.”

Punch smirked. “Yes, cap. Strategic disaster. That’s a good excuse.”

Est ignored her. Not because he didn’t want to argue back. But because he couldn’t. Not yet. And somewhere, far away, a certain soccer captain’s smirk might have been imaginary—or maybe not.

Lunch turned into a battlefield disguised as a meal.

The swim team had barely started digging into their plates when the doors swung open again, announcing the soccer team’s arrival like a marching band in a quiet library. Est froze mid-forkful, glare sharp enough to cut glass. He hadn’t expected this. Not a single second. His strategy of early meals, careful timing, absolute avoidance—it had failed spectacularly.

William led the charge, smirking as he surveyed the room like he’d designed this exact moment. Sunlight caught his hair, glinting in a way that was infuriatingly perfect. He moved with casual confidence, arms crossed, exuding the kind of energy that made people sit straighter without realizing why.

“You can’t run away from me forever, you know,” William said, voice low, smooth, carrying across the table directly to Est.

Est set his fork down, deliberately slow, eyes narrowing. “And why would I want to run from you?” he asked, tone dripping with mock innocence. “It’s not like you’re… interesting.”

“Oh, I’m interesting,” William replied, tilting his head, lips curling. “Too interesting for your taste, apparently.”

Est’s laugh was sharp, controlled, but it held a warning. “Please. You wouldn’t know interesting if it jumped into your lap and bit you.”

William’s smirk widened. “Funny. You say that, yet here you are, freezing like a statue and staring at me.”

“Observing,” Est corrected, leaning back with arms crossed, posture perfect, voice casual, eyes practically rolling. “I call it professional observation. Not… whatever this is.”

“You’re staring,” William said, voice dropping just enough to tease. “Admit it. I already know it.”

“Staring?” Est shot back, leaning forward slightly, voice mock serious. “I am not staring. I am appreciating the… ambiance. The architecture. The light. Yes. Very important. Architectural study, that’s all.”

Punch and Daou snorted from behind him, barely containing their laughter. Punch muttered, “He’s losing it. That’s textbook losing it.”

“Yeah, and he doesn’t even know it yet,” Daou added, eyes gleaming.

William, unbothered, leaned casually against the edge of the table, tone teasing like he was casually deciding whether to demolish a small city. “Ambiance, huh? Good excuse. Very convincing. You really know how to rationalize staring, don’t you?”

Est lifted an eyebrow, fork paused midair. “I’m not staring. I’m… inspecting. Very meticulously.”

“Careful,” William said, voice low and amused. “That’s a dangerous game. I could misinterpret your inspection as… something else.”

Est huffed. “Oh, please. Misinterpret away. I’m sure your imagination is as creative as your ego.”

The table exploded in quiet commentary.

“Told you,” Punch whispered to Daou. “Maximum three days. He’s toast.”

“Day two, Punch. Day two.” Daou sighed. “We’re doomed.”

From across the hall, Sea peeked over at the scene, smirking. “I think someone’s enjoying themselves a little too much.”

“Who? The captain or the other captain?” Fourth asked, voice muffled behind a sandwich.

“Both,” Sea replied, and a small ripple of laughter spread.

Back at the table, Est jabbed a piece of bacon at William’s direction. “See? I am not losing. I am… tactically engaging.”

William caught it mid-air, holding it between fingers. “Tactically, huh? That’s cute. I thought it was aggression.”

Est leaned closer, grin sharp. “Aggression is… secondary.”

“Dangerous secondary,” William murmured. “Noted.”

Punch muttered to Daou again, barely keeping her voice down: “If this escalates, someone’s going to need a referee… or a medic.”

Daou nodded solemnly. “Or both. Definitely both.”

The subtle tension, charged and almost tangible, stretched across the table. Laughter bubbled in the background. The other players muttered side comments, teasing quietly:

“Should we get popcorn?” Gemini whispered to Fourth.

“Yeah, but don’t sit too close,” Fourth muttered back, smirking. “Things are about to explode.”

Meanwhile, Est sat rigid but grinning under the surface. He hated it. Loved it. Couldn’t admit either.

William leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his chest, grin faint but deliberate. “You know,” he said casually, “you can’t avoid me forever.”

Est’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t intend to. I intend to survive you.”

William chuckled, low, teasing, dangerous. “That’s what I like to hear.”

And all around them, the room held its breath. Everyone else was civil. Everyone except these two. The ocean breeze slipped through the open windows, carrying laughter, clattering trays, and the faint, insidious promise that nothing was going to be easy for Est, not now, not ever. The battle of lunch had begun. And Est already knew he was losing slowly, deliciously, and terrifyingly.

The rest of the days crawled by with the delicate grace of a caffeinated cat.

“Uneventful” would have been a lie. A blatant, screaming lie. But no one had pulled out knives yet, so by some very generous measure, it was technically safe.

The mornings were always a subtle war of schedules. Est timed the swim team’s breakfast, lunch, and even bathroom breaks to avoid direct collisions with William, only to have fate—or maybe William’s smug strategic genius—force them into unavoidable proximity. The halls, the pool area, even the dining hall became minefields. A misstep in timing, a glance too long, a sarcastic remark—it was like walking on tiles coated in invisible landmines, each one armed with passive-aggressive commentary.

And the bickering. Oh, the bickering. It became ritualistic, a rhythm everyone else learned to anticipate like clockwork.

“You do know that’s my towel,” William said one morning, leaning against the pool railing, tone sweetly accusatory.

“It looked lonely,” Est replied, flipping it over his shoulder with an elegance that said: yes, I just claimed it, and yes, I own this moment.

“You really think sarcasm will save you?” William drawled, smirk curling just so.

“It might,” Est shot back, tilting his head, eyes glittering with challenge. “But I wasn’t counting on it.”

Around them, the swim team groaned, rolled their eyes, but secretly laughed. Punch muttered, “Maximum three days… this is now like day four.”

Daou whispered: “We’re doomed. Absolutely doomed.”

The soccer team side? They weren’t immune. Nut tried to keep William grounded, offering suggestions, side comments, playful nudges. Hong rolled her eyes at him, unamused, while the others grunted, complained, and executed drills that suddenly felt twice as hard under William’s gaze.

Even the “activities”—trust exercises, obstacle courses, beach relays—became arenas for their quiet war. Est would bark orders at his team, voice sharp, correcting a form here, a timing there, while simultaneously keeping one wary eye on the east wing where William prowled, instructing, correcting, micromanaging with infuriating perfection.

It was exhausting. Electric. Ridiculous. And strangely thrilling.

Yet, every evening, when the sun dipped low and the resort grew quiet, Est would exhale, feeling the weight of tension in his chest. He couldn’t lie—he hated how he noticed every little thing William did, every glance, every smirk, every deliberate step across the hall. He would never admit it, of course. Not to anyone.

Punch would occasionally tease, muttering, “You know, if this keeps up, someone’s going to combust.”

Daou nodded solemnly. “Preferably not us.”

And so it continued. Days melted into each other. Bickering, teasing, subtle jabs, careful avoidance—rituals forming like cracks in the concrete of what should have been ordinary team-building.

Technically safe. Dangerously alive. Exhausting, infuriating, undeniably magnetic.

No knives yet. That was progress. Sort of.

Saturday was supposed to be simple. Leisure. A day free of schedules, a day to just exist without drills, without exercises, without bickering or scolding or the endless shadow of William. Est had envisioned it perfectly: the soft warmth of the sun against his skin, the rhythmic slap of waves against sand, a book in his hands, and maybe, just maybe, a quiet sense that the world could stop demanding things of him for a little while.

He hadn’t even made it to ten minutes of peace.

Because of course, William had to arrive. Not alone. Not mercifully alone. He arrived with a person so… perfectly composed, effortlessly refined, and disturbingly attractive that Est’s brain nearly short-circuited. Whoever this was—some childhood friend, lover, sweetheart, hell if he could care to listen—was the embodiment of everything bright, shiny, and annoyingly sweet about humanity. And they were all over William like syrup poured onto a cake, slow and deliberate, entirely infuriating.

Est blinked, once, twice. The sunlight reflected off the water, but he didn’t see the waves. He didn’t hear them. He barely registered the sand under his toes. All he could see was William leaning in, laughing in that stupid, careless way that made him want to punch something, while the guest smiled, leaned closer, touched William’s arm, and—oh gods—didn’t even flinch when William’s smirk tilted into that knowing, teasing expression that made Est’s stomach knot into impossible shapes.

Really, heavens? he thought, tone dripping with internal sarcasm. Really? This is the way we’re doing it? Bright, shiny, perfect human wrapped around my nemesis like a human burrito? For me? For my mental health?

He let the words swirl around his mind, silent, sarcastic, deadly accurate. Yes. Wonderful. You’ve done it. My entire morning, my ocean, my tranquility, my carefully curated fortress of peace—ruined by PDA and wealth and whatever the hell is in William’s veins that makes him this annoyingly magnetic.

Est’s fingers tightened around the book, smearing a little sunscreen across the cover. Maybe I’ll drown in fiction. Maybe I’ll learn to ignore humanity altogether. Maybe… maybe I’ll just start talking to the seagulls. At least they don’t flirt.

Punch nudged him lightly, her eyes catching his, trying to gauge if he was truly spiraling or just being dramatic. “Cap… you okay?” she asked softly, but carefully, because the sheer force of Est’s glare could strip paint.

“Fine,” he said, voice clipped, sharp. “I’m… very fine. Just… observing marine life. Studying… uh… the ecology of saltwater and sun exposure. Very important work. Don’t disturb me.”

Punch tilted her head, unimpressed. “You’re muttering to yourself.”

“Yes. Marine biology is serious business,” he hissed, one brow raised. “Not your business. Not yours.”

Daou rolled his eyes from a few chairs over. “Marine biology? He’s muttering about humans, not water life.”

Est ignored him, because talking to humans was dangerous, anyway. He watched the two idiots on the beach, pretending that the sight of them—the smiles, the careless touches, the laughter—wasn’t stabbing him in slow, methodical increments. Every movement, every laugh, every tilt of William’s head—it was like it was designed to ruin him.

What is this? Torture? Seriously? Did I sign up for this in the fine print? Is this some cruel joke where my nemesis just gets to be infuriating AND attractive at the same time?

He couldn’t look away. Not entirely. His eyes, against his will, tracked William’s movements. The sway of his shoulders, the tilt of his jaw, the way his smile… yes, that smile… could make someone insane if they weren’t careful. Est clenched his jaw.

Do not think about it, he scolded himself internally. Do not register how infuriatingly… magnetic he is. Do not.

William noticed, of course. And naturally, he didn’t let the opportunity for mischief pass.

“Book again, huh?” William called, loud enough to slice through the ocean breeze, smirk firmly in place. “Making sure the words don’t escape before you glare at me?”

Est didn’t respond, adjusting his sunglasses with deliberate slowness.

“Oh, come on. Not even a flicker? Not even a little annoyance?” William teased, stepping closer, voice soft and low but sharp enough to scrape against Est’s nerves.

Est kept turning pages, muttering under his breath: Annoy me? Please. You’ve been annoying me for years, and I’m still alive. Impressive, right?

“You’re so dramatic,” William said, leaning just enough for Est to know he could be touched if he wanted. “You know, you could just… smile. Lighten up. Enjoy the view. Me, maybe.”

“Wrong,” Est hissed, biting back a retort, shaking his head slightly. “Enjoying the view is illegal when it involves you.”

William chuckled. “Illegal? Interesting. Very. And here I thought my charming presence was universally appreciated.”

Est’s thoughts screamed: Universally appreciated? More like universally irritating. Also… shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Punch leaned toward Daou. “Maximum three days. We’re… screwed.”

Daou sighed. “Day five. And it’s not even noon.”

William didn’t give up. He tilted his head, lowering his voice. “Admit it, you were staring. Don’t lie. I saw it.”

Est’s jaw tightened. Yes, I glanced. I accidentally glanced. But I am not staring. Staring implies interest. There is no interest. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

“Observing,” he muttered. “Very professional observation.”

“You’re lying,” William said, eyes glinting. “Not professional. Not even close.”

Est’s hand gripped the book harder. Professional enough to throw you into the ocean if this continues, he thought sarcastically.

William smirked, ignoring the threat entirely. “You’re enjoying this more than you want to admit. I can see it. That little clench of your jaw? Classic.”

Classic? Classic misery, you mean, Est thought.

By mid-morning, William threw up his hands and smirked. “Fine. I’ll entertain my guest first. You enjoy your little fortress of solitude, Cap.”

Est didn’t speak. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance. The sight of William laughing, leaning close, being syrupy and perfect—it was unbearable. He clenched his jaw, muttering quietly: Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Why me. Why the gods. Why.

He stood, shoved the book under his arm, and marched toward the ocean. Waves slapped at his legs. Sun burned his shoulders. He muttered under his breath, sharp, cutting, sarcastic: “Escape. Yes. Escape from… the infestation.”

Punch raised an eyebrow. “Going for a swim?”

Est didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Every stroke, every kick, every dive into the water was a silent scream: Leave me alone. Leave me the hell alone.

The ocean was supposed to be his refuge. Calm. Honest. Simple. A rhythm he could count on. Saltwater biting at his skin, the weight of the world slipping away with each lap. Est could almost feel the chaos of the morning, the syrupy horror of William and his guest, the relentless teasing—it all fading under the steady slap of water against muscle, under the splash and pull of waves.

This is better, he thought, chest tight but controlled. This is exactly what I need. Just me, the water, and… freedom. Pure freedom.

Except freedom, as always, had a way of mocking him.

He kicked harder, swam faster, trying to outrun the image of William’s smirk, his laugh, the way his guest’s hand rested casually against William’s arm. Every stroke was an effort to shove the thought away, to immerse himself in something other than the incessant, infuriating presence of his nemesis.

Do not think about him. Do not think about the laugh. Do not think about—ugh, why does he look so good? Why? He’s infuriatingly perfect. Ugh. Disgusting.

Punch’s voice was faint in the back of his mind, keeping watch from the shore, but he barely noticed. He was too deep in his own storm, too tangled in sarcastic fury and begrudging admiration that he refused to admit.

The water slapped his legs harder as he turned for another lap. And then it happened.

A sharp, sudden pain shot through his thigh.

Cramp.

Sharp, twisting, a vice that sank through muscle and bone. Instinctively, he tried to stop, tried to curl and stretch, but the waves were merciless, slapping and rolling, pulling at him like they had a vendetta. He kicked, he flailed, but every movement only worsened the cramp. Panic flickered at the edges of his mind, rising like a tide.

Not now. Not here. I am not going to—ugh—I cannot…

His attempts to call out were swallowed instantly by wind and wave. No one could hear him. He kicked again, trying to reach the shore, but the distance felt infinite. The water, the salt, the slap of waves against him—it was relentless, punishing.

Punch’s eyes snapped wide when she noticed the change. The rhythm of his strokes faltered. His head dipped lower, chin nearly grazing the water. The cramp twisted his body, made him fight just to stay afloat. She could see the tension coiled through his shoulders, the panic in his hands slicing through the usual calm confidence of the swimming captain.

“Est! Help!” she yelled, voice raw. Her heart pounded. “Someone! I need help here!”

William’s head snapped up from wherever he had been, eyes narrowing at the desperate sound. There was no hesitation, no calculation, no question. Pure instinct. The second he realized Est was in danger, he dove, arms cutting through the waves with lethal precision. Every stroke was powerful, controlled, urgent.

Est barely noticed him at first. Panic and pain blurred everything into a haze. Muscles spasmed, lungs burned, and his mind scrambled desperately for focus. He wanted to float, to collapse, to sink beneath the waves and let the world reset, but his body, trained for years, refused. Survival instincts took over, weak and frantic.

Then hands gripped him. Strong, precise, unwavering. William’s voice cut through the water like fire:

“Est! Stay with me! Don’t you dare drift off!”

His vision cleared just enough to see William’s determined face, the dark intensity in his eyes, and suddenly the panic sharpened—not just from the cramp, not just from the waves, but from the realization that someone—that someone—was there, pulling him back from the edge.

He tried to speak. “W-w…” but nothing came out. Only water. Only salt. Only the desperate, frantic pulse of every muscle screaming for survival.

William’s grip tightened, dragging him toward the shore. His breaths were short, shallow, but controlled where he could manage them. Every movement carried a mix of panic, anger, and unrelenting precision.

Once they hit sand, William dropped to his knees. Est’s body was trembling, cramp still twisted like a vice. His chest heaving, lips blue-tinged, eyes flickering with a haze of panic. 

William’s hands moved with urgency, positioning for CPR instinctively, precise and controlled. He pressed on Est’s chest, rhythm sharp, shallow breaths measured, and muttered under his breath between compressions:

“Breathe, dammit! Breathe! Not like this. Not today. You think I’ll let this happen? Not my captain. Not my… not you!”

Finally, color returned to Est’s face. His eyes fluttered open, hazy, blinking against the sunlight reflecting off sand and water. He coughed, shuddered, trembling, weak and salty and entirely exhausted.

“You idiot,” William snapped again, more softly now, a dangerous undertone. “How in the hell do you even… How do you let yourself scare me like that? I was—” His voice cracked slightly with worry. “I was about to throw myself into this hell to save you, and you… you make me think I might lose you over pride and stubbornness?!”

Est blinked, dazed, salt dripping from hair, dripping down chest. “I… just… wanted peace…” he muttered weakly.

William scowled. Not angry. Not playful. Not teasing. Protective. Furious. High on adrenaline. Every muscle coiled as he lifted Est into his arms, bridal-style, the protective tension radiating off him in waves. “Peace can wait. You? You cannot. Not on my watch.”

Punch and Daou trailed behind, silently impressed, hearts thumping, realizing just how seriously William would go to protect the boy he both infuriated and… clearly cared for.

Est, utterly powerless, couldn’t glare. Couldn’t argue. 

The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic, sharp and sterile, but also faintly of the ocean—salt lingering in the air from Est’s soaked clothes. He was propped on a cot, damp hair plastered to his forehead, chest still rising and falling too quickly. William hovered beside him like a hawk, eyes sharp, jaw clenched, hands twitching as if he could physically will Est to obey orders.

“Do you realize,” William began, voice low but fierce, “how utterly stupid you were out there?” He leaned close, almost too close, and the heat radiating off him made Est’s skin prickle. “I didn’t hesitate for one second. One second! I swam out there because I thought—no, I knew—you were going to get yourself killed.”

Est propped himself up on one elbow, dripping wet and salty, hair sticking annoyingly to his temple. He blinked at William slowly, his tone dripping with the kind of dry sarcasm that could slice glass. “I see. And you swam out there… just for me? How heroic. Truly, a tale for the ages.”

William’s glare sharpened, almost dangerous. “Don’t. Don’t you dare—” He gestured broadly with both hands. “I saved you. You almost drowned. Almost drowned. And you—” He ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered. “Do you even care about how ridiculous you made me feel?”

Est let out a soft, amused snort, wincing slightly as his cramped thigh reminded him he was still in pain. “Ridiculous? Oh please. I’m sure watching your dashing self in wet hair, cutting through waves like Poseidon himself, must have been very humbling for you. I mean, someone had to admire the view.”

William froze, jaw tightening. “You—” He stopped mid-word, eyes darkening as he took a step closer. “Do you have any idea what panic I was in? What fear? You—ugh—if you ever do something like that again…”

Est raised a hand, cutting him off with mock formality. “Oh relax. Really, I was fine. Barely any panic at all. A trivial amount of fear. Hardly worth mentioning.”

William’s eyes narrowed, the tone in his voice lowering to something fierce and uncomfortably close. “Trivial? You were flailing in the ocean like a ragdoll! A bloody ragdoll! And you expect me to… what? Calmly admire your tragic incompetence?”

Est leaned back, smirking despite himself, letting the water drip off his shoulders. “Dramatic much? Maybe it’s the sunlight in your eyes. Or maybe… maybe it’s just me. Terrifyingly competent, as always.”

Punch and Daou hovered near the doorway, exchanging glances. Punch muttered under her breath, “I didn’t think I’d see him actually speechless…”

Daou shrugged. “Speechless isn’t the word. Panicked, maybe.”

William ignored them entirely, hands now on his hips, pacing slightly. “I swear, Est… I don’t know if I should be furious or… or—” He shook his head, fists clenching. “Do you even understand how terrifying that was? How much I feared—”

Est tilted his head, eyes glinting with sharp amusement, unable to resist the jab. “How much you feared losing your charming nemesis? Oh William, the horror, the tragedy.”

William stopped abruptly. His chest rose and fell with a mixture of fury and exasperation. He leaned closer, so close that Est could feel the faint heat radiating off him, smell the sharp tang of his cologne mixed with saltwater. “Do not snipe me while I’m trying to scold you into submission. I could—ugh—literally kill you right now.”

Est smirked. “Tempting. Very tempting. But I think I’ll survive. Just barely, mind you.”

William groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “I am this close to leaving you here with Punch and Daou and storming back out to the ocean just to make sure you’re not suicidal again.”

Est laughed, faint, sharp, and entirely infuriating to anyone in authority. “Please. I’m a swimming captain. Suicidal tendencies? Very out of character. I’m far too sarcastic for that.”

William growled low in his throat, a sound of pure, controlled frustration. “You’re impossible.”

“Thank you. I try.”

The tension between them was almost electric. Too close for comfort, too charged to be ignored. Punch cleared her throat awkwardly, standing near the door. “Uh… should we, maybe… give you two some space? I mean, you know… post-near-death trauma… or something?”

Est shot her a pointed look, dripping sarcasm. “Punch, I assure you, I am fully traumatized by his overwhelming concern.”

William’s jaw twitched. He bent down slightly, voice low and dangerous. “Overwhelming? I’ll show you overwhelming…”

Est rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “Yes, terrifying indeed. Someone call the Coast Guard.”

Despite the scolding, the proximity, the sharpness in William’s tone, a flutter of something entirely unwanted—and infuriating—rippled through Est’s chest. He hated it. He hated him. And yet, somehow, a small, unacknowledged part of him… felt reassured. Safe.

Don’t even think it, he scolded himself internally. Do not. Do not. He almost killed me by being responsible. Ugh.

William finally stepped back, muttering, “I swear, you’re lucky I’m professional enough to care.”

Est tilted his head, smirk playing on lips. “Professional enough… with a side of obsession, no doubt. Noted.”

Punch sighed audibly, shaking her head. “I’m… leaving now.”

Daou followed, muttering, “Maximum three days. And we’re day six of chaos.”

Est watched them go, finally alone with William, chest still heaving, body aching, mind a mess of sarcastic thoughts and panicked adrenaline. And yet, somehow, despite every infuriating word, every sharp scold, every chaotic heartbeat—they were here, in the same space, tangled in a tension that was impossible to ignore.

I hate him, Est thought, chest tightening, fingers fisting the edge of the cot. I hate him so much. And I also… maybe, just maybe, don’t.

When he was cleared from the clinic, the sun had begun its slow descent, spilling gold across the resort, but for Est, the light felt more like a spotlight than warmth. Every wave glinted mockingly at him, a reminder of earlier chaos. He had returned to the pool hall, wrapped in a towel like a human burrito, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might dare mention the “rescue incident.” Punch and Daou trailed close behind, hovering, whispering reminders to breathe, drink water, don’t overexert yourself—advice that barely registered.

I do not need rescuing again. Ever. Not now. Not ever. Especially not by him.

Of course, William didn’t make it easy.

He appeared at the far end of the pool hall just minutes later, dripping from the ocean, hair still messy, grin infuriatingly smug. And oh yes, he was carrying a fresh set of towels and water bottles as if the mere act of survival entitled him to play nurse, guardian, and tease in one.

“Thought you might need these,” William called, voice casual, though his eyes were locked on Est with the precision of a hawk. “I saw how… graceful you were out there. Thought I’d make sure the hospital towels don’t suffocate you.”

Est froze, towel tightening around his shoulders, giving William a glare sharp enough to cut through metal. “Graceful? Is that what you’re calling flailing like a drowning starfish? Very flattering, truly.”

William smirked, tilting his head. “Oh, come now. Don’t be so dramatic. You were terrifyingly competent. Yes, very competent. I could almost admire it… if I weren’t so annoyed.”

Terrifyingly competent? Annoyed? Are you reading my mind, or just trying to ruin my day further? Est thought, crossing his arms.

“Annoyed? How generous of you to admit it,” Est said, voice dripping sarcasm. “I’d say I’m flattered, but I don’t do flattery before noon. Or after near-death experiences, apparently.”

From the sidelines, Punch whispered to Daou, “Oh gods. Maximum disaster alert. He’s actually enjoying torturing him.”

Daou shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Est looks like he’s ready to either fight or cry. And William’s just… thriving.”

William’s smirk widened. “Ah, I see. You’re punishing me with sass now. Fine. I’ll take it. I love sass.”

Love sass? More like love to torture me, Est thought bitterly.

Punch nudged him again. “Cap… seriously, maybe—”

“I do not need rescuing in the form of hovering, commentary, and… smirking.” Est snapped, glaring.

Daou muttered, “He’s definitely melting. Just a little.”

William didn’t leave. He leaned on the poolside, calling out observations, teasing, sometimes mock-concerned. “Stroke slower,” he said, voice smooth, precise. “You’ll cramp again if you push too hard. Don’t make me dive in twice. I have other heroic appointments.”

Est’s muttered under his breath, water dripping off his face: “Heroic appointments… really. I see your priorities.”

“Shut up,” William shouted, grinning. “No, wait. Don’t. I love hearing your sass.”

From the corner of the pool hall, Lego suddenly appeared, flustered and waving his arms like he’d seen a ghost. “WHAT HAPPENED?! I got a call—Est, are you okay?! Is everyone okay?! Did anyone—”

Punch rolled her eyes. “Relax, Lego. He’s… alive.”

Lego ignored her entirely, pacing, muttering, panic written all over his face. “I should’ve been there! I should’ve been supervising! This is—this is a disaster! A disaster! How—why wasn’t I—how did this—”

Est, soaked, salty, and still simmering with frustration, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, please. It’s fine. I’m alive. Thrilling, yes. Heart-pumping, yes. Life-threatening? Hardly. Calm yourself, frantic student manager.”

Lego froze, blinking rapidly. “You… you’re joking. Right?”

Est smirked, dry as ever. “Half-joking. Half… sarcastic observation. You can choose which half to panic about.”

Meanwhile, the other swimmers leaned on the railing, watching the chaos unfold with half amusement, half concern. Tui muttered to Lego, “You’re… maybe a little overreacting?”

Lego glared at her. “Overreacting? Did you see the waves? Did you see him? This is a serious crisis!”

Daou whispered to Punch, “I think Lego is going to combust before lunch.”

William, of course, didn’t miss the commentary. He looked over at Lego with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Relax, student manager. He’s fine. Mostly. At least until he sees me again.”

Est rolled his eyes, muttering to himself: Mostly. Lovely. Yes. Mostly alive, mostly annoyed, mostly ruined for the day. Fantastic.

Sunday arrived slow and golden, the kind of morning that begged for leisure and nothing more. The resort seemed to shimmer under the soft sunlight, waves lapping lazily at the shore, palm trees swaying gently in the breeze, the scent of salt and sunscreen mingling with faint wafts of breakfast. For anyone else, it was perfect. Peaceful. Calm.

For Est, it was hell.

Because William was everywhere. Everywhere. Not physically suffocating him, but the presence—like a shadow that refused to detach itself no matter where Est moved. If Est walked toward the pool, William was there, standing too close, eyes scanning every stroke he took. If he wandered toward the beach to sunbathe with Punch and Daou, William’s gaze followed, body just far enough to not touch, but close enough that Est could feel the tension radiating off him.

Excessive concern, maybe? Obsessive, definitely. Est muttered internally, chest tightening in irritation. Like, who allowed him to go full-bodyguard mode? I’m a swimming captain, not a toddler.

Punch, leaning against a chair with Daou beside her, shook her head. “Cap… are you… seriously noticing this? Or are you imagining it?”

Est groaned, rubbing his temple. “I’m very much noticing it. He’s… he’s everywhere. Every step. Every glance. I can’t pee without his eyes judging me.”

Daou snickered. “Judging? Or… protecting?”

“Protecting?” Est hissed. “Please. If he’s protecting me, it’s the most suffocating protection in the history of humanity. I’d rather a hurricane hit me than have William hover like a hawk.”

From nearby, Tui leaned in, whispering, “Uh… maybe he’s just… concerned? After yesterday?”

Est rolled his eyes so hard he feared they might actually detach from his skull. “Concerned? Concerned? Punch, tell me I’m not imagining it when I see him stop Lego from handing me a bottle of water like I’m going to combust without his permission.”

Punch leaned over, nodding. “Yeah… he’s… watching everything. You don’t even need to do anything. He’s already hovering.”

Even Nut, standing a few steps away and watching William’s every move like an amused spectator, finally stepped forward with a small smirk. “Cap… he’s… protective. Obnoxiously protective, yes, but… I think it’s kinda cute? In a terrifying way.”

Est’s glare could have sliced through metal. “Cute? Oh, wow. Sure. Cute. If by cute, you mean utterly suffocating, infuriating, and… borderline stalker-level obsessed, then yes. Very cute. Very heartwarming. I feel loved.”

William, of course, overheard. He leaned casually against a palm tree, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “I am concerned, yes. Extremely. Because I don’t plan to lose you. Not ever. Not like yesterday.”

Est spun toward him, furious. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Can you chill? I’m still alive! Why don’t you go back to that sweet little sweetheart of yours? Go bother him instead! Get married or something!”

A few swimmers and soccer players nearby stifled laughs, exchanging glances. Some whispered, “Oh gods… it’s happening. Again.”

William’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenching. “You… do not get it. You never will. You don’t understand how much I—” He stopped, letting a sharp exhale punctuate the words, then continued, voice low and jagged with emotion. “I like you. I like you. And yesterday… seeing you flail in the water… I almost lost you. I cannot… I will not… just sit there and pretend nothing happened.”

Est blinked, speechless for once, a rare lapse in his sarcasm, though his chest still thumped with indignation. “You… what?”

“I said,” William repeated, stepping closer, gaze fiery, “you won’t understand my concern because you don’t know how much I like you! I get that this is probably one-sided, I get that, but please… allow me to worry over the fact that I almost lost you yesterday. That you could’ve—”

Est felt the words hit him like a wave, suffocating, furious, overwhelming, and terrifying all at once. The poolside chatter fell silent. Even Punch and Daou exchanged glances, unsure if they should intervene or just watch history unfold.

William’s voice softened slightly, dangerous and earnest. “I can’t… I can’t just watch you. I can’t… I won’t let anything happen to you again.”

Silence stretched between them, taut and heavy, broken only by the distant slap of waves. Est opened his mouth to retort, to hurl something sarcastic and sharp, but the weight of William’s words, his intensity, his raw, unfiltered emotion, pinned him in place.

Finally, William exhaled sharply, stepping back. “I… I need a moment.” He glanced briefly at Daou, voice softer now, almost embarrassed, though still carrying authority. “Take care of him while I… calm myself.”

With that, he strode off toward the resort grounds, fists still clenched, shoulders taut, leaving Est standing there, drenched in sunlight, wind, and the remnants of panic and adrenaline, cheeks slightly flushed—not entirely from exertion.

Est’s chest heaved. Sarcastic thoughts tumbled in rapid-fire: I hate him. I hate him. But… wait, what the hell just happened?

Punch whispered, carefully sidling up, “Cap… maybe… maybe you should… sit down for a minute?”

Est pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Yeah, sure. Sit down. Maybe cry quietly. Or scream. Or… plot vengeance. Definitely the last one.”

Daou, grinning faintly, leaned against the railing. “Welcome to the long, exhausting, infuriating… fun side of Sunday. Buckle up, Cap.”

Est closed his eyes briefly, letting the wind hit his face. One thing was clear: William’s overprotectiveness wasn’t going anywhere. And somehow, much to his own horror, that made his chest tighten in ways sarcasm could not fix.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. I am doomed.

Hours passed. The sunlight softened, casting a golden hue over the sand. Shadows stretched long across the beach and palm fronds swayed lazily in the wind. The waves lapped at the shore in a rhythm that should have been soothing. It wasn’t. Not for Est. His chest tightened with every crash against the sand and his thoughts twisted and tumbled, a storm he couldn’t calm. William had walked off after his confession, leaving him staring at the horizon with a mix of panic, longing, and frustration.

Damn it. He couldn’t just leave it like this. He had to fix it, say something. For once, be brave enough to say something.

He shoved off the lounge chair, water dripping from his hair, salt sticking to his skin, muscles still tense from earlier laps. The ocean breeze hit his face but he barely noticed. His eyes scanned the far end of the resort and there he was, pacing near the water’s edge, fists clenched, jaw tight. Every step toward him made Est’s chest pound harder. His hands twitched at his sides, itching to grab him or maybe just stop breathing for a second and stare.

William’s eyes caught his. He stopped, jaw tightening, expression wary but sharp, alive.

“Est,” he said, voice low but carrying a mix of relief and suspicion. “You… you shouldn’t—”

“Shut up.” Est’s words came out sharper than he intended but his gaze softened just enough to show he wasn’t about to back down. “I need to say something.”

William raised an eyebrow and waited, tense.

Est swallowed and let the words spill. “I like you. I’ve liked you since freshman year.”

For a moment, the waves seemed to pause. William blinked, lips parting slightly. “…What?”

Est’s chest tightened. He closed his eyes briefly and felt the warmth of the sun, the salt on his lips, and the ache of hope and fear mixing together. “I’ve liked you since freshman year. Since orientation week. Back then I didn’t know how to tell you. I asked Nut for your contacts. I thought if I could get your attention somehow, maybe you’d notice me.”

Flashback

He remembered standing a few meters away, cheeks burning, voice barely audible. Nut crouched beside him, patient, as Est fumbled and avoided Nut’s gaze. “I… I… um… maybe I could get william’s contacts? Please? I just… want to know him better. Maybe talk…”

His hands had fidgeted and his stomach had flipped every time William walked across the lawn during orientation week. He had tried asking others first but no one had access. Only Nut could reach him.

From across the field, William had watched. Eyes narrowing, lips curved faintly, misreading every movement. He thought Est was confessing to Nut. How wrong he had been.

End flashback

Back on the beach Est’s chest heaved. He met William’s gaze. “I like you. I didn’t know how to tell you before, but I can’t leave it unsaid anymore.”

William’s expression softened. Vulnerability broke through the usual sharpness. He stepped closer, voice low. “All this time it was me?”

Est shrugged, hiding the thrum of his heartbeat. “Yes. Dumb, shy, hopelessly annoying me liking you. Now I can’t pretend.”

The world narrowed to them. Waves curled, the wind rustled palm fronds, and the distant shuffle of leaves filled the gaps.

William closed the distance deliberately, hand hovering before resting on Est’s shoulder, light, grounding. “You’re impossible. But thank you.”

Est smirked, warmth spreading despite adrenaline. “I could say the same. And I will.”

William chuckled, dark and low. “Good. I like it when you fight back. Makes me want to keep you close.”

Est rolled his eyes but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Yes. He liked him. And maybe he wasn’t going anywhere.

Even with waves curling and sunlight dipping toward the horizon, Est could feel it. The first fragile thread of something new between them, taut and warm, terrifying and thrilling. And for once he didn’t want to let go.

The week had wound down, and the resort was quiet in a way that felt almost sacred. The sun was dipping low, painting the ocean in molten gold and copper, stretching the shadows across the sand. The swimming team had retreated to the lounge chairs, and the soccer team was lingering near their usual corner, but the space between them had thinned over the days.

Est sat on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, hair still damp, mind restless. William appeared without warning, sliding into the chair beside him, just close enough for warmth to brush against his arm. Est stiffened but didn’t move away.

“You’ve been quiet,” William said, tone casual, almost teasing. “Are you plotting something? Or just glaring at the ocean like some brooding sea creature?”

Est snorted, rolling his eyes, but he felt the heat creeping up his neck. “I’m meditating. Very serious, advanced form of meditation. You wouldn’t understand.”

William leaned closer, elbow brushing his, gaze intense. “Try me.”

Est’s breath caught. He wanted to tease, to move, to shove him, but the tension between them had stretched too far to ignore. He could feel William’s warmth, smell the faint tang of salt and sunscreen, hear the calm rumble of his breathing.

“I could say the same to you,” Est murmured, voice low, almost lost to the wind. “You’re… impossible.”

“I’m aware,” William replied, voice soft now, almost careful. Then he leaned just a fraction closer, eyes glinting. “But maybe… not entirely unwelcome.”

Est froze. His chest hammered, and his stomach flipped. His brain screamed to think of a witty retort, to hide, to play it cool—but the warmth in William’s gaze, the way he was leaning closer, the subtle curve of his lips… it stole all coherent thought.

And then William was close enough that Est could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that the teasing glint in his eyes faltered for a heartbeat into something softer, more vulnerable.

“Est,” William murmured, voice barely above the sound of the waves. “Do you… want this?”

Est’s heart nearly stopped. He swallowed, eyes narrowing, but not in anger. In determination. In longing. And with a flicker of sarcasm, because he couldn’t completely abandon it, he replied, “Only if you promise not to ruin it.”

William smirked. “No promises.”

And then the gap closed. Slow, deliberate, careful. Their lips met first as a brush, teasing, testing the waters like a question that needed an answer. Est froze, then melted into it, every nerve ending alive, every thought of sarcasm and strategy evaporating. William’s hand rested gently on the small of his back, fingers gripping just enough to ground him, to pull him in closer.

Est leaned in, letting himself respond, tilting his head, feeling the heat and weight of William against him. It was tentative, exploratory, as if they were both asking for permission and giving it at the same time. The world narrowed to just them—the water lapping gently, the sun dipping lower, the faint scent of salt and sunscreen and William filling his senses.

When they finally pulled back, even slightly, Est’s chest was heaving. His lips tingled, his heart threatened to escape his chest, and a smirk broke free despite himself. “Finally,” he said, teasing but breathless. “Took you long enough.”

William chuckled, low and rumbling, eyes dark and alive. “I could say the same. You’re… infuriating. And yet—” His hand lingered near Est’s, brushing it casually. “Exactly what I want.”

Est rolled his eyes, hiding the smile threatening to betray him. “Figures. Only you would make being infuriating look… desirable.”

The sun was just starting to dip lower than usual, brushing gold across the sand and the tops of the palms. The ocean glittered, waves curling lazily against the shore, and the breeze carried the faint smell of salt and sunscreen. Est had claimed his usual spot on the lounge chair near the pool, towel draped over his shoulders, water dripping from his hair, muscles still tense from the laps he had taken earlier. He could feel William’s gaze before he even looked up—sharp, predatory, teasing.

“You’re staring,” William said suddenly, voice low, deliberately casual, as if it weren’t shaking Est’s brain entirely. He was standing close enough that Est could feel the faint warmth radiating off him.

“I am not staring,” Est said immediately, though the tight twist in his chest betrayed him. He kicked his feet in the water, sending ripples outward, hoping the motion would distract him from William’s smirk. “I am—scientifically observing the hydrodynamics of this pool. Very important.”

William chuckled, slow and low. “Observing, huh? Must be difficult with me right here.” His elbow brushed Est’s lightly. It lingered. That small contact made Est stiffen in a way that he didn’t entirely dislike.

“I am fully focused,” Est muttered, flipping his towel with an exaggerated flick. “You’re imagining things.”

William leaned in, grin darkening, teasing. “I don’t imagine. I notice. Especially when someone’s flustered.”

Est ground his teeth together, glaring, but his ears betrayed him, pink creeping up under his damp hair. “I am not flustered. Not one bit. You are… irritating.”

“I’m impossible,” William agreed, eyes glinting, hand brushing again against Est’s as if testing, teasing. “And yet, irresistible.”

Est wanted to groan, curl into the towel, and pretend to die right there. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered under his breath, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching into a reluctant smile.

Punch, perched nearby on a chair with her sunglasses sliding down, whispered to Daou, loud enough for them to hear, “It’s ridiculous. They’re radiating like an electric fence. I can feel it from here.”

“Yeah,” Daou said, smirking. “And I feel like Cap’s about to combust every time William smirks at him. I don’t know if I should be worried or enjoy the show.”

Across the pool, Tui nudged Lego, whose face was pale and panicked. “Do you see this? It’s subtle but… it’s definitely there. I mean… they’re practically orbiting each other.”

“I can’t,” Lego muttered, hands trembling as he distributed towels. “Please tell me no one notices yet. I… I cannot handle this level of chaos.”

Est shot William a sideways glare. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered.

William’s laugh was soft and teasing. “I could say the same about you. You’re impossible. I’m just… fascinated.”

Est felt his chest tighten. He tried to keep his tone sharp. “I’m a nightmare, yes. Happy now?”

“Yes. And somehow delightful.” William smirked, leaning a little closer. “Though very infuriating. I like it.”

Est blinked. His sarcasm faltered, replaced by a fluttering heat he couldn’t name. “You’re… ridiculous,” he said finally, voice low.

Across the pool, Sea, Fourth, and the others whispered among themselves. “Do you think they even realize what they’re doing?” Sea murmured, barely keeping the amusement out of his voice.

“I think they do,” Fourth replied. “They just won’t admit it in front of us. Every glance, every smirk—It’s like watching a slow-motion explosion.”

Even Nut and Hong, quietly seated nearby, exchanged knowing glances. Nut’s brow furrowed slightly. “This is going to escalate. And they’re going to drag us all into it.”

Est tried to push the heat out of his chest by kicking off the lounge chair and moving toward the water. He needed space, needed clarity. But William followed, no hurry, just a presence that made every breath feel thicker.

“You’re running away,” William said, tone teasing but pointed. “You can’t escape me forever.”

“I’m not running,” Est replied, voice clipped, turning his head to meet William’s gaze without breaking stride. “I just… need personal space. Very scientific. Very important.”

“Personal space?” William raised an eyebrow. “You mean until I’m allowed to breathe near you?”

Est froze for half a second, staring at him, then scowled. “Why is that even a thing?”

William smirked, leaning closer with the faintest tilt of his head. “It’s not a thing. It’s… a rule. My rule.”

Est flinched, muttered something incoherent under his breath, and dove into the water with deliberate, exaggerated annoyance. He swam laps furiously, trying to clear his mind, though he could feel William lingering at the edge, every step measured, every glance deliberate.

Punch, noticing the intensity, perched on the pool edge. “Okay. This is serious. Someone’s about to drown from feelings, not water,” she muttered to Daou, who just nodded grimly.

Even the waves seemed to conspire with the tension, slapping at Est’s arms, making each stroke a mixture of relief and frustration. Every time he looked up, William’s smirk was still there, teasing, challenging, persistent.

The subtle touches, the leaning closer, the teasing remarks—they weren’t just flirting anymore. They were tests, boundaries, invitations. And Est, despite himself, was responding. Because as infuriating as William was, he couldn’t deny the pull, the warmth, the thrill of being seen, truly seen, in a way he hadn’t dared before.

By the end of the week, the teammates noticed more clearly. Lunches, poolside moments, even walks on the beach—the two captains were a magnet to each other. Everyone whispered, nudged, and laughed quietly at their antics. Est and William never stopped the bickering, but the edges of it were softer now, layered with teasing and warmth.

Lego, finally losing his calm, muttered under his breath to Punch, “If they touch each other wrong, I will die on the spot. This is too much.”

Est, watching William toss a towel toward him in the water with a smirk, felt something shift inside—a slow-burning realization that no amount of sarcasm, teasing, or distance could undo this pull. He didn’t want it undone.

The night was soft, wrapped in a velvet of stars. The ocean murmured against the shore, gentle waves sending shivers through the sand, and the breeze carried the faint scent of salt and pine from the nearby trees. The resort was quiet for once. Most of the teams had retreated to their wings, though a few teammates lingered near the poolside, laughing quietly or whispering secrets over dessert plates.

Est had claimed a lounge chair by himself, a book open in his lap, though his mind was anything but on the pages. He could feel it—William’s presence, deliberate and slow, somewhere near the pool, tossing glances that were half teasing, half something Est refused to name. He tried to focus on the text, flipping pages with exaggerated concentration, muttering under his breath whenever William’s shadow moved near enough to brush against his chair.

“You’re ignoring me again,” William said, leaning casually against the edge of the pool, arms crossed, smirk perfectly in place. His dark eyes glinted in the moonlight.

“I’m… reading,” Est replied, voice clipped, though the corner of his lips betrayed him. He lowered the book slightly, catching William’s reflection in the water. “Very important material. Advanced literary theory. I’m busy.”

William’s smirk widened. “Busy avoiding me. I get it. But you know… you look ridiculous pretending to concentrate.”

“I am not pretending!” Est snapped, though the sharp edge in his tone faltered when William leaned a little closer, so that the light breeze carried the faint scent of sunscreen and something else—warmth, sunlight, something uniquely him.

William tilted his head, voice low, teasing, almost intimate. “You’re impossible. I could watch you glare like that forever.”

Est felt his chest tighten. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, flipping a page with more force than necessary.

William stepped closer, brushing his hand across the back of Est’s chair casually. “And yet… irresistible,” he said softly.

The words hit differently this time. Est closed the book, set it aside, and faced him, heart hammering. “You’re—” he started, then shook his head, letting the sarcasm drop, letting the tension between them settle like a tangible weight. “You’re exhausting.”

“And you love it,” William countered, smirk daring, voice softer now, teasing edges gone for a heartbeat.

Est blinked, trying to hide the heat creeping up his neck. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, letting the words fade into the sound of the ocean. The moonlight glinted across William’s face, highlighting the curve of his lips, the shadow of his jaw, the sharp intensity of his gaze.

“Fine,” Est muttered finally, giving in just enough. “Maybe… I don’t hate it.”

William’s grin softened into something unreadable, but his hand moved, brushing a strand of damp hair from Est’s forehead. It lingered there, warm, light, deliberate. “Not hate it,” he murmured, voice low. “Good. That’s a start.”

The other players were scattered around the pool, some whispering quietly, some half-watching, some pretending not to notice. Tui nudged Punch. “Do you see that? I swear… sparks. Literal sparks.”

Punch smirked, nudging Daou. “It’s like watching two fireworks collide slowly. I don’t think Est realizes how red his ears are.”

Est, oblivious to all but William, took a shallow breath. The teasing, the small touches, the weight of proximity—it all built until he could no longer resist. He leaned forward, barely perceptibly, until his lips brushed against William’s. Just a touch, a tentative connection, a question more than a statement.

William’s eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned in with equal care, letting the kiss deepen without haste. Hands found the small of backs, fingers curling, gentle but insistent. The world narrowed to that one moment—the sound of waves, the faint laughter of teammates in the distance, the cool kiss of the night air—but all of it centered on them.

Est pulled back slightly, forehead resting against William’s. “Finally,” he whispered, voice soft, teasing even in its relief.

William chuckled, low and warm, pressing his forehead to Est’s. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you’d never do it.”

“I didn’t say I’d do it well,” Est muttered, though the corner of his mouth lifted. “And don’t think this means I’m giving you free passes. You still have to earn it every time.”

William smirked, eyes glinting. “I love a challenge.”

Across the pool, the whispers grew louder, and giggles slipped through as the other players realized what was happening. Lego was frantic, muttering under his breath as he fumbled with towels. “Oh no. Oh no. They are literally—oh no. Someone stop them before I have a heart attack.”

Gemini nudged Fourth, whispering, “Yep. Confirmed. They’re done. There’s no going back now.”

Est, leaning against William, letting the waves lap gently against their feet, thought that maybe this was exactly how it was supposed to feel. Warmth, tension, teasing, and the slow-burning thrill of having someone know exactly how to push every button—without breaking the other completely.

And maybe, just maybe, he was going to let William continue.

+bonus

The front porch of the resort was a flurry of activity. Luggage sat scattered around, half-packed and half-forgotten, while a few teammates leaned against the railings, chatting quietly, trying to ignore the heat of the day. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows over the marble floor, and the mermaid fountain sparkled faintly in the fading light. The sound of water trickling added a serene background, but it was anything but serene right now.

Est had claimed the sofa nearest the fountain, legs crossed, book open, glasses perched on his nose. He was lost in the world of words, fully immersed in the narrative, until a small clatter interrupted him.

A plate appeared in front of him, carried carefully by one of the staff, who gave a polite bow. “Special dessert for Mister Est, as requested by… Sir William.”

Est froze, fork halfway between plate and mouth. The chocolate-glazed pastry gleamed under the porch lights, a perfect replica of the one he’d been served on the first day of the retreat—the one dessert that had always made him wonder who had orchestrated the little luxury.

Deja vu hit him hard. His mind flashed back: the first day, the golden flakes from the dessert, the chocolate glinting under the sun, the subtle teasing. Could it have been William then too? The thought made his ears burn, his cheeks warm, and a small, startled laugh escaped him. Sly, damn sly.

Around him, the teammates’ chatter had paused momentarily. Then came the inevitable side comments.

“Why does he only get that? Aren’t we guests too?” Fourth asked, leaning over, eyes wide, voice dripping curiosity.

Sea gave him a side-eye. “Clearly, that dessert comes with a special notice.”

Tui snorted, nudging Lego. “Special, huh? I smell drama.”

The staff, poised and polite, answered, “It was specially requested for Mister Est by his… boyfriend, sir.”

The words hit like a cannon.

“BOYFRIEND???” The chorus erupted. Gemini’s jaw dropped. Fourth dropped their hand to their mouth. Even Nut, who was normally the picture of calm, looked mildly flustered.

Est blinked, frozen, staring at the plate like it had sprouted wings and was about to fly away. The chaos of voices, the disbelief, the laughter and teasing—it was all collapsing into a singular, overwhelming sensation that he didn’t quite know how to process.

“Excuse me?” Est finally croaked, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

“Yes, sirs. Requested by Sir William. Exclusive for Mister Est only.” The staff’s tone was firm but polite, as if standing amid the storm of his teammates’ sudden hysteria.

The chaos reached a crescendo. Shouts, laughter, whispers, and nudges collided.

 “I knew it!” 

“They’re a thing!” 

“Wait… the nemeses?!” where was this guy when everything unfolded?

“Est, don’t choke on the dessert!”

Est pinched the bridge of his nose. “When will these guys shut up?” His voice was a mix of exasperation and disbelief, but also something else, something soft, under the surface—a fluttering warmth that wouldn’t leave.

“What the hell is happening here?” Through the commotion, William appeared, smooth and composed, threading his way through the crowd with that calculated, calm confidence that somehow made the chaos part around him. His dark eyes locked on Est immediately. “Are you okay?” he asked, crouching slightly so he could meet Est’s gaze, his hand hovering just behind Est’s chair, as if ready to protect him from the world.

“Yeah,” Est muttered, scrunching his nose, trying to ignore the blush creeping up his neck. “They’re just… noisy.”

William’s gaze swept the noisy crowd, jaw tightening ever so slightly, before settling back on Est. He knelt briefly to grab Est’s hand, the gentle pressure grounding him. “Then let’s get you out of here,” he said, voice low, intimate, threading through the hum of the crowd.

Est blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t pull away. “Out…?”

“The bus will wait,” William replied, a teasing glint in his eyes. “But I think you deserve… a proper exit. My way.”

Before anyone could protest or tease further, William stood, subtly tugging Est to his side. The crowd murmured, whispers and teasing comments following them as they walked William's SUV. Tui and Punch exchanged wide-eyed glances, muttering, “Well… they’re really doing it now.”

 Lego trailed behind frantically, muttering, “Oh no. I am not prepared. Not at all. Too much. Way too much.”

Est, caught in William’s confident stride, couldn’t help the small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. He glanced up at him, dark eyes meeting dark eyes, and despite the blush on his cheeks, the warmth spreading through his chest, he felt… safe. And not just safe—seen, wanted, undeniably drawn in by William’s presence.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Est muttered, voice low, almost shy, though his usual sarcasm threaded through.

“And yet… you keep letting me,” William replied, hand tightening subtly around his, thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand. “We’ve got time,” he added softly, almost a whisper, “but I don’t intend to waste a single second of it.”

The bus loomed ahead, engine humming, doors open. The teammates called goodbyes and shouted teasing remarks, but Est barely registered them. William guided him aboard, gentle but possessive, the subtle intimacy between them unmissable to anyone paying attention.

Once seated, William leaned slightly closer, hand still brushing Est’s. “You’re mine for the ride,” he murmured, voice low enough that only Est could hear.

Est rolled his eyes but let himself relax into the warmth of the seat beside him, heart still fluttering, thoughts spinning. “Don’t get cocky,” he said, voice soft but edged with playful warning.

William’s grin was slow, satisfied, unrepentant. “Oh, I’m never cocky. I’m just… very good at holding onto what’s mine.”

And for the first time in two weeks, the chaos of the retreat felt quiet, intimate, and perfectly theirs.

-end.