Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
I'm laughing at myself for posting this first before the long time oneshot fanfic I've been working on for a month now đđđ I came across a William edit and my brain just started working. I was supposed to write it as a prompt first but then idk which scholar possessed me because I just raw dogged the whole thing and wrote it with no clear direction. Now, I'm actually scared how this story will turn out ALSNAKSMSNSNWKSN bye
weird prompt I have in mind after reading 1000 pink balloons by peachywritings... what if there's one William character, but he has multiple personality disorder... Est's character thinks he's cheating on the other but it's really just the same guy. I feel like someone already did that but meh
I'm still yet to post Towards Home after LOL Fanfest and here I am thinking of another plot that I would probably not end up writing but hey, thinking about it is fun.
And I kinda did some writing about a personal story of mine... I'm currently coping up with pain after my friend died last Wednesday morning, and the only way I can think of releasing the grief is by writing about it... I know we shouldn't turn someone's experience into story, but I'd really want to share him with y'all in my perspective. And make you understand that losing a friend is like a parent losing their childâno words can describe it.
When a husband dies, the wife is called a widow. If the wife dies, her husband is called a widower. If a child lost their parents, they are called an orphan. But no one can name a parent who lost their childâthat's how painful it is.
You could set out on a scenic hike and find yourself being tracked by a search-and-rescue team before the sun dips. You could attempt a food challenge twice your size and end up choking on the final bite. Or, perhaps, most dangerously, your band could play at a birthday party of famous Pawat twinsânot just a family part of Thailand's high society, but the society itselfâand leave you hopelessly tangled in the hearts of both celebrants.
William, staring at the grand hacienda before him, decided he would have much rather faced the food challenge.
Plot spoiler
Po and Moth, the golden twins of the Pawat Empireâa family loved by the whole nation of Thailand, including the royal family, announces their 20th birthday to the public.
A Pawat heir's coming-of-age was one of the most anticipated events in every century.
But what the people in Thailand, extending towards international, wants to see most was the First Rose.
In any other high-society debut, this would be what they call 'the 18 Roses'âa long, choreographed sequence where uncles, cousins, and business partners waltz the debutantes around the floor. It was a tradition of being presented to society.
But the Pawats didn't need to ask for society's approval.
Because they were the society itself.
In this house, the tradition was flipped. The twins doesn't receive roses or any kinds of flowers; they gave them.
This First Rose wasn't a thank-you to a relativeâit was a declaration of Love and Protection. To be handed a rose by a Pawat heir was to be publicly marked as their Anchor. It told the world: this person is mine, and to touch them is an invitation of war towards the whole Pawat empire.
It was a vow of sanctuary that carried more weight than any legal contract.
What happens when one of the twins does the unthinkable?
What happens when a Ecuadorian Rose from a Pawat heir, a rose treated like a holy relic of the century, lands on some random, street grime, band's vocalist?
LYKN was getting bigger and bigger, the once college boys who did part time gigs at bars were now the talk of every news outlets and magazines, locally and internationally. Schedules between schedules, cameras where ever they go, their managers voice waking them up at 4 AM for a scandal that needs addressing.
Rest was luxury, that's why when they got the whole day all to themselves, they chose to spend it wisely. And strangely enough, the universe was on their side that day.
They spent their precious time living like ordinary college boys. Having fun and laughing at one another's silliness.
Est was there too. William's lover in private, labeled as their favorite Phi in public.
William was at peace.
plot twist in continue
Everything was an illusion. William could hear the sound of people calling his name, his mother's cry and muffled voices of people he doesn't know. He slowly opens his eyes and everything was a blur. He winces at the bright light from a flashlight that the blurry person shot in his eyes. He wants to move, but his whole lower body refuses. All he could lift were his fingers.
When everything calmed down, William asks where the rest of the LYKN isâand where Est is.
His mother reveals that William has been in coma for 10 years. 10 years ago, the world found out about William and Est. Netizens reaction were divided. Some supportive, some criticizing.
The whole group, including Est, was making their way out of the mobbing media after a press conference towards their van. Their manager ordering the driver to drive. They almost ran over a journalist who was persistent to get a scoop from them and tossed his whole body in front of the moving van. Thankfully, the driver hit the breaks on time.
Not even 3 minutes passed, their van explodes.
Reports reveal that a fan who was devasted about the news planted the bomb during the press conference. The said fan was mentally unstable and was diagnosed with serious mental problems.
They were all rushed to the hospital. Lego was dead on arrival, the other 3 lasted less than a week before they were pronounced brain dead. Est was barely holding on. Est was fighting with William. But just a week before William woke up, Est's monitor went flat.
The news about William waking up shambled the whole industry.
William made a tweet.
His final post.
After his hurrah, William sees Est. His sadness creating the illusion of Est caressing his face and planting his forehead gentle kisses as he tucked William to his sleep.
A tear left William's eyes before he drifts to paradise. Towards his brothers. Towards Est. Towards Home.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
things I wonât let ai take away from human writers
em dash
ânot x, not y, but zâ
short sentence stacking as a stylistic choice
none of these belong to ai. these are all what human writers have been writing since day one, way before ai was invented. ai was trained to mimic how human writers write â so em dash, not x not y but z and short sentence stacking would never have been used by ai at all if ai hadnât learned and mimicked them from human writers.
no, you are not âfighting against aiâ by accusing every work that has em dash, not x not y but z or short sentence stacking in it as ai-generated, you are helping ai harm the writing community by engaging in witch hunt and scaring human writers away from creating/sharing their works for fear of being wrongly accused of using ai.
speculations, accusations and ai witch hunt harm the writing community as much as ai does, if not more.
THINK I'M GONNA DIE IN THIS HOUSE By @drowninthalay
SEA's AU Prompt Draft
Est was trapped in a never ending cycle. A fragile, transparent existence where his only purpose was to survive the people around him. By day, he wore the mask of the "perfect and approachable student" to satisfy a world that didn't really know him. By night, he became this "obedient and straight son" to survive his abusive and homophobic father.
His only breathe was the boy he met on a rainy Tuesday in the back of the campus libraryâWilliam. A charismatic architecture student who's everything Est is not allowed to be; loud, happy, outgoing, and doesn't give a fuck about anyone's opinion about him (proud and loud, on top of that).
In the quiet corners of their shared time, the mask finally began to slip. For the first time, Est wasn't just a role or a disappointmentâhe was a person who was seen, heard, and wanted. Something that he never thought he'd feel until he met William.
But a question always lingers in perfect moments... Can Est ever truly be himself, or is he destined to remain a ghost in his own life?
(Ignore the rainbow color, I'm having fun with the filters HAHHAHAHAHA)
Character design:
Est Supha
Est doesn't just "follow rules"... heâs constantly walking on eggshells, even when thereâs no one in the room. He has this internal radar thatâs always scanning the people around him. He knows exactly when his friend is about to get annoyed or when his fatherâs mood is about to shift, and heâs already fixing the problem before it even happens.
Heâs the guy who always has the right answer, the clean notes, and the polite smile, but itâs not because heâs a "perfect student." Itâs because heâs terrified that if he stops being useful, or if heâs even a tiny bit of an inconvenience, everything will fall apart. He has spent so long being what everyone else needs that he actually has forgotten what he likes. To everyone else, heâs a lifesaver. To himself, heâs just a guy running a marathon with no finish line.
"I'm so tired, Will. Iâm just... Iâm so tired of being... perfect..."
"... I just... I want to be able to fuck up. I want to be a total disaster and not have to worry that you're gonna realize Iâm a wreck and finally just leave..."
William Jakrapatr
William is the opposite. Heâs just... himself. He doesn't bother with the social media "aesthetic" or trying to look like the perfect architecture student. Heâs usually got ink on his hands, his hair is a mess, and heâs honest... sometimes a little too honest.
While everyone else is looking at Est and thinking, "Wow, heâs so helpful". William is the only one looking at Est and thinking, "Youâre exhausted, aren't you?" He doesn't just see the perfect version of Est that everyone else uses. Heâs looking for the real guy hiding underneath all those layers. Heâs the person who stays when things get ugly, not because itâs the right thing to do, but because he actually likes the "messy" version of Est more than the perfect one.
"...Then fuck up, Est... Iâve seen you at your worst, remember? I already know youâre a disaster. And you know damn well I donât care about that..."
"...Weâre getting that apartment, Est. I don't care if it's small or shitty. Itâll just be ours..."
LYKN and Est au wherein they were trapped in a secret elite class by the person they once betrayed
Aletheia Academy. For generations, the student body has whispered about "The Sovereign". A mythic, secluded classroom reserved for the absolute elite. It has sat empty for decades, a ghost wing of the school that no one is allowed to enter.
Until the first day of senior year.
Five heirsâWilliam, Tui, Lego, Hong, and Nutâarrive to find they have been granted the impossible. They are the chosen few. But they aren't alone. Est, the quiet boy they haven't seen since their shared past, is there too, standing in the center of the luxury. To the Five, Est is a loose end. A boy who was once their favorite toy and a bet they thought they had buried years ago. To the school, the six of them are an untouchable unit.
As the sovereign class begins, the perks are endless: private dorms, zero rules, and total isolation. But as the doors lock behind them, the dream curdles. Anonymous threats, leaked secrets, and "assignments" that force them to face their darkest sins begin to tear the group apart. The Five are convinced the school is testing them, or that an old enemy is watching. They look to Est as a fellow victim, a fragile soul they must "protect" to keep their own secrets safe. They have no idea that the room wasn't opened by the administration. It was opened by Estâand heâs not trapped in there with them; they are trapped in there with him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Synopsis:
Three months after his fatherâs death, Estâs life is a collection of unanswered calls and growing shadows. To escape a home that no longer feels like his own, he seeks refuge in the silent, digital company of Williamâa mysterious streamer whose "Study With Me" sessions are Estâs only anchor to reality.
But when the line between the screen and the room begins to blur, Est realizes that some mirrors don't just reflect; they watch back.
Inspired by the haunting TikTok edit by @weihennn1001
_____________________________________________________
Note: Expect typo and grammatical errors ahead. I am not a professional writer; I am writing for fun only.
The fluorescent lights of the university library hummed with a low, medicinal frequency that made Est's head throb. It was 7:00 PM, and the campus was thinning out, leaving only the desperate and the overachievers behind. Est felt like a bit of both.
He stared at his open textbook, the words "Modern Thai Literature" blurring into meaningless ink splotches. He was exhausted. Every time he tried to focus, his phone would light up with another message from his mom
He swiped the message away with a bitter sigh. His mother was back in the province againânot visiting blood relatives, but staying with her new guy, Leo. She had fled back there three days ago, immediately after their latest explosion of an argument.
Est massaged his temples, the library's sterile air feeling heavy as he recalled the scene that had fractured everything. He could remember it as clearly as the condensation dripping down the water bottle on his desk. It was the night the silence between him and his mother became a permanent wall.
_______________________________________________________________
Est remembered how it used to be. Just four months ago, his biggest problem was a looming literature deadline and a squeaky chain on his motorbike.
He remembered pulling into the driveway that evening, fully expecting to see his father sitting on the porch swing, nursing a lukewarm tea and waiting to ask how school went. Est even had a playful argument ready for his momâsomething trivial about forgetting to pick up the eggs sheâd asked for. He was ready for the comfortable, familiar friction of a family that loved each other.
But when he killed the engine, the porch was empty.
The swing was still. The house was eerily quiet. It had only been three months since the funeral, and while grief was still heavy, the house felt⊠different. Violated.
The ceramic planter, the one his father had bought for their tenth anniversary and insisted on keeping by the door despite the crack in the side, was gone. It wasnât just moved; it had been shoved into the shadows of the bushes, discarded like trash.
In its place stood a pair of boots.
Heavy. Mud-caked. Aggressive. They sat on the porch like a flag planted in conquered territory.
Est sat there, his hands still gripping the handlebars, feeling the warmth of the engine die between his knees. That was the day the "normal" days ended. That was the day he realized his mother wasn't just grieving; she was clearing a path.
He knew that there was a "Leo" in his mom's life at that time. The new neighbor who was kind enough to lend his mom a hand whenever he couldn't. What he didnât know was that within weeks, this stranger would be sitting in his fatherâs chair and eating from his fatherâs plate. He knew in that moment that the home he had left that morning no longer existed.
The argument heâd prepared about the eggs felt pathetic now. He didn't want to talk about groceries. He wanted to scream about the planter.
He took a deep breath, his knuckles white against the black grips of the motorbike, and finally stood up. He wasnât going inside to be a son. He was going inside to witness the beginning of the end.
As soon as he opens the door, his mother was already there, standing in the kitchen doorway with an apron onâthe one his father bought her for their twenty-fifth anniversary.
"Est! Son, I made dinner. Leo brought some fresh fish from the market, he wanted toâ"
"I don't care what Leo brought," Est snapped, the bitterness catching in his throat. "I'm not hungry. I'm going to study in my room."
"Est, please," she said, her eyes searching his face. "It's been three months. You can't keep living like a ghost in this house. Leo is just trying to be a good neighbor. He has helped me so much with the repairs your father..." his mother halts. "...your father didn't get to finish."
Est stopped dead. He turned to her, his eyes stinging. "It's been only three months, Mae. Three months since we put Dad in the ground." Est's vision landed on the Leo guy sitting in his father's chair, jaw tightening as the guy looks back with a worried expression. "Three months... And you already have this 'new neighbor' sitting in his chair, drinking from his favorite mug, and helping you forget he ever existed."
"I am not forgetting him!" she cried, her voice rising in a desperate fragile defense. "I am trying to survive, Est!" His mother threw her apron on to the ground.
"Do you know how quiet this house is when you're at school? Leo... Leo was the one who brought the light back into this room, into this house, Est."
"Leo is a stranger," Est hissed, stepping closer. "He showed up on our doorstep the week after the funeral, mae. Don't you think that's a little convenient? huh?"
"Estâ"
"A 'new guy in town' who just happened to find a lonely widow? You didn't find light, Mae. You found a distraction. And I'm not going to sit at a table and play 'happy family' with a man who is literally wearing my father's old gardening gloves."
His mother flinched as if he'd slapped her. "He's a good man, Est. He cares about us."
"He cares about your grief because it makes you easy to handle," Est said, the words cold and sharp. "I lost a father. You lost a husband. But it feels like I'm the only one who actually remembers what we lost."
His vision was blurring, tears forming in his eyes as he shoves his mother with his index finger. "Stay in the province with him if you want. Stay with Leo. But don't ask me to pretend he's anything more than a shadow in this house."
He didn't wait for her to cry. He couldn't stand the sound. He turned and bolted up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door and locking it with a violent twist. He slumped into his desk chair, the silence of his room feeling a heavy shroud. He needed to disappear. He needed to be anywhere but here.
Est slumped into his desk chair, his chest heaving as the adrenaline of the fight began to curdle into a cold, hollow ache. The silence of his room felt like a heavy shroud. He needed to be anywhere but here. He needed his brain to stop replaying the image of Leoâs boots on the porch and the discarded planter in the bushes.
On autopilot, he reached for his laptop. He didn't have the energy to search for anything specific; he just needed a distraction.
He opened a social media feed, the bright colors and loud headlines blurring together. He scrolled past news updates, memes he didn't find funny, and photos of people living lives that didn't feel broken. He was about to close the tab when a text-based post caught his eye.
"Sometimes, you just need a partner who doesn't ask questions."
He stared at the screen, his thumb hovering. That was exactly it. He didn't want his mother's questions. He didn't want Leo's "kind" check-ins. He wanted a witness to his existence who didn't require him to be "okay."
He scrolled down to the comments, seeing a single link repeated by several users who swore it was the only thing that got them through their darkest nights:
"If you really need to disappear, watch William. He never talks. But he can make you feel like you have someone to rely on, and he matches your pace of studying perfectly. "
Est clicked the link. He didn't think about it; he just let the algorithm lead him.
The screen shifted from the chaotic, colorful feed to a world of deep shadows and soft amber light. It was a livestream, but it didn't feel like one. There were no flashing "Donate" buttons or scrolling chat messages filled with noise. There was only a man in a dark hoodie, his face partially obscured by the angle of his desk lamp and a pair of black-rimmed glasses.
[LIVE] Deep Focus - EP 07 No Music.
The only sound was the faint, rhythmic scrawl of a pen and the occasional soft thud of a page being turned.
Est froze, his hand still hovering over the mouse. It was exactly what the post had promised. It was a vacuum. A sanctuary. He watched as the figure on the screen, William, slowly adjusted his sleeve, never once looking up at the camera, never acknowledging the thousands of miles of fiber-optic cable between them.
For the first time in months, Est felt the tension in his shoulders snap. He didn't have to explain his grief to William. He was just... there. A silent, steady presence in a dark room, working through his own shadows.
Itâs like the algorithm knew, Est thought, a faint, weary smile touching his lips.
He reached for his Modern Thai Literature textbook and opened it to the first chapter heâd been avoiding for weeks. He didn't feel the need to lock his door again. The screen was his real door now.
He set his laptop at an angle where, if he looked up from his notes, it felt like William was sitting just across the desk from him. They were two ghosts in two different rooms, sharing the same silence.
Est finally picked up his pen. For the first time since the funeral, the house downstairs didn't matter. Leo didn't matter. He had found a way out without ever leaving his chair.
He was finally "with" someone who didn't want anything from him.
___________________________________________________________
Present
Est packed his laptop into his bag, the weight of his unfinished thesis dragging at his shoulder like a physical anchor. As he walked toward the campus exit, the cool evening air of the courtyard hit his face, but it failed to wake him up. He felt like he was moving through gelatin, every step a struggle against a life he no longer recognized.
He hopped onto his motorbike, weaving through the familiar streets toward his house. To anyone else, it was just a Tuesday. To Est, it was a race against a deadline he was losing, and a home he was failing to hide in.
Once inside his room, he didn't even bother with the overhead light. He kicked off his shoes and slumped into his desk chair, letting the darkness swallow him. The only light came from the streetlamp outside, casting long, skeletal shadows across his unmade bed.
"Focus," he whispered into the empty air, his voice cracking. "Just three hours of focus."
He reached out and woke his computer. His fingers moved with practiced habit, navigating to the bookmark heâd been returning to for the past three nights. He typed out "Study With Me". Est didn't need to scroll further anymore; the algorithm had already learned his loneliness.
There it was, at the top of the search engine: [LIVE] Study With Me - EP 54
The thumbnail was a familiar comfortâthe guy in the dark hoodie, his face partially obscured by the amber glow of a desk lamp and heavy, black-rimmed glasses. William. For three days, William had been Estâs secret sanctuary. He was the only one who didn't ask about his father or offer a pitying smile. Stupid reason though. How could a one-way broadcast do that anyway?
But still Est clicked.
The video buffered for a heartbeat before the image sharpened. William was already there, his head down, a pen moving with hypnotic rhythm across a yellow legal pad. The sound of the nib scratching against the paper was so clear it felt like he was sitting three feet away.
"He changed location?" Est murmured, leaning back. The room wasn't the usual bookshelf Est got to familiarized himself with William. Still, he shrugged the thought off. He heaved a sigh before picking up his pen, "Let's get to work."
For an hour, it was the most productive heâd felt all week. He felt safe. He felt watched over in a way that wasn't intrusiveâjust... shared.
Every night at 8:00 PM, the notification would chime, and Estâs heart would give a small, rhythmic jump. He began to prep for the streams like one might prep for a date. Heâd close the door of his bedroom, clear his desk, dim his lights to match Williamâs amber glow, and set his textbook at the exact same angle.
"Just a coincidence," Est whispered, forcing a dry laugh. He convinced himself that people who lived the same kind of lifeâquiet, late-night, shut-inâjust naturally gravitated toward the same aesthetic. Maybe everyone who felt this lonely bought the same cheap IKEA bookshelves and lived near the same busy intersections. It was just a shared frequency, nothing more.
Est rubbed his eyes, the blue light of the screen burning into his retinas. "I'm just tired," he muttered. He knew how the mind worked when it was deprived of sleep and drowning in grief; it looked for patterns where there were none. He was projecting his own life onto the screen because he was so desperate for a connection that wasn't broken.
It was probably just why heâd been drawn to William in the first place. The stream felt like home because it looked like homeâgeneric, dimly lit, and filled with the same mundane sounds of a world moving on without him. He wasn't seeing his own house; he was just seeing a life that finally matched the one he was living.
Est laugh it off by himself. He moved the cursor of his laptop and began typing on the search engine.
[LIVE] Study With Me - EP 114
The atmosphere in the room had shifted from a sanctuary to a cage. Est felt the familiar pull of the routine, but tonight, the "one-way" nature of the glass felt thinner than usual.
After clicking the link, Est sat for a moment, watching the silent figure on the screen. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to be acknowledgedâto prove that he wasn't just a ghost drifting in the digital wind. He moved his cursor to the chat box and typed.
Bell_Byr: Staying up late today too, I see.
For a split second, the rhythm of the stream broke. William didnât just pause; he froze. His head snapped up, and for one terrifying heartbeat, his eyes seemed to lock directly onto the camera, piercing through the miles of fiber-optic cable to find Est on the other side. Then, as quickly as it happened, he returned to his notes.
Estâs phone began to vibrate on the table. Mom. He groaned, declining the call and flipping it over. He couldn't deal with her lectures right nowânot when he was finally starting to feel "connected" to the person on the screen. He turned his focus back to the monitor.
On the stream, William paused again. This time, he didn't return to the page. He slowly lifted his head, the glint of the desk lamp masking his eyes behind his lenses.
"Whoâs calling?" William asked.
Est froze. His heart gave a hard, painful thud against his ribs. 'He canât hear that,' Est told himself, his hands beginning to shake. 'Itâs a broadcast. Itâs not real.'
The phone buzzed again, skidding across the table with a dull, physical thrum.
William leaned closer to his camera, his expression shifting into a chillingly calm curiosity. "Why arenât you picking up?"
A cold sweat broke across the back of Estâs neck. He reached out to mute the stream, his mind screaming that this was impossible, but his fingers felt like lead. On the screen, William wasnât looking at the chat anymore. He was staring directly into the lensâstaring into Estâs soul.
"Huh?" William breathed, a small, knowing tilt to his head. "What is it? Why are you quiet now?"
Est scrambled to find the "Close Tab" button, but the cursor wouldn't move. The mouse was locked, as if someone else was holding the other end of the line. Suddenly, the tiny green light next to Est's own webcam flickered to life.
Est gasped, lunging forward to throw his hand over the lens, hiding his terrified face.
Williamâs lips curled into that slow, devastating smirk. He leaned back, crossing his arms as if he could see Estâs frantic movements through the very wood of the desk.
"You think youâre the only one who can watch me?"
Est didn't wait. He reached behind the tower and ripped the power cord from the back of his PC. The monitors died instantly. The room plunged into a suffocating darkness, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains.
"It's just a glitch," Est whispered, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. "A hacker. Just a high-level hacker messing with the metadata."
Thump.
Something heavy hit his bedroom door from the hallway. Est scrambled back, his heels digging into the carpet.
Thump. Thump.
Then, his phoneâstill facing the tableâlit up. His hands struggle to hold it. He saw it as a glimpse of hope...
But it wasn't his mother this time. The caller ID was a blank, black void, but a text message appeared on the lock screen:
Unknown Number: "What the hell is this? How do I turn this off?"
Estâs blood ran cold. As if the unknown number was teasing him, because it was the exact phrase he had whispered to himself just seconds ago.
Before he could scream, the handle of his door turned. The lock, which he knew he had engaged with a violent twist, clicked open with a sickeningly smooth sound.
The door swung wide. A figure stood in the shadows of the hallway, the silhouette of a heavy hoodie and the unmistakable square frame of glasses catching the dim light.
The figure stepped fully into the room, the floorboards groaning under a weight that shouldn't have been there. The air in the room instantly felt used, recycled and thick with the smell of old copper and dust.
"The stream," Est stammered, his hand flying back to the dead monitor as if it could still protect him. "You... you were streaming. I found you. Youâre just some guy online!"
Est was hopeless and scared, he was deeply scared. Without a second thought, as if it could save him from the man walking his way nearing him, he threw his phone.
William didnât answer. He just stood there, the amber light from Estâs dropped phone hitting the underside of his chin, making his shadow stretch up the wall like a giant.
William laughed. A hysterical, out of mind kind of laugh.
"Did you?" William tilted his head, the light catching the sharp edge of his jaw. "Or did the algorithm just happen to put me in your feed because we share the same IP address?"
William chuckled, a low, wet sound that vibrated in the small room. It wasn't the sound of a stranger; it was the sound of someone who knew exactly where the squeaky floorboard was. "Iâve been sitting in your basement, Est, waiting for you to notice that the 'Study With Me' background looked exactly like your own laundry room."
The realization hit Est like a physical blow to the stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. The grey cinderblocks, the specific, dying flicker of the fluorescent light in the background of the videoâit wasn't some minimalist studio in the city. It was ten feet beneath his feet.
William hummed lowly, stepping closer and closer towards Est until their faces were inches apart. With a playful smirk, he reached out and touched Estâs face, gently caressing the older boy's skin with a familiarity that felt earned through a thousand hours of surveillance.
Est couldnât breathe.
Williamâs thumb brushed lightly under his eye, catching a tear before it could fallâlike it belonged to him.
âSo warm,â William murmured, almost in awe. âYou always looked colder on screen.â
The contact was electric and terrifying. It wasn't the touch of a stranger; it was the touch of someone who had memorized every pore, every flinch, every fleeting expression Est had ever made in the dark.
"I used to reach out and touch the monitor right where your cheek was," William whispered, his eyes dark and fixed on Est's. "I'd trace the line of your jaw through the pixels. But this... the algorithm can't simulate this."
He leaned in even closer, his forehead resting against Estâs. The smell of the basement, cold stone and iron, overwhelmed the scent of Estâs room.
"You thought you were alone in this house," William breathed, his smirk widening. "But I was always here. Under your feet. Behind the glass. In the very air you were breathing. Iâve spent every night for weeks breathing with you, Est..."
"...In. Out. In. Out."
Est jerked back, finally finding enough control over his body to stumble away. His heel hit the leg of his chair, nearly sending him crashing.
âYouâre insane,â Est choked out, his lungs burning. âYou broke into my houseââ
Williamâs smile faltered. Not completely. Just⊠enough.
"Broke into your house?" he echoed softly.
The fluorescent light above them flickered. Once. Twice. Then steadied. William glanced up at it, almost thoughtfully, before looking back at Est with something that felt dangerously close to disappointment.
"You still donât get it," he said, taking another step forward.
Est shook his head violently, backing toward the wall. "Stay away from me."
But William didnât stop. "You think I came into your life," he continued, his voice calm, patientâlike explaining something simple to a child. "You think I found you." A beat. "I didnât."
William leaned in again, close enough that Est could see his own reflection warped in the lenses of those black-rimmed glasses. "You came to me."
The words landed wrong. Twisted.
"What?" Est whispered.
Williamâs smirk returnedâslow, deliberate. "Every night," he said. "Same time. Same room. Same angle. You adjusted your lamp to match mine. You moved your desk two inches to the left last week."
Estâs stomach dropped. The room felt smaller. Tighter. Like the walls had leaned in just to listen.
"How do youâ"
"You learned my habits," William cut in softly. "My rhythm. My silence." His head tilted. "And I learned yours."
"You think the stream is just a video? That itâs one-way?" A quiet chuckle slipped out. "Thatâs cute."
Estâs back hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go. William reached past him. For a second, Est thought he was going to grab himâbut instead, Williamâs fingers brushed the light switch.
Click.
The room went dark. Est gasped, his hands flying out blindly. "Stopâ!"
In the suffocating blackness, Est felt a hand find his face. Not a strike, but a caress. William hummed lowly, his presence inches away. Gently, he stroked Est's cheek. Est couldnât breathe. Williamâs thumb brushed lightly under his eye, catching a tear before it could fallâlike it belonged to him.
Click.
The light didn't come from the ceiling. It came from the monitor.
The PC was still unplugged, yet the screen glowed with a sickening, unearthly amber light. Est was back in his chairâhe didn't remember moving, didn't remember sittingâbut he was locked. His spine straightened. His hands moved to the desk, palms flat, mirroring the exact posture William had maintained for 114 episodes.
Williamâs hand shifted, moving from his cheek to the back of Estâs neck, his fingers tangling in the hair there. It was a possessive, grounding grip that made Est feel like he was being anchored to a sinking ship.
"Good," William whispered, leaning over Estâs shoulder. His fingers that was cold as glass closed over Estâs hand, forcing his fingers to grip the pen.
"You worked so hard to disappear into the screen... and it finally worked."
William reached out and turned the monitor slightly, forcing Est to see the chat scrolling at a lightning-fast speed. The PC was still unplugged, yet the screen glowed with a sickening, unearthly amber light.
William backed away toward the door, but Est couldn't turn his head. He was locked. He felt his hand begin to move, the pen scratching "Modern Thai Literature" across the page in perfect, rhythmic strokes.
On the screen, a new notification popped up.
[LIVE] Deep Focus - EP 115: Study With Est.
Viewer Count: 14,302
User_99: Is he the new one?
Lonesome_Eye: Finally. The last guy was getting boring.
Bell_Byr: Your set up looks familiar. Hi, I'm new here.
Estâs eyes widened. That last username, Bell_Byr, was his own. Howâ
Est's thoughts were silenced as William spoke.
"You wanted a partner who didn't ask questions," William said, his voice overlapping with the laggy audio from the screen. "Now, you get to be that partner for someone else. Youâre the content now, Est. Youâre the stability. Youâre the silence."
William backed away toward the door, his image beginning to blur and pixelate, his physical form dissolving back into the shadows of the house.
"Don't stop writing," Williamâs voice echoed, faint and digital, as if coming from a speaker hidden inside the walls. "Someone out there is lonely, Est. And theyâre just about to click the link."
Est stared at the page, a single tear tracking down his face, but his hand never missed a stroke. He was no longer the watcher. He was the reflection, locked in a digital loop, waiting for the next lonely soul to look into the mirror.
Ending Note: I would like to apologize if the ending was not like the one you'd expect or satisfying enough </3 I'm not good with endings. Would be nice if you'd leave some feedbacks for my improvement, I would really appreciate it. Love lots, Sea! I'm posted this on twitter but decided to keep this here for the mean time that i don't have an ao3 account. I made a promise to myself to write a whole ass fic when I'm done creating my account
Three months after his fatherâs death, Estâs life is a collection of unanswered calls and growing shadows. To escape a home that no longer feels like his own, he seeks refuge in the silent, digital company of Williamâa mysterious streamer whose "Study With Me" sessions are Estâs only anchor to reality.
But when the line between the screen and the room begins to blur, Est realizes that some mirrors don't just reflect; they watch back.
Inspired by the haunting TikTok edit by @weihennn1001
The fluorescent lights of the university library hummed with a low, medicinal frequency that made Est's head throb. It was 7:00 PM, and the campus was thinning out, leaving only the desperate and the overachievers behind. Est felt like a bit of both.
He stared at his open textbook, the words "Modern Thai Literature" blurring into meaningless ink splotches. He was exhausted. Every time he tried to focus, his phone would light up with another message from his mom
He swiped the message away with a bitter sigh. His mother was back in the province againânot visiting blood relatives, but staying with her new guy, Leo. She had fled back there few days ago, immediately after their latest explosion of an argument.
Est massaged his temples, the library's sterile air feeling heavy as he recalled the scene that had fractured everything. He could remember it as clearly as the condensation dripping down the water bottle on his desk. It was the night the silence between him and his mother became a permanent wall.
Est remembered how it used to be. Just four months ago, his biggest problem was a looming literature deadline and a squeaky chain on his motorbike. But that was four months ago.
He remembered pulling into the driveway that evening, fully expecting to see his father sitting on the porch swing, nursing a lukewarm tea and waiting to ask how school went. Est even had a playful argument ready for his momâsomething trivial about forgetting to pick up the eggs sheâd asked for. He was ready for the comfortable, familiar friction of a family that loved each other.
But when he killed the engine, the porch was empty.
The swing was still. The house was eerily quiet.
It had only been three months since the funeral, grief was still heavy for Est. It's been 3 months yet he couldn't understand why he can't accept it.
To make matters worst, the house felt⊠different that day. Violated.
The ceramic planter, the one his father had bought for his mother on their tenth anniversary, and insisted on keeping by the door despite the crack in the side, was gone. He would've accepted if it was just moved to a better location. But no. It had been shoved into the shadows of the bushes, discarded like trash.
In its place stood a pair of boots.
Heavy. Mud-caked. Aggressive. They sat on the porch like a flag planted in conquered territory.
Est sat there, his hands still gripping the handlebars, feeling the warmth of the engine die between his knees. That was the day the "normal" days ended. That was the day he realized his mother wasn't grieving anymore. She was clearing a path for a life that his father was no longer part of.
He knew that there was a "Leo" in his mom's life at that time. The new neighbor who was kind enough to lend his mom a hand whenever he couldn't. What he didnât know was that within weeks, this stranger would be sitting in his fatherâs chair and eating from his fatherâs plate. He knew in that moment that the home he had left that morning no longer existed.
The argument heâd prepared about the eggs felt pathetic now. He didn't want to talk about groceries. He wanted to scream about the planter.
He took a deep breath, his knuckles white against the black grips of the motorbike, and finally stood up. He wasnât going inside to be a son. He was going inside to witness the beginning of the end.
As soon as he opens the door, his mother was already there, standing in the kitchen doorway with an apron onâthe one his father bought her for their twenty-fifth anniversary.
"Est! Son, I made dinner. Leo brought some fresh fish from the market, he wanted toâ"
"I don't care what Leo brought," Est snapped, the bitterness catching in his throat. "I'm not hungry. I'm going to study in my room."
"Est, please," she said, her eyes searching his face. "It's been three months. You can't keep living like a ghost in this house. Leo is just trying to be a good neighbor. He has helped me so much with the repairs your father..." his mother halts. "...your father didn't get to finish."
Est stopped dead. He turned to her, his eyes stinging. "It's been only three months, Mae. Three months since we put Dad in the ground." Est's vision landed on the Leo guy sitting in his father's chair, jaw tightening as the guy looks back with a worried expression. "Three months... And you already have this 'new neighbor' sitting in his chair, drinking from his favorite mug, and helping you forget he ever existed."
"I am not forgetting him!" she cried, her voice rising in a desperate fragile defense. "I am trying to survive, Est!" His mother threw her apron on to the ground.
"Do you know how quiet this house is when you're at school? Leo... Leo was the one who brought the light back into this room, into this house, Est."
"Leo is a stranger," Est hissed, stepping closer. "He showed up on our doorstep the week after the funeral, mae. Don't you think that's a little convenient? huh?"
"Estâ"
"A 'new guy in town' who just happened to find a lonely widow? You didn't find light, Mae. You found a distraction. And I'm not going to sit at a table and play 'happy family' with a man who is literally wearing my father's old gardening gloves."
His mother flinched as if he'd slapped her. "He's a good man, Est. He cares about us."
"He cares about your grief because it makes you easy to handle," Est said, the words cold and sharp. "I lost a father. You lost a husband. But it feels like I'm the only one who actually remembers what we lost."
His vision was blurring, tears forming in his eyes as he shoves his mother with his index finger. "Stay in the province with him if you want. Stay with Leo. But don't ask me to pretend he's anything more than a shadow in this house."
He didn't wait for her to cry. He couldn't stand the sound. He turned and bolted up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door and locking it with a violent twist. He slumped into his desk chair, the silence of his room feeling a heavy shroud. He needed to disappear. He needed to be anywhere but here.
Est slumped into his desk chair, his chest heaving as the adrenaline of the fight began to curdle into a cold, hollow ache. The silence of his room felt like a heavy shroud. He needed to be anywhere but here. He needed his brain to stop replaying the image of Leoâs boots on the porch and the discarded planter in the bushes.
On autopilot, he reached for his laptop. He didn't have the energy to search for anything specific; he just needed a distraction.
He opened a social media feed, the bright colors and loud headlines blurring together. He scrolled past news updates, memes he didn't find funny, and photos of people living lives that didn't feel broken. He was about to close the tab when a text-based post caught his eye.
"Sometimes, you just need a partner who doesn't ask questions."
He stared at the screen, his thumb hovering. That was exactly it. He didn't want his mother's questions. He didn't want Leo's "kind" check-ins. He wanted a witness to his existence who didn't require him to be "okay."
He scrolled down to the comments, seeing a single link repeated by several users who swore it was the only thing that got them through their darkest nights:
"If you really need to disappear, watch William. He never talks. But he can make you feel like you have someone to rely on, and he matches your pace of studying perfectly. "
Est clicked the link. He didn't think about it; he just let the algorithm lead him.
The screen shifted from the chaotic, colorful feed to a world of deep shadows and soft amber light. It was a livestream, but it didn't feel like one. There were no flashing "Donate" buttons or scrolling chat messages filled with noise. There was only a man in a dark hoodie, his face partially obscured by the angle of his desk lamp and a pair of black-rimmed glasses.
[LIVE] Deep Focus - EP 07 No Music.
The only sound was the faint, rhythmic scrawl of a pen and the occasional soft thud of a page being turned.
Est froze, his hand still hovering over the mouse. It was exactly what the post had promised. It was a vacuum. A sanctuary. He watched as the figure on the screen, William, slowly adjusted his sleeve, never once looking up at the camera, never acknowledging the thousands of miles of fiber-optic cable between them.
For the first time in months, Est felt the tension in his shoulders snap. He didn't have to explain his grief to William. He was just... there. A silent, steady presence in a dark room, working through his own shadows.
Itâs like the algorithm knew, Est thought, a faint, weary smile touching his lips.
He reached for his Modern Thai Literature textbook and opened it to the first chapter heâd been avoiding for weeks. He didn't feel the need to lock his door again. The screen was his real door now.
He set his laptop at an angle where, if he looked up from his notes, it felt like William was sitting just across the desk from him. They were two ghosts in two different rooms, sharing the same silence.
Est finally picked up his pen. For the first time since the funeral, the house downstairs didn't matter. Leo didn't matter. He had found a way out without ever leaving his chair.
He was finally "with" someone who didn't want anything from him.
Est packed his laptop into his bag, the weight of his unfinished thesis dragging at his shoulder like a physical anchor. As he walked toward the campus exit, the cool evening air of the courtyard hit his face, but it failed to wake him up. He felt like he was moving through gelatin, every step a struggle against a life he no longer recognized.
He hopped onto his motorbike, weaving through the familiar streets toward his house. To anyone else, it was just a Tuesday. To Est, it was a race against a deadline he was losing, and a home he was failing to hide in.
Once inside his room, he didn't even bother with the overhead light. He kicked off his shoes and slumped into his desk chair, letting the darkness swallow him. The only light came from the streetlamp outside, casting long, skeletal shadows across his unmade bed.
"Focus," he whispered into the empty air, his voice cracking. "Just three hours of focus."
He reached out and woke his computer. His fingers moved with practiced habit, navigating to the bookmark heâd been returning to for the past nights. He typed out "Study With Me". Est didn't need to scroll further anymore; the algorithm had already learned his loneliness.
There it was, at the top of the search engine: [LIVE] Study With Me - EP 54
The thumbnail was a familiar comfortâthe guy in the dark hoodie, his face partially obscured by the amber glow of a desk lamp and heavy, black-rimmed glasses. William. For three days, William had been Estâs secret sanctuary. He was the only one who didn't ask about his father or offer a pitying smile. Stupid reason though. How could a one-way broadcast do that anyway?
But still Est clicked.
The video buffered for a heartbeat before the image sharpened. William was already there, his head down, a pen moving with hypnotic rhythm across a yellow legal pad. The sound of the nib scratching against the paper was so clear it felt like he was sitting three feet away.
"He changed location?" Est murmured, leaning back. The room wasn't the usual bookshelf Est got to familiarized himself with William. Still, he shrugged the thought off. He heaved a sigh before picking up his pen, "Let's get to work."
For an hour, it was the most productive heâd felt all week. He felt safe. He felt watched over in a way that wasn't intrusiveâjust... shared.
Every night at 8:00 PM, the notification would chime, and Estâs heart would give a small, rhythmic jump. He began to prep for the streams like one might prep for a date. Heâd close the door of his bedroom, clear his desk, dim his lights to match Williamâs amber glow, and set his textbook at the exact same angle.
"Just a coincidence," Est whispered, forcing a dry laugh. He convinced himself that people who lived the same kind of lifeâquiet, late-night, shut-inâjust naturally gravitated toward the same aesthetic. Maybe everyone who felt this lonely bought the same cheap IKEA bookshelves and lived near the same busy intersections. It was just a shared frequency, nothing more.
Est rubbed his eyes, the blue light of the screen burning into his retinas. "I'm just tired," he muttered. He knew how the mind worked when it was deprived of sleep and drowning in grief; it looked for patterns where there were none. He was projecting his own life onto the screen because he was so desperate for a connection that wasn't broken.
It was probably just why heâd been drawn to William in the first place. The stream felt like home because it looked like homeâgeneric, dimly lit, and filled with the same mundane sounds of a world moving on without him. He wasn't seeing his own house; he was just seeing a life that finally matched the one he was living.
Est laugh it off by himself. He moved the cursor of his laptop and began typing on the search engine.
[LIVE] Study With Me - EP 114
The atmosphere in the room had shifted from a sanctuary to a cage. Est felt the familiar pull of the routine, but tonight, the "one-way" nature of the glass felt thinner than usual.
After clicking the link, Est sat for a moment, watching the silent figure on the screen. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to be acknowledgedâto prove that he wasn't just a ghost drifting in the digital wind. He moved his cursor to the chat box and typed.
Bell_Byr: Staying up late today too, I see.
For a split second, the rhythm of the stream broke. William didnât just pause; he froze. His head snapped up, and for one terrifying heartbeat, his eyes seemed to lock directly onto the camera, piercing through the miles of fiber-optic cable to find Est on the other side. Then, as quickly as it happened, he returned to his notes.
Estâs phone began to vibrate on the table. Mom. He groaned, declining the call and flipping it over. He couldn't deal with her lectures right nowânot when he was finally starting to feel "connected" to the person on the screen. He turned his focus back to the monitor.
On the stream, William paused again. This time, he didn't return to the page. He slowly lifted his head, the glint of the desk lamp masking his eyes behind his lenses.
"Whoâs calling?" William asked.
Est froze. His heart gave a hard, painful thud against his ribs. 'He canât hear that,' Est told himself, his hands beginning to shake. 'Itâs a broadcast. Itâs not real.'
The phone buzzed again, skidding across the table with a dull, physical thrum.
William leaned closer to his camera, his expression shifting into a chillingly calm curiosity. "Why arenât you picking up?"
A cold sweat broke across the back of Estâs neck. He reached out to mute the stream, his mind screaming that this was impossible, but his fingers felt like lead. On the screen, William wasnât looking at the chat anymore. He was staring directly into the lensâstaring into Estâs soul.
"Huh?" William breathed, a small, knowing tilt to his head. "What is it? Why are you quiet now?"
Est scrambled to find the "Close Tab" button, but the cursor wouldn't move. The mouse was locked, as if someone else was holding the other end of the line. Suddenly, the tiny green light next to Est's own webcam flickered to life.
Est gasped, lunging forward to throw his hand over the lens, hiding his terrified face.
Williamâs lips curled into that slow, devastating smirk. He leaned back, crossing his arms as if he could see Estâs frantic movements through the very wood of the desk.
"You think youâre the only one who can watch me?"
Est didn't wait. He reached behind the tower and ripped the power cord from the back of his PC. The monitors died instantly. The room plunged into a suffocating darkness, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains.
"It's just a glitch," Est whispered, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. "A hacker. Just a high-level hacker messing with the metadata."
Thump.
Something heavy hit his bedroom door from the hallway. Est scrambled back, his heels digging into the carpet.
Thump. Thump.
Then, his phoneâstill facing the tableâlit up. His hands struggle to hold it. He saw it as a glimpse of hope...
But it wasn't his mother this time. The caller ID was a blank, black void, but a text message appeared on the lock screen:
Unknown Number: "What the hell is this? How do I turn this off?"
Estâs blood ran cold. As if the unknown number was teasing him, because it was the exact phrase he had whispered to himself just seconds ago.
Before he could scream, the handle of his door turned. The lock, which he knew he had engaged with a violent twist, clicked open with a sickeningly smooth sound.
The door swung wide. A figure stood in the shadows of the hallway, the silhouette of a heavy hoodie and the unmistakable square frame of glasses catching the dim light.
The figure stepped fully into the room, the floorboards groaning under a weight that shouldn't have been there. The air in the room instantly felt used, recycled and thick with the smell of old copper and dust.
"The stream," Est stammered, his hand flying back to the dead monitor as if it could still protect him. "You... you were streaming... H-How... Fuck. Youâre just some guy online! I just found you on the internet..."
Est was hopeless and scared, he was deeply scared. Without a second thought, as if it could save him from the man walking his way nearing him, he threw his phone.
William didnât answer. He just stood there, the amber light from Estâs dropped phone hitting the underside of his chin, making his shadow stretch up the wall like a giant.
William laughed. A hysterical, out of mind kind of laugh.
"Did you?" William tilted his head, the light catching the sharp edge of his jaw. "Or did the algorithm just happen to put me in your feed because we share the same IP address?"
William chuckled, a low, wet sound that vibrated in the small room. It wasn't the sound of a stranger; it was the sound of someone who knew exactly where the squeaky floorboard was. "Iâve been sitting in your basement, Est, waiting for you to notice that the 'Study With Me' background looked exactly like your own laundry room."
William hummed lowly, stepping closer and closer towards Est until their faces were inches apart. With a playful smirk, he reached out and touched Estâs face, gently caressing the older boy's skin with a familiarity that felt earned through a thousand hours of surveillance.
The realization hit Est like a physical blow to the stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. The grey cinderblocks, the specific, dying flicker of the fluorescent light in the background of the videoâit wasn't some minimalist studio in the city. It was ten feet beneath his feet.
"Surprise, Est."
Est couldnât breathe.
Williamâs thumb brushed lightly under his eye, catching a tear before it could fallâlike it belonged to him.
âSo warm,â William murmured, almost in awe. âYou always looked colder on screen.â
The contact was electric and terrifying. It wasn't the touch of a stranger; it was the touch of someone who had memorized every pore, every flinch, every fleeting expression Est had ever made in the dark.
"I used to reach out and touch the monitor right where your cheek was," William whispered, his eyes dark and fixed on Est's. "I'd trace the line of your jaw through the pixels. But this... nothing can simulate this."
He leaned in even closer, his forehead resting against Estâs. The smell of the basement, cold stone and iron, overwhelmed the scent of Estâs room.
"You felt alone in this house, didn't you?" William breathed, his smirk widening. "But I was always here, Est. Under your feet. Behind the glass. In the very air you were breathing. Iâve spent every night for weeks breathing with you, Est..."
"...In. Out. In. Out."
Est jerked back, finally finding enough control over his body to stumble away. His heel hit the leg of his chair, nearly sending him crashing.
âYouâre insane,â Est choked out, his lungs burning. âYou f-fukcing broke into my houseââ
Williamâs smile faltered. Not completely. Just⊠enough.
"Broke into your house?" he echoed softly.
The fluorescent light above them flickered. Once. Twice. Then steadied. William glanced up at it, almost thoughtfully, before looking back at Est with something that felt dangerously close to disappointment.
"You still donât get it," he said, taking another step forward.
Est shook his head violently, backing toward the wall. "Stay away from me!"
But William didnât stop. "You think I came into your house randomly, like a damn stalker," he continued, his voice calm, patientâlike explaining something simple to a child. "You think I stalked you." A beat. "I didnât."
William leaned in again, close enough that Est could see his own reflection warped in the lenses of those black-rimmed glasses. "You came to me."
The words landed wrong. Twisted.
"What?" Est whispered.
Williamâs smirk returnedâslow, deliberate. "Every night," he said. "Same time. Same room. Same angle. You adjusted your lamp to match mine. You moved your desk two inches to the left last week."
Estâs stomach dropped. The room felt smaller. Tighter. Like the walls had leaned in just to listen.
"How do youâ"
"You learned my habits," William cut in softly. "My rhythm. My silence." His head tilted. "And I learned yours."
"You think the stream is just a video? That itâs one-way?" A quiet chuckle slipped out. "Thatâs cute."
Estâs back hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go. William reached past him. For a second, Est thought he was going to grab himâbut instead, Williamâs fingers brushed the light switch.
Click.
The room went dark. Est gasped, his hands flying out blindly. "Stopâ!"
In the suffocating blackness, Est felt a hand find his face. Not a strike, but a caress. William hummed lowly, his presence inches away. Gently, he stroked Est's cheek. Est couldnât breathe. Williamâs thumb brushed lightly under his eye, catching a tear before it could fallâlike it belonged to him.
Click.
The light didn't come from the ceiling. It came from the monitor.
The PC was still unplugged, yet the screen glowed with a sickening, unearthly amber light. Est was back in his chairâhe didn't remember moving, didn't remember sittingâbut he was locked. His spine straightened. His hands moved to the desk, palms flat, mirroring the exact posture William had maintained for 114 episodes.
Williamâs hand shifted, moving from his cheek to the back of Estâs neck, his fingers tangling in the hair there. It was a possessive, grounding grip that made Est feel like he was being anchored to a sinking ship.
"Good," William whispered, leaning over Estâs shoulder. His fingers that was cold as glass closed over Estâs hand, forcing his fingers to grip the pen.
"You worked so hard to disappear into the screen... and it finally worked."
William reached out and turned the monitor slightly, forcing Est to see the chat scrolling at a lightning-fast speed. The PC was still unplugged, yet the screen glowed with a sickening, unearthly amber light.
William backed away toward the door, but Est couldn't turn his head. He was locked. He felt his hand begin to move, the pen scratching "Modern Thai Literature" across the page in perfect, rhythmic strokes.
On the screen, a new notification popped up.
[LIVE] Deep Focus - EP 115: Study With Est.
Viewer Count: 14,302
User_99: Is he the new one?
Lonesome_Eye: Finally. The last guy was getting boring.
Bell_Byr: Your set up looks familiar. Hi, I'm new here.
Estâs eyes widened. That last username, Bell_Byr, was his own. Howâ
Est's thoughts were silenced as William spoke.
"You wanted a partner who didn't ask questions," William said, his voice overlapping with the laggy audio from the screen. "Now, you get to be that partner for someone else. Youâre the content now, Est. Youâre the stability. Youâre the silence."
William backed away toward the door, his image beginning to blur and pixelate, his physical form dissolving back into the shadows of the house.
"Don't stop writing," Williamâs voice echoed, faint and digital, as if coming from a speaker hidden inside the walls. "Someone out there is lonely, Est. And theyâre just about to click the link."
Est stared at the page, a single tear tracking down his face, but his hand never missed a stroke. He was no longer the watcher. He was the reflection, locked in a digital loop, waiting for the next lonely soul to look into the mirror.
Ending Note: I would like to apologize if the ending was not like the one you'd expect or satisfying enough </3 I'm not good with endings. Would be nice if you'd leave some feedbacks for my improvement, I would really appreciate it. Love lots, Sea! I'm posted this on twitter but decided to keep this here for the mean time that i don't have an ao3 account. I made a promise to myself to write a whole ass fic when I'm done creating my account