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Three months after his father’s death, Est’s 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 William—a mysterious streamer whose "Study With Me" sessions are Est’s 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 again—not 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.
When his father was still around.
He had spent that afternoon at a local café with friends, laughing about a professor’s bad tie and complaining about the heat. It had been a "normal" day, the kind where you don't realize you’re happy until the memory is all you have left. He had stayed out late then, too, but for the right reasons. He stayed out because life was loud and full of possibilities.
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 mom—something trivial about forgetting to pick up the eggs she’d 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 didn’t know was that within weeks, this stranger would be sitting in his father’s chair and eating from his father’s plate. He knew in that moment that the home he had left that morning no longer existed.
The argument he’d 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 wasn’t 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 on—the 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 to—"
"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?"
"Est—"
"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 Leo’s 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.
It’s 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 he’d 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 he’d 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 comfort—the 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 Est’s 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 he’d felt all week. He felt safe. He felt watched over in a way that wasn't intrusive—just... shared.
Over the next two weeks, Est’s world shrank until it was the size of his laptop screen.
The university campus became nothing more than a place he had to endure until he could get back to his room. He stopped hanging out at the café; his friends’ laughter felt abrasive, a jagged noise that didn't fit the quiet, focused frequency he now shared with William. Even the tension with his mother and Leo began to feel distant, like a muted television show playing in another room. His mother hasn't called for more than a week now too. Strange.
But he didn't need them anyway. He had William.
Every night at 8:00 PM, the notification would chime, and Est’s heart would give a small, rhythmic jump. He began to prep for the streams like one might prep for a date. He’d close the door of his bedroom, clear his desk, dim his lights to match William’s amber glow, and set his textbook at the exact same angle.
Sometimes, while watching, a strange sense of déjà vu would wash over him. He’d notice a specific, jagged shadow on the wall behind William—one that looked remarkably like the shadow cast by the old, crooked bookshelf that Est could not remember where he saw. Or he’d hear the muffled, distant sound of a passing motorbike through the stream that seemed to echo the one passing outside his own window a second later.
"Just a coincidence," Est whispered, forcing a dry laugh. He convinced himself that people who lived the same kind of life—quiet, late-night, shut-in—just 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 he’d been drawn to William in the first place. The stream felt like home because it looked like home—generic, 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 acknowledged—to 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 didn’t 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.
Est’s 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 now—not 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.
"Who’s calling?" William asked.
Est froze. His heart gave a hard, painful thud against his ribs. 'He can’t hear that,' Est told himself, his hands beginning to shake. 'It’s a broadcast. It’s 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 aren’t you picking up?"
A cold sweat broke across the back of Est’s 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 wasn’t looking at the chat anymore. He was staring directly into the lens—staring into Est’s 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.
William’s lips curled into that slow, devastating smirk. He leaned back, crossing his arms as if he could see Est’s frantic movements through the very wood of the desk.
"You think you’re 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 phone—still facing the table—lit 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?"
Est’s 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. You’re 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 didn’t answer. He just stood there, the amber light from Est’s 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. "I’ve 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 Est’s 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 video—it wasn't some minimalist studio in the city. It was ten feet beneath his feet.
"Surprise, Est."
Est couldn’t breathe.
William’s thumb brushed lightly under his eye, catching a tear before it could fall—like it belonged to him.
“So warm,” William murmured, almost in awe. “You always looked colder on screen.”
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 Est’s. The smell of the basement, cold stone and iron, overwhelmed the scent of Est’s 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. I’ve 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.
“You’re insane,” Est choked out, his lungs burning. “You f-fukcing broke into my house—”
William’s 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 don’t get it," he said, taking another step forward.
Est shook his head violently, backing toward the wall. "Stay away from me!"
But William didn’t stop. "You think I came into your house randomly, like a damn stalker," he continued, his voice calm, patient—like explaining something simple to a child. "You think I stalked you." A beat. "I didn’t."
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.
William’s smirk returned—slow, 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."
Est’s stomach dropped. The room felt smaller. Tighter. Like the walls had leaned in just to listen.
"How do you—"
"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 it’s one-way?" A quiet chuckle slipped out. "That’s cute."
Est’s back hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go. William reached past him. For a second, Est thought he was going to grab him—but instead, William’s fingers brushed the light switch.
Click.
The room went dark. Est gasped, his hands flying out blindly. "Stop—!"
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 couldn’t breathe. William’s thumb brushed lightly under his eye, catching a tear before it could fall—like 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 chair—he didn't remember moving, didn't remember sitting—but he was locked. His spine straightened. His hands moved to the desk, palms flat, mirroring the exact posture William had maintained for 114 episodes.
William’s hand shifted, moving from his cheek to the back of Est’s 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 Est’s shoulder. His fingers that was cold as glass closed over Est’s 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.
Est’s eyes widened. That last username, Bell_Byr, was his own. How—
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. You’re the content now, Est. You’re the stability. You’re 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," William’s voice echoed, faint and digital, as if coming from a speaker hidden inside the walls. "Someone out there is lonely, Est. And they’re 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
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
