The Love Algorithm

Chapter 13: The Warmth Between Notes

The week passed with a strange sort of rhythm.

Est held to the "terms and conditions" William had set — lunch together every day, a few minutes of non-work chatter after office hours. It was awkward at first, like trying to rewire old circuits while they were still in use. But slowly, the unfamiliar began to feel routine.

William kept things light. He talked about terrible reality shows and odd coffee orders. Est listened, sometimes contributed — once even shared a deadpan story about mistaking cilantro for parsley and ruining an entire week's meal prep. William had laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench.

But even in those moments, Est stayed at arm's length. Controlled. Measured.
William didn't mind. He just watched — and waited.

Friday evening arrived, and William, true to his word, dragged the entire team out for dinner.

He even managed to get Est to agree — though with a slight sigh and an unwilling nod

The restaurant was cozy, with low golden lighting and mismatched chairs that made it feel more like a friend's dining room than a commercial place. The laughter came easy. People teased each other, clinked glasses, stole fries from each other's plates.

Even Est wasn't spared.

"Sir, no offense," one intern said, "but you're so quiet, we were all convinced you had a side job as a secret assassin."

"And we're still not sure you don't," someone added.

The table erupted in laughter. Est simply blinked, raised an eyebrow, and sipped his water.
William, sitting beside him, caught that microscopic smile — just at the edge of Est's lips.

But the moment that made William's heart stutter?

When someone made fun of him — something about how he once mixed up two lab reports and tried to flirt with a data bot for ten minutes. The table burst into hysterics, and William flushed scarlet.

And Est...

Smiled.

Not the blink-and-miss kind. A real, soft, unguarded smile that lasted a full twenty seconds.
No one else noticed — they were too busy laughing.

But William saw it.

He saw it from the corner of his eye, and his stomach fluttered like he'd just stepped off a rollercoaster.
He had never seen anything that beautiful.

By the end of dinner, almost everyone was buzzed — except Est, who nursed a single drink and maintained the alertness of someone guarding a nuclear code.

"Team karaoke!" Santa declared, raising a breadstick like a sword.

There were cheers, groans, someone slurring "My Heart Will Go On," and Est trying — politely but firmly — to opt out.

William was tipsy, cheeks flushed and voice slightly loud. "Nope. You're coming. It's in the contract."

Est blinked. "There is no—"

"Shhhh. Don't make me lawyer up."

So Est came.

The karaoke bar was a blur of neon and questionable acoustics.

William sang a duet with Santa. Someone wailed a power ballad so badly it made a glass crack. Est sat on the far end of the couch, quiet, letting the chaos unfold around him.

But his eyes... they never drifted far from William.

It was during a lull, when another colleague was belting a melodramatic breakup song, that William flopped down beside Est, hair tousled, eyes glassy with warmth and drink.

"Shit," he mumbled to himself. "It's too late."

Est glanced at him. "Too late for what?"

"I should've rented an apartment near work. I'll never make it home in this state."

William began patting around for his bag, fumbling at the floor.

"Where's... ugh, where's my—oh no, my charger's in there too. My poor phone. It's gonna die like me."

Est watched him for a moment.

Something shifted.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just... shifted.

"You can stay at my place," he said, voice low but steady.

William blinked. "Wait, what?"

"You're not in a condition to go anywhere. And your voice is too loud for this room."

"...Was that a yes?"

"It was a yes."

William grinned. "Aww. You care."

Est stood up. "Come before I change my mind."

They reached Est's apartment a little past midnight.

It was immaculate — minimalist shelves, perfectly aligned books, a blanket folded with surgical precision on the back of the couch. But there was warmth, too. A small plant on the window. A mug that read "There's no such thing as too much data."

Est guided William in gently.

"This way," he said, leading him to the bedroom. "You can sleep here."

William mumbled something unintelligible and slumped onto the mattress.

Est knelt beside him. Removed his shoes, one at a time. Pulled the blanket up over his chest.

William's forehead glistened slightly with sweat — from alcohol, or laughter, or both.

Est hesitated.

Then, with the softest touch, he reached forward and wiped it away with the edge of his sleeve.

He lingered there for a moment longer — just watching.

William's face, peaceful for once. Open.

He looked so different like this. Less dazzling. More real.

Est stood, turned off the lights, and walked to the living room.

He lay on the couch, hands folded on his chest, eyes wide open in the dark.

And in the silence of his perfectly ordered apartment, his mind — for once — felt anything but structured.