The Love Algorithm

Chapter 14: Something Like Light

William woke up to the scent of something mildly toasty — and the faint hum of a kettle.

His head throbbed a little, but not too badly. The sunlight filtering through the blinds was soft and golden, and the sheets smelled faintly of citrus and... Est. Whatever Est's soap was.

He sat up, hair messy, shirt wrinkled, and wandered into the living room to find Est, perfectly upright, sipping tea with terrifying precision.

"You're awake," Est said. Like it was a data point.

"I am," William replied, stretching dramatically. "And alive. Which is always a win."

Est gestured to the table. "I made toast."

William grinned. "Look at you. Domestic king."

Est looked mildly offended. "It's bread. That I heated."

William plopped down and took a bite. "Still counts."

They ate mostly in silence — the kind that wasn't uncomfortable but definitely had a few unsaid things hanging in the air. William stole glances at Est, who avoided eye contact like it was a contact sport.

After a few minutes, William leaned back and said, "It's Saturday."

"...Yes."

"So I'm not rushing anywhere. And neither are you."

Est frowned. "You're still in last night's clothes."

William wiggled his eyebrows. "Scandalous, isn't it?"

Est blinked once. "I meant that you might want to change before going home."

William ignored that entirely. "Take me somewhere."

"What?"

"Take me somewhere you like. A place that makes sense to you."

Est looked like someone had just asked him to explain string theory to a toddler. "I don't... really go places."

"Well, you go somewhere, right? A park? A library? A weird alley with good soup?"

After a long pause, Est stood up. "Finish your toast."

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a small greenhouse tucked behind an art museum.

It wasn't crowded — just a quiet, leafy conservatory with rows of succulents, orchids, bonsai trees. Sunlight poured through the glass roof in warm, slow-moving beams.

William turned in slow circles. "Okay, this is adorable."

Est didn't smile, but his shoulders dropped by half an inch. "It's quiet. Predictable. Plants don't talk over each other."

William snorted. "You mean they don't flirt with you loudly and drag you to karaoke."

"I meant what I said."

They walked the aisles together, Est occasionally stopping to inspect a leaf or name a species under his breath. William trailed beside him, eyes drifting — not to the plants, but to Est's profile.

Halfway through the path, William suddenly said, "I saw you smile last night."

Est froze. "What?"

"At dinner," William said casually, pretending to examine a cactus. "Someone made fun of me. You smiled. It was cute."

Est blinked at him, a faint pink crawling up his neck. "...No one saw that."

"I did."

Silence.