The Love Algorithm

Chapter 14: Something Like Light

William turned to him, voice softer. "You should do it more often."

Est didn't respond. His jaw clenched slightly. Then he moved on to the next row.

But William had seen it again — the flicker. The fluster.

Later, just outside the greenhouse, they sat on a bench in the filtered shade. The breeze was light, the world quiet. William was mid-rant about coffee loyalty programs when they heard a high-pitched cry.

A little girl — maybe four — had tripped while running after a balloon. She sat on the ground, lip quivering, knee scraped and dusty.

Before Est could even stand, William was already there.

He crouched beside her, offered his sleeve, wiped her tears gently.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he said softly, "I fall all the time. Especially when I wear socks on tiles."

The girl hiccuped a laugh.

William dug into his pocket and pulled out a tiny sticker — a leftover from some birthday card — and stuck it on her wrist like a badge of honor. She lit up instantly.

They played with the balloon for a few minutes. Then, with a quick hug, she ran back to her parents.

William returned, brushing dirt off his knees, grinning.

Est was staring at him.

"What ?" William asked, brushing his hands. "I like kids."

"I noticed."

There was something unreadable in Est's gaze. Not surprise. Not admiration.
Something heavier. Something he hadn't let surface in years.

"You'd make a good dad someday," he murmured.

William blinked. "That's either the sweetest or the weirdest thing you've ever said to me."

Est looked away. "It wasn't a joke."

A beat passed.

Then, softly — too softly for anyone else to hear — Est added, "My dad wasn't the kind type."

William didn't speak.

Est continued, very quietly, "Neither was my mom. They were always... arguing. And when they weren't, it was worse. Quiet could be louder than yelling, sometimes."

William's breath caught.

Est didn't meet his gaze.

"I think I learned to stay silent because it was the safest thing. To be unnoticed. Unbothered. It's... easier."

William nodded, heart heavy.

"You don't have to be loud," he said finally. "But you don't have to be invisible either."

For a long time, Est didn't respond. But his eyes were softer when he looked at William again.

Less guarded.

Like maybe — just maybe — he was starting to believe him.

After they left the greenhouse, they didn't go home right away.

They ended up walking — no particular destination, just letting the streets guide them. William bought them iced tea from a street vendor and convinced Est to try the blueberry one, which Est claimed was "unnaturally purple" but drank anyway.

At some point, they found themselves sitting on a low stone ledge near a fountain in a quiet courtyard. William was talking again — about his mom's habit of naming their houseplants after K-pop idols, about a childhood spent sneaking into theaters for BL movies they were too young to watch. Est just listened. Quietly, intently.

It was the kind of listening that felt like a hand on your shoulder. Like a space being made.

They didn't talk about the office.

They didn't talk about the algorithm.

And somehow, that silence said more than any code ever could.

Later that evening, at Est's apartment

William had refused to leave, claiming he needed a "proper Est-cooked dinner experience."

Est gave him a flat look. "I order takeout."

"That's still a choice. I want to witness it in its native habitat."

So Est let him stay.

They sat on the kitchen counter while Est plated up store-bought ramen with a boiled egg and too many scallions. William rated the meal a "solid 9.1, docked points only because you didn't smile while making it."

Est flicked a noodle at him.

William flicked one back.

The floor got messy.

They didn't clean it up until later, laughing the entire time like they were twelve.

Post-dinner, in the living room

William sat curled on the couch, blanket over his legs, flipping through Est's small but well-organized shelf of books.

He stopped at one title. "Intro to Reinforcement Learning?"

Est, curled at the opposite end, nodded. "That was my comfort read in college."

William gave him an exaggerated stare. "Okay, I have so many questions about your definition of comfort."

Est shrugged. "It made sense. When people didn't."

William was quiet for a moment. "Do you ever wish... you could go back? Rewind to some version of childhood that didn't suck?"

Est looked at the ceiling. "No. I just wish I could forget parts of it."

William nodded. "Well, for what it's worth... I'm glad you didn't. Because maybe if you had, you wouldn't be here. And I like you. Here."

Est's eyes flicked toward him. Something unspoken passed between them. A warmth, a weight.

William didn't push it further.

Neither did Est.

Night came slowly.

They stayed up past midnight watching some half-bad movie William insisted on showing Est — something about a ghost, a bakery, and a very emotional golden retriever. It made Est laugh. Out loud.

William almost choked on popcorn when it happened.

"I am honored," he whispered dramatically.

Est rolled his eyes but didn't look away this time.

By the time they slept — William on the couch this time, Est in the bed — something had shifted.

Not everything was said.

But everything had changed.

Not in declarations or sudden kisses.
Just in the way Est handed him the spare toothbrush.
Just in the way William lingered before saying goodnight.

It wasn't romance yet.

But it was the space for it.

A fragile, steady thing. Like light through glass.

And maybe — just maybe — neither of them was ready to leave it behind.