The reception hall hummed with the low tide of laughter and clinking glass, the fairy lights strung overhead casting everything in a warm, honeyed glow. Pond stood near the bar with Taehyung, a half-empty glass of something dark in his hand that he hadn't touched in the last five minutes because his eyes kept finding Phuwin across the room—the way his husband laughed with Siyh, head thrown back, brown bangs falling out of place, one hand gesturing wildly while the other held a glass of something pink and fizzy.

"You're staring again," Taehyung said, not even looking at him, just swirling his own drink.

"I'm not staring. I'm monitoring."

"Monitoring." Taehyung finally turned, one eyebrow raised. "That's what we're calling it now?"

"He's my husband. I'm allowed to look at my husband."

"There's looking, and then there's the way you're looking, which is the same way you looked at him across the cafeteria for three years before you got your shit together." Taehyung clinked his glass against Pond's. "It's your wedding reception. You're allowed to enjoy it. He's not going anywhere."

Pond took a sip of his drink just to have something to do with his mouth. "I know he's not going anywhere."

"Then relax. Dance. Eat cake. Let the man breathe."

"I let him breathe. I'm very supportive of his breathing."

Taehyung snorted. "You're a disaster."

"I'm a married disaster." Pond said it with a grin, but the grin faded when he saw Perth approach Phuwin from the side—Perth, one of Phuwin's classmates, a guy with an easy smile and an easier way of standing too close. Pond had seen him around campus, had watched him laugh at Phuwin's jokes a little too hard, had noticed the way Perth's hand found Phuwin's shoulder during group photos But Santa's boyfriend.

And now Perth was wrapping his arms around Phuwin in a full hug, pulling him in like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had any right to hold Phuwin like that.

Pond's jaw tightened.

"Easy," Taehyung murmured, low enough that only Pond could hear. "It's a hug. People hug at weddings."

"That's my wife he's holding."

"He's your husband and it's a hug—"

But Pond was already moving, setting his glass down on the bar with a decisive clink, cutting through the crowd with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going. He reached Phuwin and Perth just as Perth was pulling back, and Pond's hand found Phuwin's waist without hesitation, fingers curling into the fabric of his white crop top, pulling him back against his chest.

"That's my wife you're holding," Pond said, and it came out half-joke, half-claim, the words leaving his mouth before he could sand the edges off them.

Perth's grin didn't falter. If anything, it widened. "Just congratulating him. He's a lucky man."

"He knows." Pond's thumb pressed into the curve of Phuwin's hip, a small possessive gesture that he hoped looked casual. "He's got me."

Phuwin laughed, that bright, careless sound that made Pond's chest do something stupid, and turned in his arms, pressing a quick kiss to Pond's cheek. The warmth of it lingered, a soft imprint against his skin.

"Be nice," Phuwin said, still smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Perth was just being sweet."

"I'm always nice."

"You're always something."

And then Phuwin slipped away—lithe and quick, sliding out of Pond's grip like water through fingers—and disappeared into the crowd, heading toward the hallway that led to the bathrooms. Pond stood there, hand still outstretched, holding empty air where his husband's waist had been a second ago.

The kiss's warmth was still on his cheek.

Perth cleared his throat. "I'll, uh—I'll go find the others."

Pond barely heard him. His eyes were tracking Phuwin through the crowd, following the familiar shape of his shoulders, the sway of his hips, the way people parted to let him through like he was something rare and precious. Phuwin moved through the world like that—like he didn't know how beautiful he was, like he didn't notice the way heads turned and conversations stuttered when he passed.

Pond noticed. Pond always noticed.

Taehyung's shoulder brushed his as he stepped up beside him, both of them watching Phuwin weave toward the hallway. "You know," Taehyung said, "for a guy who just got married, you're doing a lot of watching from a distance."

"I'm savoring the view."

"You're being creepy."

"I'm being a husband."

"Same thing, apparently."

Pond's jaw worked. "He's heading for the bathroom."

"People do that at weddings. It's a whole thing. Hydration, dancing, bathroom. The cycle of life."

"He's been gone for—" Pond glanced at his watch. "Thirty seconds."

"And you've counted."

"I'm aware of my husband's location at all times. It's called being attentive."

"It's called being a stalker, but go off."

Pond didn't answer. His eyes were still fixed on the hallway where Phuwin had disappeared, on the dark mouth of the corridor beyond the reception hall's open doors. The crowd shifted and swelled, bodies moving in the rhythm of the music, laughter rising and falling like waves, and for a moment, everything was exactly as it should be—his wedding, his husband, his people, all of them here to celebrate the fact that he'd somehow, impossibly, gotten everything he'd ever wanted.

And then he saw it.

A figure detaching from a group near the bar, moving with a deliberate, unhurried stride toward the same hallway Phuwin had just disappeared into. Tall, broad-shouldered, silver threading through dark hair. A familiar posture, a familiar way of holding himself, like the world owed him something and he intended to collect.

Pond's blood went cold.

"Tae," he said, and his voice came out wrong, too flat. "That's my father."

Taehyung's head snapped toward him, then toward the hallway, then back. "What?"

"He's following Phuwin."

"Maybe he's just using the bathroom—"

"He's not." Pond was already moving, his hands curling into fists at his sides, the easy confidence from a minute ago gone, replaced by something sharp and coiled. "He's not."

Taehyung fell into step beside him, matching his pace. "Pond. Hey. Look at me."

"I'm looking at the hallway."

"Pond." Taehyung's hand closed around his arm, pulling him to a stop. "You need to breathe."

"My father is following my husband into a dark hallway at my wedding reception. Breathing is not at the top of my priority list right now."

"I know. I know." Taehyung's grip stayed firm. "But you can't go in there hot. You know that. You go in there hot and it gives him exactly what he wants."

Pond's jaw was so tight it ached. "And what does he want?"

"To get under your skin. To prove he still can."

"He doesn't get to—" Pond stopped, his voice cracking on the last word. "He doesn't get to touch him. He doesn't get to look at him. He doesn't get to—"

"I know." Taehyung's voice was low, steady, grounding. "I know, okay? But you have to be smart about this. You have to be smart about him."

Pond's hands were shaking. He could feel it—the tremor running through his fingers, the heat building behind his ribs, the old familiar fury rising up like a tide. His father had been at the wedding, had smiled and nodded and played the part of the proud parent, and Pond had let him. He'd let him because it was his wedding day and he didn't want to make a scene, didn't want to give his father the satisfaction of knowing how much his presence was costing him.

And now his father was following Phuwin into a hallway, and Pond's careful composure was splintering into something raw and dangerous.

"Pond."

The voice came from behind him, and Pond turned to find Santa standing there, glasses catching the light, calm and composed as always. Santa had a way of appearing exactly when he was needed, like he had a sixth sense for trouble.

"Stay calm," Santa said, and his voice was quiet, measured, the voice he used when things were about to go sideways. "I know what you're thinking. Don't do it."

"You don't know what I'm thinking."

"I know you're thinking about all the ways you could hurt him and make it look like an accident."

Pond's silence was answer enough.

"Stay calm," Santa repeated. "Go check on Phuwin. Make sure he's okay. But don't start a fight at your own wedding. Not with him. Not here."

"He's following Phuwin."

"I know."

"He's—" Pond's voice broke again, and he hated it, hated the way his father could still do this to him, could still crack him open and leave him bleeding. "He's going to say something to him. He's going to—"

"Then you'll handle it. But you'll handle it smart." Santa stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You're not the scared kid he used to push around. You're a grown man, and you just married the love of your life, and he doesn't get to take that from you. Not tonight. Not ever."

Pond's breath came out in a shaky exhale. He looked at Santa, then at Taehyung, then back at the hallway, dark and waiting at the edge of the reception hall.

"I'm going to check on him," he said, and his voice was steadier now, more solid. "I'm going to go check on my husband."

Santa nodded. "That's all you're doing."

"That's all I'm doing."

Pond moved, and Taehyung moved with him, a silent shadow at his side. The crowd parted around them, oblivious, still laughing and dancing and celebrating, and Pond's heart was hammering in his chest, each beat a countdown to something he couldn't name.

The hallway was cooler than the reception hall, the air carrying the sharp tang of cleaning solution under a heavier musk of perfume and spilled beer. A damp paper towel stuck to the floor near the bathroom door, and the low buzz of fluorescent lights hummed over muffled voices from inside.

Pond's eyes swept the hallway. Empty.

No father. No Phuwin.

Just the bathroom door, closed, and the silence pressing in around them.

And then—

A muffled sound from inside. A thump. A voice, too low to make out the words.

Pond was moving before he could think, Taehyung at his side, the door just ahead.

His palm hit the door before his mind caught up, the wood shuddering under the force of it. The handle turned—unlocked—and the door swung inward, revealing a bathroom that smelled of antiseptic and damp paper towels, harsh fluorescent light buzzing overhead.

Empty.

Pond's eyes swept the small space—two stalls, both doors ajar, a row of sinks with a single dripping faucet. No father. No Phuwin.

His chest was heaving. He could feel Taehyung behind him, a steady presence at his back, but the relief he'd expected didn't come. Instead, there was only the hollow echo of the dripping tap and the cold certainty that his father had been here, had stood in this same room, had been close enough to touch—

"Pond." Taehyung's voice was quiet. "He's not here."

"I know."

"He's not—" Taehyung stepped past him, checking the stalls anyway, pushing the doors fully open to reveal nothing but empty tile and a forgotten paper cup on the floor. "He's not here. Phuwin's not here. Maybe they both—"

"No." Pond shook his head, his jaw working. "Phuwin came in here. I watched him. And my father followed."

"Then where—"

A sound from the hallway. Footsteps, quick and light, and Pond turned to find Phuwin emerging from a door further down the corridor—a supply closet, its door still swinging shut behind him. Phuwin was holding a roll of paper towels, his brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes landing on Pond with a question in them.

"What are you doing here?" Phuwin asked, and his voice was light, easy, completely unaware of the storm that had been building in Pond's chest. "I heard a bang. Did something fall?"

Pond crossed the distance between them in three strides, his hands finding Phuwin's waist, pulling him close, burying his face in the curve of his neck. He could feel Phuwin's pulse against his lips, steady and alive, and the breath he'd been holding came out in a shuddering rush.

"Pond?" Phuwin's free hand came up to rest on the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. "Hey. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Pond's voice was muffled against his skin. "Nothing. I just—I couldn't find you."

"I was getting paper towels. The dispenser in the bathroom was empty." Phuwin pulled back just enough to look at him, brown eyes searching his face. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine."

"You're not." Phuwin's thumb traced the line of his jaw, a gentle, grounding touch. "What happened?"

Pond opened his mouth to lie, to say nothing, to let the moment pass. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, what came out was: "My father. He followed you."

Phuwin's hand stilled on his face. "What?"

"He followed you down the hall. I saw him. I thought—" Pond's voice cracked. "I thought he was going to—"

"Hey." Phuwin's voice was soft, steady, the same voice he used when Pond was spiraling and needed someone to hold him down. "I'm right here. I'm okay. He didn't touch me."

"He was going to."

"He didn't."

"But he was going to."

Phuwin's hand slid from his jaw to the back of his neck, pulling him down, pressing their foreheads together. "Listen to me. I'm okay. Whatever he was planning, he didn't get the chance. I'm here, I'm safe, and I'm married to you. He can't touch that. He can't touch us."

Pond's eyes were burning. He blinked, hard, refusing to let the tears fall. "I hate him."

"I know."

"I hate that he was here. I hate that I let him come. I hate that he gets to stand in the same room as you and pretend like he's—"

"Pond." Phuwin's voice was firm now, cutting through the spiral. "Look at me."

Pond looked.

"I love you." Phuwin said it simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world, like it was the only thing that mattered. "And I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever. He doesn't get to have that."

The words settled something in Pond's chest, a weight he'd been carrying so long he'd forgotten it was there. He pulled Phuwin into his arms, holding him tight, burying his face in his hair, breathing in the familiar scent of him—something floral, something sweet, something that was purely, undeniably Phuwin.

"I love you," Pond said, his voice rough. "I love you so much it scares me."

"I know." Phuwin's arms wrapped around his waist, holding him just as tight. "I know."

Taehyung's voice drifted from the bathroom doorway, dry and careful. "You two done being disgustingly in love? Because we should probably get back before someone comes looking."

Phuwin laughed, bright and warm, and Pond felt the sound vibrate through his own chest. He pulled back, just enough to look at Phuwin, to see the smile on his face, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

"Come on," Phuwin said, taking his hand, threading their fingers together. "Let's go back. We have a wedding to enjoy."

Pond let himself be pulled, let Phuwin lead him back toward the reception hall, the warmth of his hand a lifeline in the cold of the hallway. The crowd's noise swelled as they approached, laughter and music and the clink of glasses, and for a moment, Pond let himself believe that everything was going to be okay.

But as they stepped back into the light, as Phuwin was swept away by Siyh into a dance, Pond's eyes found the bar—and the figure standing there, watching him with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

His father raised his glass.

Pond's hands curled into fists at his sides.