Pond pushed the storage room door open with his shoulder, one hand still pressed to Phuwin's lower back like he wasn't ready to let go. The kitchen air hit them — steam and sour coffee grounds, the hum of the fridge, the clatter of a spoon dropped in the sink.
Siyh was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a bag of chips dangling from her fingers. She looked them up and down and bit into a chip with deliberate crunch.
"Took you long enough."
Santa stood by the back door, one eyebrow arched high above his glasses. His gaze dropped to Pond's neck — the flour smeared there, pale against his skin, a ghost of what they'd been doing. Santa said nothing. He didn't have to.
Taehyung let out a low whistle from near the pastry case, his arms spread wide. "Finally. I was about to send a search party."
Phuwin's ears burned. He tugged his shirt down, the fabric sticking to damp skin, and felt every step he took — the ache deep in his ass, a slow throb that reminded him exactly what they'd done and where. He kept his eyes on the floor tiles.
Siyh crunched another chip. "I'll just tell Godji when she gets back what you did near her supplies for the food."
Phuwin's head snapped up. "No. Please. She doesn't need to —" He looked around, spotted Tai standing near Siyh, her cheeks already pink. He crossed to her in two steps and took her hand.
"Tai. Please help me. You're the best person I've ever met, I love you so much, you're amazing —" He pressed a kiss to her cheek, quick and warm. Tai's blush crawled up to her ears. She laughed, surprised, and looked at Siyh.
Behind him, Pond stopped.
The air shifted. Phuwin felt it before he turned — the absence of warmth at his back, the sudden cold where Pond's hand had been. He looked over his shoulder.
Pond's jaw was locked. His eyes were on Tai's cheek, on the spot where Phuwin's lips had touched her skin. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curling slowly into fists.
"Pond —"
Pond let out a breath. Not a word. A sound. Something tired and sharp, like a blade being set down. He ran a hand through his hair, turned, and walked toward the front of the café.
"Pond." Phuwin followed, his bare feet slapping the tile. "Hey. Wait."
Pond pushed through the café door. The little bell jangled. Customers glanced up from their tables — a woman with a latte, a man on his phone — and watched him cross the street without looking back.
Outside, the air was thick and wet, the street humming with late afternoon traffic. Phuwin stepped onto the pavement, gravel biting into his bare soles, and saw Pond already halfway across the road, pulling his car key from his pocket.
"Pond. Talk to me." Phuwin's voice cracked. He didn't care who heard. "I just — you fucked me. I let you fuck me in my aunt's storage room while I was tired and stressed and I said I loved you —"
Pond stopped at the driver's door of his black Rolls Royce. He licked his lips. Ran his hand through his hair again. His eyes were dark when he looked up — not angry. Something worse. Tired.
"I just need some time." His voice was quiet. "To figure out if I made the right decision."
"What does that mean?" Phuwin took a step forward. "Pond — what decision?"
Pond didn't answer. He opened the door, slid into the driver's seat, and pulled the door shut with a solid thunk.
The engine turned over. A low rumble.
Phuwin stumbled back as the car pulled away from the curb, his heels hitting the edge of the pavement. He stood there, barefoot on the hot street, watching the black car shrink down the block, turn a corner, and disappear.
The street noise filled the space where the engine had been. A scooter buzzed past. Someone laughed outside the convenience store. The world kept moving.
Phuwin stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty corner. He tried to think what could have made Pond that mad. What he'd done wrong. What he always seemed to do wrong.
He turned and walked back inside, past the customers flowing in and out of the shop — a girl with a backpack, an old man with a paper — and headed up the stairs to his room. Each step pressed the ache deeper into his body.
His door was open. He sat on the edge of his bed, the sheets still twisted from last night, the ceiling fan chopping stale air above him. He heard footsteps behind him — Jungkook first, rubbing his eyes like he'd just woken up, then Santa, then Siyh pulling Tai by the hand.
They settled around him on the mattress. Siyh on his left, Santa on his right, Jungkook on the floor at the foot of the bed, Tai perched on the desk chair.
"Do you know why he's mad?" Santa asked.
Phuwin shook his head. His throat was tight. His eyes were burning.
Siyh reached out and stroked his cheek with her finger, soft, the way she did when they were kids and he couldn't sleep. "There's no reason to cry. He said he just needs time to think. He loves you. He wouldn't just go."
Phuwin took a deep breath. His chest hitched on the exhale. He closed his eyes, and a tear slipped down his face, catching the light before it fell onto his lap.
"I don't know why he does this shit to me." His voice was small. "Why am I always the one doing something wrong? In every —" He stopped. Swallowed. "Every relationship. Every time."
His lips turned into a pout. The same pout he'd had since he was a kid, the one that made Siyh call him a spoiled prince. It looked awfully cute. It broke something in the room.
The tears came faster. He turned his head and looked at his desk — at the photo frame there, the one he never moved. A girl with his eyes, his smile, his brown hair, grinning at the camera with her arm around his shoulder.
He cried harder.
Santa pulled him close, one hand on the back of his head, pressing him into his shoulder. Phuwin's fingers found the edge of the blanket and held on.
"Soònào was my older sister." His voice was muffled against Santa's shirt. "My best friend. And she left me the night after Dice did. But she can never come back."
The name hung in the air. Heavy. Unsaid for too long.
"I don't want that to happen to anyone I love." Phuwin pulled back, his face wet, his eyes red. "I love the people I call my best friends. My friends. My family. And Pond." His voice cracked on the name. "I love him. I said it. I meant it. But I don't understand why everyone keeps leaving me."
Siyh's hand was on his knee. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. "We shouldn't talk about Soònào right now." Her voice was barely a whisper. She struggled on the name, stumbling over the syllables like they burned. "We miss her too. But right now —"
"I have the fucking right to talk about my sister."
Phuwin's voice broke open. The room went still.
"Do you know that Soònào and I got into a fight over a phone call?" He was shaking now, his hands trembling in his lap. "And the last thing I got to tell her was to die. And then I heard her screaming. Yelling for me as she was being run over and men were hitting her and kicking her until she —" He stopped. Breathed. "I couldn't say I love you for the last time for her to hear."
He looked at Siyh. Her face was pale, her lips pressed together, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Do you know what that's like, Siyh? I'm fucking tired. I need to do this. I need to do that. I'm just tired. I'm one person. One fucking person. I let myself have sex with Pond while I was overwhelmed and stressed. I let someone yell at me and take the blame for everyone, and then they turn their back on me."
Tears fell freely down his face. He didn't wipe them.
Siyh's shoulders shook. She saw it — the flash of a street at night, the sound of a scuffle, Soònào's voice raised in anger, then a scream that cut off into something wet. Phuwin's voice on the other end of the line, calling her name, begging. The thud of boots against bone.
She got up and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head to her chest, holding him like she could keep the world out.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered into his hair. "I'm so sorry."
Phuwin cried against her, his body shaking with the weight of years, of words never unsaid, of a sister who died knowing his last word to her was a curse. Santa's hand stayed on his back. Jungkook's eyes were wet, his hand over his mouth. Tai sat frozen, her blush long gone, her face soft with grief.
The crying slowed. Phuwin's breaths became deep, ragged, then steadier. He pulled back, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and looked at the ceiling.
"I just need to rest for a while," he said, his voice hoarse. "Just a little."
His eyes closed. His breathing evened out, deepening into sleep, his hand going slack on the blanket.
Siyh smiled — small, tired, full of something that wasn't quite okay but was close enough for now — and wiped his face gently with her thumb, brushing away the last tear tracks. His skin was warm under her touch.
Tai watched from the chair, her blush creeping back across her cheeks as she looked at Siyh — at the gentleness in her hands, the way she held Phuwin's face like he was something precious.
Siyh caught her looking and smiled. Small. Real.
The room settled into the sound of Phuwin's breathing, the ceiling fan ticking overhead, the distant noise of the street below.