Phuwin sat cross-legged on the wide bed in the master bedroom, the baby girl a warm, small weight against his chest. The afternoon light spilled through the window, catching dust motes in a slow, lazy dance, and the room smelled of salt and sunscreen and the faint floral scent of the sheets. Her tiny fist gripped the ear of the teddy bear—the one Pond had won for him at the arcade weeks ago, the one he'd held onto through the fight, the suspension, everything—and she made soft cooing sounds in her sleep, her lips pursed like she was dreaming of something sweet.
He looked down at her and felt something crack open in his chest. Not painfully. Just enough.
Pond stood in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame. He'd been quiet for a long moment, just watching, and when Phuwin glanced up, his expression was unreadable. Dark eyes, soft focus. Like he was taking a photograph.
"You're good with her," Pond said.
Phuwin felt the heat rise to his cheeks. "She's asleep. It doesn't count."
"It counts." Pond pushed off the frame and walked over, sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped, and the baby stirred slightly, her fist tightening on the teddy's ear. Pond's voice dropped. "You hold her like you've done it before."
Phuwin's throat tightened. He looked down at her face, at the soft curve of her cheeks, the tiny eyelashes fanned against her skin. "I haven't. Not really." A pause. "I always thought I'd learn."
The words hung in the air, and he felt the weight of them settle into the quiet between them.
Pond reached out and brushed a thumb across the baby's cheek. "We could learn together."
It wasn't a question. It was a door, held open.
Phuwin nodded, not trusting his voice, and the crack in his chest widened just enough to let something warm in.
Outside, the ocean was a low, constant hum. The beach house had been Santa's family's, lent for the break, and it sprawled across the dunes like a thing that had grown there—wood and glass and salt-worn corners. This room was the largest, with windows that faced the water, and the light made everything soft, forgiving.
Phuwin looked down at the baby again. Her name was Lin, and she was the daughter of Pond's Brother, left with them for the afternoon while her parents took a nap. A break from the chaos of a two-month-old. Phuwin had barely held a baby before, but she'd settled into his arms like she knew him, and now her breath came in slow, even puffs against his collarbone.
"She's so small," he whispered.
Pond smiled. "She'll get bigger."
"I know." Phuwin's voice caught. "I just—I keep thinking about everything she's going to see. Everything she's going to do. And she doesn't know yet. She doesn't know that things can go wrong. She just sleeps."
The silence that followed was heavy, but not painful. Pond's hand found his knee, warm and solid.
"We'll make sure it's good for her," Pond said. "For all of them."
Phuwin's breath stuttered. The memory rose, unbidden, the way it always did—Soònào's voice in the kitchen, her hands on the counter, the easy way she'd said it. You'll have the biggest wedding, Phuwin. And I'll be right there, in the front row, crying louder than your mother.
He blinked hard. The baby stirred, her face scrunching, and a soft whimper escaped her lips.
"Hey," Phuwin whispered, shifting her against his chest. "Hey, it's okay. I'm sorry."
But the whimper turned into a cry, thin and wobbly, and Phuwin felt the tears slip down his own cheeks before he could stop them. He laughed, a wet, broken sound, and wiped his face with the back of his hand.
"Look at me. Making her cry."
Pond watched him with something soft in his eyes. "You're both crying."
Phuwin laughed again, harder this time, and the baby's cries hiccuped into a confused fussing. He rocked her gently, wiped his eyes, and looked down at her blotchy, scrunched-up face. "Pathetic," he murmured, his voice thick with affection. "Auntie Soònào would have called us both pathetic."
The name fell out before he could catch it. He froze, the air changing, but Pond's hand stayed on his knee.
"Tell me about her," Pond said.
Phuwin looked at the window. The light was golden, afternoon sliding toward evening. The baby had quieted, her cries fading into hiccuping breaths, her fist back on the teddy's ear.
"She said she'd be at my wedding," Phuwin said quietly. "She said she'd cry louder than my mom. She promised." He took a shaking breath. "And I—"
He couldn't finish the sentence. But he didn't have to. Pond knew.
Pond leaned in and pressed a kiss to Phuwin's temple. "She'll be there."
Phuwin closed his eyes.
They sat like that for a long moment, the light shifting, the ocean breathing. The baby's breathing evened out, her small body warm and trusting against his chest.
Then Phuwin opened his eyes and looked at Pond. The sadness was still there, tucked behind his ribs, but so was something else. Something lighter. "You said you planned this break for us."
Pond's mouth curved. "I did."
"Okay." Phuwin shifted the baby carefully, getting one leg under himself. "Then let's do it."
He stood, the baby cradled against his shoulder, and started patting her back in a slow, steady rhythm. A soft hum rose in his throat, tuneless and low, and the baby's hand relaxed, her grip on the teddy's ear going slack.
She turned her head, her mouth falling open in a gummy, milky smile.
Phuwin smiled back. "Look at you. No teeth yet and already so happy." He looked at Pond. "She's ridiculous."
"She's perfect," Pond said, and the way he said it made Phuwin's stomach flip.
He set her down on the bed, gentle as glass. She waved her arms, a tiny sound of protest, but Phuwin already had the diaper bag open, pulling out the tiny swimsuit Pond's Brothers Girlfriend had packed—a yellow thing with ruffles and a little bow.
"Okay, little friend. Beach time."
He worked the snaps on her onesie, his fingers clumsy but careful, and she squirmed and cooed, her legs kicking. He got the swimsuit on her—a process that involved wrestling with tiny limbs and re-snapping the crotch twice—and by the end, he was breathing hard and she was giggling, a wet, bubbling sound.
He was about to pick her up again when hands settled on his waist.
Pond was behind him, chest warm against his back, arms circling him loosely. "She looks good," Pond murmured, his voice a low rumble. "But you'd look better in less."
Phuwin sighed. "We have a baby here."
"I see her." Pond's hands moved lower, settling on his hips, thumbs pressing into the dip of his waist. "I also see you."
One hand slid down, cupping his ass through his shorts, and squeezed.
Phuwin exhaled, steady. "Pond."
"What?" Pond's voice was innocent. His hand wasn't. He gave another squeeze, heavier this time, and Phuwin felt the heat rise, a flush spreading across his neck.
"I'm trying to get her ready."
"She's ready." Pond's hand rubbed slow circles over his ass, then smacked—sharp, playful. "She's perfect. You're perfect. I just want to see the whole picture."
Phuwin turned his head, catching Pond's eye. "You want to see the whole picture?"
"I want to see all of it."
Phuwin pulled away gently, picking up the baby and settling her on his hip. She grabbed his shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric. "Then you're on baby duty. I'm changing."
He walked to the bathroom before Pond could argue, sliding the door half-closed behind him. Through the gap, he saw Pond standing where he'd left him, blinking at the empty space.
Then he looked down at the baby in his lap—Pond had scooped her up, settling her on his thighs, holding her in that useless, frozen way people held babies when they didn't know what to do with them.
"Okay," Pond said, to the baby. "We're waiting for him. We can do that."
The baby blew a spit bubble.
"Good. That's a yes."
Phuwin turned to the mirror. His eyes were red, his cheeks blotchy from crying. He splashed cold water on his face, pressed his palms to his eyes until the sting faded. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out the shorts he'd bought at a market in Bangkok—denim, frayed at the edges, so short they barely grazed the tops of his thighs. They hugged his hips and the swell of his ass like they'd been made for him. He stepped into them, adjusting the fit, and then reached for the top.
It was a thin crochet thing, backless, the fabric barely covering his front. It tied at the back of his neck and left his shoulders bare, the skin exposed from his shoulder blades to the dip of his spine.
He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked good. He knew he looked good.
He pulled out the lip tint—a soft, berry red—and ran it across his lips, pressing them together until the color settled. Then he ran a hand through his bangs, shaking them loose, and took a breath.
He slid the door open.
Pond was on the bed, the baby sitting in his lap, her back against his chest. He'd found a way to hold her that didn't look completely terrifying, and he was talking to her in a low voice, pointing at the window. "That's the ocean. Big water. Remember it, because when you're older, I'm going to teach you to surf when you're father brings you to visit Auntie Phuphu and Me."
The baby gurgled.
Pond looked up.
And stopped.
His eyes went wide. His mouth fell open. He set the baby down on the bed—gently, but fast—and straightened, his whole body turning toward Phuwin like a compass finding north.
Phuwin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, the lip tint dark against his mouth. "Well?"
Pond's face went through a sequence.
First, a flicker of analysis—his eyes running down Phuwin's body, cataloging, processing. Then his pupils blew wide, dark and hungry, his lips parting. Then his mouth curled, something wolfish, a pulse of pure want. And finally, a pinch between his brows, a slow head tilt, his jaw working like he was chewing on a problem.
"What does that face mean?" Phuwin asked.
Pond pointed at him. "That's—" He gestured vaguely at Phuwin's entire body. "That's a lot of skin."
"You wanted the full picture."
"I did." Pond's voice was rough. "I do. But—" He rubbed a hand over his face, laughing. "That's not beach clothes. That's a crime."
Phuwin smiled slowly. "So I should take it off?"
Pond made a strangled sound. "No. Yes. I don't know." He stepped closer, his eyes still hungry, and reached out to touch the hem of the shorts. His thumb brushed the skin of Phuwin's hip, featherlight. "The whole beach is going to stare at you."
"They already do."
"I know. That's the problem.">
Phuwin tilted his head, watching him. The jealousy was flickering behind Pond's eyes, but so was something else. Pride. Wonder. Like he couldn't believe this was his.
Which was exactly what Phuwin wanted.
"Then you'll just have to stare harder," Phuwin said. "Keep me close. Make them all jealous." He touched Pond's chest, his fingers light on the fabric of his shirt. "You're the one I'm coming home with."
Pond exhaled, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He shook his head, smiling. "You're going to kill me."
"Not today." Phuwin stepped back. "Today, we're going to the beach." He walked over to the bed and scooped up the baby, settling her on his hip. She immediately grabbed a fistful of his hair, and he winced. "Ow. Okay. Fine. You're the boss."
"She's got your number already," Pond said, coming up behind him. His hand found the small of Phuwin's back, bare skin against his palm. "She knows who's really in charge."
"She's a baby. She barely knows her own hands."
"Exactly. She's perceptive."
They walked out of the bedroom together, the afternoon light stretching long across the wooden floors. The house was quiet—the others were scattered, some still unpacking, some already on the sand. The stairs creaked under their weight, and at the bottom, Pond grabbed a towel, a hat, and a bottle of sunscreen.
"You're doing a great job," he said, bumping his shoulder against Phuwin's as they reached the back door. "With her."
Phuwin looked down at the baby, who was now trying to fit a fistful of the teddy's ear into her mouth. "She's easy. She just wants to be held."
"Same," Pond said, and his voice was soft, sincere.
Phuwin looked at him. The light was golden, catching the edges of his face, and his eyes were warm, unguarded. He looked like he was already living in the future they'd talked about—the house, the kids, the mornings that stretched into afternoons.
Phuwin's chest ached, but it was a good ache. Full.
He stepped through the door, and the sand met his feet, warm and shifting under his weight. The ocean was stretched out before them, endless and blue, the waves rolling in soft and slow. The air tasted like salt, and somewhere down the shore, someone was laughing.
Pond's hand found his, fingers threading together. The baby grabbed at the chain around Pond's neck, and Pond let her, tilting his head so she could reach.
"So this is the break," Phuwin said.
"This is it." Pond squeezed his hand. "I figured we deserved something good. After everything."
Phuwin nodded. The wind lifted his bangs, and he blinked against the brightness, feeling the weight of the baby in one arm and the warmth of Pond's hand in the other.
And for a moment, standing on the sand with the sun on his skin, it felt like the future wasn't something to wait for.
It was already here.