Phuwin's suitcase wheels caught on the threshold, and he had to yank it through the bakery door hard enough that the little bells above it rattled like an alarm. The afternoon light slanted through the café windows, warm and golden, catching the diamond on his left hand before he even had a chance to set his bag down.
Godji was on him before the door swung shut.
She hit him full-force, her arms locking around his neck, and he stumbled back a step with a surprised laugh that got smothered in her shoulder. Her apron smelled like vanilla and fried dough, and her grip was tight enough that he felt it in his ribs.
"You're back," she said into his hair. "You're back, you're back—"
"I'm back, Auntie." He laughed again, softer this time, and let himself be held. "It was three days."
"Three days too long." She pulled back, her hands moving to his shoulders, and then her gaze dropped to his hand. The ring caught another shaft of light, and Godji's eyes went wide. "Holy shit."
"Auntie—"
"Holy shit, Phuwin." She grabbed his wrist, turning his fingers toward the window, angling the diamond through the light like she was inspecting a gem at a market stall. "Where did Pond get a diamond that big?"
Phuwin felt heat climb up his neck. "It's—I don't know. He just—"
"That is not a 'just' diamond. That is a 'sold a kidney' diamond." Godji turned his hand left, then right, watching the stone throw prisms across the café counter. "How many carats?"
"I didn't ask."
"You didn't ask." She looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Phuwin."
"It was romantic, Auntie. He got on one knee under a flower arch with fairy lights, and I wasn't exactly checking the specifications."
Godji's mouth twitched. Then she laughed, full and warm, and pulled him into another hug. "My baby's engaged. My baby's getting married."
"I know."
"To a man who buys diamonds that could fund a small country."
"I know."
She released him, still shaking her head, and that was when the door swung open again and Jungkook walked in, his arms loaded with something massive and red and wrapped in pink and white ribbon. The bouquet was enormous—dozens of roses, so many that Jungkook had to tilt his head to see around them.
"Where do you want these?" Jungkook asked, already breathless. "They're heavy."
Phuwin stared at the roses. "Did Pond—"
"He had them delivered to the van. Said to give them to you the moment you got home." Jungkook set them on the nearest table, and the whole café seemed to bloom with the scent. "There's a card."
Godji picked it up before Phuwin could move. She read it silently, her eyebrows climbing, and then she handed it to him with a grin that was pure mischief.
Phuwin unfolded the small square of cardstock. Pond's handwriting was messy, almost rushed, like he'd written it while distracted:
He read the words once, then again, the heat in his cheeks spreading down his neck. *Welcome home, fiancé. I owe you one rose for every day I've wanted to kiss you. I've lost count. —P.*
Godji was reading over his shoulder. She let out a low whistle. "Fiancé." She drew the word out like she was tasting it. "He's already using it."
"Shut up." Phuwin folded the card, tucking it into his back pocket, but his fingers lingered there a moment longer than necessary. The word sat warm in his chest. *Fiancé.*
"I'm not shutting up. I'm celebrating." Godji swept past him, already reaching for a vase behind the counter. "These need water. They're not lasting three days on that counter."
The door swung open again, and Siyh and Santa tumbled through, their laughter spilling into the warm bakery air. Siyh spotted the roses immediately and stopped dead.
"Oh my god." She pointed. "Did Pond send those?"
"Yes," Godji said from behind the counter, filling a ceramic vase. "And there's a card. Very romantic. Very 'I've lost count of how many days I've wanted to kiss you.'"
Siyh's face split into a grin. "Let me see the card."
"No." Phuwin crossed his arms. "It's private."
"Private," Santa repeated, deadpan, as he shrugged off his jacket. "He's been engaged for three days and he already has private love notes."
"You're all insufferable." Phuwin turned toward the stairs, grabbing the handle of his suitcase. "I'm going upstairs."
"Don't you want to help arrange the roses?" Godji called after him.
"They're your roses now." He didn't turn around. "Put them wherever you want."
"Princess treatment," Siyh said, and Phuwin heard the grin in her voice. "The bride gets princess treatment."
He kept walking, but his ears were burning.
The stairs creaked under his weight, familiar and worn, the same creak he'd known since he was a kid running up to hide from his homework. The hallway at the top was dim, the late afternoon light filtering through the curtain at the end, and his bedroom door was open just the way he'd left it.
He dropped his suitcase inside and stood there for a moment, taking it in. His bed, unmade. His hoodie draped over the desk chair. The window overlooking the street, where the evening traffic was starting to pick up. Everything the same. But he wasn't.
He sat on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning under him, and pulled out his phone. The screen lit up, and he saw the photo Siyh had taken at the summit—him and Pond kissing, the ring catching the sky, the mountains stretching behind them. He stared at it for a long moment, then opened his messages.
His thumb hovered over Pond's name.
The cursor blinked at him, waiting. He typed: *The roses arrived. Godji almost fainted. She's calling it a "sold a kidney" diamond.*
He read it. Deleted it. Started again.
*You didn't have to send roses. But thank you. They're beautiful.*
Too formal. Deleted it.
He chewed his bottom lip, the ring catching the light from his phone screen, and then he typed slowly, deliberately:
*Roses are safe. The card made me blush. Godji read it over my shoulder. I'm never living this down.*
His thumb hovered over send. The diamond on his finger glinted, a small star against the pale skin of his hand, and he felt the weight of it—not the ring itself, but what it meant. What they were building. What he'd said yes to, standing under fairy lights with the ocean behind them.
He pressed send.
The message flew off into the dark, and Phuwin lay back on the bed, the phone resting on his chest, staring at the ceiling. The familiar cracks in the plaster. The faint water stain in the corner. The same ceiling he'd stared at a thousand nights, wondering if he'd ever feel like he belonged somewhere.
His phone buzzed.
He lifted it. Pond's name on the screen, a single line:
*Good. You deserve to blush.*
Phuwin smiled, small and private, and typed back: *When are you coming home?*
The word slipped out before he thought about it. *Home.* Not the penthouse. Not the beach house. Here. Where Godji was downstairs, and the stairs creaked, and the roses were being arranged in a ceramic vase. Where his bed was unmade and his hoodie was draped over the chair.
He stared at the word on the screen. He didn't delete it.
Pond's reply came a moment later: *Give me an hour. I'm bringing dinner.*
Phuwin typed: *Bring mango sticky rice.*
*Anything for my fiancé.*
There it was again. That word. Sitting in his chest like a warm stone. He locked his phone and set it beside him, the screen dimming to black, and for a long moment he just lay there, letting the quiet settle around him.
Downstairs, he could hear Godji's laugh, Siyh's voice overlapping, the clink of the vase being set on a table. The normal sounds of the bakery. The normal sounds of home.
But nothing felt normal anymore. Everything felt like it was glowing at the edges, like the world had shifted a few degrees while he wasn't paying attention, and he was still catching up.
He lifted his left hand, letting the ring catch the light from the window. The diamond threw a small rainbow across the ceiling, faint and fleeting, and Phuwin watched it arc and disappear.
He thought about Thursday. The hearing. Ryu. The video. The suspension. All of it waiting for him like a storm on the horizon, patient and inevitable.
But that was two days away. Tonight, there were roses. There was mango sticky rice. There was a man named Pond who called him *fiancé* and meant it.
Phuwin let his hand fall to his chest, the ring cool against his skin, and closed his eyes.
He'd face Thursday when it came. For now, he let himself have this.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, his phone was buzzing against his ribs, a muffled vibration that pulled him up from somewhere deep. He blinked, the ceiling coming back into focus, and fumbled for the screen.
Pond's name. A call, not a text.
He swiped to answer, his voice still thick with sleep. "Hey."
"You sound like you were asleep." Pond's voice was warm through the speaker, laced with amusement. "It's six-thirty."
"I was resting my eyes." Phuwin sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Are you here?"
"Pulling up now. I've got the mango sticky rice. And something else."
"What something else?"
"You'll see."
Phuwin heard the smile in his voice, and something in his chest flipped. "You're impossible."
"I'm romantic. There's a difference." A pause, the sound of an engine cutting out. "I'll be at the door in two minutes. Come down?"
Phuwin swung his legs off the bed, the floor cool under his feet. "I'm coming."
He hung up and stood there for a moment, orienting himself. The room was dimmer now, the light through the window shifting toward evening, and the sounds from downstairs had changed—quieter, more settled. The bakery must have closed while he was drifting.
He caught his reflection in the small mirror above his desk. Hair mussed, cheeks still carrying a little color from the mountain sun. The ring on his finger caught the low light, and he turned his hand, watching it gleam.
Phuwin smoothed his hair down, then gave up and just headed for the stairs.
The stairs creaked under him in the usual places—third step from the top, fifth from the bottom—and he hit the landing just as the bakery door opened and Pond stepped through, carrying a plastic bag in one hand and something else in the other, something wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
Pond looked up. Their eyes met.
And Pond smiled—that slow, lopsided smile that Phuwin had seen a hundred times, but it hit different now. Softer. Like it belonged to him.
"Hey, fiancé."
That word again. Phuwin felt it settle in his chest, warm and solid. "Hey."
Pond crossed the space between them in three long strides, set the bag and the package on the nearest table, and pulled Phuwin into his arms. His chest was warm, his shirt smelling like fabric softener and something clean, and his arms locked around Phuwin's waist like he was anchoring himself.
"I missed you," Pond said, his mouth against Phuwin's hair. "I know it was only a few hours, but I missed you."
Phuwin let himself sink into the hold, his hands finding the fabric of Pond's shirt at his sides. "I missed you too."
They stood like that for a long moment, the bakery quiet around them, the last of the evening light falling through the windows in long gold rectangles. Phuwin could hear Pond's heartbeat, steady and slow, and he pressed his ear closer to it.
"Where is everyone?" Pond asked, his voice rumbling through his chest.
"Godji's probably in the back. Siyh and Santa went home, I think. Jungkook left after he dropped off the roses."
Pond pulled back just enough to look at him. "You saw the roses?"
"I saw them. Godji almost had a heart attack."
"Good." Pond's grin was sharp. "That was the goal."
Phuwin rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
He did. That was the worst part. He absolutely did.
Pond released him long enough to grab the brown paper package from the table. He held it out, his expression shifting into something almost nervous—a crack in that confident facade that Phuwin was learning to recognize.
"What's this?" Phuwin asked, taking it carefully.
"Open it."
Phuwin worked the string loose, the brown paper falling away to reveal a small frame. A photo—the one Siyh had taken at the summit. Him and Pond, kissing, the ring bright against his finger, the mountains sprawling behind them in a wash of gold and green.
He stared at it.
Pond had framed it. He'd taken the digital image and turned it into something solid, something Phuwin could hold in his hands and set on his desk and see every morning when he woke up.
"I had it printed this afternoon," Pond said, his voice quieter now. "While you were driving back. I wanted you to have it. To remind you, I guess. That it happened. That it's real."
Phuwin's throat tightened. "Pond."
"I know it's cheesy." Pond rubbed the back of his neck, a flush creeping up his ears. "But I saw it and I thought—I want him to have this. I want him to wake up and see it and know that he's loved."
Phuwin looked up from the photo. Pond was watching him, his dark eyes soft, a little uncertain, like he wasn't sure if he'd overstepped.
He hadn't. He could never.
"I love it," Phuwin said, and his voice came out rough. "I love you."
Pond's face cracked open into that smile again, the one that made him look younger, lighter. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Pond leaned in and kissed him—soft, slow, his hand coming up to cup Phuwin's jaw. The frame pressed between them, cool glass against Phuwin's chest, and he kissed back, letting himself sink into it.
When they broke apart, Pond's forehead rested against his. "I brought the mango sticky rice too. It's in the bag. Probably getting cold."
Phuwin laughed, a wet sound that caught in his throat. "We can reheat it."
"Or we can eat it cold. I'm not picky."
Phuwin pulled back, still holding the frame. He looked at it again—the kiss, the ring, the mountains, the gold light that had seemed to wrap around them like a blessing. Soònào's wind. He'd felt it then. He felt it now, somewhere in the quiet of his chest.
He set the frame carefully on the counter, propped against the wall where he could see it from the stairs. Then he turned back to Pond, who was already pulling the mango sticky rice out of the bag, two containers and two plastic spoons.
"Eat first," Pond said, holding out a container. "Then I'm taking you upstairs and not letting you go until morning."
Phuwin took the container, their fingers brushing. "That sounds like a plan."
They sat at the small table by the window, the one where Phuwin had done his homework as a teenager, the one where Godji had taught him to fold dumplings. The mango sticky rice was a little cold, but it was sweet, and Pond kept stealing bites from Phuwin's container, and Phuwin let him, because the way Pond grinned when he did it was worth losing a few pieces of mango.
Through the window, the street was settling into evening. A neighbor walking their dog. The faint hum of a motorcycle in the distance. The bakery sign creaking softly above the door.
Phuwin looked at Pond across the table, his fiancé, eating cold mango sticky rice out of a plastic container, and thought: *This is it. This is what I was waiting for.*
He didn't say it out loud. He didn't need to.
Pond looked up, caught him staring, and raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Nothing." Phuwin smiled, small and private. "Just happy."
Pond's expression softened. He reached across the table and took Phuwin's hand, his thumb brushing over the ring. "Good. Stay that way."
Phuwin turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together. "I will."
Outside, the streetlights flickered on, one by one, casting warm pools of light along the pavement. And inside, Phuwin sat with his fiancé, the framed photo watching over them from the counter, and let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he could have this forever.