The street was quiet by the time they reached Godji's house, the lamplight from the bakery's front window casting a warm rectangle across the pavement. Phuwin's sneakers scuffed against the welcome mat, and he stood there for a moment, hand hovering over the handle, not quite ready to walk into the smell of flour and sugar and safety.
Siyh's hand landed on his shoulder. Squeezed once.
"She's gonna be fine," she said quietly. "You know she will."
He pushed the door open.
Godji was behind the counter, wiping down the display case with a rag, her apron dusted with flour even at this hour. She looked up when the bell chimed, and her face shifted through three expressions in a single breath—surprise, then warmth, then something sharper when she caught the red around Phuwin's eyes.
She set the rag down. "Phuwin."
He crossed the shop in four steps and folded into her arms before he could think about it. His forehead pressed into her shoulder, and her hand came up automatically, cradling the back of his head like he was seven years old again. The apron smelled like butter and vanilla.
"He didn't take it," Phuwin said into her collarbone. "The professor. I was two minutes late and he just—he said no. He looked at me like I was nothing."
Godji didn't say anything. Her hand moved in slow circles on his back, and he felt her nod against his hair. Behind him, Santa and Jungkook had stopped at the door, giving them space, Siyh already moving to flip the sign on the front window from OPEN to CLOSED.
"Breathe, baby," Godji said softly. "You're home. You're safe. The rest is just noise."
He breathed.
She held him until his shoulders stopped shaking, then pulled back just far enough to look at his face. Her thumb brushed the wet track under his eye. "What do you need, Phuwin? Food? Sleep? To scream into a pillow?"
He laughed—a wet, broken thing. "I want to drink with my friends in the yard."
Godji's mouth curved. "That can be arranged."
She moved past him, opening her arms to the others. Siyh stepped in first, then Santa, then Jungkook, and Godji pulled each of them into a hug that smelled like baked bread and patience. "You take care of him," she said to Siyh, low enough that Phuwin almost missed it. "And of yourselves too. I'm going to sleep—I've got a pastry order at five."
Siyh nodded. "We've got him."
Godji disappeared up the stairs with one last glance back—a long look at Phuwin, soft and steady—and then the door clicked shut behind her.
Phuwin led them through the back door into the yard. The night air was cool on his face, the sky a deep bruised blue scattered with stars. Santa had already found the bottle of soju from the fridge, and Jungkook was carrying a handful of plastic cups. Siyh dropped onto the old wooden bench with a sigh, her legs stretching out.
"Alright," she said, catching the cup Santa tossed her. "Spill. What else happened today before we got there?"
Phuwin sank onto the bench beside her, taking the cup Jungkook handed him. He swirled the clear liquid once. "Nothing. I cried in front of half the courtyard, then you guys showed up."
"Pond saw you," Santa said. Not a question.
Phuwin's jaw tightened. He took a long drink. "He ran off. Didn't even look back."
"He looked," Siyh said. "I saw him looking before Taehyung grabbed him. He looked like someone kicked his dog."
"Good," Phuwin muttered, and drank again.
The soju burned going down, and he let it. Santa poured another round. Jungkook settled on the grass, back against a tree, and the conversation drifted—campus gossip, Siyh's rant about the professor, the time Santa had accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall and sat through an entire class on marine biology before realizing his mistake. Phuwin laughed. It felt strange in his chest, like a muscle he hadn't used in hours.
Somewhere between the third cup and the fourth, the teasing turned sharper. Siyh was watching him with that knowing look, the one that meant she was about to say something he didn't want to hear.
"So," she said, drawing the word out. "Are we gonna talk about the elephant in the yard? Or are we pretending Pond's little meltdown didn't happen?"
"It's not a meltdown if he's always like that," Phuwin said. "He's just dramatic."
Santa snorted. "You're one to talk. You literally cried at a cat food commercial last week."
"That cat was abandoned! It found a home! That's emotional!"
"And Pond running off like a kicked puppy isn't emotional?" Siyh raised an eyebrow.
Phuwin drained his cup and held it out for more. Santa refilled it without comment. "Pond does what Pond wants. He's not my problem."
"He's definitely your problem," Jungkook said quietly from the grass. "He's been your problem since freshman year."
Phuwin opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn't come. The soju was pooling warm in his stomach, loosening the edges of his thoughts, and he found himself staring at the rim of his cup instead of Jungkook's face.
"What about your ex?" Siyh asked. "The one from last year. You ever think about him?"
The question landed soft, but Phuwin felt it in his ribs. He took a breath, then another drink. "Sometimes."
"You never talk about it," Santa said. Not pushing. Just naming it.
Phuwin set his cup down on the bench between his thighs. The wood felt rough under his fingertips. "We hooked up at a party. Thought it meant something. He didn't." He shrugged, but the motion was too loose—the soju making his arms heavy. "Two months of me thinking we were dating, and he was just… passing time."
"He was an asshole," Siyh said flatly.
"He was." Phuwin picked at the edge of his cup. "But I let him be. I wanted it to mean something so bad I ignored every sign."
The yard went quiet. Crickets. The distant hum of a car somewhere. Phuwin felt the sobriety drain out of him with every passing second, the world getting soft and blurred at the edges, and he was suddenly very aware that he was very drunk.
"I don't want to be that again," he heard himself say. The words came out without permission. "The one who wants it more. The one who—who waits for someone to look back."
No one spoke. Then Siyh's hand found his, squeezed once, let go.
Santa poured another round, and they drank in silence until the bottle was empty and the stars had shifted. Phuwin's head was swimming. He tried to stand, made it halfway up, and then the world tilted and his stomach lurched.
He stumbled toward the bushes at the edge of the yard and was sick.
The sound was ugly. Wet. His hands found the rough bark of the tree as he bent over, and he stayed there, shaking, until he felt a cool rag press against the back of his neck.
"I told you to slow down," Siyh said, but her voice was soft. She guided him upright, wiped his mouth with the rag, then his cheeks. The cloth was cold and damp and she was gentle in a way she never was in public. "Come on. Bedtime."
"I'm fine," he slurred.
"You're drunk and you just threw up in Godji's garden. You're not fine." She looped his arm over her shoulder. "Santa, grab the cups. Jungkook, the bottle."
They moved through the back door, up the narrow stairs, the world tilting with every step. Phuwin's room was dark when Siyh pushed the door open—his desk lamp still on from the night before, a throw blanket crumpled on the floor. She guided him to the bed and he collapsed onto it, face-first, the mattress swallowing him whole.
"You're heavy," she said, pulling off his shoes. "And you smell like soju."
"Love you too," he mumbled into the pillow.
Santa appeared in the doorway with three bottles of water and set them on the nightstand. Jungkook followed, already scrolling through his phone. "I'm sending this to the group chat," he said. "For posterity."
"Don't you dare," Phuwin said, but he was already smiling into the pillow, the alcohol making everything soft and far away.
Santa sat on the edge of the bed, glasses pushed up, phone out. The camera clicked. Phuwin groaned.
"This is blackmail for the next decade," Santa said, and Phuwin felt the mattress dip as the others climbed in around him—Jungkook on the other side, Santa at the foot, Siyh curling into the space beside his shoulder. The bed was too small for all of them, and somehow that made it better.
Phuwin rolled onto his side. His head was spinning, but his friends were warm against him, and someone's elbow was digging into his ribs, and Siyh's hand had found his under the blanket, their fingers lacing together like they'd done a hundred times before.
"You're not alone," she said, quiet enough that maybe only he heard.
He squeezed her hand.
The room settled into breathing. Someone's phone screen went dark. The desk lamp cast a final glow against the wall, and Phuwin watched their shadows stretch and merge—four bodies, one shape.
His eyes stayed open a moment longer, fixed on the blurry outline of his own hand, still holding Siyh's, as the light clicked off and the room went dark.