Pond had the phone pressed to his ear, the screen lighting up the side of his face in the dark bedroom. He was leaned against the wall, one hand in his pocket, his voice lower than usual—softer, like he was talking to something fragile.
"Hia," he said into the phone. "Can you put Tyral on? I need to say goodnight."
A pause. Then muffled voices on the other end. Pond's shoulders loosened slightly, and Phuwin watched from the bed, the sheets pooled around his waist, his ring catching the thin light from the window. He wasn't wearing much—just an oversized white top that fell to his upper thighs, the cotton soft and worn, and the fabric barely covered his ass when he moved. No boxers. No shorts. Nothing underneath but the warm night air and the weight of the day behind them.
Pond's eyes flicked to him for a second, then back to nothing. Focused on the call.
"Tyral?" Pond's voice changed. Went even softer. "Nong, it's Pond."
A tiny voice on the other end, barely audible, and then the sound of small hands clapping—sharp and quick, the way babies did when they were happy.
Pond smiled. It was a real smile, the kind that reached his eyes and softened the hard lines of his jaw. "That's right. Good night, okay? Pond loves you very much."
More clapping. Then a rustle, and Kioer's voice came back on the line, tinny through the speaker: "He's biting a block. Say goodnight to Pond, Tyral. Say 'goodnight, I love you.'"
A long pause. Phuwin heard the slow, deliberate sound of a child working out syllables on the other end, the way they shaped each word like it was made of glass.
"Goo-nigh..." Tyral's voice dragged through the word. "I... luv..."
Pond's breath caught. Just a little. Phuwin saw it.
"...you." A beat. Then, barely audible: "Too."
A sharp clap. "Yay!"
Pond let out a quiet chuckle, the sound warm and low in his chest. "Good boy. Sleep well."
Kioer came back on. "He's a handful. Bye, Pond. Get some rest."
"Bye, Hia."
The call ended. The screen went dark.
Pond stood there for a moment, the phone still in his hand, the silence settling around them like a blanket. Then he pushed himself off the wall, his footsteps soft on the wooden floor, and crossed to the bed. His hand came down on Phuwin's ass—a light smack, playful, the kind of touch that said I see you and I want you without needing to say it out loud.
Phuwin shifted, turning onto his side as Pond laid down behind him, the mattress dipping under his weight. Pond's arm slid around Phuwin's waist, his hand finding the curve of Phuwin's ass through the thin cotton, fingers pressing in just enough to hold. His chest was warm against Phuwin's back, and the scent of him—soap and skin and something that was just Pond—filled the small space between them.
The lights were off. The only light was the moon, cutting through the blinds in silver strips, painting stripes across Phuwin's face. His skin looked pale in that light, delicate, almost luminous. His brown bangs fell across his eyes, soft and tangled, and the way the shadows moved across his features made him look like something out of a dream—ethereal, untouchable, a boy who belonged to the moonlight more than the ground.
Phuwin turned fully to face him, the movement slow, deliberate. His hand came up, the ring catching the moon and breaking it into colors, and he let his fingers rest against Pond's jaw. He brushed back the textured bangs that fell across Pond's forehead, tucking them behind his ear, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, private smile.
"You're so soft with him," Phuwin said, his voice quiet. "With Tyral."
Pond's hand tightened on his ass. "He's a kid. Kids should be loved."
Phuwin's thumb traced along Pond's cheekbone. "You're going to be a good dad someday."
Pond's breath stuttered. Just a little. His hand slid up Phuwin's back, fingers pressing into the space between his shoulder blades. "You think?"
"I know."
Pond kissed his forehead. Slow. Deliberate. His lips lingered, and Phuwin closed his eyes, letting himself be held in that moment, in the warmth of Pond's mouth against his skin.
Downstairs, the faint clatter of dishes—Godji cleaning up, the sound of water running and cabinets closing. She was letting them have their privacy, but she was there, a soft presence below them, the house alive with her quiet movements.
Phuwin pulled back, just enough to look at Pond's face in the dark. The moonlight caught the edge of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "I've been thinking about the wedding."
Pond's eyebrow lifted. "Yeah?"
"I want it at sunset. Somewhere open, with flowers everywhere. Not fancy flowers, just... the ones that smell good. Jasmine, maybe. Roses." Phuwin's fingers traced the line of Pond's collarbone, the skin warm under his touch. "I want it small. Just the people who matter. Godji. Siyh. Santa. Taehyung. Jungkook."
Pond's hand slid down, resting on the dip of Phuwin's waist. "Your parents?"
The question landed soft. Careful.
Phuwin was quiet for a moment. His thumb stopped moving. "I don't know," he said, and his voice was smaller now. "I don't... I haven't thought about them."
Pond didn't push. His hand tightened, just a fraction, a silent I'm here.
Phuwin's gaze drifted to the flowers on the nightstand—the bouquet Pond had given him at the art fair, dried now but preserved, the petals brittle and brown at the edges. He had kept them. He had kept everything. The bear Pond gave him. The photo from the summit. The ring on his finger. He was collecting proof that this was real, that someone loved him, that he deserved to be loved.
"Soònào said she wants to give a speech," Phuwin said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Pond went still.
"She told me this morning. In the kitchen." Phuwin's eyes stayed on the flowers. "She said she's been disgusted by love before. That she thought it was fake, or that people just said it because they were supposed to. But she said our love is different. She said she can feel it. That when she sees you kiss me, she's going to be screaming and taking so many videos."
A sound escaped Pond's throat—half chuckle, half something thicker. "She's going to be the loudest ghost at the wedding."
Phuwin laughed. It was quiet, wet, and his eyes were shining in the moonlight. "I want a special podium for her. Just for her speech. Something gold, maybe. With flowers wrapped around it. So when she stands there, everyone knows she's real."
Pond's hand found Phuwin's chin, tilting his face up. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. We'll get her a podium. Gold. With flowers. Whatever she wants."
Phuwin's breath hitched. His hand, the one with the ring, came up to cup Pond's face, his thumb brushing over Pond's cheekbone, tracing the line of his brow. "I love you."
He said it in Thai. The words fell off his tongue like a prayer, like something he had been holding in his chest for too long and finally let go.
Pond's eyes softened. The hard edges of his face, the wall he kept up around everyone else, dissolved in the dark, in the quiet, in the weight of those syllables. He responded in Thai—the same words, but his voice was lower, rougher, like the language lived in a different part of his chest.
Phuwin smiled. It was small, private, the kind of smile he only gave when no one else was watching.
"I'm the bride of this man," Phuwin said, his voice teasing now, lighter. "The fiancé. This man's soulmate."
Pond's hand tightened on his ass, pulling him closer until there was no space between them. "Yes, you are."
Phuwin's smile widened. "Say it again."
"You're mine." Pond's voice was rough, certain. "You're my bride. My fiancé. My soulmate." He pressed his forehead against Phuwin's, their breath mingling. "And I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you."
Phuwin's laughter was soft, almost a sigh. "You already do."
They lay there for a moment, forehead to forehead, breathing the same air, the world outside the room reduced to the sound of Godji's movements downstairs and the distant hum of the city through the window.
Then Phuwin's voice came again, quieter this time. "I'm scared about tomorrow."
The words hung in the air between them.
Pond's hand moved up, sliding into Phuwin's hair, his fingers tangling in the soft brown strands. "I know."
"What if they expel me? What if the video—"
"Then we deal with it." Pond's voice was steady. "Together. That's what we said, right? No more secrets. No more facing things alone."
Phuwin's hand, still holding Pond's face, trembled slightly. "She didn't deserve what I did to her. I know she started it, but I—I didn't stop. I kept hitting her. I kept going even after she was on the ground."
"Phuwin."
"I could have killed her." His voice cracked. "If you hadn't pulled me off, I don't know if I would have stopped."
Pond's arms wrapped around him tighter, pulling him into his chest, holding him like he was something precious, something that could break if he let go. "But you didn't. You stopped. I was there. I saw it."
"Because you made me."
"Because you chose to." Pond's hand pressed against the back of Phuwin's head, guiding his face into the curve of his neck. "You chose to stop. That's what matters. And whatever happens tomorrow, we face it together. I'm not going anywhere."
Phuwin's breath was warm against Pond's skin. His hand slid down, from Pond's face to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under his palm. "Promise?"
"I promise."
They stayed like that, wrapped in each other, the night pressing in around them. Downstairs, the water stopped. A door closed. Godji's footsteps faded as she headed to her room.
Phuwin pulled back, just enough to look at Pond's face in the dark. His eyes were wet, but he was smiling—that small, fragile smile that meant he was choosing to trust, choosing to believe.
He leaned in and kissed him.
It started soft. A brush of lips, a question. Then Pond's hand tightened on his ass, and the kiss deepened. Pond's mouth opened against his, warm and demanding, and Phuwin's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Their tongues met, slow at first, then rougher, wetter, the taste of each other filling the space between them. Pond's hand slid up under the white top, palm flat against Phuwin's bare back, fingers pressing into his spine.
Phuwin made a sound against his mouth, a quiet moan that vibrated through Pond's chest.
Pond broke the kiss, just barely, his forehead still pressed to Phuwin's, his breath uneven. "We don't have to do anything," he said, his voice rough. "We can just sleep. I just want to hold you."
Phuwin's eyes were dark in the moonlight, pupils blown wide. His hand found Pond's jaw, holding him there. "I know. But I want to feel you. I want to feel alive." He paused, his thumb brushing over Pond's lower lip. "Tomorrow I have to walk into a room full of people who want to decide my future. Tonight I just want to be yours."
Pond's breath caught. His hand slid down, from Phuwin's back to the curve of his ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "You're already mine."
"Then show me."
Pond kissed him again, harder this time, his body pressing Phuwin into the mattress, the weight of him warm and grounding. His hand slid down the back of Phuwin's thigh, hitching his leg up, and Phuwin arched into him, his fingers gripping the fabric of Pond's shirt.
The moonlight cut across them, silver and blue, painting their bodies in shadows. The dried flowers on the nightstand watched, silent witnesses. The ring on Phuwin's finger caught the light and broke it into a thousand tiny stars against the ceiling.
And somewhere, in the space between the moon and the morning, Phuwin let himself believe that everything would be okay. Not because he knew it would be. But because Pond was holding him, and that was enough to make the fear smaller, quieter, less like a wall and more like a door he could walk through.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and tangled in the sheets, Phuwin's head rested on Pond's chest, listening to his heartbeat slow and steady under his ear. Pond's hand traced lazy patterns on his back, the touch soft, almost unconscious.
"Pond?"
"Hm?"
"I want us to go together tomorrow. To the hearing. I don't want to walk in alone."
Pond's hand stilled. Then it pressed flat against Phuwin's back, firm and warm. "I'll be right next to you. The whole time."
Phuwin closed his eyes. "And if they try to separate us?"
"They won't."
"But if they do—"
"Then I'll find you after." Pond's voice was quiet, certain. "I will always find you after."
Phuwin's hand curled against Pond's chest, the ring cool against his skin. "Okay."
The night stretched around them, warm and still. The fan hummed its low rhythm. Somewhere outside, a car passed, headlights sweeping across the ceiling before disappearing into the dark.
Tomorrow was coming. But tonight, they had each other.
And for now, that was enough.