The hallway outside the cafeteria carried the heat of the lunch stall like a held breath. The smell of grilled pork and hot oil had soaked into the cinderblock walls, thick enough to taste, and the vinyl floor under Phuwin's sneakers gave slightly with each step—sticky in patches where someone had spilled soda hours ago and no one had bothered to mop.

He pressed the edge of the poster against the cinderblock, smoothed it flat with the side of his palm. The paper was slightly damp—not wet, just that soft, tacky give that came from being rolled too long in a warm room. His thumb dragged across the surface, checking for bubbles, for wrinkles, for the kind of imperfection that would catch his eye every time he passed this hallway for the next week.

"Straight?" he asked, not looking back at Siyh.

"A little higher on the left."

He adjusted. "Now?"

"Now it's crooked the other way. Just—" She stepped up beside him, reached past his shoulder, and pressed the corner down with two fingers. "There. Perfect."

Phuwin leaned back to look. The poster was an explosion of neon orange and electric blue, the letters bold and aggressive against the white paper: CAMP NAVIGATE: FIND YOUR DIRECTION. There was a cartoon compass in the corner, the needle pointing nowhere useful. He didn't love the design, but Marc had been so excited about it that saying no felt like kicking a puppy.

"One down," Siyh said, tapping the poster's edge. "Thirty-seven to go."

"Thirty-six." Phuwin bent to pick up the next roll from the stack at his feet. The paper rustled against his fingers. "Someone has to do the second floor. I'm claiming arts building, you get the science wing. Fair trade."

"Absolutely not. Science wing has that one hallway that always smells like formaldehyde and regret."

"You owe me." He unrolled the next poster, pressed it flat against the wall to memorize the creases. "I let you have the last iced matcha from the café yesterday."

"That was self-preservation. You said it tasted like grass clippings."

"I was being polite."

Siyh laughed—a bright, barking sound that bounced off the cinderblock and made a passing freshman glance back. She had a laugh that didn't know how to be quiet, and Phuwin loved her for it. Loved the way it filled a space, the way it made the harsh fluorescents above them feel less institutional.

She picked up a poster of her own and tore a strip of tape from the roll hanging off her wrist. "So. I'm officially booking the anniversary trip tonight. Tai doesn't know. I'm surprising her"

"Where?"

"Khao Yai." Her grin spread slow and sly. "Three days. A cabin. A hot tub. No Wi-Fi."

Phuwin raised an eyebrow. "No Wi-Fi? That's not a trip. That's a trap."

"It's called romance, Phuwin. You should try it sometime."

"I'm engaged." He said it without thinking, the word slipping out like it belonged there, and then he felt the corners of his mouth lift. The ring on his finger caught the fluorescent light as he pressed the poster flat—a glint of gold against his skin, the stone clear as water.

"Right, right. Engaged to the human golden retriever with the biceps of a god and the brain of a lovesick teenager. Must be so hard."

"It is. He ate my leftover noodles last night without asking."

"The audacity."

"I'm serious. I had been thinking about those noodles all day." Phuwin smoothed another crease from the paper, his attention split between the poster and the memory of Pond standing in the penthouse kitchen, chopsticks in hand, looking guilty and proud at the same time. "He said he'd buy me more. But it's not the same. The noodles from that specific place, at that specific late hour—they hit different."

"First-world boyfriend problems."

"Third-world noodle tragedies."

Siyh snorted and tore off another strip of tape. "Anyway. Back to Khao Yai. I've got the whole thing planned. Night one, we arrive, I cook dinner. Night two, there's a waterfall hike. Night three, I don't know yet. I'm thinking a fire. Maybe stargazing. Maybe—" She wiggled her eyebrows. "—other activities."

"I don't need to hear about your other activities."

"You're right. You need to live them, not hear about them. When's the last time you and Pond did something that wasn't eating noodles in silence or making out in a storage closet?"

Phuwin felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck. "We do things."

"Name one."

"We went to the beach. That was—that was nice. We held hands and walked on the sand and he tried to build a sandcastle and it looked like a collapsed cake."

"That was over a month ago."

"We're busy."

"You're both busy. There's a difference." She fixed him with a look, her eyes sharp behind her teasing. "Don't let the engagement ring do all the work. You still have to date each other."

Phuwin looked down at the poster in his hands. The neon compass stared back at him, ridiculous and earnest. "I know." He rolled the next poster between his palms, feeling the paper give. "I've been thinking about the wedding, actually. What I want."

"Tell me."

"Not here. Later. When we're not surrounded by the smell of fried pork and the ghost of every bad grade this hallway has ever seen."

"Fair." Siyh pressed her poster into place and stepped back to admire it. "But I'm holding you to that. I want details. Colors. Flowers. The cake flavor. Everything."

"The cake is the easy part. Godji already volunteered to make it. She has opinions."

"Godji has opinions about everything. That's what makes her terrifying and wonderful in equal measure."

Phuwin laughed. "She wants to do a three-tier. White cake with lychee filling. Real flowers, not fondant. She showed me sketches."

"Sketches? For a cake?"

"She takes her work seriously."

"I love her."

"Everyone does." He picked up another poster from the stack, unrolled it, and held it to the wall. This one was green instead of orange, the letters in yellow: FIND YOUR PEOPLE. FIND YOUR PLACE. Marc really had a thing for inspirational slogans that meant nothing and everything at once. "What about you? You and Tai. Are we talking rings soon?"

Siyh's hand stilled on the tape roll. "We're still in the 'figuring it out' stage."

"That's the same stage you were in last year."

"We're thorough."

"You're scared."

She didn't deny it. Just ripped off another piece of tape with more force than necessary. "I'm practical. There's a difference. Tai and I are good. We're solid. But we're also young, and I have two more years of university, and she's applying for that graduate program in Chiang Mai, and—" She stopped, pressed the tape down hard. "It's complicated."

"Complicated doesn't mean impossible."

"Says the man whose boyfriend poisoned his own father over three hundred years ago. In another life."

He smoothed the green poster flat. "I think you and Tai are going to be fine."

"You don't know that."

"I know you." He looked at her, really looked, at the way she was frowning at the poster like it had personally offended her. "And I know she looks at you like you're the only person in the world who makes sense. That's not nothing."

Siyh's frown softened. "Since when did you get wise?"

"Since I started painting again. It clears the head."

"Or maybe it's the boyfriend who calls you 'my beautiful artist' and means it."

"Maybe." He felt the smile tug at his mouth again. "It's nice. Being seen."

She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. No words. Just the pressure, warm and quick, before she pulled back and grabbed another poster. "So. Soònào's birthday."

The shift was sudden, but not unwelcome. Phuwin's chest tightened, the familiar ache blooming behind his ribs. "Next week."

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know yet. I want to—" He stopped, the words catching. "I want to do something. Something real. Not just lighting a candle or visiting the memorial. Something she would have liked."

"Like what?"

"She loved jasmine. And that one song—the one that played every time we went to the market. You know the one."

"The cheesy one with the saxophone."

"That's the one." He laughed, quiet. "She would dance to it in the aisle. Badly. On purpose."

"Sounds like when I wasn't around, she was always happy.”

"She was." The ache spread, warm and sad and full. "I'm thinking of getting jasmine flowers. Lots of them. And maybe playing that song somewhere private. Just me and her."

Siyh's voice dropped, soft. "That's beautiful, Phuwin."

"I haven't figured out the details yet. But I want to feel her. You know? Not just remember her. Feel her."

"You will."

He believed her.

They worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of paper and the distant clatter of dishes from the lunch stall. The hallway was quiet for a campus hallway—most students were inside, eating or studying or pretending to study. A few people passed, glancing at the posters, but no one stopped to talk. Phuwin didn't mind. The silence felt good. Productive.

He was halfway through taping up the seventh poster—this one a deep purple, the text reading FOR THE ONES WHO GET LOST ON PURPOSE —when he felt it.

A warmth. Behind him. Close.

Not just the heat of the lunch stall, but something else. A presence. The faint scent of expensive cologne and fabric softener. The soft sound of breathing, closer than it should be.

His hands stilled on the poster.

And then arms wrapped around his waist.

The contact was sudden and familiar, two strong arms circling him from behind, pulling him back against a solid chest. He felt the heat of a body pressed against his spine, the brush of lips against the side of his neck—soft at first, then firmer, a kiss pressed to the skin just below his ear.

"Hey," Pond's voice, low and warm, against his throat.

Phuwin's breath caught. The poster in his hands crinkled as his grip tightened. For a second, his body went rigid with surprise—and then the tension bled out of him, a slow unraveling, and he leaned back into the arms around him.

The cologne. The warmth. The familiar shape of the hands at his waist. Pond.

He let out a breath, long and slow, and turned in Pond's arms. The movement was slow—deliberate, even. Phuwin's hands came up, the poster still crumpled between his fingers, and he let it fall against Pond's chest as he shifted. His hip bumped the wall, and for a moment he was bracketed between the cinderblock and Pond's body, the heat of him pressing in from every angle.

He faced him.

Pond was close. Close enough that Phuwin could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly as he looked down at him. His hands were still on Phuwin's waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

"You're everywhere," Phuwin said. His voice came out quieter than he meant.

"I missed you."

"You saw me this morning."

"That was hours ago."

Phuwin felt the laugh rise before he could stop it. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're beautiful." Pond's thumb traced a small circle against his hip. "I was walking past and saw you from the end of the hall. You were smoothing down a poster like it was the most important thing in the world. Your tongue was sticking out a little."

"It was not."

"It was. It's cute."

Phuwin's cheeks burned. He looked away, at the poster crumpled between them, at the wall, anywhere but those dark gold eyes. "You're supposed to be in class."

"The professor cancelled. Something about a conference."

"So you decided to stalk me."

"I decided to find my fiancé and give him a kiss." Pond leaned in, his voice dropping. "Is that a crime?"

"It should be."

"Then arrest me."

Phuwin bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He failed. "You're insufferable."

"You love it."

"I tolerate it."

"Same thing."

Behind them, someone wolf-whistled. Phuwin's eyes flicked past Pond's shoulder, and he saw them—three guys standing near the entrance to the cafeteria, leaning against the wall like they owned it. One of them was Taehyung, grinning like an idiot, his phone already pointed in their direction. The other two he recognized as Pond's other friends, their arms crossed, exchanging nudges and knowing looks.

Phuwin's eyebrows rose.

Pond's friends.

Of course.

"You brought your entourage," Phuwin said flatly.

Pond didn't look back. His eyes stayed locked on Phuwin's face. "They follow me. It's not my fault."

"You could tell them to leave."

"I could." He didn't move. "But then who would witness me being romantic?"

"Your ego?"

"My ego doesn't need witnesses. It knows."

Phuwin rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. He looked past Pond again, at the three guys in the corner. Taehyung was saying something to the others, gesturing toward them with both hands, and they were laughing—that loud, unself-conscious laughter that carried across the hallway. Phuwin felt the heat rise in his cheeks again. He fixed them with a look. A flat stare. The kind that said I see you. I know you're watching. Stop.

The look might have worked on normal people. But Pond's friends were not normal people. They grinned back.

Phuwin turned his attention back to Pond. "What do you want?"

"A kiss."

"That's what you interrupted my poster-hanging for?"

"I saw an opportunity." Pond's hand slid from his waist to his lower back, pulling him a fraction closer. "Don't mind them. They just like tagging along."

"They're staring."

"They're supportive."

"There's a difference?"

"In their minds? No." Pond smiled. It was soft, fond. "I missed you."

"You said that already."

"I'll say it again."

From behind them, Taehyung's voice cut through the hallway. "Hey, Pond! Does it taste like strawberries and delights?"

Phuwin closed his eyes. Counted to three. Opened them.

Pond didn't even glance back. "Ignore him."

"He's very loud."

"He's very single."

That pulled a small laugh out of Phuwin, despite himself. He shook his head, the smile still lingering, and looked down at the poster crumpled between them. He uncurled his fingers, let the paper fall, and stepped back—just enough to create space between his chest and Pond's.

He turned. Bent down. Picked up the stack of remaining posters from the floor.

The paper rustled in his hands. Siyh was watching him from a few feet away, her phone out, a knowing smirk on her face. He ignored her.

He turned back to Pond and held out the stack.

"What's this?" Pond asked.

"Posters."

"I can see that."

"You want to be such a great husband?" Phuwin said. He kept his voice light, but there was a challenge in it. "Then come to your wife. Help him."

Pond blinked.

Phuwin pushed the stack into his chest, letting the paper press against Pond's designer t-shirt. "I want all of these hung by tomorrow. Before 6:00 AM."

Pond's hands came up automatically, catching the stack before it could fall. He looked down at it. Looked up at Phuwin. His expression was something between bewilderment and amusement. "All of them?"

"All of them."

"There are at least fifty here."

"Fifty-one, actually. I counted."

"By nine in the morning?"

"You heard me."

Pond opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Phuwin—"

Phuwin reached up and patted his chest. Once. Firm. Right over where his heart must have been beating, probably too fast, because Pond's hands were full of posters and his face was doing something complicated. "You wanted to be a good husband," Phuwin said. "Here's your chance."

He leaned in and kissed him.

It was quick. Light. A press of lips that barely lasted a second, soft and warm, the ghost of a touch. But the warmth of it lingered on Phuwin's mouth as he pulled back, and he watched Pond's eyes go wide and dazed, the posters forgotten in his arms.

"I'm going to get food with Siyh," Phuwin said. "Then I’ll be in art."

He grabbed his bag from where it was leaning against the wall, swung it over his shoulder, and turned. "Siyh. Come on."

Siyh was already grinning—that sharp, mischievous grin that meant she had seen everything and was filing it away for later. She tucked her phone into her pocket and fell into step beside him. "That was cruel," she said, low enough that only he could hear. "Excellent. But cruel."

"He started it."

"He kissed you."

"Exactly."

They walked. Behind them, Phuwin heard a voice—one of Pond's friends, probably the tall one, saying something that made the others laugh. And then he heard Pond's voice, strained and hopeless:

"Phuwin."

He didn't turn around.

"Phuwin, I don't have tape."

Phuwin smiled to himself and kept walking.

Siyh caught up to him, matching his stride, her grin still firmly in place. "He's going to stand there holding those posters and looking confused for at least another thirty seconds. I counted. It's a talent of mine."

"Good." Phuwin's voice was light, but his chest felt warm—full in a way that had nothing to do with the lunch stall's heat. "Let him work for it."

"Work for it?" Siyh laughed, shaking her head. "Phuwin, that man would hang a thousand posters if you asked him to. He'd hang them by hand, one by one, in the rain, at midnight, and call it a privilege."

He didn't answer. But the smile tugging at his mouth said everything.

They rounded the corner, the sound of Pond's friends' laughter fading behind them, and the hallway opened into the cafeteria's main aisle. The smell of grilled pork grew stronger, mixing with the sharper scent of frying garlic and the faint sweetness of overcooked rice. Phuwin's stomach turned—not with hunger, exactly. With something lighter. Something that felt like the beginning of a good afternoon.