Phuwin's feet found the concrete floor before his eyes adjusted, the dim light from the single bare bulb casting long shadows across the room. The air was thick with dust and the faint metallic smell of old sheet music, and he coughed once, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as he blinked into the space.

The basement room was smaller than he remembered, or maybe it was just the way the cardboard boxes had stacked up against the far wall, their corners softened with age and neglect. A few beanbags sat in a loose circle on the worn carpet, their fabric faded and one of them split at the seam, yellow foam spilling out like a secret. Strands of LED lights hung from the ceiling in uneven loops, unplugged and dark, and a pile of blankets lay crumpled in the corner, next to a stack of canvases and a tin of paintbrushes.

Siyh dropped through the latch behind him, her landing soft and practiced, and the door closed with a click that sealed them into the quiet.

"Well." Her voice carried through the dim space, a little echo off the concrete walls. "It's still here."

Phuwin lowered his hand from his mouth and took a step forward, his bare arms brushing against the cool air. The ring on his finger caught the light from the bulb, a flash of gold against his skin, and he let himself look at it for a moment before he dropped his gaze.

"It smells," he said.

"It's atmospheric."

"It's a basement."

"Same thing." Siyh dropped her bag by the wall and crossed to the nearest beanbag, kicking off her shoes before she sank into it. The fabric groaned under her weight, and she let out a long breath, her head falling back, her eyes closing. "God, I needed this."

Phuwin stood there for a moment, the hoodie still bunched in his hands, before he moved to the beanbag beside hers. He sat down slowly, the cushion giving way beneath him, and he let the hoodie fall onto his lap, his fingers tracing the edge of the fabric.

The silence settled around them, thick and comfortable, the way it only could with someone who had known him for six years.

Siyh opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. "We need to upgrade this place."

"Upgrade?"

"Yeah." She gestured at the room with a lazy wave. "New beanbags. Better lights. Maybe a rug that doesn't smell like a dead mouse."

"There's a dead mouse in here?"

"Probably." She grinned. "Adds to the charm."

Phuwin laughed, the sound quiet and a little rusty, and he leaned back into the beanbag, letting his head rest against the fabric. The ceiling was low, the bare bulb hanging just above them, and he watched the dust motes drift through the light, slow and aimless.

"I've been coming here for years," Siyh said, her voice softer now. "Back when it was just me and a broken piano and a lot of bad decisions."

"You play?"

"I play." She sat up, reaching for a case propped against the wall that he hadn't noticed. It was dark and battered, the clasps worn silver, and she unlatched it with a practiced motion, revealing a small electric keyboard. "Not well. But I play."

Phuwin watched her set it up on her lap, her fingers finding the keys without looking, and something in his chest loosened, just a little.

"You want to hear something?" she asked, already settling her fingers over the keys.

"Sure."

She played a few notes, a warm, wandering melody that filled the room like a breath, and then she looked at him, a smirk curling at the corner of her mouth.

"I'll make you a deal," she said. "I play the song. You sing it."

Phuwin blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Her fingers moved over the keys, finding a chord, holding it until the sound faded into the dust. "You sing. I play. That's the deal."

"I don't sing."

"You do. I've heard you humming in class."

"That's not the same."

"It's exactly the same." She grinned, her eyes bright in the dim light. "Come on, Phu. One song. For me."

He looked at her, at the way the bare bulb caught the edge of her glasses, at the easy warmth in her smile, and he felt the resistance drain out of him, slow and quiet.

"Fine," he said, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

Siyh's grin widened. "Fine?"

"One song."

"One song." She turned back to the keyboard, her fingers finding the opening notes of something slow and familiar, a melody that seemed to rise out of the dust like a ghost. "You know this one?"

Phuwin did. It was an old song, one he'd heard a hundred times on the radio, one he'd hummed without thinking in the shower or while kneading dough at the bakery. The melody was simple and warm, the kind that wrapped around you like a blanket, and he closed his eyes as Siyh played the first verse, her fingers light on the keys.

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

He took a breath. Then he opened his mouth and sang.

The words came out quiet at first, tentative, like he was testing the air to see if it would hold them. But the melody was familiar, and Siyh's playing was steady beneath him, and after a few lines, his voice found its footing, growing fuller, warmer, the notes settling into the room like they belonged there.

He didn't open his eyes. He let the song carry him, let his voice rise and fall with the melody, let the words shape themselves in his throat without thinking. The dust motes drifted past his closed lids, and the LED lights hung dark above him, and for a moment, the world outside this basement room didn't exist.

There was only the song. And the warmth in his chest. And the sound of his own voice, filling the silence.

Halfway through the second verse, the piano stopped.

Phuwin's eyes flew open. Siyh had lifted her hands from the keys, her fingers hovering in midair, her head tilted as she listened to him sing a cappella.

"Keep going," she said, her voice soft. "Don't stop."

He almost did. But the melody was still in his throat, the words still warm on his tongue, and he closed his eyes again and let himself finish the verse, his voice alone in the room, bare and honest.

The last note hung in the air for a long moment before it faded into the dust.

Phuwin opened his eyes. Siyh was watching him, her hands still hovering over the keys, her expression quiet and open.

"Suai mak," she said. Beautiful.

Phuwin's cheeks warmed. He looked down at his lap, at the hoodie bunched in his hands, at the gold ring catching the light.

"It's nothing," he said.

"It's not nothing." She set the keyboard aside, shifting in her beanbag until she was facing him fully. "You have a good voice, Phu. You should use it more."

"I use it."

"To yell at Pond." She grinned. "That's not the same."

He laughed, the sound escaping before he could stop it, and he felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease.

Siyh leaned back, her arms crossed, her eyes still warm. "We're definitely singing together at the wedding."

Phuwin's laugh faded into a smile. "The wedding?"

"Yeah." She gestured at the ring on his finger. "You're engaged, remember? There's going to be a wedding. And I'm going to play the piano, and you're going to sing, and everyone's going to cry."

"Everyone?"

"Including Pond. Especially Pond. He's going to be a mess."

Phuwin smiled, the image forming in his mind: Pond standing at the altar, his eyes wet, his lips parted, his hand reaching for Phuwin's across the space between them. It was a good image. A warm one.

But it was also a reminder. Of everything that still sat between them, unresolved.

He looked down at the hoodie in his hands, his thumb tracing the seam. "I was going to call him," he said. "But my phone is broken."

Siyh's expression shifted, the warmth cooling into something harder. "Pond broke your phone."

"I know."

"He threw it against a wall."

"I know."

"Because a transfer student called you sexy."

Phuwin looked up. "I know, Siyh."

She held his gaze for a moment, her jaw tight, and then she let out a breath, shaking her head. "Pond doesn't deserve a call."

"Siyh—"

"I'm serious." She sat forward, her voice carrying a weight that cut through the dim air. "He threw your phone. He broke it. Because he was jealous. Always 'itchachang' — jealous, possessive, can't control himself. I don't know how you keep up with him."

Phuwin was quiet for a moment. The words sat between them, heavy and honest, and he didn't have an answer that would make them lighter.

"He's trying," he said finally. "He's been through a lot."

"I know." Siyh's voice was softer now. "I know he has. But that doesn't mean you have to carry the weight of it."

Phuwin looked down at his ring again. The gold caught the light, small and steady, and he thought about the weight of it on his finger, the promise it carried.

"I love him," he said, the words simple and quiet. "I don't know how to explain it. But I do."

Siyh was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached over and placed her hand on his knee, her grip firm and warm.

"I know you do," she said. "And I'm not saying you shouldn't. I'm just saying..." She paused, her eyes searching his. "You don't have to forgive everything. You're allowed to be angry. You're allowed to set boundaries."

Phuwin met her gaze. "I know."

"Do you?"

He didn't answer. He wasn't sure he had one.

Siyh squeezed his knee once, then pulled her hand back and stood, stretching her arms above her head until her spine cracked. "Come on. You need boba."

Phuwin blinked. "What?"

"Boba. You said it yourself — you need your boba. And you need to look for a new phone online." She grabbed her bag from the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. "So let's go."

Phuwin watched her for a moment, then let out a breath, a small smile tugging at his lips. He stood, the hoodie still in his hands, and pulled it over his head, the fabric settling around him, the familiar weight of it grounding him. He tugged the ring free of the sleeve, letting it sit exposed on his finger, and looked at Siyh.

She had her glasses on now, the frames catching the light, and she was fixing her bun with quick, practiced motions, tucking stray strands behind her ears. She looked efficient. Decisive. Like she always did when she was done with a conversation and ready for the next thing.

She crossed to the ladder, grabbed the handle of the latch, and pulled. The door swung open, letting in a wash of brighter light from the music room above, and she looked back at him over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

"Come on," she said.

Phuwin took a breath. Then he followed.