The morning air still held the night’s chill, a crispness that clung to the skin and tasted of dew and exhaust. Phuwin walked onto campus with his new phone clutched in one hand and the strap of his packed duffel digging into his shoulder. The device was a cheap, glossy thing, a temporary replacement Siyh had shoved into his hands yesterday with a look that said don’t argue. Its weight was all wrong, too light, the screen protector already smudged with a thumbprint that wasn’t his. He’d spent half the night transferring what he could salvage from the cloud—photos, mostly. Photos of Pond. Photos of them. The cracked remains of his old phone were still in the pocket of his discarded jeans, a little museum of shattered glass and bad decisions.
The buses were lined up along the curb outside the main arts building, two long coaches idling with a low diesel rumble that vibrated up through the pavement. Students milled around them, dragging suitcases and laughing too loud for the hour, their breath making small clouds in the air. Phuwin adjusted the duffel strap, his fingers brushing against the worn canvas. He’d packed haphazardly, throwing in clothes without folding them, shoving his toothbrush into a side pocket at the last minute. The ring was back on his finger, the gold band cool and heavy. He’d slid it on in his room this morning, staring at his reflection in the dim mirror, his own face looking back at him like a stranger’s. He hadn’t taken it off since.
The auditorium doors were propped open, a stream of students flowing in and out. Inside, the cavernous space echoed with chatter and the scrape of chairs. Rows of worn velvet seats faced a stage where Marc stood behind a lectern, a tablet in his hands, his voice amplified by a crackling microphone as he called names from a list. “Park Jimin?” A hand went up near the front. “Present.” Marc made a checkmark, his glasses glinting under the harsh fluorescents.
Phuwin’s eyes scanned the crowd. He found them halfway down the center aisle: Siyh and Santa seated together, and beside them, taking up two seats with his broad shoulders and sprawled legs, Pond. Pond was turned away, talking to Taehyung, who was sitting in the row behind him, leaning forward with an animated expression. Jungkook was next to Taehyung, nodding along, a soft smile playing on his lips. There was an empty seat between Siyh and Pond. It felt less like an invitation and more like a hole.
He made his way down the aisle, the duffel bumping against his thigh with each step. Siyh saw him first. Her sharp eyes flicked from his face to the ring on his finger, then back to his face. She didn’t smile, just gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. Santa glanced over, his expression calm behind his glasses, a silent acknowledgment. Phuwin slid into the empty seat, dropping his duffel between his feet with a soft thump. The velvet was cold through his jeans.
Pond’s conversation with Taehyung trailed off. Phuwin felt the shift in the air before he saw it—the way Pond’s shoulders went still, the way his head turned, slow and deliberate. Phuwin kept his eyes forward, watching Marc at the lectern. “Lee Minho?” “Here!”
“You’re late,” Siyh murmured, not looking at him.
“Couldn’t find my other sock,” Phuwin said, his voice flat.
She snorted softly. “Liar.”
Pond was watching him. Phuwin could feel the weight of that gaze like a physical pressure on the side of his face. He didn’t turn. He focused on the grain of the wood on the lectern, the way Marc’s finger tapped the tablet screen.
“Kim Taehyung?” Marc called.
“Yo,” Taehyung said, raising a hand without looking away from Pond.
Pond cleared his throat. The sound was rough, strained. “Hey.”
Phuwin finally turned his head. Pond looked tired. There were faint shadows under his dark brown eyes, and his usually styled black hair was a little messier, as if he’d run his hands through it one too many times. He was wearing a simple gray sweatshirt that stretched across his chest and biceps, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The gold chain rested against his collarbone. He looked like he hadn’t slept.
“Hey,” Phuwin said back. His own voice sounded small in the vast room.
An awkward silence stretched between them, filled by the mundane roll call. “Jeon Jungkook?” “Present.”
Siyh elbowed Phuwin gently in the ribs. When he glanced at her, she tilted her head slightly toward Pond, her eyebrows raised. Say something.
Phuwin took a breath. He looked down at his hands, at the new phone, at the ring. “About yesterday,” he started, the words sticking in his throat. He didn’t look up. “I’m sorry. For walking off like that.”
Pond didn’t say anything. Phuwin risked a glance. Pond was staring at him, his expression unreadable.
“I just…” Phuwin swallowed. “I wasn’t in a good mood. Felt kind of sick, actually. Throwing up a lot.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. The nausea had been real, a tight, anxious coil in his stomach ever since he’d left Pond standing in the cafeteria with his arms empty. The walk home had been a blur, and he’d spent the evening hunched over the toilet, dry-heaving nothing but guilt and cold dread.
Pond’s jaw tightened. For a second, Phuwin thought he was angry. Then the tension seeped out of his shoulders, replaced by something softer, more weary. “It’s alright,” Pond said, his voice low. “You don’t have to apologize.”
Before Phuwin could reply, Pond’s hand moved. It came to rest on Phuwin’s waist, just above his hip, over the fabric of his hoodie. His palm was warm, large enough to span nearly the whole width of Phuwin’s slender waist. The touch was possessive, grounding, an anchor in the noisy room. His thumb brushed once, slowly, against the curve of Phuwin’s ribs.
Phuwin’s breath caught. He hadn’t expected the touch. Not here, not in front of everyone. His body went still, then relaxed into it almost against his will, leaning slightly into the solid pressure of Pond’s hand. It felt like an answer to a question he hadn’t known how to ask.
“You okay now?” Pond asked, his voice closer now, pitched for Phuwin’s ears only.
Phuwin nodded, not trusting his voice. He chanced a look at Santa and Siyh. Santa was politely studying the program in his lap, a faint smile on his lips. Siyh was watching them openly, her expression a mix of relief and deep, profound exasperation.
“Phuwin Tangsakul?” Marc’s voice called out, echoing.
Phuwin raised his hand. “Here.”
Marc glanced up, his eyes finding Phuwin’s. He gave a quick, professional nod and made the checkmark. “Pond Naravit?”
“Here,” Pond said, his hand not moving from Phuwin’s waist. His voice was steady, sure.
Marc checked the box. “Alright, listen up,” he announced, tapping the microphone. “We’re loading the buses in ten. Seat assignments are free-for-all, but try not to start any wars. Trip’s about three hours. Bathroom’s in the back, use it before we roll. Any questions?”
A few scattered murmurs, then the noise level began to rise as students gathered their things. Phuwin stayed seated, acutely aware of the heat of Pond’s hand through his clothes. Pond’s thumb was tracing idle, absent-minded circles now, a soft, repetitive pressure that made Phuwin’s skin prickle.
“You packed enough?” Pond asked, nodding toward the duffel at Phuwin’s feet.
“Yeah. It’s just a few days.”
“You bring warm stuff? It gets cold up there at night.”
“I brought a jacket.”
“Which jacket?”
Phuwin looked at him. “My blue one.”
“The thin one?” Pond’s eyebrows drew together. “That’s not gonna be enough. I’ve got an extra hoodie in my bag. You’re wearing it.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, delivered with that quiet, unwavering certainty that used to make Phuwin bristle and now just made something warm and helpless unfold in his chest. He ducked his head to hide the smile threatening to break through. “Okay.”
Pond’s hand squeezed his waist once, gently, before finally pulling away. The loss of contact felt like a sudden chill. “Good,” Pond said, and he sounded almost normal again. Almost like himself.
Taehyung leaned forward from behind them, his chin nearly resting on Pond’s shoulder. “So, we’re all pretending yesterday didn’t happen, then? Cool, cool. Love a fresh start. Very healthy.”
Pond elbowed him back without looking. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying! Communication is key. Also, Phuwin, you look peaky. You sure you’re not coming down with something?”
“I’m fine,” Phuwin said, too quickly.
Jungkook reached over and tugged gently on Taehyung’s sleeve. “Leave them alone.”
“What? I’m showing concern! It’s a virtue.”
Santa stood up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Virtue looks good on you. Let’s go grab a seat before the good ones are gone.” He glanced at Siyh, who was still sitting, watching the exchange with a skeptical tilt to her head.
As the group began to shuffle into the aisle, Phuwin felt a shift in the room’s energy. A new ripple of sound, a few turned heads near the entrance. He looked up.
Give stood just inside the auditorium doors, his own bag slung over his shoulder. He was with a couple of friends Phuwin didn’t recognize, laughing at something one of them said. He scanned the crowd, his eyes roaming until they landed on Phuwin. A wide, easy smile broke across his face. He lifted a hand in a casual wave.
Phuwin’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. A smile touched his own lips, automatic, reflexive. He raised his hand slightly in return.
Next to him, Pond went utterly still. The easy relaxation of a moment before vanished, replaced by a tension so sharp it was palpable. Phuwin could feel it radiating from him, a cold wave in the stuffy air.
Give’s smile turned into something more knowing, a smirk that was aimed past Phuwin, directly at Pond. Then he began making his way through the thinning crowd toward them.
“Oh, this should be good,” Siyh muttered under her breath, finally standing up.
Phuwin’s heart began a slow, heavy thump against his ribs. He watched Give approach, the easy confidence in his stride, the way his eyes never left Phuwin’s face.
“Hey,” Give said when he reached their row. His voice was warm, friendly. “You made it.”
“Yeah,” Phuwin said, standing up. His movements felt stiff. “I was, um. Waiting for you.”
The words hung in the air. He hadn’t meant to say them like that, out loud, in front of everyone. He’d run into Give yesterday afternoon, after he’d fled the art room and before he’d ended up sitting against the fence. It had been an accident, near the library. Give had been carrying a stack of books, Phuwin had been lost in his own head, and they’d collided. The books had gone everywhere. Give had laughed, helped him pick them up, and they’d ended up talking for twenty minutes on the library steps. It had been… easy. Give hadn’t asked about the ring. Hadn’t asked about Pond. Had just talked about stupid things—professors, the terrible cafeteria coffee, a movie he’d seen. Phuwin had forgotten, for twenty minutes, to feel like a coiled spring.
“Sorry I’m late,” Give said, his eyes flicking briefly, pointedly, to Pond before settling back on Phuwin. “Got held up.”
“It’s fine.” Phuwin shifted his weight. “Everyone’s just getting going.”
Give’s smile softened. Then, before Phuwin could react, Give stepped forward and wrapped him in a quick, firm hug. It was over almost as soon as it began, but in that brief second, Phuwin was enveloped in the scent of clean cotton and some citrusy cologne. Give’s arms were strong, his pat on Phuwin’s back friendly, familiar.
As he pulled back, Give’s eyes found Pond’s over Phuwin’s shoulder. The smirk returned, sharp and deliberate. A clear, silent challenge.
Pond’s face was a carefully blank mask. Only the muscle jumping in his jaw gave him away. His hands were clenched at his sides.
Phuwin took a small, involuntary step back, putting space between himself and Give. The air felt charged, brittle. “So, uh,” he started, scrambling for something neutral. “You want to sit together? On the bus?”
Give’s gaze slid back to Phuwin, the challenge melting back into friendly warmth. “Sure,” he said easily. “Sounds good.”
Phuwin nodded, a tight, nervous motion. He forced another smile, feeling it strain the corners of his mouth. “Great. I’ll just…” He gestured vaguely toward his duffel.
He bent to pick it up, his fingers fumbling with the strap. When he straightened, Pond was right there. His large hand settled back on Phuwin’s waist, this time with more pressure, more intent. It wasn’t just a touch; it was a claim, staked silently in front of everyone watching.