The porch light buzzed. Pond's fist hung in the air for a long moment before he knocked—three hard raps that seemed too loud in the quiet. The river rushed somewhere below, and the pine smell was thick enough to taste.

The door opened. Taehyung stood there, hair mussed, eyes wide, the confession still written all over his face like he'd been caught mid-sentence. "Pond? What are you—"

"I need to talk." Pond's voice came out flat, controlled, the way it did when he was holding something back. "I'm tired. I'm so fucking ready to kill that bastard."

Taehyung blinked. Stepped out. Pulled the door mostly shut behind him, the click of the latch soft in the night. "Whoa. Slow down. Who—"

"Give." The name came out like poison. "That son of a bitch kissed my fiancé's hand."

The words hung between them. Taehyung's eyebrows climbed his forehead, and he let out a low whistle, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Okay. Okay. Walk with me."

They moved away from the cabin, boots scuffing against the pine needles, the path leading nowhere in particular. The moon was high and thin, casting everything in silver and shadow. Pond's hands were shaking. He shoved them into his own pockets, but they kept trembling.

"He didn't even try to pull away." Pond's voice cracked on the last word, and he hated it. Hated how small it made him feel. "He just—he let him. He laughed. Give kissed his knuckles and Phuwin *laughed*, Tae. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing."

Taehyung was quiet for a moment, the only sound their footsteps and the distant rush of water. Then he stopped, turning to face Pond fully. The moonlight caught the serious set of his jaw, the way his eyes had gone steady and sure.

"Listen to me." Taehyung's voice was low, calm. "At the end of the day, Phuwin is the one who smiled and said yes. He called you the love of his life. His fiancé." He paused, letting the words settle. "And Phuwin is the one wearing the one-million-baht ring. Rose gold. A beautiful, very expensive diamond that *you* picked out yourself."

Pond's throat tightened. He knew the ring. Had spent an entire afternoon in the jeweler's, agonizing over cut and clarity and whether the band was too thin, whether the diamond was too big, whether it would catch on Phuwin's sweater when he pulled it over his head. He'd wanted it to be perfect. He'd wanted Phuwin to look at it and know—*know*—how much he was loved.

"He holds it," Pond said, quieter now. "When he thinks I'm not looking. He turns it on his finger like he's checking it's still there."

"Exactly." Taehyung stepped closer. "That ring is a promise. And Phuwin is the one who turns it so he can feel you. So he can remember that you're going to hold him. Find him in whatever situation and still love him and fight for him."

Pond's chest ached. He wanted to believe it. God, he wanted to believe it more than anything.

"But what if—" His voice broke again, and he had to stop, press his palm against his eyes, breathe through the burn in his throat. "What if he's losing interest in me? Everything now is about Give. Give. Give. Give." He dropped his hand, and the name came out ragged, desperate. "The name just makes me feel like going insane. I don't know how to tell him. I'm scared, Tae. I'm scared I'm going to lose him."

The words hung in the cold air. Taehyung's face softened, and he reached out, gripping Pond's shoulder with a firm hand.

"If you choose the right words, you can have the courage to talk to him. And Phuwin will understand." Taehyung's voice was steady, sure. "There's no reason to lash out at anyone. Just make sure that whatever you do is helping yourself and Phuwin—your fiancé. Your wife. Your everything."

The word hit Pond like a physical blow. *Everything.*

He stood there, chest heaving, the night air cold against his burning face. And slowly, the storm inside him began to settle. Because Taehyung was right. At the end of the day, it was true. He loved Phuwin so much it hurt, a constant ache behind his ribs. Phuwin was everything and anything Pond could ask for. He cherished him. He would cross any beach, fight any battle, break any phone against any wall—

He let out a long, shaky breath. "I'm going to head back to bed."

Taehyung nodded, squeezing his shoulder once before letting go. "Stay calm. You'll talk it out tomorrow. Good night."

"Good night." Pond turned, and the path back to the cabin felt longer than it had before. The swings were empty when he passed them, just two wooden seats swaying gently in the breeze, and he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Whatever was left of the night, at least that was over.

——————————————————

The cabin door opened with a soft creak. Inside, the dark was warm and close, the sound of Marc's even breathing from the far bunk and the faint rustle of Santa turning over in his sleep. And there, sitting up in the bed, back against the headboard, was Phuwin.

His brown bangs fell over his eyes, and he was watching the door like he'd been waiting for it to open. The moonlight through the window caught the curve of his shoulder, the edge of his jaw, the way his fingers were curled into the blanket.

Pond didn't say anything. He crossed to his bunk, sat down on the edge, and began pulling off his boots, the laces stiff with cold.

"Pond." Phuwin's voice was soft. Careful.

Pond didn't answer. He set the first boot down, started on the second.

There was a rustle of sheets. Then the soft pad of bare feet on the wooden floor. Then warmth at his side as Phuwin climbed down from the top bunk and stood in front of him, close enough that Pond could smell the faint sweetness of the cocoa he'd had by the fire.

"Are you okay?" Phuwin's voice was barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

Pond still didn't answer. He stared at the boot in his hands, at the mud caked on the sole, at the way his fingers were trembling again.

Phuwin made a small sound—a soft, worried pout, his bottom lip pushing out just slightly, his brow furrowing. He looked so young in the dim light, so impossibly beautiful, and Pond felt the ache in his chest crack open a little wider.

Pond sighed. He set the boot down, lay back on the bunk, and stared up at the wooden slats of the bed above him.

The mattress dipped. Phuwin climbed in beside him, fitting himself against Pond's side like he belonged there, his arm wrapping around Pond's waist and pulling tight. His face pressed into the curve of Pond's shoulder, and his voice came out muffled, warm, a little desperate.

"Baby."

The word undid him. Pond's arm came up automatically, wrapping around Phuwin's back, pulling him closer. He turned his head, and Phuwin looked up at him, those brown eyes wide and searching in the dark.

Phuwin smiled—a small, trembling thing—and then he leaned in and kissed him.

It was deep. Hungry. Phuwin's hand came up to cup Pond's jaw, his fingers sliding into the short hair at the nape of his neck, and he kissed him like he was trying to say everything he didn't have words for. Pond's breath stuttered out of him, and he kissed back, pouring everything he couldn't say into the press of his mouth, the slide of his tongue, the desperate grip of his hand on Phuwin's hip.

And then Phuwin pulled back. Just a little. Just enough to look at him.

The moonlight caught the ring on his finger—the rose gold, the diamond catching the silver light—and Pond watched as Phuwin turned it, slowly, deliberately, like he was checking it was still there. Like he was reminding himself of the promise it carried.

Pond's throat closed. He reached out, catching Phuwin's hand in his own, and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the ring, to the warm skin beneath it.

Phuwin made a small sound, soft and broken, and then he turned in Pond's arms, his back against Pond's chest, and Pond's arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him tight. He buried his face in the curve of Phuwin's neck, breathing him in, feeling the steady beat of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"I've got you," Pond whispered into his skin. "I've got you."

Phuwin's hand found his, their fingers interlacing over the ring. He squeezed, a small, sure pressure, and let out a breath that sounded like relief.

Outside, the river kept rushing. The wind moved through the pines. And in the narrow bunk, tangled together, they slept.

The river's rush filled the dark, steady and indifferent, the way it had been doing long before any of them arrived and would keep doing long after they left. Pond lay awake, listening to it, feeling the slow rise and fall of Phuwin's breathing against his chest, the warm weight of him pressed close, their fingers still interlaced over the ring.

He should sleep. He knew he should sleep. Marc's even breathing from the far bunk, the occasional rustle of Santa turning over, the soft creak of the cabin settling in the cold — all of it was the sound of a night winding down, of bodies surrendering to exhaustion. But Pond's mind kept circling, kept snagging on the image of Give's lips pressed to Phuwin's knuckles, kept replaying the sound of Phuwin's laugh, soft and helpless, the way he hadn't pulled away.

He tightened his arm around Phuwin's waist, pulling him closer, and Phuwin made a small, contented sound in his sleep, his fingers curling tighter around Pond's hand. The ring pressed between their palms, warm from Phuwin's skin, and Pond felt something in his chest loosen, just a little.

This was real. This was his. The boy in his arms, the ring on his finger, the promise they'd made on a beach under fairy lights — this was the thing that mattered. Not Give. Not the way Phuwin had laughed. This, right here, in the dark, with the river running and the wind in the pines.

Pond pressed his lips to the back of Phuwin's neck, breathing in the faint sweetness of cocoa and something softer underneath, something that was just Phuwin. And slowly, gradually, the tension bled out of his shoulders, the storm in his chest settling into something quieter, something he could almost carry.

He closed his eyes. The river kept rushing. The wind moved through the pines. And in the narrow bunk, tangled together, they slept.