The tree line at the clearing's edge held the night's chill, rough bark scraping Phuwin's back as he stepped into the shadows. Damp grass slicked his ankles, the air thick with pine and turned earth, while the low hum of the fire's glow faded behind them. He didn't know where he was running to. He just knew he couldn't stand there one more second, couldn't watch Pond's face go from shocked to wounded to something worse, couldn't see the ring lying in the grass like a promise he'd just murdered.

His chest was on fire. Each breath came in ragged, tearing gasps, and his vision blurred with tears he couldn't stop, hot and relentless, streaming down his cheeks and dripping off his jaw. The trees swallowed him, their shadows long and cool, and he crashed through them blindly, branches whipping at his arms, his oversized hoodie snagging on low limbs he didn't bother to dodge.

He didn't hear her until he hit her.

Siyh's arms closed around him like a wall, and the impact nearly took them both down. She stumbled backward, her spine meeting a tree trunk with a dull thud, but she didn't let go. Her fingers dug into the back of his hoodie, fisting the fabric, holding him upright as his knees buckled.

"Phuwin—" Her voice was sharp, cut with alarm. "Phuwin, what the hell—"

He couldn't answer. The words were stuck somewhere behind the sob rising in his throat, and all he could do was press his face into her shoulder and shake. His hands came up to grip her jacket, knuckles white, fingers curling into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

"The wedding is off," he heard himself say. The words came out muffled and wet against her collarbone, slurred with tears. "The wedding is off."

Siyh went still. Her whole body locked against him, and for a long moment she didn't move, didn't speak, just held him while he shook. The fire's glow was a faint orange smear through the trees behind them, and the voices from the clearing—distant, muffled, oblivious—drifted on the night air like they belonged to another world entirely.

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly. Her voice had gone careful, the way it did when she was trying not to spook him. "Phuwin. What do you mean, the wedding is off?"

He couldn't look at her. He kept his face buried in her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her laundry detergent and the faint smoke from the fire, and he shook his head against her. The tears kept coming, hot and relentless, soaking through her shirt at the collarbone. He could feel the wet fabric against his lips, could feel the heat of his own shame rising up his neck.

"It's over," he whispered. His voice cracked on the second word, splintering into something small and broken. "It's over, Siyh. It's over."

Her arms tightened around him. He felt her jaw shift against the top of his head, felt the tension running through her like a wire pulled too taut. She didn't say anything for a long moment. She just held him, one hand moving up to cup the back of his head, her fingers threading through his hair, stroking in slow, steady passes.

"Hey," she said softly. "Hey. Breathe. You're shaking like a leaf, and I need you to breathe before you pass out on me."

He tried. He really did. He dragged in a breath that shuddered through his whole body, and let it out in a broken rush, and then another, and another. The bark of the tree scraped against his back where Siyh had braced them both, and the damp grass wicked cold through his sneakers, but he couldn't feel any of it. All he could feel was the hollow space where his ring used to be.

The ring. The gold band Pond had slid onto his finger with shaking hands, the diamond catching the light, the promise of forever. It had been warm against his skin for so long that he'd stopped noticing it, stopped feeling the weight of it, and now his finger felt naked. Exposed. Wrong.

"What happened?" Siyh asked. Her voice was low, almost gentle, the way it got when she was trying to talk him down from a ledge. "Phuwin, I need you to tell me what happened. Did someone hurt you? Did Pond—"

"No." The word came out sharper than he meant it to, and he felt her flinch. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his vision still blurry with tears, his face a mess of wet streaks and red-rimmed eyes. "No, he didn't—it wasn't—"

He couldn't finish the sentence. The words tangled in his throat, and he dropped his gaze to her jacket, to the white-knuckled grip of his own hands still fisted in the fabric. He stared at them like they belonged to someone else. At the bare finger. At the pale indent where the band used to sit, the skin still creased and ghostly, a scar of absence.

Siyh followed his gaze. He saw it happen in real time—her eyes dropping to his hands, tracing the empty ring finger, the naked skin where gold and diamond had lived for months. He watched the confusion on her face harden into understanding, watched her breath catch, watched her mouth fall open.

"Oh," she breathed. Then, louder, rougher: "Oh fuck."

The words landed between them like a stone dropped into still water. Phuwin felt them hit his chest, felt the weight of them settle into his bones, and the tears started up again, fresh and hot and unstoppable. He nodded against her shoulder, a jerky, broken motion, and his hands tightened on her jacket until his knuckles went white.

"I threw it at him," he said. The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other, desperate to be free. "I threw the ring at him. I—he was being so—and Give was—and I just—"

He broke off with a sound that wasn't quite a sob and wasn't quite a laugh, something ugly and raw that scraped its way out of his throat. Siyh's arms tightened around him again, pulling him flush against her, and he let himself be held. He let himself fall into her, let her take his weight, let her be the thing that kept him from collapsing into the damp grass and never getting up.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I just didn't know where else to go."

"Don't." Her voice was fierce, almost angry. "Don't you dare apologize to me, Phuwin. You run to me whenever you need to, you hear me? Whenever. I don't care if it's the middle of the night or the middle of a war zone. You come to me."

He nodded against her, a small, broken motion, and she held him through another wave of trembling. The fire's glow had faded further behind them, the voices from the clearing growing more distant, more muffled, as if the world was shrinking away from the two of them, leaving only this small pocket of darkness and pine and the sound of his ragged breathing.

"Tell me what happened," Siyh said again, softer this time. "Tell me everything. From the beginning."

Phuwin shook his head. He couldn't. He couldn't find the words to explain the way Give had hovered in the kitchen, guiding his knife, standing too close, teasing that he'd "give it a try." He couldn't explain the way Pond's face had gone dark, the way his jealousy had boiled over into violence, the way he'd screamed that he proposed to Phuwin like it was a claim, like Phuwin was a thing to be owned.

He couldn't explain why he'd thrown the ring. Why the words had felt like the only thing he had left, the only power he could grab in that moment when everything else had spiraled out of his control.

"He was jealous," he finally managed. His voice was hoarse, scraped raw. "Give was—he was being nice to me. Helping me. And Pond just—he lost it. He shoved him. He screamed at him. In front of everyone."

Siyh's fingers tightened in his hair. "Shit."

"And I just—" Phuwin's voice cracked again. "I couldn't—I don't know. I looked at him and I saw the way his face was all twisted up, and I thought about how many times I've had to calm him down, how many times I've had to explain that I can't control what other people do, and I just—I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't—"

He broke off, his breath hitching, and Siyh rocked him gently, a slow, swaying motion that was almost maternal. The bark scraped her back through her jacket, and she didn't seem to notice. She just held him, her chin resting on the top of his head, her arms wrapped around him like she could physically hold him together.

"The ring," she said quietly. "You really threw it?"

He nodded against her shoulder. "It hit him in the chest. Fell in the grass." His voice went thin, reedy. "I left it there. I just—I ran."

Siyh was quiet for a long moment. The night sounds filled the space between them—crickets, the distant rush of the river, the whisper of wind through the pines. Somewhere behind them, a laugh rose from the camp, bright and careless, and Phuwin felt it like a splinter under his skin.

"Okay," Siyh said finally. Her voice had shifted, the softness hardening into something practical, something that sounded like a plan taking shape. "Okay. First, we're going to breathe. In and out, with me. You're going to hyperventilate if you keep going like this."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands coming up to cup his face. Her thumbs brushed across his cheeks, wiping at the tears, and he let her. He let her hold his face in her hands, let her tilt his chin up, let her look at him with those sharp, knowing eyes.

"We're going to fix this," she said. It wasn't a question. It wasn't a hope. It was a statement, flat and certain, like she was telling him the sun would rise in the morning. "You hear me? We're going to fix this."

Phuwin shook his head. "You can't fix this, Siyh. I threw the ring. I said the wedding was off. You can't—"

"I don't care what you said." Her voice was steel. "I care about what you want. And I know you, Phuwin. I've known you for six years. I know you don't want the wedding to be off. I know you love him."

The words hit him like a physical blow. His breath caught, and the tears welled up again, spilling over her thumbs, and he made a sound that was almost a whimper. "I do," he said, his voice breaking. "I love him so much. That's why it hurts so bad. That's why I—"

He couldn't finish. The words died in his throat, and he dropped his gaze to her hands, to the place where her thumbs still rested on his cheeks, catching his tears. He stared at them, at the wetness shining on her skin, and he felt the hollow ache in his chest widen into something cavernous.

Siyh held him there, her hands cradling his face, her eyes boring into his. "Listen to me," she said. "I'm going to say this once, and I need you to hear it. Whatever happened out there, whatever he did, whatever you did—it's not the end. You hear me? It's not the end. You two have survived worse than this."

Phuwin wanted to believe her. He wanted to let those words sink into his chest and take root, wanted to feel the certainty she was offering him like a blanket against the cold. But all he could feel was the empty space on his finger, the ghost of the ring still pressing against his skin where it no longer existed. He shook his head, a small, defeated motion that made Siyh's thumbs slip against his damp cheeks.

"You don't understand," he said. His voice came out thin, reedy, barely holding together. "You weren't there. You didn't see his face. It wasn't just jealous, Siyh. It was—" He stopped, searching for a word that didn't exist, something between possessive and unhinged, something that would make her understand why he'd done what he'd done.

Siyh waited. She didn't push, didn't fill the silence with reassurance or platitudes. She just held his face in her hands and let him struggle for the word, her thumbs still resting on his cheekbones, catching the occasional tear that slipped past her guard.

"It was like he didn't see me at all," Phuwin finally managed. "He saw Give. He saw the threat. He saw something he had to protect or claim or fight over. But he didn't see me. He didn't see that I was right there, trying to tell him it was nothing, trying to—" His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. "Trying to be enough."

The last word came out so quiet it was almost lost to the rustle of the pines. Siyh's jaw tightened. Her eyes flickered with something that might have been anger, might have been grief, might have been both tangled up together in a knot she didn't know how to untie.

"Enough," she repeated. Not a question. A weight she was testing, turning over in her hands.

"I'm tired, Siyh." Phuwin's voice dropped to a whisper, the words scraping out of him like they were being dragged over gravel. "I'm so tired of being the one who has to calm him down. Of being the one who has to explain that I can't control what other people do. Of being the one who has to prove, over and over, that I chose him. That I keep choosing him. And it's never—" He broke off, his breath hitching. "It's never enough."

Siyh's hands slid from his face to his shoulders, gripping them tight. "Hey," she said, her voice fierce. "That's not true. That's not—"

"It is true." Phuwin's voice rose, cracking at the edges. "Every time a girl looks at him, he lets them crowd him. He lets them take photos, sign things, touch his arm. And I don't—I don't say anything. I don't throw a fit. I just stand there and watch and remind myself that he chose me. But the second someone looks at me, the second Give so much as breathes in my direction, he loses his mind. He shoves people. He screams. He—"

The words tumbled out of him, unstoppable now, a flood that had been building behind a dam for months. Siyh let him talk, her hands steady on his shoulders, her face unreadable in the dim light filtering through the trees.

"He threw my phone against a wall because someone called me sexy," Phuwin said, his voice raw. "He shoved Give in the craft tent because Give whispered something to me. And I keep telling myself it's because he loves me, because he's scared of losing me, because he's just—he's just intense. But tonight I looked at him and I thought, what happens when it's not a phone? What happens when it's not a shove?"

He stared at Siyh, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, his face a mess of tear tracks and smeared mascara. "What happens when he decides I'm not enough to keep? When he decides I'm too much trouble, too much work, too much—"

"Stop." Siyh's voice cut through him like a blade. "Stop it right now. You are not too much. You have never been too much. And if Pond can't see that, if he can't see that you've been bending over backward to make him feel secure while he's been acting like a jealous child—" She stopped herself, took a breath, visibly reined herself in. "Then that's on him. Not on you."

Phuwin shook his head. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to let those words sink in and take root. But the hollow in his chest was too wide, too deep, and the words just fell into it and disappeared.

"I threw the ring at him," he said again, as if saying it enough times would make it feel real. "I told him the wedding was off. You can't come back from that. You can't—"

"You can." Siyh's voice was steel wrapped in velvet. "You absolutely can. But first, we need to get you somewhere warm. Somewhere you can breathe. Somewhere you're not standing in the dark with your hands shaking and your face wet."

She let go of his shoulders and reached down, taking one of his hands in hers. Her fingers were warm, calloused from years of gripping pencils and paintbrushes, and they closed around his cold, trembling ones like a promise. She didn't flinch at the chill of his skin. She just held on.

"Come on," she said, tugging him gently. "Jungkook's cabin. The others are there. Santa's there. And I know you don't want to see anyone right now, but you need people who love you around you. You need to not be alone."

Phuwin's feet felt rooted to the ground. He stared at the space between them, at the damp grass slicking his sneakers, at the way Siyh's hand looked so small wrapped around his. "I can't," he whispered. "I can't face them. I can't face anyone. I just—I need—"

"What do you need?" Siyh asked. Her voice was patient, open, a door left ajar.

Phuwin opened his mouth to answer, but the words wouldn't come. He didn't know what he needed. He needed to go back in time. He needed to unthrow the ring. He needed to not have watched Pond's face crumple as the gold left his hand. He needed to stop feeling like he was falling through the earth with nothing to grab onto.

He needed Pond. That was the truth of it, the ugly, aching, undeniable truth. Even now, even after everything, he needed Pond's arms around him, needed Pond's voice in his ear, needed the solid, warm weight of the man who had proposed to him on a beach at dawn with shaking hands and a voice full of hope.

And he couldn't have him. Because he'd thrown the ring. Because he'd said the words. Because he'd watched the light die in Pond's eyes and done nothing to stop it.

"I don't know," he finally managed, his voice barely there. "I don't know what I need. I just know I can't—I can't go back there. I can't see him. Not yet. Not like this."

Siyh nodded slowly. She didn't argue. She didn't push. She just stood there, holding his hand, letting the night air settle around them like a held breath.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. Then we don't go back. We go to Jungkook's cabin, and we get you warm, and we figure out the rest when you're not shaking like this." She squeezed his hand. "Can you walk? Or do I need to carry you?"

The corner of Phuwin's mouth twitched, almost a smile, almost a laugh. "You couldn't carry me."

"I could try." Siyh's voice was dry, but there was warmth underneath it. "I've carried heavier things than you. Like my GPA. Like the weight of my friends' terrible life choices."

Phuwin let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh, something wet and broken that caught in his throat. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No. It's supposed to make you roll your eyes and forget, for one second, that your world is ending." She tugged his hand again. "Come on. Walk with me. One step at a time. You can do that, right?"

Phuwin looked at her. At the sharp line of her jaw, the determined set of her mouth, the way her eyes held his like she could anchor him to the earth if she just looked hard enough. She was so sure. So certain. So completely, stubbornly convinced that this wasn't the end.

He didn't know if he believed her. But he knew he couldn't stand here forever, frozen in the dark with the taste of his own tears on his lips.

He took a step. Then another. Siyh moved with him, her hand still wrapped around his, her pace slow and steady, matching his. The trees closed around them, their shadows long and cool, and the fire's glow faded behind them until it was just a memory, a smear of orange on the edge of his vision.

The path to Jungkook's cabin was uneven, roots and rocks catching at his feet, but Siyh's grip kept him upright. She didn't let go. Not once. Her fingers stayed locked around his, warm and solid and real, and Phuwin focused on that—on the pressure of her hand, on the steady rhythm of her footsteps, on the sound of her breathing in the dark.

They walked in silence. The night pressed in around them, thick with pine and turned earth, and the distant rush of the river filled the spaces between their footsteps. Phuwin's mind was a storm of images—Pond's face, the ring falling, the sound of his own voice saying the words he couldn't take back—but he pushed them down, pushed them away, focused on the next step, and the next, and the next.

The cabin lights appeared through the trees, warm and golden, spilling out of the windows into the dark. Phuwin stopped at the edge of the clearing, his feet rooted to the ground, his heart hammering against his ribs. He could hear voices inside—Santa's low, steady rumble, Jungkook's lighter laugh, Taehyung's boisterous tone—and the sound of them, so normal, so ordinary, felt like a wall he couldn't climb.

"I can't," he whispered. His voice was barely a breath, barely a sound at all. "I can't go in there. I can't—"

Siyh turned to face him, her hand still wrapped around his. She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes moving over his face, cataloging the damage. Then she reached up, her free hand cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing across the tear tracks still fresh on his skin.

"You don't have to talk," she said quietly. "You don't have to explain anything. You just have to walk in and let them see you. And then you let them hold you up. That's all. That's all you have to do."

Phuwin stared at her. At the certainty in her eyes, the steel in her voice, the way she looked at him like he was something worth saving.

"What if they look at me and see everything I did?" he asked, his voice cracking. "What if they see the mess I made and decide I'm not—"

"Then they'd be idiots," Siyh cut him off. "And I'd have to fight all three of them, and frankly, I'm too tired for that tonight. So let's not find out." She squeezed his hand. "Come on. One more step. You can do this."

Phuwin took a breath. It shuddered through his whole body, rattling his ribs, and he let it out in a broken rush. Then he took the step. And another. And another, until he was standing at the cabin door, the golden light spilling over him, the voices inside falling silent one by one as Santa looked up, as Jungkook turned, as Taehyung's laugh died in his throat.

And then Santa was moving, crossing the room in three long strides, his hand reaching for the door, pulling it open, his face shifting from surprise to concern to something softer, something that looked like love.

"Phuwin," he said. Just his name. Just that one word, wrapped in warmth and worry.

And Phuwin, standing in the doorway with Siyh's hand still wrapped around his and his bare ring finger cold against the night air, felt the tears start up again, hot and relentless, spilling down his cheeks.

"The wedding is off," he said, his voice breaking on the last word. "I threw the ring. I told him it's over."

The silence that followed was heavy, thick, pressing down on him from all sides. He saw Santa's face go still, saw Jungkook and Taehyung exchange a look, saw the weight of his words settle over all of them like a shroud.

And then Santa stepped forward, his arms open, and Phuwin fell into them.