The message flew out, leaving him staring at the screen, his heart pounding in his ears.

He closed his phone, set it down beside him, and let his head fall back against the wall. The sky above him was blue and empty, and the silence pressed in around him, heavy and cold.

He'd done it. He'd told Give the truth.

But the truth didn't feel like relief. It felt like losing something he'd never had, and he didn't know if that was worse.

He sat there until the sun shifted and the wall behind him went warm with late afternoon light. Then he picked up his phone, stood, and walked back to the bakery with his hands in his pockets, the screen dark in his grip.

He sighed and Went inside before turning on the shower and heading in.

Later after the shower, He went and Laid down to slee. He didn't think he would.

He just did

The next day, He lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The TV was on, some drama he wasn't watching, the sound a low murmur that filled the room without meaning anything. He'd changed into a loose t-shirt and shorts, his ring finger still bare, the pale indent a question mark he kept not looking at.

He was still lying there, the afternoon bleeding into evening, when Godji's voice came up the stairs.

"Phuwin!"

He didn't move. The ceiling fan turned, clicking softly with each rotation.

"Phuwin, come down here."

He closed his eyes. "I'm not coming down."

A pause. Then, sharper: "Phuwin."

He sighed, the sound loud in the quiet room, and swung his legs off the bed. He shoved his feet into the slippers by the door and padded out to the hallway, down the stairs, the wood cool through the thin soles.

He stopped halfway down.

Give was standing in the front of the bakery, hands in his pockets, baggy jeans hanging loose on his hips, a black jersey draped over his frame. His sneakers were clean, white, like he'd just stepped out of a store. He was looking at the display case, at the rows of pastries under the warm light, and when he heard Phuwin's footsteps stop, he turned.

He smiled.

Phuwin's hand tightened on the railing. "Give? What are you doing—" He shook his head, coming down the last few steps. "I didn't expect you to come to my home."

Give's smile didn't waver. "I ordered a coffee."

Phuwin blinked. "I'll get it for you." He gestured toward the door at the back of the bakery, the one that led to the yard. "You can sit out there. I'll bring it to you."

"Okay."

Phuwin watched him go, the door swinging shut behind him, then turned and headed into the kitchen. The employees were at the counter, flour dusting their aprons, one of them kneading dough with practiced, rhythmic hands. Phuwin smiled at them, a quick, automatic thing, and they smiled back, and he turned to the coffee machine, his mind already spinning.

Isn't this the guy I declined yesterday? Why is he so happy and smiling at me like that? Isn't he supposed to be mad or something?

He poured the coffee, black, no sugar—he remembered that much from the camp, from watching Give drink it in the mornings. He set it on a small tray with a spoon, a little dish of sugar packets on the side, and made a face at himself in the reflection of the machine.

How did he even get my address? How did he find my auntie's bakery?

He picked up the tray and headed outside.

The yard was small and green, a few trees casting long shadows in the evening light. Give was sitting at the little table by the fence, his hands folded in front of him, looking at the flowers Godji had planted along the edge of the path. Phuwin set the tray down and sat across from him.

"Why did you come here?" he asked, not touching his own drink. "How did you get my address?"

Give picked up the coffee, blew on it, took a sip. Then he smiled again, warm and easy, and set the cup down. "I got the name of the bakery and the address from Marc."

Phuwin turned to the wall. The bricks were old, mossy in the corners, and he stared at them for a long moment, thinking about choking Marc and beating him with Godji's rolling pin. He took a deep breath, counted to five, and turned back.

"Give." He said it carefully, like the word might break. "You saw my text.. didn't you?"

Give sighed. "Yea."

"Then why are you talking to me so nicely?" Phuwin's voice came out smaller than he wanted. "All happy and smiling at me like that?"

Give tilted his head, studying him. "Because I can't be upset at someone I like to say they don't like me back." He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I understand you, Phuwin. More than anything."

Phuwin's throat tightened. He looked down at his hands, at the empty space on his ring finger. "How do you understand me? Don't you think I was too straightforward with it?"

"Mai chai." Give shook his head, his voice firm. "I love that you still chose to turn me down. Even when I was right there, even when things ended with Pond." He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on the table. "Because in the end, love isn't something that goes away for everyone. You may have that one person."

Phuwin looked up.

"I can tell that person for you is Pond," Give said. "For sure. No doubt."

Phuwin's breath caught. He felt the heat rise to his face, a blush spreading across his cheeks, and he looked away, embarrassed by how easily it showed. "Give—"

"You should go back to him." Give's voice was gentle, almost kind. "I see that he loves you better, and like no other man would."

Phuwin swallowed. "How can you say that? After everything—"

"Because I watched him." Give set his cup down and folded his hands on the table. "I think that he doesn't trust himself enough to speak up for himself in a way. I saw that when I was with you. He thought he was going to lose you. Or that you were losing interest and liking in him, like his looks were bland for you. Or that your heart didn't have him in it like he thinks it should be."

Phuwin stared at him. The words landed somewhere deep, somewhere he'd been avoiding, and he felt them settle there, heavy and warm. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

"You really think so?" His voice cracked. "I miss him. But I'm scared that he's already used to not seeing me. That he already found someone else he likes." He pressed his palm flat against the table, the wood rough under his fingers. "But it's been hard for me to get used to not having to talk to him. It's been days."

Give sighed, a long, slow exhale. "Then it's best you get used to talking to him again."

Phuwin looked up.

"I know you're just disappointed in him." Give's smile was soft. "Don't take it so hard."

Phuwin felt something loosen in his chest, a knot he hadn't known he was holding. He smiled, a real smile, and looked at Give—really looked at him, at the easy patience in his face, at the way he sat there, unhurried, unbothered by the rejection that should have sent him running.

"But it wouldn't be bad if you started dating me, would it?" Give asked, his eyes glinting.

Phuwin chuckled, the sound surprised out of him. "You're impossible."

Give grinned. "I have one thing to ask you. Well, about two, but it's all I'm asking."

Phuwin tilted his head. "Okay khab. What is it, Phi?"

"I want a cheek kiss." Give's grin widened. "Since I won't be getting you."

Phuwin blinked. Then he laughed, a real laugh, the first one in days. "And the second?"

"Please come back to University." Give's voice softened. "Everyone's been wondering where you went."

Phuwin looked at him for a long moment. Then he leaned across the table and pressed a kiss to Give's cheek, quick and light, and sat back down.

Give's smirk was immediate, pleased. "Worth it."

Phuwin laughed again and sighed, shaking his head. "I'm leaving now, so you should go home."

"Okay." Give stood, stretching his arms above his head. "Where to?"

"To the B—" Phuwin stopped. "Well, to be exact, the club."

Give raised an eyebrow. "I'll drive you."

Phuwin hesitated. Then he nodded. "Alright."

He went back inside, found Godji at the counter, and said, "I'll be leaving with Give to the club."

Godji looked at him, her flour-dusted hands stilling on the dough she was shaping. "I will not be carrying you inside if you drink so much alcohol again."

Phuwin laughed. "Okay."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, quick and easy, and headed out the door.

Give was waiting by his car, a sleek black thing that gleamed in the fading light. He opened the passenger door for Phuwin with a flourish, and Phuwin rolled his eyes but got in, the seat cool against his back.

The engine hummed. Give pulled out of the driveway, and the bakery shrank behind them in the mirror, the warm lights of the front windows growing smaller and smaller until they were gone.

Phuwin watched them disappear. Then he turned forward, his hands in his lap, the pale indent on his ring finger catching the streetlight as they passed under it.

"Hey," Give said, not looking at him. "The cheek kiss. It doesn't mean I'm giving up entirely."

Phuwin snorted. "I know."

"Good." Give grinned at the road. "Then we understand each other."

Phuwin looked out the window, at the city sliding past, the lights beginning to blink on in the buildings. Somewhere out there, in a penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows, Pond was probably alone. Or not. He didn't know. He hadn't known for days.

But for the first time since he'd thrown the ring, he didn't feel like he was drowning.

He felt like he was swimming.

The car hummed beneath them, a low, steady vibration through the seat. Phuwin watched the buildings slide past, the windows of the city beginning to glow amber and white as evening settled in. He should have felt lighter. He had told the truth to Give, had been given permission to go back to Pond, had done something other than lie in his room watching the ceiling fan turn.

Instead, he felt the weight of the empty space on his finger, the way his hand kept curling as if expecting a band that wasn't there.

"You keep doing that," Give said, not looking at him.

"Doing what?"

"Folding your thumb against your ring finger." Give glanced over, quick, then back at the road. "Like you're checking for something."

Phuwin's hand went still. He hadn't noticed he was doing it. He looked down at his bare finger, the pale indent still visible in the dim light of the car, a ghost of the weight that used to sit there. The skin was softer there, paler, like the sun hadn't touched it in months.

"It's been days," he said quietly. "I keep expecting it to still be there."

Give didn't say anything for a moment. The car slowed at a red light, and the engine idled, a soft rumble. "You could put it back on."

"I threw it at him." Phuwin's voice came out flat. "In front of everyone. I told him the wedding was off." He let out a breath, watching the light turn green, the car easing forward again. "I don't think it works like that."

"It works however you want it to work," Give said. "If you go back to him, and he still has the ring, and he still wants to give it to you—" He shrugged. "Then it works."

Phuwin turned to look at him. "You really think he still has it?"

"I watched him pick it up." Give's voice was quiet, almost careful. "After you ran. He stood there in the clearing for a long time, holding it. The sun was going down, and everyone had left, and he was just standing there with the ring in his hand, looking at it like it was the only thing left in the world."

Phuwin's chest tightened. He turned back to the window, his reflection ghosting in the glass, the city lights bleeding through it. He tried to picture it—Pond alone in the clearing, the ring in his palm, the light fading around him. It was a picture he hadn't let himself make, because every version of it hurt.

He made it anyway.

The clearing was empty. The river rushed somewhere in the dark. And Pond stood there, his hand closed around the thin gold band, his shoulders curved like the weight of it was too much to hold.

Phuwin blinked, and the image scattered.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his voice rough.

Give was quiet for a long moment. The car turned onto a wider road, the streetlights flickering past in steady intervals. "Because I think you need to hear it," he said finally. "I think you've been telling yourself a story where he's already moved on. Where you don't matter to him anymore. And I think that story is a lie."

Phuwin swallowed. His throat was tight, the way it got before he cried, and he pressed his palm flat against his thigh, grounding himself. "How do you know?"

"Because I know what it looks like when someone's in love." Give's voice was simple, unhurried. "And he's in love with you, Phuwin. Even when he's jealous and stupid and shoves people who get too close to you. Even then."

The car fell silent. The road stretched ahead, the lights of the city growing denser as they approached the club district. Phuwin watched them pass, the neon signs, the crowds beginning to gather on the sidewalks, the world going about its evening without any idea that he was in it, that his heart was pounding against his ribs like a trapped thing.

"I don't know how to go back to him," Phuwin said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what to say."

"You start with the truth." Give turned the wheel, easing the car into a parking spot near the club's entrance. He killed the engine, and the silence rushed in around them. "You say, 'I threw the ring because I was scared. And I'm still scared. But I miss you.'"

Phuwin looked at him. The streetlight fell across Give's face, catching the easy lines of his smile, the patience in his eyes. He was so calm, so sure. Phuwin didn't understand how someone he'd rejected could sit here and give him advice about the man he'd chosen instead.

"You're a better person than I'd be," Phuwin said.

Give laughed, a low, warm sound. "Don't mistake me. If you changed your mind, I'd take you in a second." He grinned. "But you won't. And I know that. So I'd rather see you happy than see you pretending with me."

Phuwin felt something crack open in his chest, a seam he hadn't known was there. He looked down at his hands, at the empty space on his finger, and for the first time, the indent didn't feel like a wound.

It felt like a reminder.