Pond lay still on his back, staring at the ceiling of his penthouse bedroom. The sheets were damp beneath him, clinging to his skin in places, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd changed them. Three days. Maybe four. The air was thick and warm, heavy with the smell of sweat and the ghost of Phuwin's cologne that had long since faded from the pillows but still lived in his memory like a bruise.
His phone sat on the mattress beside him, screen dark, face down. He hadn't touched it in hours. Not since the last time he'd opened it and seen Phuwin's name — Prized possession of @ppnaravit — and felt his chest cave in like a building collapsing from the inside.
He was naked. He didn't remember taking his clothes off. He didn't remember much of anything from the last few days except the ceiling, the darkness, and the way his own breathing sounded too loud in the empty room.
His chest rose and fell. Slow. Heavy. Each breath felt like it cost something.
He hadn't slept. Not really. There were stretches of gray unconsciousness that passed for sleep, but he always woke up reaching for the other side of the bed, his hand finding nothing but flat, cool sheets. The kind of cold that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with absence.
Pond turned his head on the pillow. His phone sat there, still dark, still face down. A small, rectangular weight that held every picture he'd ever taken with Phuwin, every message, every voice note, every piece of evidence that the last year and a half had happened at all.
He'd thrown it across the room twice. He'd picked it up both times.
He reached for it now, his fingers moving slow, like the phone might burn him. His hand closed around it and he turned it over. The screen lit up, bright in the dark room, and the glow washed over his face, catching the dried tracks on his cheeks.
He opened his photos.
The album was called Me and Wife. He'd named it months ago, back when everything felt like a promise instead of a memory. His thumb hovered over it for a long moment before he pressed down.
The first photo loaded. Phuwin, sitting on the edge of a fountain, his brown bangs falling over his eyes, his smile wide and unguarded, his hand lifted to show the ring on his finger. The diamond caught the light, bright and impossible, and Phuwin's eyes were crinkled at the corners like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.
Pond's thumb traced the edge of the screen. The glass was warm from the phone's heat, but Phuwin's face was warm too, frozen in that moment of pure, uncomplicated joy.
He scrolled.
The next photo: the two of them on a date. Phuwin mid-laugh, his head tipped back, his hand pressed flat against Pond's chest. The restaurant was behind them, all warm lights and blurred shapes, but Phuwin was sharp and clear, the way he always was. The way he always had been, even before Pond knew what to call it.
Pond felt something move in his chest. A dull, aching thing that had been there for days, sitting behind his ribs like a stone. It shifted now, pressing against him from the inside.
He scrolled again.
A photo of him carrying Phuwin, Phuwin's arms wrapped around his neck, Phuwin's lips pressed to his cheek mid-kiss. Pond's face was half-turned, his smile too big for his face, and Phuwin was laughing against his skin. It was a candid shot, someone else's hand holding the phone, and it caught them exactly as they were — tangled, laughing, impossibly close.
Pond's throat tightened.
He kept scrolling. He couldn't stop.
A photo of Phuwin in a robe, showing off the ring again, his other hand holding the collar of the robe closed. His smile was coy, playful, the kind of smile that meant he was about to tease Pond about something. The kind of smile Pond would do anything to see again.
The proposal photo. Pond knelt on one knee, the ring box open in his hand, Phuwin's fingers pressed to his mouth. Phuwin's eyes were wet and wide, his free hand covering his heart, and Pond was looking up at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Because he was. He still was.
A tear fell from Pond's eye. It landed on the screen, on Phuwin's face, and Pond wiped it away with his thumb, smearing the glass.
He kept scrolling.
A photo of Phuwin's hand, the ring on his finger, resting on the edge of a table. The light caught the diamond, and Phuwin's fingers were long and delicate, the way they were when he held a paintbrush. Pond remembered watching those hands move across a canvas, remembered the way Phuwin's brow furrowed when he was concentrating, remembered the small sound he made when a painting finally came together.
He scrolled.
Phuwin on the balcony, looking out at the sky. Pond had taken it from behind, watching him without Phuwin knowing. Phuwin's profile was soft in the golden light, his hair moving in the breeze, and there was something in the curve of his shoulder that made Pond's breath catch.
The photo where Pond had been tickling him. Phuwin was doubled over in his arms, laughing so hard his face was red, and Pond was holding him up, his own face buried in Phuwin's hair. They looked ridiculous. They looked happy.
Pond's chest heaved.
The sleeping photo. Phuwin, face-down on the pillow, one arm tucked under his head, his lashes dark against his cheeks. His lips were parted, soft and slightly swollen, and the sheet had slipped down to his waist. Pond had taken it at some ungodly hour of the morning, unable to sleep, unable to look away from the impossible fact that Phuwin was there, in his bed, wearing his shirt.
He reached up and pressed his palm against his own chest. His heart was beating too fast, too hard, and he could feel it through his ribs.
He kept scrolling. He couldn't stop.
A photo of the two of them, Phuwin's arm around Pond's shoulders, Pond's face buried in Phuwin's neck. Pond's back was bare, and Phuwin had hickeys on his neck and hands, dark marks against his pale skin. They'd taken it after, tangled together in the sheets, still breathless. Phuwin's smile was soft and satisfied, and Pond's hand was splayed across his stomach, possessive even in a photo.
A photo of Phuwin's hand on Pond's abs. Pond was in trunks, his muscles sharp and defined in the sunlight, and Phuwin was laughing, his fingers spread across Pond's stomach like he was claiming him. Pond's biceps were huge in the photo, flexed just enough to make Phuwin roll his eyes.
A video. Pond pressed play. Phuwin's voice filled the room, bright and teasing, and Pond watched himself cooking in the kitchen, Phuwin following him with the camera, narrating every move like a sports commentator.
"—and here we see the great Pond Naravit, attempting to make pasta without burning the water. A bold strategy. Let's see if it pays off."
Pond's voice came from the phone, laughing. "You're not helping."
"I'm morale support."
"You're a menace."
"A menace who loves you."
On the screen, Pond turned, spatula in hand, and kissed Phuwin's forehead. The camera tilted, and Phuwin made a small, happy sound, and the video ended.
Pond set the phone down on his chest. He stared at the ceiling, his breath ragged, his eyes burning.
The video played again in his head. A menace who loves you.
He picked the phone back up.
Another video. Phuwin, recording from the bed, his voice soft and fond. "My baby's sleeping. Look at him. He's so pretty when he sleeps." The camera panned to Pond, sprawled on his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow. Phuwin leaned in and kissed his cheek, and Pond stirred, mumbling something incoherent. "Shh," Phuwin whispered. "Go back to sleep, baby."
The video ended. Pond's hand was shaking.
He kept scrolling.
A photo of Phuwin doing makeup on him for a Prada shoot. Phuwin was standing between his knees, a brush in his hand, his tongue poking out in concentration. Pond was looking up at him, and even in the photo, you could see it — the way he looked at Phuwin like he hung the moon.
A photo of Phuwin sitting on his lap. Pond's arms wrapped around him, chin on his shoulder. They were both smiling, soft and easy, the way they were when no one else was watching.
A photo of Pond standing behind Phuwin, watching him look at the sky. Phuwin's smile was bright in the sunlight, his hand lifted to shade his eyes, and Pond was looking at him instead of the sky. Because he always looked at Phuwin. He couldn't help it.
Another video. Morning light filled the screen. Phuwin was leaning over him, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up. Wake up, we're going to be late."
"I'm still sleepy," Pond's voice mumbled from off-screen.
"You're always sleepy. Come on."
"Kiss me first."
Phuwin's laugh was soft, fond. "You're impossible."
But he leaned down anyway, and the video caught the kiss — deep, slow, unhurried — before the phone fell to the bed, the screen going dark.
Pond's breath came out in a shudder.
A photo of their hands, fingers intertwined. Pond's hand was bigger, darker, wrapped around Phuwin's. The ring was on Phuwin's finger, and the photo was taken from above, the two of them lying in bed. It was simple. It was everything.
A photo of Phuwin smiling at flowers. He was crouched down in a garden, his hand reaching out to touch a petal, his face soft with wonder. Pond had taken it without him noticing, and it caught Phuwin exactly as he was — beautiful, unguarded, alive.
A photo of them swimming. Pond was lifting Phuwin out of the water, Phuwin's legs wrapped around his waist, both of them laughing, water streaming off their skin. The ocean was behind them, endless and blue.
A photo of Pond hugging Phuwin from behind, standing in the shallow water. Phuwin's head was tipped back against his shoulder, his eyes closed, his smile peaceful. Pond's arms were wrapped around his waist, his chin resting on his shoulder.
A photo of Phuwin's ass. Pond had taken it while Phuwin was sleeping, face-down, the sheet barely covering him. He must have been half-asleep when he took it, but the photo was perfect — the curve of Phuwin's waist, the swell of his hips.
Pond's throat closed. He scrolled past it quickly, his face hot.
A photo of Phuwin drinking boba. His cheeks were hollowed around the straw, his eyes wide and happy, and there was a smear of something — caramel? — at the corner of his mouth.
The profile pictures. The ones they'd chosen together, laughing in bed, their phones side by side.
Pond's profile picture: Phuwin sticking out his tongue, blue syrup staining his lips from some drink they'd shared weeks ago. His face was scrunched up, playful, his eyes sparkling.
Phuwin's profile picture: Pond sticking out his tongue, red syrup on his lips this time. They'd made a game of it, matching each other without meaning to.
Pond's thumb hovered over Phuwin's contact. The name was Prized possession of @ppnaravit. He'd changed it months ago, grinning, and Phuwin had rolled his eyes but never changed it back.
The profile picture was Pond with the red syrup. The name was a kiss emoji.
Pond's chest heaved again. He pressed his palm against his eyes, hard, and the world went dark behind his hand. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, and he could feel the tears leaking out from under his lids, hot and unstoppable.
He loved him. He loved him so much it was tearing him apart.
He pulled his hand away. His vision was blurry, but he didn't wipe his eyes. He looked at the photo of the proposal — Pond on one knee, Phuwin's hand pressed to his mouth, the ring box open between them — and he felt something crack open in his chest.
A photo of Phuwin painting. He was in his element, a brush in his hand, his hair falling over his eyes, his focus absolute. The canvas was turned away, but Phuwin's face was enough. The way his brow furrowed. The way his lips moved, murmuring to himself.
A photo of Pond in the car, Phuwin asleep against the window. Santa was driving, and Pond had taken the photo — and the next one was a screenshot of Phuwin's phone, the contact name changed to Pond's wifey, the profile picture swapped to a photo of Pond asleep.
Pond laughed, a broken, wet sound. He'd done that. He'd changed Phuwin's phone without telling him, and Phuwin hadn't noticed for three days.
Another video. This one was longer. Pond had been sneakily recording — he could tell by the angle, half-hidden behind a plant — and Phuwin was talking to Siyh, his voice bright and unguarded.
"Pond is my man," Phuwin was saying. "I love him so much. He's my everything." Siyh was laughing at him, but Phuwin didn't stop. "I think I'm his too. I mean, I hope I am. I can't wait for the wedding. I can't figure out what outfit to get, though."
Pond's hand tightened around the phone. He'd watched this video a hundred times in the last few days. He knew every word by heart. But hearing it now, hearing Phuwin say I love him so much in that bright, certain voice, was like putting a knife in his own chest.
He'd done that. He'd made Phuwin throw the ring. He'd made Phuwin call off the wedding.
Because he couldn't control his own jealousy. Because he'd shoved Give like a fucking animal.
"Fuck!"
The word tore out of him, raw and hoarse. He threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp crack and fell to the floor, the screen fracturing into a spiderweb of broken light.
Pond sat up. His chest was heaving, his hands shaking, and the sheet fell away from his body, revealing the bare skin of his torso, the muscles that had once made Phuwin's eyes go dark with want. He didn't care. None of it mattered.
He pressed his palms to his face. His breath came in ragged, shuddering gasps, and he could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, hot and endless.
"I love you so fucking much it hurts," he said. His voice cracked on the last word. "God."
He sat there for a long moment, naked and shaking in the dark, the only light coming from the shattered phone on the floor. The screen was still lit, a fractured image of Phuwin's face glowing up at him from the carpet.
Pond didn't move.
He looked at the phone. At the broken screen. At Phuwin's smile, cracked into pieces by the impact.
His hand moved before he could stop it. He reached for the phone, his fingers closing around it, and he turned it over in his palm. The screen lit up again, the cracks distorting Phuwin's face, but he could still see it. He could still see him.
His thumb hovered over the contact. Prized possession of @ppnaravit. The kiss emoji. The profile picture of him with red syrup on his tongue.
He saw the call come in.
Across town, in the haze of a club, another phone started to ring.