The fluorescent light in the art room hummed its familiar off-key note, the one Phuwin had learned to tune out over a hundred afternoons. Chalk dust floated through the golden shaft of window light, and the smell of turpentine and acrylic hung thick enough to taste. Paint-crusted tables held half-finished canvases, palettes smeared with dried rainbows, and the scattered wreckage of the lunch he'd ordered for everyone—empty boxes of pad thai, crumpled napkins, a few abandoned chopsticks.

"This green is wrong." Mint, a sophomore with paint already on her nose, squinted at her canvas. "It looks like pond scum."

"Then paint something else." Phuwin didn't look up from his own work. "You're not legally bound to the green."

"But the assignment—"

"The assignment is to paint what you see." He finally glanced at her, brush paused mid-stroke. "Do you see pond scum?"

Mint's lips twisted. "No. I see... the way the light hits the leaves after rain."

"Then paint that."

She stared at him for a moment, then her face cleared and she turned back to her canvas with renewed purpose. Phuwin smiled to himself and returned to his own painting—a half-finished study of the campus yard seen from this very window, the trees just beginning to turn, the benches scattered like afterthoughts.

He'd been here for three hours. His back ached from hunching, his fingers were stained with burnt sienna and ultramarine, and his boba sat forgotten and sweating on the table beside him. But it was good. The quiet hum of other artists working alongside him, the scratch of brushes, the occasional murmured curse when someone's hand slipped—this was the closest thing to peace he'd found in weeks.

Everything was back to normal. Everything was good now.

The wedding was in two and a half weeks. It was back on.

He set down his brush and stood, stretching his arms over his head until his spine popped. The other students barely registered his movement—a couple glanced up, then returned to their work. He stepped around the table, past Mint's now-glowing leaves, past a boy painting a self-portrait with more angst than skill, and settled onto the wide windowsill.

The yard below was full of people. Clusters of students crossed the grass in twos and threes, phones in hand, laughing at something on a screen. A group of boys kicked a football near the far fence. Two girls sat on a bench sharing earbuds. It was so ordinary, so blessedly normal, that Phuwin felt something in his chest unclench.

And there—across the yard, near the fountain—was Pond.

He was laughing at something Taehyung said, head thrown back, the gold chain at his throat catching the light. His friends surrounded him like planets around a sun, and even from here Phuwin could see the way girls slowed as they passed, the way they turned their heads, the way some of them clutched their phones like they might get a picture.

Phuwin smiled. That was his. That ridiculous, beautiful, jealous, terrified man was his.

He looked down at his left hand, at the ring sitting there. The diamond caught the light and scattered it into a hundred tiny rainbows. It looked clean, polished, fresh—like Pond had just proposed all over again. Like it had never been thrown, never been lost, never been the thing that sat in the dirt of a clearing while Phuwin ran.

He turned his hand, watching the light play across the band. Rose gold. Rhinestones. The diamond that had cost Pond more than Phuwin wanted to think about.

He smiled again, softer this time, and let his hand drop.

Two and a half weeks. He could do this. They could do this.

The door to the art room banged open.

"PHUWIN!"

He flinched so hard he nearly fell off the windowsill. Every head in the room snapped toward the door, where Siyh stood with her hair in a lopsided messy bun, glasses sliding down her nose, bag swinging at her side like a weapon.

"Oh my gosh." She was already crossing the room, phone held out in front of her like a holy relic. "Look at this. Look at this right now."

"Siyh, what—"

"Just look."

She shoved the phone into his face. The screen showed a video—paused, mid-frame, and Phuwin's stomach dropped because he recognized the angle, the lighting, the wall of the arts building in the background.

It was yesterday. It was them.

Siyh hit play.

Phuwin watched himself and Pond pressed together beside the arts building, tear-streaked and trembling. Watched himself scream his love, his fear, his exhaustion. Watched Pond confess that he'd stayed away out of terror, not indifference. Watched them kiss—desperate, hungry, like the world was ending and starting at the same time.

Watched Pond kneel.

Watched him slide the ring back onto Phuwin's finger.

The video cut off. The caption underneath read: Pondphuwin? Engaged Again?! Totally a shipper.

Phuwin's eyes went wide. "Where did you find this?"

"Scrolling online." Siyh's grin was entirely too pleased. "It's already got over seven hundred thousand views."

"WHAT?!"

The word tore out of him, loud enough that Mint dropped her brush. Phuwin grabbed Siyh's arm and hauled her toward the door, throwing an apologetic glance over his shoulder at the other students. "Sorry—sorry, I have to—"

He pulled Siyh into the hall and let the door swing shut behind them. The corridor smelled like floor wax and stale coffee, and the fluorescent lights hummed their same off-key note. Phuwin rounded on her.

"Tell me you're joking."

"Deadass." Siyh's smile didn't waver. "But damn. Y'all didn't have to do it... on campus. You know how fast this stuff spreads. Heck, Aunt Godji probably saw it already."

Phuwin ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. Seven hundred thousand views. Seven hundred thousand people had watched him cry, watched him beg, watched Pond put the ring back on his finger.

Through the window at the end of the hall, he saw movement. A group of girls crossing the yard, phones in hand, heads together. One of them looked up—straight at the art building. Straight at him.

She grabbed her friend's arm and pointed.

"Oh no," Phuwin breathed.

"What?"

"Girls. Coming this way." He turned to Siyh, grabbing her shoulders. "Help me."

Siyh straightened her posture in an exaggerated way, chin lifting, face going professionally blank. "Sure. But I might say some stupid shit. Don't get mad at me."

"Siyh—"

The door at the end of the hall swung open. Three girls spilled through, breathless and bright-eyed, clutching their phones to their chests like they'd found treasure.

"Oh my god, it's really him!"

"Phuwin! Phuwin, is it true? Are you and Pond—"

"The video! We saw the video! He got on one knee—"

Phuwin held up both hands. "No. No, it's just—it's a rumor. The video is just a rumor. We're not—"

Siyh rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. "That is absolutely true." She stepped forward, arm sweeping toward Phuwin like a game show hostess revealing a prize. "Heck, he even has the ring on. See the diamond?" She grabbed Phuwin's left hand and shoved it toward the girls. "I was even at the proposal. Pond got on one knee and everything."

"SIYH!"

The girls screamed. Actually screamed, a high-pitched shriek that bounced off the hallway walls, and then they were running, already typing, already posting, already gone.

Phuwin turned on Siyh. "What the fuck, Siyh! Are you crazy? I can't have people bugging my husband about this shit. I told you to help me, not to start more drama. Next thing you know, this shit could become worldwide."

Siyh smiled, unbothered, and reached up to pull the hair tie from her bun. Her dark hair tumbled down around her shoulders and she shook it out with a practiced toss. "I wouldn't mind being online and seen. I need some pussy." She paused, then added, "But I already have a girlfriend, and to be wifey boo that taste good so... never mind."

She twisted her hair back up and secured it with the tie, all while Phuwin stared at her with his mouth hanging open.

"You're insane," he said.

"You love me."

"I tolerate you."

He rolled his eyes and pushed past her, back into the art room. The other students had mostly returned to their canvases, but a few glanced up as he passed. He ignored them, crossing to the windowsill where he'd been sitting, and looked out at the yard.

His stomach dropped.

A crowd had gathered around the fountain. Students—mostly girls, but plenty of boys too—pressed in from all sides, phones raised, voices overlapping into a low roar. And in the center of it all, looking like a man trapped by his own fans, was Pond.

Taehyung was beside him, arms spread wide like he was trying to hold back the tide. Jar, another of Pond's friends, was laughing at something on his phone. But Pond—Pond was looking around, over the heads of the crowd, scanning the buildings like he was searching for something.

For someone.

Phuwin's breath caught.

He grabbed his bag, threw his painting under the table, and headed for the door.

"Phuwin?" Mint called after him. "Your stuff—"

"Keep it safe!" He was already out the door, already running down the hall, already bursting out into the yard.

The crowd was even louder up close. He could hear fragments of conversation as he pushed through—"did you see the video"—"he got on his knees"—"the ring is huge"—and he kept his head down, kept moving, kept pushing toward the center of the chaos.

He broke through the inner ring just as Taehyung shouted, "Shit! Pond, this is like the entire university. That video is getting way outta hand."

Jar shrugged, still grinning at his phone. "Of course it is. Pond is famous all over, and now he's become worldwide famous with the face of his wife."

"Shut the fuck up," Pond snapped.

And then he saw Phuwin.

The shift was instantaneous. The tension in his shoulders melted, the hard line of his mouth softened, and he was moving—pushing through the crowd, parting it like water, reaching for Phuwin with both hands.

Phuwin didn't have time to brace himself. Pond's hands found his waist, strong and sure, and pulled him in until their chests pressed together. The crowd gasped. Phones rose. Someone screamed.

"We need to go," Phuwin said, breathless. "This is too many people. How are they not in their classes?"

"Don't worry about them." Pond's voice was low, warm, and he leaned in—

—and kissed him.

Not a peck. Not a quick press of lips. A real kiss, deep and claiming, right there in front of the entire university. The crowd erupted. Screams, cheers, the frantic clicking of phone shutters, someone yelling "THEY'RE SO CUTE—"

And then Pond was lifting him. One arm under his thighs, hauling him up like he weighed nothing, and Phuwin had to grab his shoulders to keep from falling backward. The crowd got louder. Phuwin could feel their eyes on him, hundreds of them, thousands maybe, all watching the way Pond held him like he was something precious.

He pulled back from the kiss, face burning, and hit Pond's chest. "Put me down!"

"No."

"Pond—"

"You're going to get dealt with at home," Pond said, loud enough for the nearest students to hear, and the crowd shrieked again. "Why are you looking for so much attention?"

Phuwin wanted to die. "I didn't—you're the one who kissed me in front of—"

Pond just smiled, that infuriating, beautiful smile, and carried him through the crowd. Students parted for them, phones still raised, voices still screaming, and Pond walked like he was the only one who mattered, like the world could burn behind them and he wouldn't notice.

He set Phuwin down by the passenger side of his car—a sleek black thing that gleamed in the afternoon sun—and opened the door. Phuwin climbed in, heart hammering, and watched the crowd spill out of the yard behind them. They were running now, a tide of students flooding toward the parking lot, phones held high.

Pond got in, started the engine, and the car roared to life. The windows were down, and Phuwin could hear them—the yelling, the screaming, the overlapping chatter of a hundred voices all saying his name.

He grabbed Pond's jacket from the back seat and pulled it over his head, hiding.

Pond pulled out of the lot, engine roaring, and the crowd fell behind them. The sound faded, replaced by the hum of the road and the soft thrum of the air conditioner.

"Babe." Pond's voice was gentle now, all the showmanship gone. "Where are we heading? Godji's or our place?"

Phuwin lowered the jacket just enough to peek out. The campus was shrinking in the rear window, the crowd a distant blur. He let out a shaky breath.

"Godji's."

Pond nodded and turned onto the main road.

Phuwin looked out the window. The world passed by in smears of green and gray, and he pressed his hand to his chest, feeling his heart pound against his ribs. He had never—never—had this much attention on him. It felt scary. It felt weird.

And at home, Godji was going to yell and hit Pond. She'd probably already seen the video. She'd probably already have her slipper in hand.

Phuwin smiled slightly at the thought.

He looked at Pond. The set of his jaw, the way his hands rested on the wheel, the gold chain glinting at his throat. And then he looked down at his own hand, at the ring on his finger.

The diamond. The rose gold band. The rhinestones. The way it glowed and shined in the light, like it had never been thrown, never been lost, never been the thing that sat in the dirt while Phuwin ran.

He turned his hand, watching the light catch the facets.

Two and a half weeks.

He could do this.

They could do this.