The cotton candy spun into a pink cloud between Phuwin's fingers, sugar-sweet and still warm from the machine. He tore off a piece and let it dissolve on his tongue as he followed Fourth and Satang to a small table near the railing, the metal legs scraping against concrete as they pulled out chairs.
Fourth was already halfway through his churro, cinnamon dusting his lips. "Those guys by the ticket booth. They haven't stopped staring."
"Which ones?" Satang twisted in his seat, craning his neck.
"The ones in the matching shirts. Blue. Looking at Phuwin."
Phuwin didn't hear them. He was already gone — head tilted back, eyes fixed on the sky where the last light was bleeding into purple. The Ferris wheel loomed at the edge of his vision, lights flickering on one by one, and he traced the arc of a passing cloud with his gaze. His lips moved slightly, shaping words he didn't speak.
"—especially his legs. And his waist."
"I saw. One of them licked his lips."
"Disgusting."
"Right?"
Fourth waved a hand in front of Phuwin's face. Nothing. Phuwin's head drifted a degree to the left, following something only he could see, the strand of black hair falling loose across his forehead.
Satang caught Fourth's eye. They nodded once.
Song.
Sam.
See.
Ha.
"PHUWIN!"
His head snapped around so fast his neck cracked.
"POND IS HERE!"
The empty slushy cup was in his hand and airborne before he knew he'd thrown it. Fourth ducked, laughing, and the cup bounced off Satang's shoulder and rolled under the table.
"You assholes—"
Phuwin was already on his feet, grabbing for the fallen cup, fingers closing around the damp plastic as he straightened and wound up for a second throw—
A hand wrapped around his wrist.
Warm. Familiar. The pressure exactly right — not tight enough to hurt, firm enough to stop.
"What are you doing?"
Phuwin turned.
Pond stood there, head tilted, that soft knowing smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His dark hair fell in tousled waves, golden skin warm under the park lights, loose black shirt hanging off one shoulder like he'd dressed in three seconds and still managed to look like a dream.
Phuwin's face caught fire.
The cup slipped from his fingers.
Behind Pond, a wall of grinning faces: Gemini, Winny, Perth, Santa, Joong, Aou, Dunk — all of them pointing, elbowing each other, grins splitting their faces wide before the laughter broke open like a wave.
"Oh my god." Phuwin pulled his wrist back, but his hand stayed tingling where Pond had touched it. "What—what are you all doing here? How did you know where I was?"
He spun on Fourth.
Gemini was already there, arms wrapping around Fourth from behind, planting a kiss on his cheek that landed with an audible smack. "Hello, beloved."
"Get off—"
Phuwin threw the cup.
It hit Fourth square in the back of the head.
"Hey!" Gemini's hand flew to his chest. "No one hits my wife!"
"I'm not your wife!" Fourth bit into his churro, unbothered, and chewed.
Pond's hand found Phuwin's waist.
Light. Settling there like it had never left, like the past year had been a blink and they were still standing in the GMMTV hallway, still breathing the same air. Pond's palm curved against the denim of Phuwin's jacket, and Santa caught his eye from the group, grinning, and Pond grinned back — a slow, private thing that said yes, I know, I have him right where I want him.
Phuwin's hands came up, resting on Pond's forearms. "We're not officially together," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he felt. "Shouldn't be getting too wild."
"Too late," Winny called out. "The video's already at fifty thousand views."
"Fifty-three," Dunk corrected, phone in hand.
Satang launched himself at Winny's back, legs wrapping around his waist, and kissed the top of his head with an exaggerated mwah. "Ferris wheel! The huge one! Let's all go!"
A chorus of agreement rose — scattered, overlapping, the easy chaos of too many people who knew each other too well. Joong was already walking, Aou trailing behind him, Perth and Santa shoving each other toward the queue.
Phuwin let himself be pulled along.
The Ferris wheel rose above them, strung with lights that blinked in slow patterns — white, gold, white, gold — and the gears groaned overhead as the cabins rotated in their endless circle. The air smelled like popcorn and diesel and the faint sweetness of the cotton candy still dissolving on Phuwin's tongue.
His fingers found Pond's.
Interlaced. Easy. Like breathing.
Pond's thumb traced a slow arc across his knuckles.
"I will never stop loving you," Pond said, and his voice was soft, meant for Phuwin's ears only, settling into the space between them like a thing that had always belonged there.
The lights caught the gold in Pond's eyes.
Phuwin smiled.