The GMMTV lobby swallowed them whole — polished concrete gleaming under the fluorescents, the hum of recycled air carrying the distant echo of someone's laughter from three floors up. Pond's fingers stayed laced with Phuwin's as the group funneled through the glass doors, their footsteps scattering across the wide floor like stones dropped into shallow water.
Fourth and Gemini fell into step beside them, their voices already rising in that easy back-and-forth that filled silence without trying. Satang trailed behind, phone in hand, occasionally looking up to track where they were going. Phuwin said nothing. His thumb traced slow circles across Pond's knuckles, a private rhythm, and his gaze drifted past the group to the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the east wall — the pale afternoon light catching dust motes, the blur of Bangkok traffic beyond the glass.
He smiled. Small. Distant. Like he was watching something none of them could see.
Pond felt it more than saw it — the soft turn of Phuwin's face toward the light, the way his shoulders loosened just a fraction. He squeezed Phuwin's hand once, a question without words, and Phuwin squeezed back without looking at him. Still smiling. Still quiet.
"Phu." Fourth's voice cut through the lobby's low hum, sharp with curiosity. "Hey. Phuwin."
Phuwin blinked, the distant smile still clinging to his lips as he turned. "What?"
Fourth slowed his pace, falling into step beside them, his eyes narrowing with theatrical suspicion. "So. Last night. You and Pond." He let the words hang, drawing them out like a thread. "When you got to your condo. What did you do?"
The question landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Phuwin's hand tightened around Pond's. His face turned — not away from Fourth, but toward the window again, a slow pivot that let the light catch the flush spreading across his cheeks. He bit his lower lip, a brief press of teeth, and raised his free hand to cover his mouth. His eyes stayed fixed on something outside the glass, but he wasn't seeing it.
Pond watched the blush crawl up Phuwin's neck, watched the way his fingers curled against his own lips, and felt something warm and possessive curl in his chest. He let the silence stretch, let Fourth's question hang unclaimed, before he spoke.
"I'm going with Phuwin to his meeting." Pond's voice came easy, unhurried, like he was commenting on the weather. He glanced at Fourth, a lazy curve to his mouth. "The one with the model. You know anything about it?"
Fourth's expression shifted — the theatrical suspicion giving way to something sharper. He side-eyed Pond, his jaw tightening once before he spoke. "The model's been weird around him." His voice dropped, losing its teasing edge. "Looking at places he shouldn't. Staring too long. Getting too close."
Pond's smile didn't waver, but something behind his eyes went still.
Fourth's voice dropped lower, the theatrical edge gone. "Also, there was a group of boys who followed Phuwin's TikTok account. They were playing videos of him—looping them, watching like it was a shrine. One of them came up to get Phuwin's number. Phuwin gave it to him."
The words settled into the lobby's recycled air. Gemini's laugh cut short. Satang's phone lowered, his eyes lifting from the screen to Fourth's face. Every gaze turned to Phuwin, who stood at the center of the group, still holding Pond's hand, still wearing that distant smile.
Phuwin looked back at them. His shoulders lifted in a slow shrug, the motion liquid, unhurried. "He asked. I gave it."
Pond's hand tightened around Phuwin's. Not a squeeze—a stiffening, the bones of his fingers pressing harder against Phuwin's palm, the muscles in his forearm tensing beneath his sleeve. His smile held, but the stillness behind his eyes spread down his jaw, settling into a line that wasn't quite a frown.
Phuwin felt it. The shift in pressure, the sudden rigidity of the hand he knew better than his own. He turned his face toward Pond, and the distant smile softened into something warmer, something meant only for him.
"Pond." His voice came quiet, almost a whisper, cutting through the tension. He lifted their joined hands and guided Pond's arm around his own waist, settling it against the curve of his hip, the heat of Pond's palm pressing through the thin fabric of his shirt. "I should get going now. The meeting starts soon."
Pond's eyes searched Phuwin's face—the blush still staining his cheekbones, the bitten lip, the strand of black hair falling loose over his forehead. His thumb traced a slow arc against Phuwin's hip before he spoke. "You'll call me after?"
"I'll call you later." Phuwin leaned in, his lips brushing Pond's cheek at first, then finding his mouth. The kiss was brief—a press, a promise, the taste of morning coffee and something sweet—but it lingered a half-second longer than necessary, his hand coming up to cup Pond's jaw before he pulled away.
He stepped back, letting his fingers trail down Pond's arm, and turned toward the glass doors at the far end of the lobby. The afternoon light caught his silhouette as he walked, his footsteps deliberate, his spine straight. He didn't look back.
The group stood in the silence he left behind. The hum of the building filled the space—distant voices, the chime of an elevator, the shuffle of shoes on polished concrete.
Fourth broke first, his voice barely above a murmur. "He gave his number to some fanboy."
Pond's hand was still raised where Phuwin had placed it, hovering in the air. He lowered it slowly, flexing his fingers, then pressed his palm flat against his own chest, over the spot where Phuwin's hand had been. His eyes stayed fixed on the glass doors, on the shape of Phuwin's back growing smaller through the glare.
"He's still mine," Pond said, quiet enough that only Fourth heard. His voice carried no doubt—only a quiet, steel certainty that settled into the lobby's hum and stayed. "He knows where he belongs."