The phone screen glowed against Phuwin's palm, vibrating with the incoming call from Fourth and Satang. He was still on the bathroom floor, barefoot on the cold tile, the sheer black shirt Tame had given him hanging untouched on the shower rod. His thumb hovered over the answer button for three full breaths before he pressed it.
"PONDPHUWIN NA KRUB!"
Fourth's voice shattered the silence, so loud Phuwin had to pull the phone away from his ear. Satang's laugh crackled in the background, warm and teasing.
"Shh—Fourth, my ears," Phuwin whispered, but he was already smiling. The first real smile since Tame had kissed him on the street.
"I don't care about your ears! Did you invite him? Did you invite P'Pond to the club tonight?" Fourth's words tumbled over each other. "What are you wearing? Who's taking you? Tell me everything right now or I'm coming over there."
Phuwin leaned his head back against the bathroom cabinet, the wood pressing into his spine. "I invited him. He said he'd think about it."
"He said he'd think about it—" Fourth's voice climbed into a shriek. "PONDPHUWIN! That's basically a yes coming from P'Pond! What are you wearing? Who's taking you? I need details right now or I'm coming over there."
Phuwin laughed, the sound surprising even himself. "I have an outfit. P'Tame got it for me. He's taking me to the club later."
The line went dead silent.
"Fourth? Satang?"
"You're with Tame right now?" Satang's voice was flat, careful in a way that made Phuwin's stomach tighten. "At your condo?"
"Yeah. He's in the living room. I'm getting dressed." Phuwin looked down at the sheer black silk shirt still laying across his lap. The fabric caught the bathroom light, shimmering like oil.
"Phu." Satang's tone shifted—no longer careful, but hard. "You shouldn't let someone like Tame into your life. He hurts you. He yells at you. He puts his hands on you when he knows you don't like it."
Phuwin's fingers curled against his thigh. The scar on his wrist—faded now, an old thing—seemed to throb under his skin. "I know."
"I know."
The words hung there, smaller than Phuwin wanted them to be. He pressed the phone harder against his ear, felt the heat of the screen against his cheek. The bathroom tile was cold under his thighs.
Satang's voice cut through, sharp and quiet. "You're with him right now? In your condo?"
"Yeah." Phuwin pulled his knees up, wrapped one arm around them. The bathroom light was too bright. Everything was too bright. "He's in the living room. I'm in the bathroom."
Satang made a sound—not quite a sigh, something harder, something that had been waiting behind his teeth for months. "He hurts you, Phu. He yells. He puts his hands on you when he knows you don't want it. You know this. You know this."
Phuwin pressed his forehead to his knees. The denim was rough against his skin. Cold tile. Cold everything. "I know."
Satang didn't answer right away. Phuwin could hear him breathing—slow, controlled, the way he got when he was deciding whether to say the thing that would hurt or the thing that needed saying. The silence stretched until Fourth's voice cut through, softer now, stripped of the earlier shrieking joy.
"Phu. Baby." Fourth only used that tone when he was scared. "You don't have to let him do this."
"He's not doing anything. He's just taking me to the club." The words felt thin even in his own mouth. Phuwin's gaze drifted to the garment bag still hanging on the shower rod, the sheer black fabric visible through the plastic. Tame had picked it out. Tame had decided what he'd wear tonight. Tame had decided a lot of things lately, and Phuwin had let him, because pushing back meant consequences he didn't want to think about.
"That's not—" Satang started, then stopped. Phuwin heard him swallow. "Phu, I've watched him grab your arm when you try to walk away. I've seen the bruises."
Phuwin felt the words like a finger pressing on a bruise. He wanted to say it wasn't like that, that Tame just got carried away sometimes, but the lie dried up in his throat. His hand moved to his forearm without him meaning it to, thumb finding the spot where Tame's grip had left a shadow of purple last week. He pulled his sleeve down.
"I bruise easy," he said. "It's nothing."
Fourth made a sound, not quite a laugh. "You've been saying that since we were fifteen, and it's never been nothing."
"He doesn't mean it." Phuwin's fingers curled against the tile floor, the cold seeping into his knuckles. The garment bag swayed on the shower rod, caught by the air conditioning vent. "He just wants me to look good tonight. That's all."
The silence on the line stretched until Fourth broke it, his voice barely above a whisper. "Phu. You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Making excuses for someone who doesn't deserve them." Fourth's breath crackled against the receiver. "You did it with your dad. You did it with that manager who kept you three hours late with no pay. And now you're doing it with Tame."
Phuwin's jaw tightened. The scar on his wrist—faded, old—itched under the fabric of his sleeve. He didn't scratch it. "This is different."
"How?" Satang's voice cut in, flat and unyielding. "Explain how this is different."
"Because—" Phuwin started, then stopped. He could feel the answer sitting somewhere in his chest, a shape he couldn't quite name. It had something to do with Pond. With the way Pond had looked at him in the dance studio, that slow smirk that said I see you. With the fact that tonight might matter. "Because I'm not staying with Tame. He's just a ride. He bought me a shirt. That's it."
"That's never it with him." Satang's voice had dropped into something heavy. "You know that, Phu. You've known that for months."
Fourth's laugh came through the speaker, bitter and knowing. "Baby, he picked out a shirt that's practically see-through. He's not trying to make you look good. He's trying to make you look like his."
Phuwin pressed his palm flat against the tile floor. The cold seeped through his skin, grounding him. He wanted to tell them about the kiss on the street—Tame's mouth on his without asking, the way his grip had locked around Phuwin's wrist like a handcuff. But the words wouldn't come. Some truths felt too heavy to speak into a phone, even to his best friends.
The word landed like a slap. His. Phuwin's jaw tightened. He wasn't Tame's. He'd never been Tame's. The only person he'd ever belonged to was standing somewhere in a club right now, wearing something loose and expensive, looking like he didn't have a care in the world.
"I'm not his," Phuwin said. The words came out harder than he meant them to. His reflection in the bathroom mirror caught his eye—hair falling loose, cheeks flushed, the sheer black silk still draped over his lap like a threat. "I'm just—he's just giving me a ride."
Satang's voice dropped lower, the way it did when he was about to say something Phuwin didn't want to hear. "You know he's going to try something tonight. At the club. After. He always does."
Phuwin pressed his palm flat against the cold tile. The chill bit into his skin, grounding. Outside the bathroom door, he could hear Tame moving around the living room—footsteps heavy, deliberate, the way he did everything. Claiming space. Claiming silence. Claiming Phuwin's attention even when he wasn't in the room.
"I can handle Tame," Phuwin said.
Fourth sucked in a breath, the sound sharp through the speaker. "You're not telling us something."
The memory surfaced before Phuwin could stop it—Pond's hands on his waist in the dark studio, the heat of his body through sweat-damp fabric, the way he'd leaned in close and whispered something Phuwin had replayed a thousand times since. Something about still caring. Something about not being done.
"Phu." Fourth's voice pulled him back. "You went quiet."
"I'm here." Phuwin shifted on the cold tile, his thighs aching from sitting so long. The garment bag swayed again, caught by the vent. "I just—there's something I didn't tell you about yesterday. At the studio."
Satang's silence was heavier than Fourth's. Phuwin could feel him waiting, the way he always waited when he knew the real story was about to surface.
"He touched me." Phuwin's voice came out smaller than he wanted. "Pond. When we were talking. He put his hands on my waist, and he said—" He swallowed. "He said he still cared. That he wasn't done with whatever this is between us."
Fourth's breath hissed through the speaker. "Fucking finally."
"That's not all." Phuwin pressed his palm harder against the tile, needing the cold to keep him steady. "He looked at me like—like he used to. Before everything fell apart. Like I was the only person in the room."
"And?" Satang's voice was careful now, the sharp edge sanded down to something gentler. "How did that make you feel?"
Phuwin laughed, but it came out broken. "Like I could breathe again. Like I've been holding my breath for a year and didn't even know it."
The confession hung in the air between them. Outside the bathroom door, Tame's footsteps had stopped. Phuwin could picture him standing in the living room, arms crossed, checking his watch, getting impatient. The thought made his stomach clench.
"PONDPHUWIN NA KRUB!" Fourth's voice shattered the quiet so suddenly that Phuwin jerked the phone away from his ear. The screech echoed off the bathroom tiles, and Phuwin was laughing before he could stop himself—a real laugh, the first one in days that didn't feel hollow.
Phuwin's laugh bounced off the bathroom walls, bright and unguarded and so sudden it surprised even him. Across the line, Fourth was cackling, the kind of unhinged shriek he only let out when he was absolutely losing his mind over Phuwin's love life.
"I said it! I said the thing!" Fourth's voice was pure chaos. "Satang, tell him I said the thing!"
"You said the thing incredibly loudly," Satang's voice came through, dry as ever, but Phuwin could hear the smile underneath it. "The neighbors three floors down heard the thing."
Phuwin wiped at his eyes with the heel of his palm. His cheeks ached from smiling. "You're both insane."
"Insane about PondPhuwin," Fourth shot back, and the ship name landed somewhere in Phuwin's chest like a small, warm stone. "Speaking of which—did you actually invite him? To the club? Like, face to face, words coming out of your mouth, you asked him?"
Phuwin shifted on the cold tile, pulling his knees up to his chest. The garment bag still hung from the shower rod, swaying slightly every time the air conditioning kicked on. "I did. Yesterday. After he finished dancing."
"And?" Fourth's voice pitched higher. "What did he say? Tell me everything. Leave nothing out. I want the exact words."
"He said—" Phuwin paused, replaying the moment in his head. Pond's sharp almond eyes catching the light, that slow smirk spreading across his face like he knew something Phuwin didn't. "He said he'd think about it."
Satang made a thoughtful sound. "Pond doesn't say he'll think about things. He either does them or he doesn't."