Phuwin's skull felt like someone had driven a spike through his left temple and left it there. The morning light cut through his closed lids like blades, and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, groaning into the expensive cotton of the pillow. The space beside him was cool—Fourth and Satang must have gotten up already. Their voices drifted in from the other room, low and rapid in Thai, punctuated by the clink of ceramic against marble.
He pushed himself upright and the room tilted. His head throbbed in rhythm with his pulse, each beat a small hammer against bone. The sheets tangled around his legs and he kicked them free, swinging his feet to the cold floor. Last night came back in fragments—the club, the fight, Pond on his knees in the parking lot, blood on his lip. And then. Then Fourth had poured him something. Something strong. And he'd been on his phone.
The thought flickered and died as another wave of pain rolled through his skull. He pressed two fingers to his temple, squeezing his eyes shut, and shuffled toward the bedroom door.
The living room was bright. Too bright. Phuwin squinted, one hand shielding his eyes, the other still pressed to his head. Fourth and Satang were sprawled on the couch, mugs in hand, their conversation halting as he emerged.
"Morning, sleeping beauty," Fourth said, grinning. His hair was a mess, still in the clothes from last night, looking like he'd barely slept. "You look like death."
"Feel like it," Phuwin muttered, his voice rough. He didn't stop walking, heading straight for the kitchen, ignoring the way both of them watched him. The fridge hummed when he pulled it open, the cold air a small mercy against his flushed skin. He grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and drank half of it in one long swallow.
Behind him, Fourth and Satang had resumed their conversation, dropping their voices like they thought he couldn't hear.
"—saw the video this morning," Satang was saying, his tone careful. "It's already everywhere. Twitter, TikTok—"
"The one at the club? Where Pond grabbed him?"
"Yeah. And the parking lot. Someone caught the whole thing."
Phuwin's hand tightened on the water bottle. He took another long drink, staring at the stainless steel of the fridge door, his reflection warped and distorted in the curve of it.
"Pond really needs to get his boyfriend back," Satang said, and there was weight in the words, an edge that made Phuwin's stomach clench. "Before that—before Tame does something worse."
"Tame's a red flag asshole," Fourth said flatly. "A real sutt."
Phuwin turned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hey. I'm right here."
Fourth and Satang went quiet, exchanging a glance that said everything they weren't saying. Phuwin stretched, rolling his shoulders, trying to work the stiffness out of his neck. His head still pounded, and he pressed his palm against the base of his skull, rubbing in slow circles.
"Tame is an absolute sutt," Fourth said again, louder this time, in Thai, not bothering to hide it. "I don't care if you can hear me. It's true."
Satang snorted into his mug. "He's not wrong."
Phuwin couldn't help it—a laugh escaped him, short and surprised, and he shook his head, the motion making him wince. "You two are impossible."
Satang set his mug down, his brow furrowing. "Are you okay? You keep rubbing your head."
"Just a headache," Phuwin said, dropping his hand. "Nothing serious. I'll take something in a minute."
Fourth laughed. It was a strange sound—too sharp, too knowing—and both Phuwin and Satang turned to stare at him. Satang's expression shifted into something close to concern, his eyes narrowing.
"What?" Phuwin asked, his voice flat. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Fourth's grin widened. He set his mug down, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Oh, I think I know exactly why you have a headache."
Phuwin's stomach dropped. Something cold slithered through his chest. "What are you talking about?"
"You were on your phone last night," Fourth said, drawing the words out like he was savoring them. "After we got back. You were—well. Pretty drunk. And very, very honest."
The water bottle in Phuwin's hand felt suddenly heavy. He set it down on the counter, his fingers numb. "I don't—I don't remember."
"I know you don't. That's what makes it funny." Fourth chuckled, reaching for his own phone on the coffee table. "You were texting someone. Going on and on about how you love them and miss them and want to go out again—"
Phuwin crossed the room in three quick strides, his headache forgotten, his heart slamming against his ribs. "What are you talking about?"
Fourth held up his phone, already scrolling, already grinning. "I saw the messages, Phu. You were lying right there, tapping away, mumbling to yourself. I looked over your shoulder."
"You what—"
"Relax. I didn't send anything. But you did." Fourth's eyes glittered. "About fifteen messages. All to Pond."
The name hit him like a wall. Phuwin's hand shot out, grabbing his own phone from the table where he'd left it the night before. The screen lit up at his touch, and he unlocked it with shaking fingers, his thumb sliding against the glass, fumbling, missing the first time.
Fourth's voice rang out, clear and mocking, mimicking a high, breathy tone: "Did you know you looked so sexy tonight, Pond? I miss you so fucking much!"
Satang let out a low laugh, covering his mouth with his hand.
"I'm having a hard time sleeping lately, but you make me feel a lot better," Fourth continued, his voice dripping with amusement. "You make me feel so good, P'Pond—"
Phuwin's messages were right there. A thread of them, sent between 2 and 3 AM, each one worse than the last.
Did you know you looked so sexy tonight? I couldn't stop watching you.
I miss you. I miss you so fucking much.
Can we go out again? Just us? Like before?
I know I messed up. I know I pushed you away. But I still—
I still love you, Pond. I never stopped.
I'm having such a hard time sleeping. Nothing helps. But thinking about you—talking to you—it makes it better.
Please just tell me you got home safe.
And then, sent at 2:47 AM: I want to kiss you again. Just once. Just to know if it still feels the same.
A scream tore out of Phuwin's throat. He didn't mean to make it—it just came, raw and animal, ripping past the shock and the shame and the panic. His legs gave out. He slid down the side of the table, his phone clattering to the floor, his back hitting the wall as he sank to the ground.
"Phu—" Satang was on his feet, moving toward him. "Are you okay?"
Phuwin didn't answer. He scrambled up, his bare feet slapping against the marble, and ran to the living room couch. He threw his phone onto the cushions, where it bounced and landed face-up, the messages still visible, still glowing, still delivered. Then he grabbed a pillow, pressed it over his face, and screamed into the fabric until his throat burned.
"Phuwin." Satang's voice was closer now, cautious. "Talk to us."
Phuwin pulled the pillow away just enough to speak, his voice cracking, the words muffled and broken. "I messed up. I messed everything up so fucking bad."
He pressed the pillow back against his face, curling into himself, his legs pulled up, his shoulders shaking. The headache was back, worse now, pounding behind his eyes, and he couldn't tell if the wetness on his cheeks was sweat or tears.
Fourth's voice came from somewhere nearby, softer now, the teasing gone. "Phu. He hasn't replied yet. Maybe—"
"He hasn't replied because he hates me." The words came out thick, distorted by the pillow. "Or because he's with Tame. Or because he finally realized I'm not worth the trouble."
"That's not—" Satang started.
"I sent him fifteen messages. Fifteen. Telling him I love him. Begging him to take me back. And he didn't even open them." Phuwin's voice broke on the last word, and he bit his lip, hard, tasting copper. "He probably showed them to Tame. They're probably laughing at me right now."
The room was quiet. The only sound was Phuwin's breathing, ragged and uneven, and the distant hum of the city beyond the windows.
Then Fourth's phone buzzed.
Both Satang and Fourth stared at it, then at each other, then at Phuwin, still curled on the couch, the pillow still pressed to his face.
"It's probably Gemini," Fourth said, but he didn't sound convinced. He picked up the phone, glanced at the screen, and went very still.
Satang leaned over. "What is it?"
Fourth didn't answer. He just turned the screen toward Satang, and Phuwin heard the sharp intake of breath, felt the shift in the air, the weight of something unsaid.
"Phu," Satang said slowly, his voice strange. "Pond just replied."