Chapter Text
Pond has been rehearsing this in his head all day.
Every version sounds wrong.
Too soft, and it feels like a lie.
Too honest, and it feels like asking Phuwin to bleed with him.
They’re at school, tucked away near the old staircase where voices echo and footsteps fade before they reach them. Afternoon light spills through the windows, turning everything gold in a way that feels undeserved.
Phuwin leans against the railing, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“You said you wanted to talk,” Phuwin says. Not cold. Not warm. Just careful.
Pond nods. His hands feel useless at his sides.
“Yeah.”
Silence stretches. It’s familiar. Dangerous.
“I don’t want this to sound like I regret anything,” Pond starts, then stops. Swallows. “Because I don’t.”
Phuwin’s eyes flicker. “Okay.”
“I just—” Pond exhales. “I’ve been carrying something since that night, and I don’t know how to hold it quietly anymore.”
Phuwin doesn’t interrupt. That’s always been his curse — he listens too well.
“We both knew it wasn’t random,” Pond continues. “We didn’t fall into each other by accident. We were already there. We just… stopped pretending.”
Phuwin’s jaw tightens slightly.
“I thought I understood what it meant,”
Pond says. “I thought I was prepared for it.”
“For what?” Phuwin asks quietly.
“For how much it would change everything,” Pond replies. “For how much it would make the silence afterward hurt.”
Phuwin looks away, toward the window. “You’re not being very clear.”
Pond nods. “I know. I’m scared to be.”
He takes a step closer — not invading, just enough to be real.
“I’ve liked you for a long time,” Pond says. “Long before we crossed that line. Long before I let myself admit it.”
Phuwin laughs under his breath, almost bitter. “You’re saying this now?”
“Yes,” Pond says immediately. “Because now I can’t pretend it’s still manageable.”
Phuwin turns back to him. “Then why do you look like you’re about to lose something?”
Because I am, Pond thinks.
“Because liking you used to feel safe,” he says aloud. “And now it feels like standing on something that might give way if I lean too hard.”
Phuwin’s voice drops. “You think I don’t feel that?”
That cracks something open.
“I don’t know what you feel,” Pond admits. “You don’t let people know when something scares you. You just… endure it.”
Phuwin’s expression hardens. “Careful.”
“I’m not accusing you,” Pond says quickly. “I’m saying I see you. And I’m terrified that if I say this out loud, I’ll be the reason you pull away.”
Silence again. Thicker this time. Burning.
“So say it,” Phuwin says softly. “Or don’t. But stop circling it.”
Pond’s chest aches.
“I want you,” he says. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just true.
“And not just in moments where we pretend there’s no tomorrow. I want you when it’s awkward and heavy and real.”
Phuwin closes his eyes briefly.
“That’s not a small thing to ask,” he says.
“I know,” Pond replies. “That’s why I waited. That’s why I’m shaking.”
Phuwin looks at him then — really looks — like he’s weighing whether this is something he can survive.
“What if I can’t give you certainty?” Phuwin asks. “What if I don’t know how to stand still in something like this?”
Pond doesn’t hesitate. “Then we learn. Or we fail. But I don’t want to keep pretending we’re untouched by this.”
He exhales, voice quieter now. “I don’t want to lose you to silence.”
The words hang between them, raw and unprotected.
Phuwin swallows. “You’re asking me to stay in something that already hurts.”
“Yes,” Pond says. “Because walking away hurts worse.”
Phuwin doesn’t answer.
The next day, Pond waits. Not at the staircase, not in the classrooms, not anywhere he thinks Phuwin might be. He doesn’t know if he’s hoping or preparing for the worst.
He sees Phuwin in the hall, leaning against the lockers like a ghost, hands in pockets, expression unreadable.
Their eyes meet for a split second, and Pond swears he feels the room shrink, the air thicken, the world slow just enough to make his chest ache.
Phuwin looks away immediately.
It’s the first real silence between them since the confession. Not the kind that hangs like a warm shadow. This one is sharp, cold, and heavy, pressing down on Pond’s ribs.
He tries to speak, to reach out, but Phuwin is gone before he can form the words. Like smoke slipping through fingers, impossible to grasp.
The hours drag on. Every classroom, every hallway, every familiar corner — Pond
searches. And every time, Phuwin isn’t there. Or maybe he is, but he’s just a shadow of him, distant, untouchable.
Lunch passes, and Pond sits alone. The laughter around him feels cruel, like it’s directed at the hollow space inside his chest. Every bell, every passing footstep, every voice that isn’t Phuwin’s reminds him of the absence.
He tries to focus on his notes, on his phone, anything that could anchor him to something real. But his mind drifts. Drifts to Phuwin’s hand brushing against his, the curve of his smile when he thought no one was watching, the warmth of his shoulder close to his own. Drifts to the words left unsaid.
Pond thinks about all the ways he could’ve held Phuwin closer, not letting fear and pride carve a canyon between them. But it’s too late. Not yet. Not entirely. Phuwin’s avoiding, and he can’t pull him back without pushing harder than he should.
The day ends. Pond walks home slower than usual, head heavy, shoulders weighed down by absence. Every street feels empty, every familiar corner hollow.
And the nights — the nights are worse. Pond lies awake, tracing the silence beside him, imagining Phuwin there, and the ache curls sharper in his chest. He replays the confession, word by word, gesture by gesture, wondering what he did wrong, what scared Phuwin, what made him walk away.
He doesn’t reach out. Not yet. He’s learned that love isn’t always about holding on. Sometimes it’s giving space, even when the space itself cuts like a blade.
Days pass. Weeks feel like months. Pond sees Phuwin in fleeting glimpses — in the library, across the cafeteria, at the entrance of the school — always distant, always moving away, always a little untouchable. And every time, Pond feels the hollow stretch inside him, a pencil with nothing on either end, pointless, sharp, desperate for connection that he can’t force.
But he waits. Not out of hope, not out of patience. Not even out of fear. He waits because absence has a way of making the heart understand what presence used to mean.
Because he knows, deep down, Phuwin is learning too, in his own quiet, stubborn way.
And when Pond sees Phuwin pause under the old staircase, rain starting to fall lightly around him, he feels it — the tug of inevitability. The longing that’s been carved into him by absence, by silence, by fear.
Phuwin's POV:
The day drags on slower than usual. Every tick of the clock feels like a drum in his chest, loud, unrelenting, accusing. He doesn’t know why he’s avoiding Pond, not completely, not logically.
He wants to see him, wants to hear him, wants to throw himself into his arms and never let go—but something in him keeps him moving the other way. Fear. Pride. Habit. He doesn’t know. He just knows that if he looks at Pond too long, if he says anything, it might break something fragile inside himself.
So he walks faster. He ducks into empty hallways. He avoids classrooms where Pond might be. He pretends to be busy, to have places to go, tasks to complete—but the truth is, every step he takes away from Pond makes his chest tighten.
He wants to call, to text, to shout from the rooftops that Pond means more than anything, but every fiber in his being screams that he can’t, that he has to hold back.
Lunch is the hardest. He sits with his friends, yes, but the conversation floats around him like it’s in another language. He can’t focus. Every laugh he hears reminds him of how easy Pond makes the world feel, how light and warm it was just to be near him. And that warmth? He denies it. He runs from it.
By the time school ends, his legs feel heavy—not from walking, but from the weight of all the words he hasn’t said. He wants to go home, to lock himself away, to process the storm inside, but he can’t stop thinking about Pond. About that night, about the confession. About the way Pond’s eyes had glimmered like he was standing at the edge of something huge and terrifying.
He tries to shake it off, to convince himself it’s easier to stay distant. Easier to avoid the risk of rejection or disappointment, easier to guard his heart. But deep down, he knows life without Pond is… wrong. Empty. Like a pencil with nothing on either end—pointless.
Even when he walks home, he’s aware of the sky darkening. Clouds roll in, thick and heavy, promising rain. Remembering how he has a habit of forgetting things, this time it was the worse, his umbrella.
Until he saw a familiar man waiting near a park this late holding an umbrella. As he walks closer and closer as he gets wet, he gets a closer look of the man's face. It was Pond, his Pond, waiting for him knowing his habit.
Something in him snaps. The walls he’s built crumble, brick by brick. He doesn’t hesitate. He drops the jacket around his shoulders, doesn’t care about the cold, the soaking wet, the mud squelching under his shoes. He runs.
Every step feels like it’s breaking him open and healing him at the same time.
He can see Pond waiting under the old lamppost near the park, the one they always passed after school, looking small but steady in the rain. His hair is plastered to his forehead, shirt sticking to his chest, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but the way Pond’s eyes widen when he sees him, the way his mouth parts as if he’s been holding his breath this whole time.
“Pond…” he gasps, water dripping from his eyelashes. He’s too close, but it feels like he’s still a million miles away. His chest heaves. His hands tremble.
“I… I—”
Pond doesn’t move. Just waits. Just watches. Just lets him collapse into words.
“I was… I’ve been avoiding you. I—” His voice cracks. He swallows, chokes on the confession he’s held back for days. “I thought… I thought if I stayed away, I’d… I could… I don’t know. I thought I could handle it. Handle not having you. Handle—handle everything without you. But I can’t. I can’t, Pond. Life without you… it’s… it’s nothing. It’s like… like… eating soup with a fork. Pointless.”
The rain falls harder, drumming around them, masking everything but the sound of their ragged breaths. Phuwin steps closer, every inch closing the distance he spent days avoiding.
“I’ve been so stupid,” he whispers, voice hoarse, shaking. “So selfish. I… I need you, Pond. I need you more than I can explain. Please… don’t let me ruin us by running. Please… I—”
Pond’s arms are around him before he can finish. Warmth against cold, safety against panic, presence against absence. Pond holds him like he’s been waiting for this exact moment, like he’s been holding space for him in his heart all along.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Pond says softly, voice almost drowned by the rain. “Don't cry anymore hmm?" He reassures as he wipes Phuwin's tears.
Phuwin lets himself collapse into that embrace, shivering, soaked, heart pounding. Tears mix with the rain on his cheeks. He buries his face against Pond’s chest.
“I… I love you,” he admits, finally, voice muffled but clear. “I’ve been so afraid, but I… I love you, Pond. I love you so much, it hurts, and I can’t—can’t keep pretending I don’t.”
Pond presses a kiss to the top of his head, holding him tighter, letting him feel that he’s safe, wanted, loved.
“I love you too,” Pond whispers back. “Always have, always will. And now… we don’t have to run anymore.”
The rain pours around them, soaking them through, washing away the fear, the walls, the months of silence and avoiding. Every drop feels like a new beginning. Every heartbeat feels like home.
Phuwin lifts his head, trembling but steady, and meets Pond’s eyes. The world around them blurs in the storm, but they see each other clearly—finally.
And in that rain-soaked, trembling, heart-shattering moment, they find each other again. Not just in presence, but in everything else—love, longing, trust, and the promise that from now on, they face everything together.
END.