Work Text:
“Play it up for the cameras”—they say that a lot, in this business. For years, Pond has taken subtle hints and not-so-subtle hints to move his hands lower, inch his shoulders closer or make his pauses linger. The punchline of a joke that is not to be looked over, except that this is not a joke and the punchline is that he’s supposed to be secretly in love with his co-star.
Pond thinks that there should be a different term for Phuwin, though: ‘co-star’ is too vague and ‘colleague’ is something only Phuwin can use for him without batting an eye. He started calling Phuwin his ‘partner’ because of this reason—because it felt right.
No matter who they are and where they drift apart to, they’re partners, Pond and Phuwin.
But first, before anything else really, they are actors. Pond has no control over who they are as people, though. And that is something that should be left unsaid between him and himself.
For Pond, the distinction was always simple, always only a few steps away. It was within easy reach to touch Phuwin’s lower back when they were being filmed, and it was easy when he was touched back in any way by Phuwin, too. When the cameras fell down, Pond also took a step back, always respectful of Phuwin’s space, and Phuwin’s glances at him became suddenly all-knowing: as if he could see through to the bottom of Pond’s soul and liked what he found.
Pond has never let himself stray. He knows his direction and he’s persistent about it; that is something he and Phuwin have in common, he knows. When they started appearing in front of cameras more and more, outside of sets and behind-the-scenes reels, they made sure to talk to about it. Straightforward, as Phuwin would describe them in interviews.
It’s been four years and now Pond and Phuwin are so straightforward with each other, they don’t even talk.
It’s a funny feeling to know the dips and highs of somebody’s face that is not your own, to be able to read what’s in their eyes simply because they’ve been a constant by your side. Pond says that he is good at distinctions—and he’s not wrong, per se. But sometimes, he wonders if he didn’t lose his mind somewhere along the way, or if it’s a logical progression of things. Toe a line often enough and it gets blurred.
Or maybe the line is still there, same as it’s always been, and Pond simply stepped over it without realising it.
“That was great,” P’New says, happy as a clam, after they’ve just finished filming Phum and Peem’s first kiss. He slaps Pond’s shoulder proudly, “Great shot. Thank you for all your hard work. You and Phuwin have come a long way.”
Pond bows a few times and accepts the praise but inside, he’s buzzing. He’s a host of beehives and they’re swarming up his gut. “You and Phuwin have come a long way”—what does that mean? That phrase sticks with him for the rest of the day, until he and Phuwin stop shooting at a little before ten, and then all the way back to his car and to Phuwin’s house. He’s giving Phuwin a lift today but he’s not the one driving, so it’s easy to get lost in his thoughts.
“Pond,” Phuwin says in a quiet voice. He never calls Pond phi unless he’s playing it up for the cameras.
Pond doesn’t look at him, but stares at the night passing by them in a fast yellow-grey-white blur. “What?” His voice comes away hushed, but light.
The car slows, then stops. Pond recognises this neighbourhood: it’s where Phuwin lives. Mentally, he starts preparing himself to get off the car and begin the long drive back to his own house.
Phuwin says, “Come up with me.”
Sometimes, Pond thinks that dealing with the cameras is easy, but maybe not so easy when you suddenly find yourself reciting the truth by heart. That is usually where the line gets blurred, but Phuwin has always kept him in check, and Pond is tired after a long day of work. He has little grounds to protest. And then there’s something about the view in Phuwin’s room that puts Pond immediately at ease, and Pond has missed it.
“I didn’t bring any clothes.” He unlocks his seatbelt anyway, and Phuwin gets out of the car, “Can’t you park it in the driveway for me? Please?”
Phuwin comes closer, resting an arm on top of the car and leaning down to look at Pond, a mischievous grin nonetheless tempered by his obvious exhaustion. “I’m not your chauffeur, P’Pond.”
And sometimes, Phuwin also calls Pond phi when he’s too tired and it slips off his tongue like warm honey.
Pond steps out of his car and comes round to the other side. Phuwin is still leaning against the car, one corner of his lips tilted up as he watches Pond’s movements with quiet delight. He makes a soft, baby-like sound at Pond when he gets into the driver’s seat, rubbing Pond’s chin and jaw like he’s petting a slighted dog, and Pond smiles widely at the idiot before pulling the door closed.
Phuwin puts his hands in his pockets and waits for Pond to finish parking his car, and then he grabs Pond by the arm—much gently than he would in front of the cameras—and leads him to his house as if Pond hasn’t been here thirty-nine times already.
They’re both tired, and it’s easy to gravitate towards a warm body—almost natural, if Pond dare say. And Phuwin gravitates towards him a lot, because apparently, he’s addicted to slouching and sleeping and leaning against any available surface. Pond puts an arm round his waist, easy, natural, and breathes in Phuwin’s expensive foreign cologne. The smell that haunts his dreams more often than he’d like.
When they are finally in Phuwin’s room, Pond thinks to himself that he’ll always remember this: the way that Phuwin just sheds his clothes as if he’s all alone, and mumbles something about a hot shower before handing Pond a bunch of soft towels and bathrobes—because Phuwin has a ridiculously large collection of towels and bathrobes—and the way that he lingers in the doorway to his bathroom, waiting for Pond to do—what?
“What?” Pond asks the second time that night. He can feel the slight smile on his face.
Phuwin gestures at Pond’s general existence. “Do you want to use the shower first?”
Pond can’t help but laugh aloud at that. “I think you’re really really tired, Nong Phuwin.”
Some of it is meant as teasing, but Phuwin takes in the words and nods, all serious, as if Pond just told him the exact number of times he’s mistaken a rhombus for a square, and disappears into the bathroom.
Pond takes a shower after Phuwin, while Phuwin brushes his teeth and shouts at Pond through the door to use his “own brush by the sink”—technically, that brush also belongs to Phuwin since he bought it for Pond when he started coming over more often—and then he climbs into Phuwin’s bed. Phuwin simply holds up one arm until Pond snuggles up against him.
Phuwin is sitting up, looking at something on his iPad, and Pond is cuddling him to sleep in his bed. And this is not the first time they’ve done this because most of Phuwin is made up of religiously learned habits, and Pond cannot sleep without having a living, breathing and warm body next to him—perhaps something that comes with growing up in an affectionate family.
Just before he falls asleep surrounded by Phuwin with all his five senses, Pond thinks of how he doesn’t play it up for the cameras anymore, not like he used to. Nobody has to tell Pond to let Phuwin have his way in every single game, or text Phuwin drunk messages of ‘I love you’s and ‘Why don’t you say it back?’s. They haven’t told him to do anything for the cameras in months. He knows that being an actor is still an exercise in boundaries, and he trusts his partner to keep him on the line, but it is easy now to follow Phuwin’s lead.
Maybe it always was. Pond probably just didn’t realise it.
“Comfortable?” Phuwin asks, tone teasing but voice soft and deep, rumbling through Pond like running water on a sunny beach.
“Yes.” Pond throws his leg on top of Phuwin’s and receives a low chuckle in response, full of fondness and indulgence.
A hand at the back of Pond’s neck.
“Good night,” Phuwin says, almost a whisper. He should lean down, come closer, Pond thinks.
“Sweet dreams,” Pond replies, immediately feeling hot blood rush to his cheeks. Phuwin’s torso shakes slightly with mirth—he’s more than aware of how shy Pond gets at his own bold moves, but he doesn’t remove his fingers from where they’ve tangled in Pond’s hair, and he doesn’t move away.
Pond is too sleep-addled after that, to tell if the light kiss that touches his temple is real, or a dream.