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Pond stumbles back, staggering, with Louis having a hard time keeping him upright.
“Pond, stop moving so much,” Louis says, voice raised like he’s fighting against the blaring music.
But Pond doesn’t answer—not with words. He lets out a low, breathy moan, eyes unfocused, struggling to make out anything past the blur of lights and bodies around them.
“Shit,” Louis mutters, tightening his grip on Pond’s waist. “You’re worse than I thought.”
Pond leans heavily into him, head tipping forward like gravity’s getting stronger by the second. His lips move, soundless, maybe trying to say something, but nothing coherent comes out.
And then—there’s Phuwin again, cutting through the crowd like he’s been searching the whole time. His eyes find Pond instantly.
“What the hell happened?” Phuwin asks, stepping between them.
Louis shakes his head. “He just started slipping. I told him not to drink too much.”
Pond lifts his head, lids heavy, and the moment he sees Phuwin, something softens in his face. A half-formed smile ghosts over his lips before his knees buckle again.
Phuwin catches him.
“I’ve got him,” he says quietly.
Louis steps back, giving a brief nod before disappearing into the crowd, the music swallowing him whole. Phuwin adjusts his grip on Pond, who’s half-limp in his arms, his weight uneven like he can’t decide whether to walk or melt. Pond sighs like he’s been waiting for the other.
“Come on,” Phuwin murmurs, one hand curling around Pond’s waist, the other bracing his shoulder. “Let’s get you out of here.”
They move slowly, weaving through the sea of swaying bodies, the bass thumping like a second heartbeat. Pond clutches at Phuwin’s jacket with weak fingers, mumbling something into his chest—nonsense, mostly. But his breath is warm, shaky.
Outside, the air hits cold and sharp. The noise dies behind the club doors, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the low buzz of city life. It’s quieter. Not silent, but enough.
Phuwin leads him to a bench a little ways down the block, under a flickering streetlight. He lowers Pond gently onto it, crouching down in front of him.
“You okay?” Phuwin asks, eyes scanning his face.
Pond doesn’t answer. His head lolls slightly, and his lips part like he wants to say something, but again, nothing comes. Just a soft exhale. His eyes flutter shut.
“Pond,” Phuwin says again, softer now, brushing a hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyes. “You shouldn’t have drunk that much.”
Pond opens his eyes at that. Barely. But he looks at Phuwin—really looks—and smiles, drowsy and uneven.
“You’re here,” he whispers, like that’s the only thing that matters. Like that explains everything.
Phuwin freezes.
Yeah. He is.
Phuwin swallows hard. Pond’s words echo in his head, soft but heavy: You’re here.
He sits beside him slowly, careful not to jostle him too much. Pond leans instinctively, resting his head on Phuwin’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His skin is warm despite the night air, his breath brushing softly against Phuwin’s neck.
“I shouldn’t be,” Phuwin says under his breath, barely audible. “Not like this.”
But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t push him away.
Pond shifts, clumsy and flushed, his breath uneven. “You smell nice,” he murmurs, lips brushing too close to Phuwin’s jaw. “Did I ever tell you that?”
Phuwin exhales shakily. “Pond…”
“Mm?” Pond hums, blinking slowly, his pupils blown, cheeks pink and glowing. “You’re warm. And nice. And I keep thinking about you and—” He swallows a hiccup. “And I think I’m gonna throw up if you keep looking at me like that.”
Phuwin turns to him fully now, heart hammering. Pond looks wrecked in the gentlest way—eyes glossy, hair a mess, lips bitten red and parted. He’s drunk, yes, but not just with alcohol. Something deeper, messier, is pouring out of him.
And fucking hell, he spoke without thinking—moved without thinking.
“I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you,” Phuwin says, voice rough with restraint. “I’m tired of pretending that this is all a lie.”
Pond stares at him, eyes flickering, lips parting again to speak—but nothing comes.
A beat of silence.
Phuwin leans in closer, his fingers gently lifting Pond’s chin.
“I’m tired of pretending you aren’t mine.”
And before Pond can breathe another word, Phuwin kisses him.
It’s soft. Lingering. Nothing hurried, nothing rough. Just mouths meeting in quiet desperation, the kind that builds over too many nights of looking and not touching, of wanting and holding back.
Pond makes a small, incoherent sound—half a gasp, half a sigh—and melts into it, fingers curling weakly into Phuwin’s shirt. His lips taste like whatever he drank earlier, sweet and bitter, but underneath that, he tastes like Pond. The same Pond Phuwin’s been trying not to fall for.
Phuwin pulls back slowly, heart still thudding against his ribs, and then he sees Pond’s face—flushed, wide-eyed, lips swollen from the kiss.
His breath catches.
Oh, god.
He messed up.
“I—s-shit, Pond, I’m sorry,” Phuwin stammers, panic rising in his throat like bile. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to—”
But Pond frowns.
Not in confusion. But in hurt.
Even something closer to offense.
Before Phuwin can even make sense of it, two shaky hands reach up—grab his face with more strength than he expects—and then, suddenly, Pond’s lips are crashing back onto his.
It’s clumsy, almost desperate.
Phuwin freezes for a beat, caught off guard, but then he melts into it—hands finding Pond’s waist, pulling him in, grounding him. Pond trembles under his touch, warm and fragile and real.
This time the kiss is messier. Realer. Pond’s fingers curl into Phuwin’s hair like he’s afraid he’ll vanish.
Then slowly, reluctantly, Pond pulls away, their breaths still tangled in the air between them.
“Do you…” Pond starts, voice cracking like it’s been held back too long. “Do you feel disappointed that you kissed me?”
Phuwin blinks.
And then he sees it—a single tear slipping from Pond’s eye, trailing down the flushed curve of his cheek. The tear on his cheek glistens like it’s carrying the weight of every unspoken fear.
Phuwin stares at him, breath caught in his throat.
“Disappointed?” he echoes, almost in disbelief. He reaches out slowly, brushing the tear away with his thumb, gentle like Pond might break if he touches him too hard.
“No,” Phuwin says, voice thick. “No, Pond. God—no.”
His hand cups the side of Pond’s face now, grounding him. “I’m terrified,” he admits, heart racing. “But never disappointed. I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I’ve been wanting to for a long time.”
Pond’s lashes flutter. He doesn’t speak.
“I panicked because… because I didn’t want you to think it meant nothing. Or that I was just taking advantage while you’re like this.” Phuwin’s voice cracks a little. “But I meant it. Every second of it. I just didn’t expect you to kiss me back.”
Pond gives a tiny, humorless laugh, like he’s still fighting to believe any of it.
“You’re not a mistake,” Phuwin whispers.
The silence settles again, warm and fragile, like the space between them might shatter with the wrong word.
Then Pond shifts slightly, chewing on his bottom lip, eyes flickering down, then back up. “Do you…” he starts, voice hesitant, shaky.
He pauses, brows furrowed like he’s trying to work out something impossible—like the words are too big for his mouth.
Phuwin watches him, and for a second, it’s like time folds in on itself. Pond looks so much younger in that moment, wide-eyed and uncertain, like a child stumbling through a question he’s never had the courage to ask.
And god—it’s adorable.
“L-like me?” Pond finally gets out, the question small and vulnerable, lips pushed into a tiny pout.
Phuwin feels it—this ache in his chest, this pull toward the boy beside him. He has to ground himself, fingers curling into the bench beneath them to stop himself from leaning in again.
He turns to Pond, his gaze steady and deep, locking eyes with him like the world has narrowed down to just this.
“And if I do?” Phuwin murmurs, his voice low, rich with something that makes Pond’s stomach turn over.
Pond’s breath stutters. His heart thuds. Loud. Fast.
“T-then…” Pond swallows, lashes fluttering. “If you do, again… k-kiss me.”
He barely finishes the sentence before Phuwin moves.
No hesitation. No mercy.
Phuwin’s lips crash against Pond’s in a sudden, hungry kiss—firmer, needier than the ones before. Pond lets out a startled sound, caught off guard, his hands flying up and landing flat on Phuwin’s chest in reflex. He kisses back, breath hitching, lips parting instinctively like they already know the shape of Phuwin’s mouth.
When Phuwin finally pulls away, he’s panting slightly, forehead resting against Pond’s.
Pond blinks at him, stunned—cheeks flushed, lips red, hands still awkwardly splayed against Phuwin’s chest, frozen.
“W-Why did you kiss me like that?” Pond breathes, eyes wide, voice barely a whisper.
Phuwin smiles, something mischievous dancing in his eyes.
“You told me to.”
Phuwin watches Pond, heart not quite settling from that last kiss.
But then Pond gently takes his hand—tentative, shy—and guides it to his lap. He doesn't say anything. He just places it there, carefully, like it means something. And it does.
Pond’s head is ducked, eyes focused, lashes lowered. He starts to play with Phuwin’s fingers—tracing the lines of his palm, curling and uncurling them slowly, like he's learning them by touch alone.
Phuwin just stares, barely breathing.
The streetlight flickers overhead, the world quiet except for the distant city hum. It’s peaceful here. A contrast to the rush of the kiss, the panic from before.
Phuwin looks up toward the sky briefly, trying to ground himself again.
“Well?” Phuwin teases softly, still catching his breath.
Pond blinks out of his daze, cheeks glowing. “What do you mean?”
Phuwin turns to look at him, one brow raised, eyes flickering with a small, knowing smile.
“I liked the kiss,” Pond says honestly, voice quiet, unashamed. “I liked it a lot.”
He pauses, then shifts his head to look at Phuwin, who’s no longer watching him, but instead gazing up at the stars like they’re holding secrets only he can read.
“I’ll always like it…” Pond adds, a little slower this time, voice gentler—barely above a whisper, “if it’s with you.”
Then, as if the weight of his own words finally lands on him, he looks away quickly, heart hammering, and follows Phuwin’s gaze upward, pretending to admire the sky. Neither of them speaks.
What Pond doesn’t know is that Phuwin had already stopped looking at the stars long before.
Why bother?
The brightest star wasn’t above him tonight.
It was sitting beside him—flushed and beautiful, mouth still tingling from the kiss, saying things that made Phuwin fall all over again without even realizing it.
Phuwin watches him quietly, a soft smile forming on his lips, hand inching closer across the bench—just enough for their fingers to brush.
Pond’s pinky twitches.
But he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he hooks it gently around Phuwin’s.
No words.
Just skin against skin, warmth against warmth—quiet and steady.
And in that silence, something unspoken finally settles between them.
Something real.