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Pond swore the sun was doing its best to ruin his skin that day, but the moment Phuwin stepped onto the set with a half-asleep pout and iced coffee in hand, the weather didn’t seem to matter.
“You’re early,” Phuwin said, squinting up at him.
“You’re grumpy,” Pond grinned. “Didn’t get your usual 9 hours?”
“Try 4. And I still beat you in memorizing today’s lines.” Phuwin stuck out his tongue and collapsed into a plastic chair under the umbrella.
Pond leaned on the table beside him, watching the way Phuwin sipped through his straw and blinked slowly, like a cat half-heartedly annoyed.
“Why are you staring?” Phuwin mumbled, not looking up.
“I’m trying to figure out what breakfast looks like when it’s served with that much sass.”
That earned him a tiny laugh, and the corners of Phuwin’s eyes crinkled just a little. It was Pond’s favorite version of him, half-teasing, completely unguarded.
They had spent months together working on their latest series, and the fans had caught on quickly. Edits flooded TikTok. Behind-the-scenes clips got more engagement than the episodes sometimes. But to Pond, what mattered weren’t the shipped moments, it was everything in between. The little things no one else noticed.
Like how Phuwin always brought two bottles of water, one for himself, and one he’d offer wordlessly to Pond. Or how Pond always waited an extra five seconds after wrap, just to walk back with Phuwin, like a habit he didn’t want to question too much.
Today’s shoot was a rooftop scene. Windy. Romantic. The kind that makes directors shout “cut!” twenty times because someone’s hair is always in the wrong place.
Between takes, Pond noticed Phuwin shivering slightly, arms crossed. Without thinking, he shrugged off his hoodie and draped it over him.
“I’m not cold,” Phuwin protested, but he didn’t take it off.
“You’re also a terrible liar.”
They stood side by side at the edge of the rooftop, watching the skyline. The sun dipped lower, casting a glow across the buildings, and for a second, everything slowed.
“You think we’ll still get cast together when we’re thirty?” Pond asked suddenly.
Phuwin raised an eyebrow. “Still trying to get rid of me?”
“Never,” Pond said, softer than before. “Just wondering if we’d still… be us. When the lights are off. When the fans move on.”
Phuwin was quiet for a while. Then, “I think… we will. Because it was never just about the shows, was it?”
Pond looked at him. “No. It really wasn’t.”
Their manager called out that they were ready again, and Phuwin turned to go, but not before squeezing Pond’s hand once. Just a second. Just enough.
And Pond knew, even without cameras rolling, their story had already been written in the quiet in-betweens.