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The stage lights dimmed. The GMMTV 2024 press conference had just wrapped, but Pond was still half-blinded by the flashes. He ducked into the dressing room, peeled off his jacket, and flopped onto the couch like a cartoon character melting into a puddle.
"That was chaotic," he mumbled.
Behind him, Phuwin tossed a bottled water over without even looking. “You made it chaotic. Why did you ad-lib that line in the promo again?”
“I was feeling it,” Pond said dramatically, unscrewing the cap. “And the fans loved it.”
Phuwin arched a brow. “Loved it? You trended for saying I was your ‘only co-star worth re-signing for’.”
Pond grinned, unashamed. “Was I wrong?”
Phuwin rolled his eyes, but smiled. He always did, when Pond got like this.
They sat in companionable silence, scrolling their phones. Pond paused on a fan cam from the To My Star parody they filmed. “Do you remember how nervous you were when we did this?”
“You were the one giggling after every line.”
Pond laughed. “Because you looked like you were one sentence away from throwing the script at me.”
Phuwin tilted his head. “Maybe I was nervous because it felt too real.”
The air shifted slightly. Not heavy, but thicker. Pond looked up.
“You mean, like… the lines?”
Phuwin shrugged. “Or how easy it was to say them. With you.”
Pond’s heart did the thing it always did when Phuwin got honest like that — skipped, stammered, then tried to cover it up with a joke. But this time, he didn’t reach for a punchline.
Instead, he set his phone down. “You know, we’ve been doing this for three years now.”
“Four, if you count that first workshop where we barely spoke,” Phuwin corrected.
“I remember,” Pond said, eyes softening. “You were quiet. Kept writing notes. I thought you hated me.”
“I didn’t hate you,” Phuwin replied, voice gentle. “I just didn’t know what to do with someone who smiled like they’d already decided we were friends.”
Pond looked at him, really looked. The way he only did when they weren’t performing. “And now?”
Phuwin gave a tiny smile. “Now I know what to do.”
There was a knock at the door. Their manager reminding them they had dinner with the cast in 20 minutes. But Pond didn’t move yet.
“I saw the clip,” he said suddenly. “From the Manila fan meet. When the fan asked you to say something about me. You said I make you feel safe.”
Phuwin didn’t look away. “I meant it.”
Pond swallowed. “That’s... a big thing to say.”
“I know,” Phuwin said simply.
And then, just like always, Pond reached over and messed up his hair, soft, affectionate, but grounding.
“You make me feel safe too, you know. Even when you’re judging my selfies or dragging me on Twitter.”
Phuwin chuckled. “I only judge the ones where you overuse the puppy filter.”
“That’s, like, three photos max."
Phuwin leaned his head against Pond’s shoulder, just for a second. “It’s okay. I like all of them anyway.”
They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, in that quiet backstage bubble where time moved slower.
Maybe nothing had changed on paper. Maybe they’d still laugh too loud during interviews, still playfully avoid shipping questions, still say they were just close friends.
But between themselves, in these private, flickering moments after the lights were out, something had shifted.
And maybe that was enough.
For now.