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It was close to midnight in Seoul, and the city was dressed in soft neon and wind. Most of the staff had already turned in, but Pond and Phuwin were still out, wandering the quieter backstreets near their hotel after the GMMTV global live event.
They had promised their manager they’d just get a quick snack. That was an hour ago.
“Are you sure this tteokbokki place actually exists?” Phuwin asked, pulling his hoodie tighter around his face.
Pond squinted at Google Maps, which was now clearly giving up. “It was here. Maybe it’s a ghost shop.”
“Or maybe you got distracted by that claw machine five blocks ago.”
Pond laughed. “I was trying to win you that Totoro plush.”
“And you failed spectacularly.”
“I wanted to make it romantic,” Pond said, mock wounded.
Phuwin raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Are we doing romantic now?”
They stopped walking. The wind carried silence with it.
Pond looked at him, then. Really looked, the way he only did when they were somewhere far from scripts, hashtags, or fan expectations.
“No cameras tonight,” Pond said softly. “No interviews. Just us.”
Phuwin didn’t reply right away. He watched the soft steam of Pond’s breath in the cold. Then he said, “That’s why I like nights like this.”
They sat down on the low wall outside a closed café, warm paper cups in hand from a convenience store down the street. The cocoa was too sweet, but Pond didn’t complain. He liked sweet things.
“I keep thinking about that fan who asked if we’re dating,” Pond murmured.
Phuwin smirked. “The one who screamed when you said, ‘not yet’?”
“Yeah. I kind of… wasn’t joking.”
Phuwin blinked. Slowly. “You weren’t?”
“I mean,” Pond shrugged, suddenly bashful. “I don’t know when it happened. Maybe during the night shoots. Or when you brought me medicine that one time I didn’t ask. Or when you always know when to sit next to me without saying anything.”
Phuwin set his cup down.
“You say things like that,” he said carefully, “like they don’t wreck me.”
Pond laughed, a little breathless. “Then maybe let me wreck you properly.”
Phuwin gave him a long, quiet look. Eyes searching, guarded, warm.
Then, “Okay.”
Pond froze. “Okay… what?”
“Okay, let’s try.”
There it was. No script. No rehearsal. Just a moment between two people who’d shared stages and screens and now, something real.
Pond didn’t kiss him. Not yet. He just reached out and gently, quietly, took Phuwin’s hand.
Their fingers laced easily. Naturally. Like they'd done it a thousand times off-camera, in all the ways that didn’t need an audience.
The neon lights flickered above them, painting their shadows in pink and gold. Somewhere in the distance, a taxi honked. But here, on this Seoul street, everything else faded.
And maybe, for the first time, the story was theirs alone.