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Chapter Text

Chapter One: The Golden Boy

Thailand’s entertainment industry has always been a battlefield. Every second, new faces debut, bright-eyed, polished, eager to claim their fragment of spotlight. But few ever rise above the noise, fewer still carve their names deep enough to last. To become a household name across Asia is almost impossible to even think about.

And yet, Phuwin Tangsakyuen did.

By the age of four, he was already on-screen, a child star who never faded into obscurity. At twenty-three, he had become what others could only dream of: a phenomenon. Millions followed him. Billboards bore his face in every city. Streaming records shattered under his name. With luminous skin, sharp features, and dark, expressive eyes, he carried a beauty both ethereal and untouchable. Composed beyond his years, he navigated fame with quiet intensity, ambition honed razor-thin. Those who worked beside him often left with the uncanny impression that he saw through them, reading more than they ever said. It made him adored. It made him untouchable.

His latest series Taste, had just premiered to roaring acclaim. The afterparty should have left him glowing, drunk on champagne and praise. The premiere had been everything his team promised: flashing cameras, an overwhelming crowd, another record-breaking project under his belt. He should have felt exhilarated. Relieved. The intoxicating warmth of victory. But when the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and the polished brass revealed the marble floor of his penthouse, the feeling never came. Instead, a knot of unease tightened in his chest.

An unfamiliar envelope lay precisely centered on the minimalist pale oak cabinet outside his front door. Matte black. Phuwin's eye went to the security panel of his door, the light flickering green, a sign of no emergency notifications. He glanced down the hallway, searching for any sign that someone had been there. Nothing. Only the steady patter of rain against the glass wall broke the silence, the drops scattering the city lights into a shimmer of spilled diamonds across the midnight sky. His building prided itself on being impenetrable. Skilled guards, biometric scanners, a lift coded only to his fingerprints. No one can get this far without clearance.

Yet here it was.

This was the point where he should have called his security guard, or at least informed his manager. Let them handle it. Yet, he did none of that. Against his better judgment, he lingered, pacing, until curiosity pulled him closer.

Now, up close,The envelope was not alone. Beside it lay a flower: an orange orchid, preserved in resin so clear it caught the glow of the hallway lights. The envelope itself seemed almost deliberate in its elegance. A wax seal closed the flap, its raised orchid motif leaving no question: this was crafted, not casual.

Phuwin’s fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the wax-sealed envelope. He broke the seal with a sharp snap. Inside, it bore a single handwritten line:

"You were flawless tonight, the orange fit you better than the blue they tried to dress you in."

Ice shot through his veins. The premiere’s afterparty had ended barely an hour ago. The stylist had pushed for blue Armani, but he’d quietly insisted on the burnt-orange Tom Ford suit, a choice debated only in his dressing room, unheard by anyone else. How could they know?

He gathered the items and stepped inside, shutting the door with a force that echoed in the silence. The lock slid into place, but it did little to steady him. He paced the living room, each step restless, the echo of his own breathing loud in his ears. In the glass, his reflection stared back: hair slightly disheveled, eyes wide with a raw vulnerability he had not seen on himself since childhood auditions.

Someone had passed the biometric scanners, slipped past motion sensors and securities. This was not a fan. This was not paparazzi.

This was calculated.

The envelope crumpled in his tightening fist. Answers, not panic, was what he needed. Setting it on the table, phuwin unlocked his phone, thumb hovering over his manager’s number before pressing it.Outside, rain sheeted against the windows, smearing the city lights into streaks of gold. His fingertip traced the seal as the line rang. The wax felt unnaturally cold, preserved too perfectly. Like something from a museum. Or a morgue.

The phone rang twice before his manager’s voice crackled through. "Phuwin? It’s 1 AM–"

"Check the penthouse security feeds." Phuwin cut in, tone clipped. "I received a parcel. The panel isn’t showing any breach.”

Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath.

“I’m coming with security. Stay on the line.” P’pan’s voice carried no space for argument, the order cutting clean through the static.

Phuwin sank into his sofa, the orchid laid bare on his hand. He’d worn orange tonight for a reason only his dead mother would’ve known. Her favorite color. The premiere date marked her birthday. Coincidence? Impossible. He stared at the orange blossom, its petals like shards of dried blood. Flawless. The word echoed. Not a compliment. A threat dressed in velvet.

He should have felt pride. He should have felt safe. Instead, sitting in the silence of his perfect glass fortress, all he felt was dread.

***

Morning light sliced through the CEO’s tinted office windows, harsh against the exhaustion lining Manager pan's face. Across the desk sat Khun Wonnapa, Head of security. " We watched every frame. Cross-referenced access logs with facial recognition. Questioned every cleaner, delivery person, resident who breathed near that elevator last night.” She shook her head, jaw tight. "Nothing. Not a shadow. Not even a glitch. It’s…impossible."

Yet the package existed. Real. Tangible.

Phuwin didn’t shudder. He went very, very still.

His CEO, Khun Sataporn, shifted in the leather chair opposite him, the expensive material creaking softly. "We can't have this leaking. The press would feast on it. This could also be corporate espionage." Phuwin tuned it out. Corporate spies didn’t leave orchids. Didn’t know about orange suits and birthdays.

"What do you suggest then, Wonnapa? We cannot just let it drop because we hit a dead end" Pan said, his gaze flicking to Phuwin, who had not spoken a single word until now.

Wonnapa leaned forward, voice low and urgent. "We bring in Detective Farm Apollo. Let them take over this case. They specialize in the…unconventional cases. Khun Phuwin, do you want to involve them? Whatever they ask, you will need to follow, no matter what."

Phuwin looked down at the envelope and the flower, now sealed in a plastic zip bag. He gave a single, terse nod. "Do it. Call them."

Tawan Vihokratana, head of Apollo, joined them within the hour. He skimmed the file, listened without interruption, and finally spoke after a tense moment.

"Until we identify the threat, Khun Tangsakyuen cannot remain unprotected. I recommend Detective Pond Naravit. Former Royal Thai Army Special Forces, discreet. He shadows Khun Tangsakyen 24/7. Checks the penthouse before he enters, sweeps for devices, monitors all access. He’s the best one we have and he’s handled high-profile targets before."

A thin dossier slid across the desk. Inside was a photograph of the detective: a man with an unreadable face, Eyes like obsidian shards, dark and piercing, giving nothing away.

Khun Sataporn's eyes narrowed before phuwin could say anything. "A bodyguard? The press will swarm like vultures if they see a n–"

Phuwin turned, cutting through the tension. His voice was ice-calm, masking the sleepless shadows under his eyes. "Let them." He held sataporn's gaze. "I’d rather have headlines than be found with an orchid on my corpse." The silence that followed was heavier than the humid Bangkok air pressing against the glass.

Phuwin’s gaze drifted unconsciously to the flower and the envelope, sitting harmlessly in the zip-bag. Yet its arrival had been the first crack in his sense of security, the first whisper that someone could reach him anywhere. He didn't flinch from threats. Physical danger, public scandal – those were risks he understood, cons of the life he’d chosen. But this? This unseen presence, violating his most private space without a trace…it crawled under his skin.

If a flower and a note could do this to him, hollowing him out from the inside…what would happen when this stalker decided to escalate? When it stops being merely unnerving and becomes truly, undeniably scary? The thought wasn't imaginary anymore; it was a chill that tightened his chest. He wrapped his arms around himself, the luxurious silk of his shirt suddenly feeling flimsy and inadequate against the creeping dread. The silence of the office, usually a sanctuary, now pressed in, thick and suffocating.

***

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: The Archer

The penthouse air hung thick and still, like the moment before a storm breaks. Phuwin ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture feeling foreign. His world had shrunk to the size of that envelope now that he is supposed to meet his bodyguard, a gilded cage shaped in protection. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the faint hum of Bangkok's pulse outside. He hated the forced stillness. He hated that he now had to rely on a total stranger. 

The elevator chime was soft, expensive. The doors slid open without a whisper. And there he was. The man who stepped out was not just matching the photograph, he exceeded it. 

Pond Naravit. 

The name felt heavy, even unspoken. Sharp features, dark eyes, an athletic build beneath a tailored black suit – exactly like the picture. But where the image was static, the reality was a wave of controlled intensity. His eyes scanned the room in one fluid sweep. The temperature seemed to drop, a tangible chill that raised goosebumps on Phuwin’s arms. Not fear, exactly. More like the sudden awareness of standing too close to a live wire. 

P’pan was also beside him and the shift in his usual casual posture was telling. His nod towards Phuwin was stiff, almost apologetic. 

"Phuwin," P’pan said, his voice regaining some semblance of authority "This is Pond. He’s assigned to you 24/7 until they resolve the situation. Also, he….reports directly to Apollo." 

Pond's gaze swept over Phuwin wordlessly. It traveled from the disheveled fall of Phuwin’s hair, down the line of his throat, over the defiant set of his shoulders, lingering for a heartbeat on the pulse point visible at his collar. Then, a single nod. Precise. Respectful in form, utterly devoid of warmth. His eyes lingered for only a second before shifting back to Pan, dismissing Phuwin as if he were another piece of furniture in the opulent room. 

P’pan cleared his throat. "He won’t be following the same protocols as your regular staff. I expect your full trust & cooperation." Phuwin met the manager’s stare. Held it. A muscle twitched near his left eye, the only crack in his composure. He tilted his chin up, a fraction. 

"Cooperation? Fine. But trust ?" A dry, humorless sound escaped him. "That’s a currency he hasn't earned. Don't ask too much P’. "

Pond’s focus snapped back to him. For the first time, something flickered in those dark depths. Not anger. Not annoyance. A spark of interest perhaps. Cold, sharp, and utterly focused. The ghost of a smile might have touched the corner of his mouth. Or maybe it was a trick of the light.

"Understood, Khun Phuwin," He took a single, silent step forward, closing the distance without seeming to move. "I don’t require trust. Only compliance. And I assure you, you’ll barely notice I’m here."

Phuwin makes a small, skeptical sound – almost a polite clearing of the throat.

No, he thought, the tension in the room thickening into something almost suffocating. I don't think that's possible. 

This was going to be a very long, very cold few weeks.

***

The door clicked shut behind him, sealing Phuwin in the vast foyer with the silent, watchful shadow by the window. Pan had just left after mumbling about some meeting, his parting shot a low whisper against Phuwin’s ear, "Pond has the details. He'll accompany you everywhere. Be nice, nong."

Pond moved then. Not a sound, just a shift in the air, a shadow detaching itself. He crossed the expanse of polished marble, stopping beside the window. Below, the city sprawled. He didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge Phuwin’s presence. Gaze only locked outward, scanning rooftops and arterial streets with methodical precision. The reflected city lights flickered in his dark eyes like distant, captured stars.

Phuwin rose slowly, the leather sighing beneath him. He walked towards Pond, stopping a few paces away. The man didn’t turn or gave any hint of acknowledgement. The stillness wasn’t peaceful. It was the cold, coiled tension of a spring compressed to its limit. Twenty-eight,  Khun Tawan had tossed out, but the man wore time differently. His posture spoke of weary vigilance, etched deep by unseen battles.

"So," Phuwin began, his voice deliberately casual, "24/7. That includes sleepovers, I assume?" He kept his tone light, testing the waters,almost lazy, watching for any slightest motion in the guard’s stillness.

Pond didn’t turn immediately. When he did, it was just the barest tilt of his head, just enough to meet Phuwin’s gaze. His dark eyes were unnervingly direct, devoid of amusement or annoyance. "Your schedule, your routine details too" he stated, voice low, even rasp, carrying a quiet weight that filled the space between them. His shift was microscopic – a fractional adjustment of his shoulder that somehow blocked the entire doorway to the hall without seeming to move at all. "Where do you need to be first?"

Phuwin felt the familiar flicker of something foreign beneath his unease. "Actually –" he countered, meeting that impassive void with a razor’s edge of his own defiance, "nowhere today. Your room is down the hallway. Call P’pan if you need anything."

Phuwin didn't wait for a response. Turning, he walked towards his bedroom, each step measured, deliberate. A dismissal. The soft shush of his silk trousers against the polished floor was the only sound.

Pond remained. He stood by the window, a still, black shadow against the glittering city, and watched the star walk away. His expression remained utterly blank, yet the moment Phuwin disappeared from sight, the slightest shift occurred, his gaze didn't return to the windows and the city's threats. Instead, it was fixed on the empty hallway where Phuwin had vanished. The quiet weight of his presence didn't lessen; it became heavier, deeper, settling into the silence of the room like a cold stone. He wasn't guarding the foyer. He was anchoring himself in its very bones.

The soft click of phuwin’s door echoed, unnaturally loud. And Pond didn’t move. Not a breath, not a blink. He stood motionless. Sixty seconds. A silent sentinel, placed perfectly in the center of the cage.

***

Inside his room, Phuwin locked the door and leaned his forehead against the cool wood. His heart hammered against his ribs—not from fear, he told himself. From irritation. From the disruption of his carefully ordered life.

He pushed away from the door and moved to his desk, where the envelope lay. Even now, hours after receiving it, the sight of it made his skin crawl. It looked so innocuous but the content... things no fan could know, things the cameras hadn't captured.

Phuwin glanced toward the door, picturing Pond on the other side, still and watchful.

A bodyguard was supposed to make him feel safer. So why did Phuwin feel like he'd just traded one predator for another?

He moved to the window, staring at the skyline, at the thousands of lights representing thousands of lives. Somewhere out there was someone who had slipped past all his defenses, who is watching him like a hawk, who is dissecting him like a scalpel peeling back skin to study the pulse beneath.

And now here was Pond, who seemed to strip away all pretense. It made Phuwin's skin prickle with awareness. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was the sensation of being truly seen, of having someone breach the careful persona he'd constructed for the world. Pond had said barely two lines, but he felt stripped bare under that steady gaze. Phuwin wasn't sure which unsettled him more, the stranger who watched from afar, or the guardian who would now watch from within.

How ironic that the man sent to protect him from unwanted observation made him feel so observed just in minutes.

Phuwin sighed, pushing away from the window. He would adjust. He always did. The entertainment industry had taught him nothing if not adaptation. This was just another temporary change, another challenge to navigate.

But as he moved toward his study, he couldn't help glancing back at the door, wondering if Pond was still standing, if those dark eyes were tracking his movements through walls. 

***

Later that midnight, Phuwin lay awake, the penthouse unnervingly quiet. Sleep was hard to come by because of all the back-to-back incidents. It's not like he never dealt with a packed schedule, but physical exhaustion was different from emotional weight.  He tried to listen for any sound outside his door, but there was nothing. Not a creak of floorboards, not a rustle of movement. Seeing the coast clear, he padded to the kitchen, bare feet silent on cool marble. The kitchen lone light seemed unnecessarily harsh in the darkness, making him squint.

He nearly jumped when a voice came from the shadows.

"Couldn't sleep?"

There, leaning against the counter in near darkness, was Pond, eyes alert despite the hour. He looked exactly as he had hours ago – not a hair out of place, not a hint of fatigue.

Phuwin's hand flew to his chest. "Do you have to jump out of the fucking shadows?” he snapped, heart pounding.

Pond didn’t flinch. "Only when necessary." He pushed off the counter, the movement fluid. "You should rest. Tomorrow is hectic." He held out a glass of milk Phuwin hadn’t seen him pour. The gesture was efficient yet devoid of warmth. Phuwin's fingers closed around the chilled glass.  A deliberate, fleeting brush against Pond's knuckles. The man’s skin was cool, unyielding. 

He looked down. The milk wasn't just poured. It was prepared. It was exactly how he liked to have it at night. Cold, with a tad bit of honey. 

"P’pan and his habit of oversharing." he mumbled to himself, wondering what else his manager had told this stranger about him.

As Phuwin turned to leave, the words slipped before he could stop "Goodnight, Pond.". He didn't wait to hear any response. But behind him, the cold gaze followed.

Back in his room, he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Everything felt wrong. The carefully constructed facade he'd perfected over years in the industry suddenly seemed paper-thin. Would the cameras catch it tomorrow? Would his fans notice the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the cracks forming in his polished persona?

As sleep finally pulled him under, Phuwin's last conscious thought was a desperate wish for relief. From the stalker, from the watchful guardian, from the weight of his own careful life.

***

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Delicately & Darkly

Phuwin woke before his alarm, feeling the sharp, familiar awareness of dread. Today was planned down to the minute, yet he felt the weight of it. He slid out of bed, feet meeting the cool hardwood floor. The cold shock grounded him briefly.

He moved through his dim bedroom to the walk-in closet and chose a casual outfit. Designer gray jeans and a crisp black shirt. Nothing that screamed celebrity, but everything expensive enough to belong in a photoshoot. His face bore no trace of the restless night, light makeup artfully concealing the shadows beneath his eyes.

Today was particularly demanding. Five separate shoots for an international ambassadorship. The brand was notoriously picky about aesthetics, requiring multiple outfit changes, locations, and concepts. Three indoors, two outdoors with a high chance of public exposure.

Phuwin headed to the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee machine that had been his faithful morning companion for years. But before he could fully reach it, he noticed something on the counter, a glass of fresh orange juice and a sandwich, arranged with precision.

"Good morning, Khun Phuwin."

Phuwin snapped his hand back, gripping the edge of the counter instead. He hadn't heard the man enter, hadn't heard the quiet click of the guest wing door. He turned to find Pond standing five feet away, already in a fresh suit.

"Good morning." Phuwin managed, his voice stiff.

As Pond handed him the glass, their fingers brushed. The contact was brief, but the warmth of Pond's usual cold skin against his was startling, a contrast to the man's cold demeanor.

Phuwin raised an eyebrow, about to ask for coffee, then thought better of it. He took the juice, sipping it slowly while maintaining eye contact. It was perfectly chilled with just a hint of pulp, exactly how he preferred it.

The trip to the elevator was silent, Phuwin scrolling through his phone while Pond walked slightly behind, his presence felt rather than heard. Once the elevator doors closed, sealing them in the private space, the space shrank instantly. Phuwin felt the air pressure shift with the controlled presence of the man beside him. Pond was now close enough that he could smell the faint, clean scent of expensive soap and Eros Flame with its blend of citrus notes. A deliberate choice, Phuwin thought, both commanding and restrained.

"Today’s protocol. We will maintain this distance in open spaces. My position is always to your rear. And no unscheduled interactions with fans without my clearance?" Pond murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to bypass Phuwin's ears and settle in his chest. 

Phuwin felt the familiar spike of irritation. "I understand the concept of a bodyguard, pond."

Pond met his gaze in the mirrored wall. "I do not deal in concepts, and compromise is not acceptable.” The word was professional, maybe even faintly amused.

Phuwin wanted to roll his eyes. Instead, he huffed and nodded once, a clipped acknowledgment.

The car waited in the private garage, a sleek black SUV with tinted windows. P'Pan, sat in the passenger seat, already on a call, tablet balanced on his knees as he confirmed the day's itinerary. Pond opened the back door for Phuwin, then slid in beside him, creating a buffer between the star and the outside world.

As the car pulled out, Pond picked up an ipad and spoke, "Pan," he said, his voice crisp and commanding, "Confirm the venue's entry points are secured. Cross-reference the seating chart I sent you with the list of approved staff from our side. And make sure that the backup exit doors are guarded and always ready.”

Phuwin watched P’pan, whose eyes were slightly wide with a professional approval, nod quickly. "Yes Pond, everything is clear and ready the way you asked.”

He's exhausting, Phuwin thought, watching the city blur past. But he's damn good.

***

The first location was a renovated theater, mainly used for shootings – open spaces, high ceilings, and unfortunately, a main entrance that opened directly onto a public street. As the car pulled up, Phuwin could see a small gathering of fans and nosy reporters who had somehow learned of the shoot location.

Pond's posture shifted subtly. His hand moved to the door handle before the car had fully stopped. "Stay close." he said, voice pitched for Phuwin's ears alone.

The moment the SUV door opened, he was out. Fast, quiet. Pan was already several steps ahead by then, barking orders.

Phuwin stepped out, wincing as he got immediately hit by the echo of noise and bodies. Pond materialized behind him, one hand hovering near the small of his back, not quite touching but guiding nonetheless.

It happened so quickly then. Someone breaking from the group, arm extending with something clutched in their hand. The object was heading straight for Phuwin’s head. Before he could even flinch, Pond moved, hand shot out, intercepting it mid-air.

In the same fluid motion, he pulled phuwin tightly against the solid wall of his chest and shoulder, creating a shield with his body as he maneuvered Phuwin toward the entrance. The entire interaction lasted for perhaps ten seconds, yet Phuwin found himself inside the building, heart racing slightly. tThe excited calls of fans already muffled by the heavy doors.

The threat was gone as fast as it appeared. When he released Phuwin, he didn't check for damage or offer a comforting word. He simply returned to his spot, half a pace behind, as if nothing had happened. The intense moment of proximity vanished, replaced by the chilling normalcy of the guard. He examined the object – a labubu box briefly before handing it to a staff member to discard. 

Phuwin stood still for a moment, his blood roaring. His initial rush of irritation of being manhandled was instantly drowned out by a terrifying wave of shock and absolute security. His skin still tingled where Pond had held him. No one had ever protected him with that level of instinctual, brutal focus.

He looked at Pond, whose eyes were already sweeping the crowd again, focused entirely on the perimeter. Pond hadn't even blinked. He was just that good.

***

The photoshoot proceeded smoothly after that. True to his initial word, Pond was a shadow. Dark suit, minimal movement, positioned slightly behind and to the side, always close enough to step in. Yet, his stillness screamed. Crew members setting up lights paused mid-laughter, casting uneasy glances. The easy banter that usually flowed like caffeine on set dried up, replaced by hushed murmurs and stiff shoulders. Phuwin felt the shift most, the familiar warmth replaced by a wary chill.

During touch-up, the makeup artist, Phloi, lingered a fraction too long after powdering Phuwin’s nose. "A red lip color would make the outfit pop." she suggested, her voice bright. Before phuwin could deny her, Pond’s presence became a sudden, overwhelming pressure. His dark gaze snapped to Phloi, sharp and assessing. It wasn’t hostile, just intensely, unnervingly present – a silent judgement radiating from his unwavering stare. She flinched, mumbled an apology, and practically scurried away, her cheeks flushed.

Phuwin watched the exchange. He hadn't moved or spoken, yet Pond had cleared his space with a silent, perfectly executed command. A dozen words pressed against his throat, but none of them left his mouth. 

By the third location – a sleek, minimalist penthouse interior – the tension was a tangible thing. Even the director, usually loud and commanding, kept his instructions clipped, avoiding the space around Phuwin. Pond’s eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on anyone who drifted within ten feet of Phuwin. An assistant bringing water hesitated, almost dropping the bottle under that silent scrutiny, the makeup artist went quiet, the photographer's instruction low and eyes only on camera. Phuwin sighed inwardly. Unnoticeable? Pond was a black hole, warping the entire atmosphere around him. The shoot felt less like work and more like walking through a gallery of frozen, watchful statues.

***

By the fourth photoshoot, the crew had somehow adapted to Pond's presence. They learned to move carefully around Phuwin, a natural unspoken adjustment.

But the last set was different.

Another artist joined them. Thanayut Boonmee, a veteran actor with years in the industry and an ego to match. He arrived an hour late, complained about the lighting, and made the makeup artist redo his face twice. Where Phuwin was polite and professional, Thanayut was demanding and dismissive, acting as if he owned not just the set but everyone on it.

Even Pond's cold stare seemed to bounce off Thanayut without effect.

The breaking point came during what should have been a simple group shot. Thanayut had already changed outfits three times, rejecting perfectly good fits with theatrical sighs and pointed comments about maintaining standards. The director was visibly losing patience, checking his watch every few minutes as they fell further behind schedule.

After seeing how everyone walked on eggshells around Phuwin, the careful distance, the deference, the way even the director softened his instructions – Thanayut's expression had grown increasingly sour. When Phuwin stepped onto the set in a carefully styled jacket of lime green, Thanayut couldn't contain himself any longer. In the guise of giving "tips" he dragged Phuwin directly into the spotlight. His voice, when it came, was honey poured over shards of glass:

"That color washes you out, nong," he said loudly, looking Phuwin up and down. "You're ruining the vibe. One would think you would know better after being in the industry for so long."

The set went silent. Phuwin froze, his expression carefully neutral despite the public criticism. The polite smile didn't reach his eyes. "The styling team picked it." he said evenly.

The actor snorted, "Styling team? Please. I was winning awards before you could even tie your shoes. Trust me on this & change it." He turned to his assistant, not bothering to lower his voice. "This is why you shouldn't put young artists on such high pedestals. They just get one or two hits by luck, and suddenly everyone thinks they're above veterans. God, this is irritating."

It wasn't the first time Phuwin had encountered this attitude. Usually, he would deflect with a charming smile or a witty comment that somehow made everyone laugh. He was good at navigating these murky waters.

But today, something was different. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the sleepless nights, the constant hyper-awareness. Whatever the cause, Phuwin's mind simply went blank. He stood there, unable to summon his usual social grace, feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with cameras.

The silence stretched, awkward and heavy.

Then the shadow detached itself from the wall.

Pond moved with the quiet purpose of a missile lock, each step deliberate as he positioned himself directly in front of Thanayut. There was nothing aggressive in his posture. No raised voice, no pointed finger, no looming stance. Just Pond, suddenly there, black-clad and still.

Everyone on set held their breath.

"Apologize." Pond said, low and rough like gravel under tires.

The actor blinked, puffing his chest. " I don't take orders from –"

Pond didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "Twenty years," he stated, each syllable precise. " Yet only six hits to show it. He has more in five." A beat hung in the air thick with tension. "Your last project lost money. His clears seven figures monthly." There wasn't anger in Pond's eyes, just cold and brutal. The simplicity of the statement made it all the more devastating. It wasn't an insult, it was a humiliating fact.

Thanayut's face purpled, vein throbbing at his temple. "Who do you think you are, you bastard. Do you know who I am?" He lurched forward, finger stabbing toward Pond’s chest. The jab never landed. One moment Thanayut was advancing; the next, he froze mid-stride, eyes widening as if pinned by an invisible force. No one saw exactly what Pond did, there was no dramatic grab or twist, he just shifted his stance, angled his body slightly. Yet somehow, he'd completely neutralized the older man without appearing to touch him at all.

"Move. Back." Pond's command sliced through the stunned silence. His gaze swept over Thanayut like he was assessing a flawed item. "You? " A dismissive flick of his chin. "Irrelevant. You are creating problems for my client." 

"Irrelevant? " Thanayut sputtered, but his voice lacked conviction as he took an involuntary step back. The older actor's eyes darted around the set, searching for allies, finding none.

The director cleared his throat. "Five-minute break, everyone" he called, his voice strained but authoritative. The crew scattered with practiced efficiency, avoiding eye contact with both Thanayut and Pond, creating a vacuum of activity around the pair. Pond remained utterly still, eyes locked on the older actor, waiting.

Thanayut hesitated, then with a final glare, retreated to his dressing room, muttering about suing. As the door slammed behind him, a collective exhale rippled through the set. Pond turned smoothly, his expression betraying nothing as he resumed his position near Phuwin, the incident already catalogued and dismissed.

Less than thirty minutes later, Thanayut was gone entirely. The Director received a terse phone call, looked utterly bewildered, and then announced, "We will continue and wrap up without Khun Thanayut. Let's move, everyone."

Phuwin watched the aftermath unfold with a strange mixture of gratitude and discomfort. No one had ever defended him like that, certainly not with such clinical precision. He felt a surge of adrenaline that was entirely new. It wasn't relief; it was a terrifying awe. Pond had not just protected him; he had erased the threat with a handful of quiet words.

***

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Dangerous, Yet Can’t Look Away

The draining chaos of the day settled on Phuwin the moment the penthouse door closed. He was too exhausted to even feel the relief of being home. Every muscle screamed in pain. Cooking? Impossible. Thankfully P'Pan, had wisely anticipated the collapse, dropping off a bag of chowmein takeout before retreating, a small mercy. 

Pond’s meticulous ritual had delayed them thirteen agonizing minutes. Yes, he counted each one. The bodyguard was hell-bent on checking every nook of the penthouse and the immediate floor, his movements silent and absolute as he ensured the absence of risk. Phuwin hadn’t argued, lacking the energy for the verbal fight he knew would be futile anyway.

So now, here they were. Or, more accurately, here Phuwin was. The star was slumped at the expansive kitchen counter, digging into the takeaway container with a singular, immediate focus born of pure hunger. Pond on the other hand was positioned on the precise edge of the kitchen's marble threshold. He wasn't idle; his head was slightly bowed toward his iPad, the faint, silver glow illuminating the sharp line of his jaw as his thumb scrolled through security feeds, eyes flicking with intensity.

Phuwin pointedly ignored the unnerving presence, concentrating instead on his meal. As the first rush of hunger subsided, he picked up his phone, numbly scrolling through the notifications. The unexpected ping of The Powerrangers—a lively group chat usually reserved for memes and nonsense, caught his attention. Seeing several unread messages, he thumbed the screen, dropping into the thread.

The Powerrangers GC

Fotfot: broooo, did you see the announcement?

Satang: ?????

Fotfot: the one from nexus management, Thanayut did sumn, they're putting him hiatus lmao

Satang: good riddance, he's an annoying bastard. 

Fotfot: wonder who did he piss off this time?

Fotfot: Wait, phu didnt you have a shoot with him today?

Satang: omg!!!! You survived that mf ?!

What happened? I just came back from shooting : Phumeow

Satang: check nexus’s announcement on twitter. 

 

Phuwin’s hand froze above the takeaway container, a slick noodle dangling forgotten from his chopsticks. He abruptly left the chat and went directly to Twitter, the screen illuminating his face with a sudden, anxious light. What he saw on twitter froze him. There it was, an official announcement from nexus regarding Thanayut.

Official Statement from Nexus Management

Nexus Management would like to address the recent incident involving our artist, Mr. Thanayut Boonmee.

During a scheduled photoshoot, Mr. Thanayut made some inappropriate and unprofessional comments. While these remarks were not made with malicious intent, they did not align with the standards expected from our artists.

Upon reflection, Mr. Thanayut has recognized his mistake. He expressed sincere regret for his behavior and has taken full responsibility. After discussions between the company and the artist, it has been decided that he will enter a three-month hiatus from all public activities in order to reflect and grow from this experience.

We extend our apologies to those affected by this incident and reaffirm our commitment to upholding a respectful and supportive environment for all.

Thank you for your continued understanding and support.

— Nexus Management

Phuwin's hand remained frozen around the chopsticks for a full minute. It took every ounce of his energy to regain control of his body. He didn't just exit the app; he shut the phone down completely, tossing it onto the counter before staring at his abandoned food, his mind a sickening tangle of exhaustion. His brain was too tired for rational thought yet frighteningly active. After a minute that felt like an hour, his eyes found their way to Pond naturally. The bodyguard was still standing at the kitchen's edge, seemingly absorbed in the security footage of the penthouse garage displayed on his iPad.  A flicker of something hot and sharp, a strange mix of envy and admiration pricked Phuwin. Today’s relentless exhaustion had felt like a bucket of sludge dumped on him, draining him to the bone, yet it didn't seem to have even grazed Pond.

He stared openly at the lines of Pond’s profile. He didn't realize how long he held the gaze, only the electric moment when Pond's head snapped up. 

The silver light of the iPad hit his dark eyes, making them look utterly devoid of warmth yet so absolute in their focus. That stare pinned Phuwin where he sat, a physical weight crushing his ribs and stealing his breath. When Phuwin finally tore his eyes away, the flush burning his neck wasn't just shame, it was also a dangerous thrill. 

He knew that it was far too late to act like he hadn't been caught staring. Instead of retreating, he leaned into it, his expression hardening into cool defiance. He stared back at Pond, who was still looking at him with an absolute intensity, as if he had already mapped every secret beneath Phuwin’s skin.

Phuwin slowly extended the second, untouched takeout box and slid it forward across the counter with a clean pair of chopsticks resting on top. His voice was flat. "It’s late. Take a break."

Pond didn't move. He simply looked down at the iPad again, the silver light catching his brow. "It's fine, you can finish up and go to bed."

Phuwin corrected himself, voice dropping slightly.. "I wasn’t asking." A beat. "It was an invitation."

Pond's eyes returned to Phuwin's face, tracking the words. For the first time, Phuwin saw something flicker in those dark eyes. A micro-second of calculation that wasn't about security, but purely about Phuwin's intent. He held Pond’s stare, then let his own drop pointedly to the empty chair opposite him. The unspoken command hung in the air: Sit down. With me. 

After a heavy beat, Pond moved, a single fluid surrender. He lowered himself onto the chair, taking the seat directly opposite Phuwin. He still looked like a man ready to spring into action but the invisible barrier between them faded lightly.

"Thank you." Pond murmured. It was the first genuinely personal word Phuwin had heard from him.

Phuwin let the silence marinate for a couple of comfortable minutes while he slowly finished the last bits of dinner. He set his chopsticks down with a soft click. "You handle things fast." His voice was even and eyes fixed on Pond’s profile illuminated by the dim lighting.

Pond lifted a piece of chicken with practiced grace. "It’s my job."

"I meant…with Thanayut." Phuwin watched him closely.

There was no visible reaction, only a brief stillness before Pond answered. "I informed Apollo. They contacted Nexus and resolved it."

"Just like that?" Phuwin’s brow furrowed slightly. 

"People move quickly when Apollo speaks." The calm certainty in Pond’s voice wasn’t arrogance, it was a fact. His reach definitely extended far beyond protection. 

Phuwin nodded slowly. "Must be nice," he murmured, a wry edge touching his voice, "having efficiency on speed dial."

No smile. But a flicker crossed Pond’s face – understanding, perhaps even reassurance. "Don't worry. That’s what I’m here for, Khun Phuwin."

The formality felt jarring suddenly, a remnant of the distance they’d just breached. Phuwin held that intense gaze for a heartbeat longer, the connection humming between them. "Alright." he breathed. Then, almost impulsively, he added,

"And… just Phuwin. No need to be formal. I call you normally anyway." Phuwin’s eyes darted away while heat prickled up his neck, staining his cheeks pink lightly.

Pond’s stare sharpened, intense. "You are my –"

"Semantics, yada yada" Phuwin cut in quickly, waving a dismissive hand, unable to meet those dark eyes. "Everyone calls me that. It's weird if you don’t." The blush deepened, a traitorous warmth spreading across his face.

A beat. Then, softer than silk, "Okay…Phuwin."

Hearing his name like that –soft, yet wrapped in Pond’s unwavering intensity, heat flooded Phuwin’s ears. Strange. But not uncomfortable anymore.

He cleared his throat sharply, a sound too loud in the charged silence. "Right." he muttered, pushing himself up abruptly. "Dishes are still left to do." He grabbed the empty container and chopsticks, turning towards the sink, needing the mundane task as a shield against the intensity swirling in the small space.

As Phuwin turned on the faucet to wash the dishes, he didn’t notice Pond finishing his meal and moving silently behind him. The man was as quiet as the night, and Phuwin only realized his presence when a warmth brushed against his side. He jumped, heart skipping — part from the sudden movement, part from the closeness.

"One of these days," Phuwin breathed, voice tight as he gripped the edge of the sink, knuckling white, "you’re gonna give me a heart attack with these movements." The scoff lacked usual venom.

"We can’t have that now, can we?" Pond’s murmur was velvet-soft, wrapping around Phuwin like smoke. It wasn’t just gentle; it was intimate, deliberate even. 

Phuwin’s breath hitched. Overanalyzing, he told himself fiercely, staring at the soap bubbles. Just the steam, the exhaustion, the –

Reality snapped back, sharp and electric, as Pond’s fingertips brushed the small of his back, the touch feather-light yet burning. "I’ll do the dishes. Go rest." Pond murmured, not a request but a quiet command layered with unspoken care. Gently yet firmly, he guided Phuwin away from the sink, his hand lingering for a heartbeat too long on Phuwin’s hip before settling on the faucet to resume the chore. The water hissed, a counterpoint to the frantic pulse in Phuwin’s throat.

Phuwin blinked, caught off guard. "If you say so…” he managed, the words thick. "I hate doing dishes anyway. Goodnight. " He turned to leave, needing space, needing air that didn’t smell like Pond’s expensive soap and simmering tension. As he stepped towards the hallway, he glanced back. Pond wasn’t looking at the dishes. His dark eyes held Phuwin’s – steady and intense, that stole Phuwin’s breath all over again.

Phuwin fled to his room, the echo of that soft, dangerous voice and the heat of that clinging to him long after the kitchen light flickered out.

***

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Almost Comfortable

The tension that had coiled in Phuwin's shoulders since the stalker incident began to soften, just slightly, after the quiet exchange with Pond over dinner a couple days ago. Not gone, never truly gone with a stalker still out there, with the violation of his safe space still echoing in the quiet corners of his penthouse. But eased. Before that conversation, exhaustion had clung to him like a second skin, a weary dread fueled by Pond’s icy professionalism. The bodyguard was an enigma wrapped in dark fabric, his gaze cold, his answers even colder. Yet, over steaming chowmein, something shifted.

It wasn’t warmth, not exactly. It was…recognition. A silent acknowledgment that Pond is more than capable. And that fragile understanding allowed Phuwin to draw his first full breath in days. The suffocating pressure lifted, millimeter by millimeter. He could rely on Pond. Not blindly, but with a tentative certainty that felt infinitely stronger than the hollow assurances of his previous security teams. Pond’s competence wasn’t loud; it was etched into his silence, the awareness simmering beneath his controlled exterior. Phuwin felt it now, a subtle shield settling around him.

Today dawned differently. Not carefree, but lighter. The promotional event at the bustling downtown branch of  TFC – launching a limited-edition menu inspired by his character in the Taste – felt less like a nightmare of a schedule and more like work. Normal work. Fans would be there, cameras flashing, noise rising. Yet, the usual flutter of anxiety was muted, replaced by a low hum of anticipation.

Stepping into the living room, Phuwin found Pond already there, speaking in low tones to P’Pan. His voice a gravelly murmur discussing route diversions and crowd control protocols. Pond was dressed in his usual uniform of shadows, a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, the black mask obscuring the lower half of his face, leaving only those intense, watchful eyes visible. The discreet coil of an earpiece disappeared into his dark hair. Necessary, Phuwin knew, for navigating the public eye while preserving Pond’s own guarded anonymity. 

"Ready to go?" P'Pan asked brightly, noticing Phuwin emerge from his room. Pond's dark eyes, however, were already on him, having locked onto Phuwin the moment he entered his vicinity. The weight of that focused gaze, devoid of surprise but charged with absolute awareness, sent a familiar shiver down Phuwin’s spine – part unease, part something else, something warmer that tangled in his chest.

“Yep…” Phuwin managed, forcing a casualness into his voice. “Let’s go. I’m starving already.” He moved towards the foyer and the private elevator beyond, the soft click of his shoes on the polished floor the only sound besides the low murmur of Pond and P’pan’s voices resuming behind him. He didn’t need to check; he knew Pond followed. The sleek access card for the building’s secure levels was already in Pond’s hands, a transfer Phuwin had made days ago. It felt strangely intimate, handing over that small piece of control, trusting Pond with the literal keys to his sanctuary. It mirrored Pond’s constant position – always a step behind protectively.

As the SUV started rolling away from the penthouse curb, Phuwin shifted in the plush backseat, turning towards Pond, feeling a little mischievous. The new sense of security had brought a daring, casual confidence with it.

“So,” he began, a faint smile touching his lips, his eyes holding Pond’s unblinking gaze. “Any protocols I need to memorize for today? Am I permitted to talk to the fans? Or is that a no-no?” The tease was light, but layered, a tiny rebellion wrapped in velvet.

Pond gave him a look – unreadable as usual, but clearly acknowledging the teasing tone. He knew the game Phuwin was playing. He saw the deliberate spark in Phuwin's usually weary eyes, the subtle tilt of the head. A flicker of something – exasperation? Amusement? – passed through his gaze, too quick to define, before settling back into cool assessment. 

From the passenger seat, P'Pan raised an eyebrow, but secretly he was glad. Whatever Pond was doing, it had worked. Phuwin was comfortable and relaxed enough to joke now.

"The usual." Pond recited in his customary monotone. "Don't leave my sight, and don't take anything directly from a fan; the staff will handle them."

Phuwin rolled his eyes, the indifferent chant making him huff in half-amused, half-exasperated protest. "You sounded just like my father."

P'Pan chuckled from the front seat, delighted by the shift in Phuwin's mood. "He means it, Phu. Just be glad he's not making you wear a bulletproof vest yet."

"Yet?" Phuwin shot back, leaning forward slightly. "Are you guys in a strike to take me down from the top 10 most handsome celebrity list or what, by making me wear ugly stuff?"

P'Pan laughed, a clear, unrestrained sound. While the corner of Pond’s black mask twitched – a subtle, visible motion that hinted at a suppressed smile, a momentary crack. It was impossible to confirm, but Phuwin felt a small, triumphant surge. He had managed to elicit the closest thing to a human reaction yet. Hard to tell, but thrilling nonetheless.

***

The car arrived at the buzzing, neon-lit fast-food branch. Barriers held back the crowd, but their energy vibrated through the humid air – a low thrum of anticipation. Fans pressed against the tape, banners fluttering, tiny ribbon-tied flowers clutched in hopeful hands. The moment Phuwin’s shoe touched the pavement, a wave of sound crashed over him: screams, pleas, declarations of love.

“Phuwin!” “You look so good!” “Can we get a picture?” "Please post tonight! "

He waved, a bright smile in place, the kind that came effortlessly after years in the industry. The crowd outside was tight as usual, filled with fans and admirers. But today it felt light, maybe because of the steady presence of Pond behind him. Pond, now fully in operational mode, moved like a wall between Phuwin and the surrounding chaos.

After a brief, energetic interaction with the waiting fans and a round of photos, Phuwin was ushered in. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of frying oil and cloying syrup. The small restaurant buzzed with chatter. The atmosphere was relaxed, nothing like a full-blown fan event. While waiting for the food to arrive, Phuwin navigated the smaller, curated group of inner fans. Their excitement was a contained hum, phones raised like offerings. He moved from table to table, his laughter soft, genuine, a golden thread weaving through the intimate space. His attention was theirs, his charm effortless and fully engaging with the source of his career.

Behind him, Pond moved in near silence – a quiet shadow that controlled the space without saying a word. When someone reached out too far with a gift, Pond’s hand intercepted gently but firmly, taking the package before Phuwin even registered the movement. He managed the very atmosphere. 

Phuwin barely noticed at first, until he caught the faint shift of Pond’s body each time someone leaned too close. The man didn’t touch him, not once, yet somehow he created a boundary no one dared to cross.

A careless elbow nudged a small air cooler; its stream shifted subtly, now bathing Phuwin. Phuwin paused mid-sip of his drink, noticing the breeze suddenly change direction and the cooler humming gently in his direction. He frowned lightly, glancing around. No one was near enough to move it.

But As Phuwin turned to another fan, Pond shifted his weight, a fraction. His boot nudged the cooler’s base. It tilted minutely, the cool air now directed harmlessly at the ceiling tiles. Phuwin felt it – the slight change in pressure, the absence of the breeze. But he had fans to entertain. He couldn't spare a glance toward Pond. 

“Phuwin, new guard?” a fan called out. Half-curious, half-concern, overriding their shyness. “Is everything okay?”

Phuwin laughed, easing the tension. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry, he just takes his job very seriously.”

They giggled, eyes darting back to Pond, whispering among themselves. One or two phones angled discreetly toward him. 

***

The ride home was quiet. Phuwin slumped against the leather, the energy from the day draining out of him. P'Pan started talking about the next day's schedule, while Phuwin listened half-heartedly.

“You have a flight to Paris tomorrow evening for YSL’s fashion week.” P’Pan said, scrolling through his tablet. “You’ll stay the weekend, come back Monday. You’ll need to shoot for their new collection too. One day, max. If you want, you can sightsee after.”

Phuwin hummed in response, though his attention was already elsewhere. He trusted the designer implicitly, yet he craved the quiet intimacy of knowing the collection first. Clothes, to him, were whispered promises. Fabrics that clung like secrets, silks that sighed luxury against skin. His friends teased that he could make even a potato sack glow. Perhaps it was pride, yes, but mostly it was love. A sacred ritual. Transformation waiting in gems and draped linen. 

He wore garments like second skin, effortless and inevitable. As if every stitch had dreamed of him. So, no, thank you. He wouldn't be wearing the first thing the designer shoved onto him. He wanted to check the catalog beforehand, have an idea of what to expect and what to ask for. Some accessories wouldn't hurt either. He thought of this as he scrolled through the online website of Yves Saint Laurent.

His lips parted to speak, to interrupt P'Pan's briefing – 

“Pan, take a detour to YSL’s showroom.” Pond’s voice cut through the quiet car. “Access the new catalog and arrange a preview for Phuwin tonight.” 

Phuwin froze. His phone glowed, YSL’s homepage bright in his lap. Pond hadn’t glanced once. Hadn’t needed to.  

P’Pan’s eyes found Phuwin’s in the rearview mirror, a silent question. Then, gentle resolve: “Rest. I’ll wake you when we're near.” The navigation flickered, rerouting their car.  

Phuwin lowered his phone slowly. The precision of it – the way Pond read his intent before he’d even spoken, should’ve been unnerving. It wasn’t. It felt like care, dressed in discipline. Like Pond was protecting not just his safety but his time, his energy, his mind. Phuwin closed his eyes. Breath steadied. Heartbeat slowed. The care felt more profound, more intimate, and more alluring than any physical gift could have been.

***

The car rolled to a stop in front of YSL’s flagship showroom, all glass and marble, gleaming under the late evening hue. A few passersby turned their heads when they noticed Phuwin step out, their murmurs rippling through the quiet street.

Pond was out first, scanning the perimeter before opening Phuwin’s door. The movement was precise, but the hand that hovered near Phuwin’s back – steady and guiding – was gentler than it had any right to be.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather and bergamot. The stylist was waiting for phuwin as per P'pan's instruction and rushed over with an effusive smile. “Khun Phuwin! We didn’t expect you today, what a lovely surprise!”

Phuwin returned the smile, slipping easily into his public tone. Charming, polite, practiced. “Couldn’t resist checking the new line before the show.” he said, glancing toward the racks of monochrome elegance.

As the stylist held up two equally stunning coats for him to try, Phuwin tilted his head, considering. “Which one looks better?” he asked, not really expecting an answer from anyone other than the stylist.

Pond’s voice came, low and even, cutting through the stylist’s chatter. “The left one. Suits your frame better.”

Phuwin’s brows rose. "Good eye.”

“Not much.” Pond replied, his eyes meeting Phuwin’s in the mirror – a private conversation in a public space. 

The stylist, unfazed, helped him into the favored coat. It settled perfectly on phuwin. 

Pond stood a step behind, silent but alert, his dark clothes blending into the minimalist décor. When one of the assistants brushed too close to Phuwin while fastening a cufflink, Pond’s head lifted slightly – a quiet, warning motion that made the assistant instantly step back. Phuwin noticed. Of course he did. He pretended not to, but the awareness lingered in the back of his mind like a pulse.

When the coat was approved, the stylist presented two final options: an extravagant diamond necklace and a classic silver chain. Phuwin hesitated, his heart leaning towards the diamond, but his mind arguing for the practical chain. 

Pond moved then, barely a breath. His chin tilted toward the diamond, a ghost of a nod. Yes, it said. Take it.

Phuwin made the choice, the extravagant item feeling entirely correct in his hand. He was left with the thrilling realization that Pond didn't just anticipate his actions; he shared his specific, luxurious taste.

When the purchase was wrapped up, Pond carried the garment bag himself. Outside, cameras flashed from across the street – some fans, some media. Pond subtly shifted his stance, blocking Phuwin from the clearest angle.

Phuwin caught the movement, saw how effortlessly Pond shielded him without making a scene. “You’re going to end up in the news at this rate.” he murmured as they slipped into the car.

“Already am.” Pond said dryly, checking his earpiece. 

Phuwin laughed softly, the sound genuine and rich. “Well, better get used to it, this is nothin yet.”

The atmosphere that settled in the quiet space between their breaths was calm. Pond didn’t smile, but the warmth in his eyes was enough.

***

Night fell, heavy and still.

And then the screens ignited.

The internet caught fire. 

Twitter feeds convulsed. TikTok streams ran hot. Instagram reels pulsed like frantic heartbeats. Clips of Pond – the sharp twist of a shoulder blocking chaos, the controlled fury in those hidden eyes, flooded every timeline.  

Comments seared through the noise, each one a spark:

“GUYS, PHUWIN’S NEW BODYGUARDD!!!”

“Is everyone in that company built like a Greek god or what!”

“Ok but lowk bro looks scary as hell, how did yall survive him there.” 

“The way he moves…bro’s trained.”

“Bodyguard goals.”

“Whoever he is, he’s gorgeous even with the mask on.”

“Protect Phuwin at all costs – literally.”

“Good riddance to old security, they were shitty anyways..”

"May this one do his job correctly, I'm tired of phu getting mobbed everytime he even breathes."

Trending tags:

• #Phuwin
• #phuwinhot
• #PhuwinTang
• #WhoIsThat
• #NewBodyguard

 

Phuwin didn’t see any of it yet, wrapped in the soft glow of his laptop, sketching out tomorrow’s schedule. Unaware. But in the quiet corners of the web, Pond’s name was weaving into his story, silently but steadily. 

***