Chapter Text
Pond still wasn’t used to the way people looked at him on nights like this.
Not the cameras. Not the flashes or the shouting or the way his name sometimes echoed back at him from places he hadn’t expected yet. Those, he could handle. Mostly.
It was the in-between glances that unsettled him. The ones from staff members who paused a second longer than necessary. From other artists who nodded like they were cataloguing him. From people who knew his name now and expected something from it.
He tugged at the cuff of his jacket, then stilled when Joong’s reflection caught him in the tinted window.
“Don’t,” Joong said lightly. “You’re fine.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Pond replied, which might have worked if Santa hadn’t immediately leaned forward between the seats.
“You adjusted your sleeve four times,” Santa said cheerfully. “Five, if we’re counting the dramatic one.”
“It wasn’t dramatic.”
“It was very dramatic,” Santa said, delighted.
Pond dropped his hands to his lap with a quiet sigh. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”
The van slowed at a red light. Aou, sitting a row ahead, turned around in his seat. His expression was relaxed, amused even, the kind he wore when things mattered but didn’t need to feel heavy.
“You won’t,” Aou said. “We showed up. That’s the hard part.”
Pond huffed a breath that turned into something almost like a laugh. Aou always did that. Said things simply, like confidence was something you could pass around if you weren’t stingy with it.
Joong leaned back, eyes bright with mischief. “Besides,” he added, “if anyone messes up tonight, statistically it won’t be you.”
Pond glanced at him. “That’s not comforting.”
“It’s realistic,” Joong said. “I believe in data.”
Santa snorted. “He means he believes in chaos.”
“That too.”
The van rolled forward again, the city lights streaking past the windows. JASP.ER had only existed officially for a short time, but it already felt solid under Pond’s feet. Not fragile. Not temporary. Something stitched together carefully, deliberately.
Aou, with his easy authority and the way he could fill a room without raising his voice. Joong, magnetic without trying, sharp-eyed and protective in the same breath. Santa, all warmth and motion, like standing next to sunlight that talked too much.
And Pond. Still figuring out where he fit. Still quietly startled by the fact that he did.
Not long ago, his nights had been engineering lectures and practice rooms that smelled like dust and determination. He’d been “that guy from Engineering.” Someone who danced because he loved it, not because anyone was watching.
Now he was a rapper. An artist. Someone whose face appeared on screens big enough to make his ears burn when he caught himself looking back.
The irony was that he loved performing. It was standing still beforehand that made his chest tight.
“You’re thinking too loud again,” Joong murmured. “Your serious face is on.”
Pond shot him a look. “This is just my face.”
Santa tilted his head. “That’s your internal smile.”
They laughed. The sound loosened something in Pond’s shoulders. He leaned back as the venue came into view, lights blooming against the dark like a promise.
Noise washed over them the moment the doors opened. Music. Shouts. Applause rolling through the air. Somewhere out there, fans were already waving light sticks, cheering with a familiarity that still felt unreal.
Pond looked toward the entrance and felt warmth spread in his chest. The good kind. The kind that came from knowing people were watching not because they had to, but because they wanted to.
He nudged Aou lightly. “P’.”
Aou hummed.
“Thanks,” Pond said, quiet enough that it didn’t feel embarrassing.
Aou smiled, soft and unmistakably proud. “Always.”
Inside, the lights dimmed a fraction. A cue. A signal. JASP.ER straightened instinctively, slipping into that shared rhythm they’d practiced until it lived in muscle memory.
Pond planted his feet. Breathed in. Let the noise settle. Tonight mattered. Tonight was important.
He had no idea that somewhere in the same venue, a moment he wouldn’t even register yet was already waiting to turn his life slightly off its axis.
Phuwin knew they were early because Gemini was already bored. Not the quiet, scrolling-on-his-phone bored. The leaning-back-in-his-chair, legs stretched out too far into the aisle, head tipped toward the ceiling like he was personally offended by time itself kind of bored.
“This is taking forever,” Gemini muttered. “Do you think they’d notice if I left for snacks.”
“Yes,” Phuwin said, still adjusting the cuff of his jacket. “They always notice.”
Fourth hummed beside them, posture relaxed but eyes sharp as they flicked briefly toward the stage, then back to the crowd. “You say that like you haven’t escaped before.”
“That was when I was just acting,” Phuwin replied. “People expected me to disappear between segments.”
Gemini grinned, finally sitting up. “Now you sing one song and suddenly everyone knows where you are.”
Phuwin rolled his eyes, fond despite himself.
The venue buzzed with that specific kind of award-show energy. Not concert chaos, not filming-set silence. Somewhere in between. Cameras floated on cranes above the audience. Staff moved with headsets and clipped urgency. The stage glowed in soft golds and blues, waiting.
Being here still felt strange sometimes.
Phuwin had grown up learning how to exist between takes. How to wait. How to be present without being visible. Idol life didn’t allow for that kind of invisibility. It asked you to be on even when you were sitting still.
He didn’t hate it. He just noticed it.
The lights shifted slightly, dimming near the entrances. A ripple passed through the audience, subtle but unmistakable. Heads turned. Phones lifted.
“Oh,” Fourth said. “JASP.ER.”
Gemini straightened immediately. “Wait—where?”
Phuwin followed their line of sight.
Four of them entered from the side aisle, walking together with the ease of people who had already learned each other’s pace. Not flashy. Not stiff. Just… synchronized in a way that came from shared rehearsals and shared jokes.
One of them laughed openly, head tipping back. Another leaned in to say something low. The youngest bounced on his heels like there was music playing only he could hear.
And then there was—
Phuwin’s attention snagged without warning.
Broad shoulders. A serious expression that didn’t feel rehearsed so much as considered. The kind of face actors spent years learning to hold, and idols rarely bothered with. His gaze skimmed the room once, not searching for cameras, just checking the space like he needed to know where everything was.
“Huh,” Gemini said thoughtfully. “That one’s cute.”
Phuwin blinked. “Which one.”
Fourth shot Gemini a look. Not sharp. Just enough. “You’re being obvious.”
Gemini ignored him completely. “The one pretending he’s calm. You can always tell.”
Phuwin glanced back before he could stop himself.
The guy adjusted his jacket, then stilled, hands folding neatly in front of him. Professional. Polite. A little stiff, like he was holding himself together by habit.
Phuwin smiled, just barely. “Don’t start,” he said.
“I haven’t started,” Gemini replied innocently. “Fourth?”
Fourth’s eyes had widened slightly. “They’re coming this way.”
“I really don’t care,” Phuwin said flatly.
He cared a little.
Not in a dramatic way. Not enough to mean anything. Just enough that his brain filed the image away, unasked, like it might be useful later.
---
They were seated close enough that the space between rows felt tighter than it should have. Not uncomfortably so. Just enough that awareness crept in.
Phuwin noticed it first, the shift in proximity. The quiet recalibration that happened when someone unfamiliar entered your personal orbit. When the man beside him turned slightly, their eyes met for half a second.
A nod. Polite. Automatic. Phuwin returned it without thinking.
It meant nothing. He’d been doing that since he was a kid on sets, a reflex drilled into him long before he understood fame. Acknowledgment without invitation. Presence without engagement.
Still—
Gemini leaned in immediately. “You smiled.”
“I did not.”
Fourth tilted his head, amused. “You did.”
Phuwin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I was being normal.”
Gemini hummed. “That was not normal.”
Phuwin ignored him and turned his attention back to the stage as staff moved briskly along the aisles. The award show buzzed around them, lights shifting, cameras adjusting. The moment dissolved back into background noise.
That should’ve been it.
-
Pond only realized how close they were seated when his elbow brushed someone else’s. Not enough to be rude. Just enough to register.
He stiffened instinctively, then forced himself to ease back into place. Award shows were like this. Tight rows. Too many people. Too many eyes.
He glanced sideways. The man beside him had already noticed, but didn’t look bothered. Calm. Composed. The kind of ease that came from familiarity with rooms like this.
“Oh—sorry,” Pond said automatically, even though he wasn’t sure he’d actually done anything wrong.
The man smiled. Easy. Unforced. “You’re fine.”
The voice surprised him. Softer than he’d expected. Not performative. Not projected.
Pond nodded, then realized nodding was unnecessary and stopped halfway through, which somehow felt worse.
Great.
“I’m Phuwin,” the man added, like he’d sensed the internal flailing and decided to make it easier.
Pond straightened immediately. “Pond. From JASP.ER.” The name felt strange in his mouth, even now.
Phuwin’s smile warmed, just slightly. “I know.”
Of course he did. Heat crept up Pond’s neck anyway. He focused on keeping his expression neutral, professional.
“Good luck tonight.”
It didn’t sound like a throwaway line. Just… sincere.
“Thanks,” Pond replied. Then, before he could stop himself, “Your song earlier was good.” The words landed clumsily. Too plain. Too obvious.
Phuwin laughed softly, not at him, but at the situation itself. “Thank you.”
The host’s voice rose over the speakers, drawing attention back to the stage. The moment closed naturally. No awkward linger. No forced ending. Phuwin turned forward again, and Pond followed, heartbeat settling.
That really should’ve been the end of it.
A few minutes later, Phuwin leaned slightly toward him again. “Here,” he said, offering a small bottle of water. “You look tense.”
Pond blinked. “Do I?”
“A little,” Phuwin replied, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I get like that too.”
Pond hesitated for half a second, then took it. Their fingers brushed briefly. Nothing dramatic. Just contact.
“Thanks,” he said, quieter now. “I—yeah. Thanks.”
Phuwin nodded once, satisfied, and turned back to the stage without lingering.
Pond unscrewed the cap and took a sip. The water was cool. Grounding. He hadn’t realized his shoulders were tight until they weren’t.
The lights dimmed further as the program moved on. Applause rose and fell in practiced waves, names announced, reactions measured and polite.
When JASP.ER’s name was called, Phuwin clapped automatically.
It was habit more than intention. Years of sitting through award shows had trained his hands to move on cue, whether he was about to walk the stage himself or waiting to see if his name would be called. Tonight, he was just watching.
Pond stood with the others, posture straight, expression composed. Professional. Put together. The same version of him Phuwin had seen moments ago.
Then the music started. Something shifted.
The performance hit harder than Phuwin expected. Clean choreography. Sharp timing. Santa drew the eye immediately, bright and effortless, but Phuwin found himself tracking the rapper again.
The serious one.
Onstage, he was different. Lighter. Freer. Like something had clicked into place the moment the music took over. The stiffness was gone, replaced by focus and joy that read clearly even from a distance.
Without thinking, Phuwin lifted his phone.
He wasn’t hiding it. Wasn’t sneaking. Just recording the way he always did when something genuinely impressed him. Acting had trained him to notice expressions. Music made him notice happiness.
Beside him, Fourth leaned in slightly. “Wow,” he murmured. “He looks happy.”
Phuwin didn’t look away from the screen. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “He does.”
The song ended to loud applause. Phuwin lowered his phone, the screen still warm in his palm as JASP.ER bowed and made their way back to their seats.
He didn’t notice the fan two rows back. Didn’t notice the zoomed-in camera trained just a little too long in his direction. Didn’t notice how easily attention could turn into assumption.
To Phuwin, it was just another moment at an awards show. Another performance. Another artist doing well.
He had no idea it wouldn’t stay that simple.
Back in his hotel room, Pond found out the same way he found out about most things lately. Through Dunk.
His phone buzzed once. Then again. Then didn’t stop.
He was halfway through shrugging out of his jacket when Dunk’s name lit up the screen, followed immediately by messages arriving faster than he could read them.
Dunk:
bro
BRO
WHY are you trending
Pond frowned. Trending felt… dramatic. He sat on the edge of the bed and opened Twitter. It took exactly three seconds for regret to bloom.
TRENDING: #PondPhuwin
“What,” Pond said aloud, to absolutely no one.
He scrolled.
@starlightwin
wait hold on… why was phuwin filming JASP.ER like THAT 🤨@bluejayfan
NO BC I THOUGHT I WAS DELUSIONAL BUT THEY SAT NEXT TO EACH OTHER???@jasperloop
that water bottle exchange??? HELLO????
Pond stopped.
Water bottle exchange.
He scrolled back up. Someone had clipped a video. Grainy. Cropped. Zoomed just enough to turn something ordinary into something invasive.
Phuwin leaning in. Him accepting the bottle. Their hands brushing.
Pond stared at the screen, heat crawling up his neck.
“That’s just water,” he muttered. “It’s literally just water.”
More tweets loaded anyway.
@phuwincloud
he smiles differently around pond idc idc@geminifourthbrainrot
oh this explains EVERYTHING actually 😌@softlaunchtruth
SAME BACKGROUND IN IG POSTS. SAME. BACKGROUND.
Pond groaned and switched apps without thinking. Instagram. His post. Phuwin’s post.Same venue. Same carpet. Same lighting.
He dropped the phone face-down on the bed. Then immediately picked it back up. The tone shifted the further he scrolled.
@realteaonly
funny how some rookies get close to seniors real fast 🤔@fairquestioning
not accusing but why is pond suddenly everywhere phuwin is@idolkritique
using established artists for clout is old news tbh
Pond stopped scrolling. Those ones lodged somewhere deeper. Not sharp enough to hurt, but heavy. Unsettling.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said quietly. Saying it out loud helped. A little.
His phone buzzed again.
Joong:
congrats on the new relationshipSanta:
your ears were red btw. unrelated.Aou:
ignore twitter. drink water. sleep.
Pond exhaled slowly through his nose. He scrolled again, more carefully this time.
@jasperheart
leave him alone omg 😭 he literally just accepted water@letboysbe
why do y’all act like basic kindness is a crime@phuwinactingera
phuwin is grown he can interact with people actually@engineerpond
pond looks like he apologizes to chairs pls relax
That one got him. A quiet snort escaped before he could stop it.
He leaned back against the headboard, phone loose in his hand. The posts kept coming. Speculation. Jokes. Defense. Accusations. Entire narratives spun out of a moment that had barely registered as important when it happened.
It was strange. Seeing himself flattened into screenshots. Seeing Phuwin flattened beside him. Two people reduced to pixels and implication.
Then—
A new notification.
A message request.
From Phuwin.
Pond stared at the screen, heart jumping in a way that felt wildly disproportionate to the situation. He didn’t open it.
Outside the window, the city hummed on like nothing had changed. Traffic. Lights. Normal life. Inside his phone, everything felt loud and unresolved.
All because of a shared seat. A compliment. A bottle of water.
Pond set the phone down again, this time face-up, and dragged a hand down his face.
“…This is ridiculous,” he said.
It was.
And somehow, it felt like the very beginning of something he didn’t yet have language for.
Phuwin noticed something was wrong because his notifications didn’t stop. Not the usual scattered likes or replies. This was constant. A steady vibration that made his phone feel impatient in his hand.
They were sprawled across one of the hotel room’s couches, shoes kicked off, jackets abandoned over chair backs. The award show was long over, the city outside still buzzing with post-event traffic.
His phone buzzed again. He stared at it for a moment before unlocking the screen.
The first thing he saw was Est’s name.
Est:
soooo do you wanna explain or should i let twitter do it for you
Phuwin sighed. “That bad,” he murmured, already opening Twitter.
The app loaded.
He blinked.
TRENDING: #PondPhuwin
“Oh,” he said flatly.
Fourth leaned over the back of the couch, reading upside down. “Is that… new?”
“Yes.”
Gemini slid closer immediately, far too pleased for the situation. “Wow. That was fast.”
Phuwin scrolled.
@softfocusfan
I thought I imagined it but why was phuwin filming JASP.ER like that 😭@stageleftcam
SAME SEATING + SAME BACKGROUND IG POSTS I AM UNWELL@pondsmile
he smiled at him??? like actually smiled???
Phuwin paused, thumb hovering. Filming.
Right.
He flicked over to his camera roll. The video was still there. Clean framing. Steady hands. A good performance captured because it deserved to be.
He watched it once, then switched apps.
“That’s normal,” he said.
Gemini hummed. “Normal for you. Apparently not for the internet.”
Phuwin scrolled again.
@industrywatcher
not to be THAT person but some rookies move real strategic@realisticfan
why does pond suddenly have access to phuwin
His expression tightened, just barely.
Fourth noticed immediately. “Hey.”
“I know,” Phuwin said calmly. “I’ve seen worse.”
And he had. Acting meant years of commentary. Of people projecting narratives onto his face, his tone, his silences. This wasn’t new. But this time, it wasn’t just about him.
He kept scrolling.
@leavehimalone
you people are insane he accepted a WATER BOTTLE@jasperprotect
dragging pond for existing is wild actually@phuwindefense
phuwin can interact with other artists. he is allowed.
Phuwin exhaled slowly.
“It’s loud,” Fourth said.
“It always is,” Phuwin replied. Then, after a beat, “It just usually dies faster.”
Gemini squinted at the screen. “Some people are being really weird about P’Pond.”
Phuwin nodded. He’d noticed. The accusations were clumsy. Transparent. Still, he didn’t like how easily kindness had been twisted into motive. He thought of the water bottle. The awkward thank-you. The faint pink at Pond’s ears.
Gemini glanced at him. “You okay?”
“Yes,” Phuwin said honestly. Then, quieter, “I just don’t like when people get dragged for nothing.”
Fourth smiled faintly. “You’re protective.”
Phuwin shot him a look. “I’m experienced.”
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Then he unlocked his phone again. Instagram. Search. Pond.
The latest post was harmless. A group photo. One emoji caption. The comments were already piling up faster than they should have.
Phuwin hesitated. Then he opened his DMs.
The blank message bar stared back at him.
Sorry the internet is like this.
This is stupid, right?
You didn’t do anything wrong.
He typed. Paused. Deleted.
Typed again.
This time, he didn’t overthink it.
He hit send.
Nothing exploded. The room stayed level. The world didn’t tilt.
Gemini peeked over his shoulder. “Did you just—”
“Yes,” Phuwin said. “Before this gets any dumber.”
He set the phone down and reached for his own bottle of water, twisting the cap open with familiar ease.
Outside, the city moved on. Inside his phone, the noise kept building.
Phuwin took a sip and let it pass through him. “This will calm down,” he said. Not hopeful. Just factual.
Gemini grinned. “Unless it doesn’t.”
Phuwin glanced at his phone, waiting. “…Then we’ll deal with it,” he said.
And for now, that was enough.