Chapter Text
Pond leaned back in his chair, the plastic groaning under his weight as he balanced it on two legs. The teacher’s voice droned on somewhere in the background, but he wasn’t listening. His gaze flicked to Joong, who was scribbling something furiously on a scrap of paper before folding it into a tight square. Aou caught Pond’s eye and grinned, nodding toward the clock, five minutes until the bell. Santa, slumped beside him, stifled a yawn, his foot tapping restlessly against the floor.
The folded paper landed on Pond’s desk with a quiet thump. He unfolded it carefully, revealing Joong’s messy handwriting: *Fire alarm. Third floor. Now.* Pond smirked, crumpling the note into his pocket. The bell rang, and the four of them moved as one, slipping into the hallway chaos with practiced ease.
By the time they reached the third floor, the corridor was empty except for the distant murmur of another class. Aou pulled a lighter from his pocket, Santa keeping watch by the stairwell. Pond exhaled sharply, adrenaline buzzing under his skin as Joong held the scrap of paper to the flame. The smoke detector blinked red above them.
The alarm blared to life a second later, shrill and insistent. Laughter bubbled up in Pond’s chest as they bolted down the stairs, weaving through the flood of students pouring out of classrooms. They made it outside just as the faculty started shouting orders, blending into the crowd with their hands in their pockets, faces schooled into perfect innocence.
"Think they’ll check the cameras this time?" Santa muttered, kicking at a loose pebble. The sun was relentless, pressing down on them like a weight.
Pond shrugged, already scanning the crowd. His gaze snagged on a figure standing apart from the chaos, Phuwin Tangsakyuen, arms crossed, surveying the scene with the air of someone who had better things to do. The theatre club president’s shirt was neatly tucked in, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and Pond couldn’t help but notice the way his brow furrowed, like he was mentally drafting a complaint to the principal.
"Bet he’s pissed," Joong said, following Pond’s stare.
Pond grinned. "Let’s find out." He sauntered over, ignoring Aou’s hissed warning.
Phuwin turned as Pond approached, his expression flattening. "Let me guess," he said dryly, "you had nothing to do with this."
"Who, me?" Pond pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "I’m a model student."
Phuwin’s lips twitched, almost, almost a smile. "Right. And I’m the king of England."
The fire alarm cut off abruptly, leaving only the murmur of students and the distant wail of sirens. Pond leaned in, just enough to invade Phuwin’s space. "You should be thanking us. Saved you from whatever boring lecture you were sitting through."
Phuwin rolled his eyes but didn’t step back. "Some of us actually like learning."
"Some of us," Pond countered, "need a little excitement."
For a heartbeat, Phuwin just looked at him, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then the moment shattered as a teacher barked orders for everyone to line up. Phuwin exhaled, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."
Pond watched him walk away, the words hanging between them like a challenge.
"Told you," Joong said, appearing at his shoulder.
Pond didn’t answer. He was too busy memorizing the way Phuwin’s shoulders squared when he was annoyed, the way his voice dipped just slightly when he was trying not to laugh.
This was going to be fun.
---
Phuwin and some of his friends Fourth, Gemini and Dunk were rehearsing.
Phuwin leaned against the wall backstage, flipping through the script with practiced ease while Fourth fidgeted beside him, adjusting his costume for the third time. "Stop fussing," Phuwin said without looking up. "You're going to stretch the fabric."
"But what if I forget my lines?" Fourth groaned, tugging at his collar.
Gemini snorted from where he was sprawled on the floor, scribbling last-minute notes in the margins of his own script. "You've rehearsed this scene twenty times. You'll be fine." Dunk, perched on a prop box, nodded sagely, though his grin betrayed his amusement.
Before Phuwin could reply, the stage door creaked open, casting a sliver of light across the dim backstage area. Pond stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, his usual smirk in place. "Didn't peg you for the nervous type," he said, nodding at Fourth.
Phuwin's grip tightened on his script. "You're not allowed back here."
Pond ignored him, stepping further inside. "Relax, Prez. Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about." His gaze lingered on the set pieces, a makeshift forest constructed from plywood and paint, before settling on Phuwin. "Did you design this?"
Dunk and Gemini exchanged glances while Fourth stared, wide-eyed. Phuwin exhaled slowly. "Yes. Now if you don't mind, "
"It's good," Pond interrupted, genuine surprise coloring his voice. "Like, really good." He reached out, fingers brushing one of the painted trees. "You did all this yourself?"
Phuwin hesitated, thrown by the unexpected praise. "Most of it. The club helped."
Pond whistled low under his breath. "Guess you're not just all talk, huh?"
The tension in Phuwin's shoulders eased slightly. "I could say the same about you. Heard you aced the last math test."
Pond blinked. "You, wait, how did you know that?"
Gemini coughed pointedly, snapping his script shut. "Five minutes to curtain, guys."
Phuwin straightened, shooting Pond a look that was equal parts exasperation and something softer. "You should go."
Pond held up his hands in mock surrender but didn't move. "Or I could stay. Watch the show."
"You don't even like theater."
Pond grinned, slow and deliberate. "Maybe I just like the view."
Fourth choked on air while Dunk muffled a laugh into his script. Phuwin's ears burned, but he refused to rise to the bait. "Fine. But if you cause any trouble, "
"Wouldn't dream of it," Pond said, already backing toward the door. "Break a leg, Prez."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Phuwin staring after him, the script forgotten in his hands. Dunk cleared his throat. "So. That happened."
Phuwin didn't answer. He was too busy wondering why his pulse was racing, and why, for the first time in weeks, he was actually looking forward to the aftermath of the play.
---
The next day during lunchtime.
"Tell me again why we're eating in the theater hall?" Dunk asked, peeling the lid off his lunchbox as Phuwin adjusted the overhead lights.
"Because," Phuwin said through a mouthful of sticky rice, "someone left paint cans in the prop storage and now half our costumes smell like turpentine."
Gemini wrinkled his nose. "That explains why Fourth looked like he was going to faint during act two."
The door swung open without warning, revealing Pond leaning against the frame with a paper bag in hand. "Didn't think you guys would actually be working through lunch."
Phuwin didn't look up from his clipboard. "Didn't think you'd actually show up after yesterday's performance."
Pond tossed the bag onto Phuwin's lap. "Figured you'd forget to eat. Again." The scent of grilled pork and chili sauce wafted through the air as Phuwin peered inside.
Dunk's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, how did you know he "
"Because," Pond cut in, flopping onto the stage beside Gemini, "your president skipped breakfast every day last week. The teachers' lounge gossip is better than reality TV."
Phuwin's fingers hovered over the still-warm food. "You... went to the street vendor by the soccer field." It wasn't a question.
Pond smirked. "Your favorite, right? Extra cilantro, no peanuts."
A silence settled over them, broken only by Gemini's exaggerated chewing sounds. Dunk glanced between them, then suddenly stood. "You know what? We should go... check those paint cans. Right, Gem?"
Gemini blinked. "What? Oh! Yeah. Definitely. Super important paint inspection." They scrambled out the door with far more haste than necessary.
Pond chuckled. "Subtle."
Phuwin finally took a bite, the flavors exploding across his tongue. "Why are you really here?"
"Can't a guy admire good theater?" Pond leaned back on his elbows, watching the dust motes swirl in the stage lights. "Also, Joong bet me fifty baht you'd kick me out before Wednesday."
"You're terrible at lying."
"And you," Pond said, pointing at him with a chopstick, "have paint in your hair."
Phuwin's hand flew up instinctively, fingers catching in the dried blue streaks. "Damn it, that's from the backdrop touch-ups."
Pond's grin softened. "Here." He reached over, carefully plucking a fleck of paint from Phuwin's temple. His thumb lingered for half a second too long against the skin there.
The clipboard clattered to the floor as Phuwin froze, his breath catching somewhere between his ribs. Pond withdrew slowly, examining the blue fleck on his fingertip. "Looks better on you than the scenery."
Outside, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Neither of them moved.
"Next rehearsal," Phuwin said at last, voice steadier than he felt, "if you're going to watch, sit in the back. And don't distract the actors."
Pond stood, brushing imaginary dust from his uniform. "Wouldn't dream of it, Prez." He paused at the door. "Unless you want to be distracted."
The door swung shut behind him, leaving Phuwin alone with the echo of his own heartbeat and the lingering scent of chili and cilantro.
Three days later, the morning sunlight slanted through the classroom windows, casting long rectangles across Phuwin’s notebook where he’d been halfheartedly doodling set designs. The teacher’s voice cut through the drowsy hum of students. "Attention, everyone. The school is launching a pen pal program within this school. Participation is required, you will need to submit a short introduction letter by Friday."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Phuwin stifled a groan, rubbing his temple. Just what he needed, another distraction from the mounting pile of club responsibilities. Fourth leaned over from the next desk, whispering, "Think I can request someone who won't judge my handwriting?"
"Unlikely," Phuwin muttered, already mentally drafting the blandest introduction possible.
At the front of the room, the teacher continued, "Letters will be distributed randomly next Monday. This is about fostering connections outside your usual circles."
Something sharp flickered at the edge of Phuwin’s vision. Pond slouched in his usual spot by the window, twirling a pen between his fingers like a baton. Their eyes met, just for a heartbeat, before Pond smirked and deliberately looked away. Phuwin’s grip tightened on his pencil.
"What’s the over-under," Joong’s voice carried from the back row, "on getting stuck with some nerd who writes in calligraphy?"
Aou’s answering laugh was cut short by the teacher’s glare. Phuwin exhaled through his nose and bent over his notebook, scrawling *Name: Phuwin Tangsakyuen. Interests: Theater, set design, not being interrupted during rehearsals* with deliberate, even strokes.
The bell rang, scattering students like leaves. Fourth caught up to Phuwin in the hallway, waving his own half-finished letter. "Bet you get paired with some science club kid who writes about mitochondrial DNA."
"Or," Dunk materialized on Phuwin’s other side, grinning, "you get Pond."
Phuwin’s step hitched. "That’s not funny."
"Is it not?" Dunk exchanged a look with Fourth.
Before Phuwin could retort, a familiar voice cut in. "Aw, Prez. Don’t sound so disappointed."
Pond materialized beside them, matching Phuwin’s pace with infuriating ease. His own letter dangled from two fingers, folded into a lopsided airplane.
Phuwin side-eyed him. "You actually wrote one."
"Course I did." Pond grinned. "Wrote it in crayon too. Real heartfelt stuff."
Fourth snorted. Dunk pretended to examine a nonexistent watch.
Phuwin quickened his stride. "I have rehearsal."
"Uh-huh." Pond kept pace effortlessly. "And I have, what was it?, oh right. A burning desire to see you try to act normal for five minutes."
"Try harder." Phuwin shoved the classroom door open harder than necessary.
Behind him, Pond’s laughter followed, warm and unrepentant. "Already am, Prez."
The door swung shut, but not fast enough to drown out Fourth’s stage-whispered, "So. Pen pals, huh?"
Phuwin ignored him, tossing his script onto the stage with more force than necessary. Dunk and Gemini were already setting up props, their heads bent together in quiet conversation that cut off abruptly when they noticed him. "What?" Phuwin snapped.
Gemini held up his hands. "Nothing. Just... wondering if we should rearrange the forest set for act three."
Phuwin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Whatever." He stalked past them, barely registering the creak of the stage door opening again.
"Wow," Pond’s voice dripped with amusement. "And here I thought theater kids were supposed to be cheerful."
Phuwin spun around. "Do you have nothing better to do than lurk in doorways?"
Pond sauntered closer, hands in pockets, the hem of his uniform shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. "Nope. Especially not when you’re this wound up." He plucked Phuwin’s discarded script off the floor, flipping through it with exaggerated interest. "What’s got you so tense? Pen pal jitters?"
Dunk coughed into his fist. Gemini suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.
Phuwin snatched the script back. "I’m not tense."
Pond’s grin widened. "Liar. You get this little crease right here," he tapped his own forehead, "when you’re pissed off. Or," his voice dropped, "when you’re trying not to laugh."
Fourth audibly choked. Phuwin’s grip on the script tightened. "Out."
Pond sighed dramatically but didn’t move. "Fine, fine. But only because I have a thrilling appointment with my locker." He leaned in, close enough that Phuwin caught the scent of spearmint gum and something warmer underneath. "For the record," he murmured, "I hope I get your letter."
The words hung between them, charged and undeniable. Then Pond straightened, flashing a grin at the gaping theater club members. "Break a leg, nerds."
The silence after he left was deafening. Fourth was the first to crack. "Okay, what the hell was, "
Phuwin cut him off with a glare. "Rehearsal. Now."
Gemini opened his mouth, then wisely shut it when Dunk elbowed him. They shuffled into position, but the air remained thick with unspoken questions. Phuwin focused on the script, forcing his breathing steady. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
Except his traitorous pulse refused to slow, and the ghost of Pond’s smirk lingered behind his eyelids every time he blinked.