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The humidity of Bangkok hit Pond the moment he stepped off the plane, a stark contrast to the crisp, stylish air of Milan. He was exhausted—jet-lagged and drained from days of flashing bulbs and high-fashion posturing—but his mind was focused on one thing: Phuwin.
He had already planned the text in his head before he even cleared immigration.
“Just landed. I missed you. Dinner tonight? My treat, I’ve got stories to tell.”
While waiting for his luggage, Pond pulled out his phone, a small smile playing on his lips. But before hitting 'send,' he did what he always did—he checked Phuwin’s Instagram stories.
The first slide was a "My Day" post from an hour ago. It was a chaotic, dimly lit video of a high-end restaurant table littered with empty plates and wine glasses.
The camera panned around to show a group of familiar faces—Phuwin’s former co-actors from his previous projects. They were laughing, leaning in close, the camaraderie palpable even through a phone screen.
Phuwin looked radiant, his head tilted back in a genuine laugh that Pond hadn't heard in person for weeks.
Pond’s thumb hovered over the message box. The smile faded. He’s already having a good time, Pond thought. If I ask him now, I’m just interrupting his night. He’s finally relaxing with friends.
He swiped to the next slide, expecting more group shots. Instead, it was a repost.
It was a candid, beautifully shot photo of a woman—the leading lady Phuwin had shared several intimate, high-stakes scenes with in his last film. In the photo, she was looking at the camera with a soft, knowing expression. Phuwin had added a simple caption: "Still the best view."
The jealousy wasn't a sharp pain; it was a slow, heavy sink in his chest. Pond knew it was likely just "work" or "fan service" or a genuine friendship, but seeing it right after the high of coming home made the distance between Milan and Bangkok feel a thousand miles wider.
Pond deleted the draft. The excitement he’d felt about seeing Phuwin evaporated, replaced by a weary sort of resignation. He didn't want to be the "needy" partner who demanded attention the second he touched down, especially not when Phuwin seemed so... occupied.
He sighed, his suitcase finally appearing on the carousel. He grabbed it and pulled out his phone again, but this time, he dialed a different number.
"Mae?" Pond said into the receiver, his voice sounding more tired than he realized. "Yeah, I just got in. No, don't worry about the date I mentioned. Change of plans. Is there any food left at home? I'm coming back to see you all."
As the taxi drove through the neon-soaked streets of Bangkok, Pond leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. He ignored the buzzing notifications from his phone—Phuwin had probably seen he was back in the country by now.
But for tonight, Pond didn't want to compete with memories of old co-stars or "intimate" film partners. He just wanted the quiet comfort of his family home, where he didn't have to be a model or a superstar. He just had to be Pond.
*
The celebratory mood in the restaurant suddenly felt stifling. Phuwin, usually the life of the party, felt a cold pit form in his stomach. He had been so caught up in the nostalgia of the reunion and the playful banter of reposting his co-star's "aesthetic" shots that he’d lost track of the time.
He pulled up his viewer list on his stories. There it was, right at the top: ppnaravit.
Phuwin checked his watch. Pond’s flight from Milan had landed over three hours ago. Usually, the moment Pond’s plane touched the tarmac, Phuwin’s phone would be flooded with selfies from the cabin, complaints about the long flight, and a countdown of how many minutes until they could see each other.
Today? Silence.
No "I'm back." No "I missed you." Just a silent view on a story that, in hindsight, looked a lot more like Phuwin was moving on than just having dinner.
Phuwin’s heart hammered against his ribs as he scrolled through his feed, his thumb trembling slightly. Then, he saw it—a post from Pond’s mother. It was a cozy, candid photo of Pond sitting at their family dining table, his face looking pale and drained, picking at a plate of home-cooked food.
The caption read: "Our boy is finally home from Milan. So tired he barely spoke a word. Rest well, son."
Phuwin felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Pond hadn't gone to his own condo; he hadn't waited for Phuwin. He had gone straight to the one place where he didn't have to compete for attention.
"Phuwin? You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," his former co-star asked, leaning in.
Phuwin didn't even look up. He was staring at the photo he had reposted earlier—the one of the actress with the "Best view" caption. What had seemed like a harmless inside joke an hour ago now looked like a slap in the face to someone who had just spent twelve hours on a plane dreaming of coming home to him.
"I... I have to go," Phuwin muttered, grabbing his jacket.
"Now? We haven't even had dessert!"
"I forgot something," Phuwin said, his voice tight. "Something really important."
As he hurried to his car, Phuwin dialed Pond’s number. It rang once. Twice. Three times.
“The subscriber you are trying to reach is currently unavailable...”
He tried again. Same result. Pond wasn't just tired; he was hurt. The silence was louder than any argument they’d ever had. Phuwin sat in the driver's seat, the neon lights of the city blurring through his windshield. He realized that while he was busy celebrating the past with his old castmates, he had completely neglected the person who was his present and his future.
He stared at the photo of Pond at his mother’s table. Pond looked so small, so lonely in the middle of a crowded Milan week, only to come home to a digital wall.
Phuwin didn’t wait for a text back. He knew Pond well enough to know that silence didn't mean he was sleeping; it meant he was retreating.
The drive to Pond’s family home felt longer than the flight from Milan must have been. Every red light was an eternity, and every time Phuwin glanced at his phone, that "Best view" caption on his own story mocked him. He looked at the photo again—the actress was beautiful, sure, but she wasn't the person he wanted to wake up to.
He pulled up to the familiar gates of the Naravit residence. The house was quiet, most of the lights dimmed except for the warm glow of the kitchen window.
Phuwin stepped out of the car, his heart hammering against his ribs. He hesitated at the door, wondering if he should even be here. He had messed up. He had let the excitement of a reunion overshadow the homecoming of the person he loved most.
He knocked softly. A moment later, Pond’s mother opened the door, a look of mild surprise crossing her face.
"Phuwin? It's so late, dear. Is everything alright?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, Mae," Phuwin said, his voice dropping an octave in sheepishness. "I... I just heard Pond was home. Is he awake?"
Mae sighed, a knowing, gentle smile on her lips. "He’s in the garden out back. He said he needed some air before bed. He’s been very quiet tonight, Phuwin."
"I know. That’s why I’m here."
Phuwin walked through the house and out the sliding glass doors. He found Pond sitting on a wooden bench, still wearing his travel hoodies, staring blankly at the small fish pond. He didn’t look up when he heard the footsteps.
"The flight must have been exhausting," Phuwin started softly, stopping a few feet away.
Pond finally turned his head. His eyes were heavy, the dark circles under them a testament to the grueling Milan schedule. "It was. But the house is quiet. It’s nice."
"Pond... I'm so sorry," Phuwin stepped closer, his shadow falling over Pond. "I saw the time, and I realized I missed your landing. I was caught up, and I wasn't thinking, and—"
"You looked like you were having fun," Pond interrupted, his voice devoid of anger, which somehow made it worse. "The dinner looked great. And the photo of her... she looked beautiful. I didn't want to ruin the 'view' by texting you about my jet lag."
The sarcasm stung. Phuwin sat down beside him, ignoring the distance Pond was trying to maintain.
"It was a dumb caption, Pond. A caption for a friend. It wasn't a 'view' I cared about," Phuwin said, reaching out to take Pond’s hand. At first, Pond’s fingers were stiff, but slowly, they relaxed into Phuwin’s grip. "I was an idiot. I should have been at the airport with a sign and your favorite coffee. I should have been the first person you saw."
Pond looked down at their joined hands. "I just... I spent the whole week in a city full of people, just waiting to come back to us. Then I get back, and I feel like I'm the only one who was counting the days."
Phuwin leaned in, resting his forehead against Pond’s shoulder. "I was counting them too. I just got distracted by the noise. Please don't go back to Milan in your head. Stay here with me?"
Pond let out a long, shaky breath, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. He leaned his head back against Phuwin’s. "I'm already home, Phuwin. Just... don't make me feel like I’m third place next time."
"Never," Phuwin whispered. "Starting tomorrow, I'm deleting every story that doesn't have you in it."
The silence of the garden was thick, broken only by the rhythmic bubbling of the oxygen pump in the koi pond. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The apology hung in the air, sincere but heavy with the fatigue of the last few weeks.
Pond shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing against Phuwin’s. He felt the chill of the night air, but the heat radiating from Phuwin was a grounding force.
"I wasn't going to come over," Phuwin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought maybe you needed space. Maybe you were actually glad to be away from the chaos. But then I saw Mae’s post, and you looked... you looked like you were a world away, Pond. Even though you were sitting in your own kitchen."
Pond turned his head, his eyes searching Phuwin’s face in the dim moonlight. "I felt like a world away. In Milan, everything is so fast. You’re a mannequin, you’re a brand, you’re a face. I kept telling myself, 'Just three more days, then I can be Pond again. I can be Phuwin’s Pond.' And then I landed, opened my phone, and it felt like 'Phuwin’s Pond' didn't have a place to land."
Phuwin winced. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened the Instagram app. With a few swift taps, he navigated to his archived stories and deleted the repost of his former co-star.
"I know it doesn't undo the feeling," Phuwin said, showing the screen to Pond. "And I know I can’t delete the dinner or the fact that I wasn't at the gate. But that 'view'... it’s nothing compared to this. Even when you’re jet-lagged and grumpy and sitting in your parents' backyard."
Pond let out a small, tired huff that was almost a laugh. "I'm not grumpy. I'm exhausted."
"You're both," Phuwin countered softly, a hint of his usual wit returning. He reached up, his thumb brushing over the dark circles under Pond’s eyes. "Go to sleep, Pond. Not because I’m telling you to, but because you’re swaying on this bench."
"I'm fine," Pond muttered, though his eyes were already fluttering shut.
"Come on," Phuwin said, standing up and pulling Pond with him. He led him back into the house, nodding respectfully to Pond’s mother, who was watching TV in the living room. She gave them a thumb’s up—a silent blessing that the storm had passed.
Upstairs in Pond’s childhood bedroom, the atmosphere was soft and nostalgic. Pond collapsed onto the bed, the mattress sighing under his weight. Phuwin didn't leave. He kicked off his shoes and sat at the edge of the bed, beginning to unlace Pond’s sneakers.
"What are you doing?" Pond asked, his voice muffled by the pillow.
"Taking care of you. Since I failed the first time today," Phuwin replied. He tucked Pond under the duvet, then moved to the door. "I’ll head home so you can actually rest—"
Pond’s hand shot out from under the covers, grabbing Phuwin’s wrist. His grip was surprisingly firm for someone half-asleep.
"Don't," Pond said. "The dinner date. We’re having it now."
Phuwin looked around the room—at the posters on the wall and the stack of old scripts on the desk. "Here? With what food?"
"Mae left some Pad Kra Pao in the fridge," Pond murmured, his eyes closed. "Bring two forks. And stay. That’s the only 'view' I want to see before I pass out."
Ten minutes later, they were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the bedroom, sharing cold leftovers out of a plastic container. It wasn't a 5-star restaurant in Milan, and it wasn't a trendy bistro with famous co-stars. It was quiet, it was messy, and it was exactly what they both needed.
As Pond finally drifted off to sleep an hour later, his head resting on Phuwin’s lap, Phuwin posted one last story for the night.
It was a blurry, black-and-white photo of their tangled hands on the duvet. No faces, no flashy outfits, no cryptic captions about beauty. Just two words:
"Finally home."
*
The next morning, the sun filtered through the curtains of Pond’s childhood bedroom, casting long, golden bars across the floor. For the first time in weeks, there was no 5:00 AM hair and makeup call, no grueling flight schedule, and no cameras.
Pond stirred, feeling a familiar weight on his chest. Phuwin had fallen asleep sitting up against the headboard, his chin tucked into his chest, still holding the empty plastic container from their midnight snack.
Pond didn't move. He just watched him. The jealousy from the night before felt like a fever that had finally broken—a distant, blurry memory. Seeing Phuwin here, disheveled and sleeping in a cramped bedroom just to be near him, was a louder statement than any Instagram caption could ever be.
When Phuwin finally blinked his eyes open, he found Pond staring at him with a sleepy, lopsided grin.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Pond teased, his voice husky from sleep. "I thought you were the one taking care of me?"
Phuwin groaned, stretching his neck until it popped. "I was. I just... performed a very deep meditation on the edge of your bed. For hours." He looked at Pond, his expression softening. "How do you feel? Still jet-lagged?"
"A little," Pond admitted, sitting up and pulling Phuwin into a proper hug, burying his face in the crook of Phuwin’s neck. "But mostly just hungry. Real hungry."
They didn't go to a fancy mall or a rooftop bar. Instead, they spent their day off in the most mundane, beautiful way possible.
* 11:00 AM: They helped Pond’s mom in the garden, Pond clumsily pruning hedges while Phuwin shared stories of their latest shoot, making her laugh until she had to sit down.
* 2:00 PM: They drove to a small, hole-in-the-wall noodle shop nearby. No one recognized them behind their caps and masks. They sat on plastic stools, sweating in the Bangkok heat, competing over who could handle more chili flakes.
* 5:00 PM: They ended up at a quiet park, tucked away from the main road.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and burnt orange, they sat on a rented mat by the water. Pond leaned back on his elbows, watching a group of kids fly kites in the distance.
Phuwin pulled out his phone, framing a shot of the sunset, but then he paused. He turned the camera toward Pond instead.
Pond looked messy—his hair was windblown, his nose was slightly red from the sun, and he was wearing an oversized t-shirt he’d had since high school. He looked nothing like the man who had graced the streets of Milan days ago.
"Don't," Pond chuckled, raising a hand to block the lens. "I look like a mess."
Phuwin lowered the phone, but he didn't stop looking. "Actually," he said softly, "I was wrong yesterday."
Pond arched an eyebrow. "Oh? About what?"
Phuwin leaned over, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Pond’s temple before whispering into his ear. "That photo I reposted? I was lying. This is the best view in Bangkok. Maybe the whole world."
Pond felt the last bit of tension melt out of his body. He reached out, lacing his fingers with Phuwin’s and pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
"Good answer," Pond whispered, closing his eyes. "Now put the phone away. I’m finally home, and I don't want to be anywhere else."
They sat there in the fading light, two boys who lived their lives in front of millions, finally finding peace in the silence of each other. The world could wait; for today, they were exactly where they were supposed to be.
The End.