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The flight from LAX to Suvarnabhumi was a blur of recycled air, complimentary blankets, and the steady weight of Pond’s shoulder against Phuwin’s head. But once they hit the arrivals gate, the "bubble" burst.
After two weeks of being attached at the hip through the streets of New York and the sunny piers of Los Angeles, they had to go their separate ways. A quick hug, a lingering look, and two different cars heading to two different homes.
Phuwin’s room felt strangely large. The silence was heavy. Even after a warm dinner with his family and recounting stories of the Empire State Building, he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his unpacked suitcase.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through social media to wind down. That was his first mistake.
His feed was flooded. It wasn't just fan edits of their NYC vlog; it was clips from recent interviews with their friends back in Thailand.
Specifically, Fourth.
"Oh, Pond and Phuwin?" Fourth was saying in one clip, grinning mischievously at the camera. "They're dating and the way Pond looks at him... it’s like he’s forgotten there are other people in the room. They’re in their own world."
Phuwin swiped to another video. It was a compilation of their friends teasing them about how "domestic" they had become during the tour.
The comments were a sea of:
“Even their friends see it!”
“They’re literally soulmates at this point.”
“Look at how Phuwin leans into him. He’s so safe there.”
A sudden, sharp ache blossomed in Phuwin’s chest. It was separation anxiety—pure and unfiltered.
Seeing his friends validate what he felt every day made the distance from his house to Pond’s feel like an ocean rather than a few districts.
He missed the smell of Pond’s cologne. He missed the way Pond would subconsciously reach for his hand when the crowds got too loud.
He didn't just want to talk to him; he needed to be held by him.
Forty-five minutes later, Phuwin was standing outside Pond’s door. He hadn't called. He just needed to be there.
When the door opened, Pond was in his pajamas, hair messy, looking like he was halfway through a late-night snack. He froze, eyes widening.
"Phuwin? Is everything okay? It's nearly 1 AM."
Phuwin didn't say a word. He stepped forward, burying his face in the crook of Pond’s neck and wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. He breathed in—there it was. That scent of home.
Pond’s confusion melted instantly. He wrapped his arms around Phuwin, pulling him into the warmth of the apartment and kicking the door shut. "Post-tour blues?" Pond whispered, his hand resting protectively on the back of Phuwin’s head.
"I saw the videos," Phuwin mumbled against his skin. "Fourth and the others... talking about us."
Pond chuckled softly, the vibration soothing Phuwin’s nerves. "And? Did they say anything we didn't already know?"
"No," Phuwin pulled back just enough to look Pond in the eye, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. "They said we’re in our own world. I realized I don't want to be in any other world but that one. I missed you the second I stepped out of the car."
Pond’s gaze softened, that look Fourth had described—the one that made the rest of the world disappear. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Phuwin’s.
"I was literally staring at my phone wondering if it was too early to text you," Pond admitted. "Don't go anywhere. You’re staying here tonight."
"I wasn't planning on leaving," Phuwin smiled, finally feeling the weight of the jet lag and the anxiety lift.
The bustling streets of New York and the lights of LA were incredible, but as Phuwin settled onto the couch with Pond, he realized the best part of the trip wasn't the destination—it was the person who came home with him.
*
Pond grabbed his laptop and pulled Phuwin into the crook of his arm on the sofa. The jet lag was starting to hit, making everything feel a bit floaty and surreal, but Phuwin was finally starting to relax.
"Okay, let's see what Fourth has been saying behind our backs," Pond teased, opening the video Phuwin had mentioned.
The clip started playing. It was a behind-the-scenes snippet from a recent shoot. Fourth was leaning against a doorframe, looking directly at the camera with that signature mischievous glint in his eyes.
Interviewer: "So, Fourth, have you talked to Pond and Phuwin since they’ve been in the States?"
Fourth: "Talked to them? I can barely get a text back! They’re too busy living in their own romantic comedy. Have you seen the photos? They don’t even look like they’re working. They look like they’re on a honeymoon that never ends."
Phuwin hid his face in Pond’s chest, a muffled groan escaping him. "He’s so loud. Why is he like this?"
Pond was laughing, his chest vibrating against Phuwin’s cheek. "Wait, there’s more. Look at the next one."
The next clip showed several of their friends sitting together during live. Someone asked who the most 'attached' couple in the company was. Without a second of hesitation, four people chooses Pond and Phuwin.
" Definitely them. If Phuwin is standing still for more than five seconds, Pond is suddenly right there. It’s like he has a GPS tracker tuned specifically to Phuwin’s heartbeat."
Pond paused the video. The room fell quiet again, but this time, the silence wasn't heavy or lonely. It was warm.
"A GPS tracker, huh?" Pond murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he looked down at Phuwin.
Phuwin looked up, his eyes tracing the familiar sharp line of Pond’s jaw. "They aren't wrong, though. Even when we were in NYC, in the middle of Times Square with thousands of people... I didn't feel the crowd. I only felt you."
Pond reached out, his thumb grazing Phuwin’s lower lip. "I think that’s why coming home felt so wrong today. We’ve spent years building this 'world' Fourth talks about. Going back to our separate houses felt like being evicted from the only place I actually want to be."
Phuwin shifted, climbing onto Pond’s lap and wrapping his legs around his waist, effectively ending the space between them. He needed that physical tether, the solid proof that the tour wasn't just a dream and that they weren't "separated" anymore.
"I don't care what the fans say or what Fourth leaks in interviews," Phuwin whispered, his forehead resting against Pond’s. "I just... I needed to feel this. To know you're still right here."
Pond didn't answer with words. Instead, he tightened his grip, pulling Phuwin flush against him and burying his face in the crook of Phuwin’s neck, mirroring the way Phuwin had greeted him at the door.
"I'm not going anywhere," Pond promised, his voice muffled but steady. "The tour is over, but we aren't."
They eventually fell asleep right there on the sofa, the laptop long since gone to sleep, and the outside world of Bangkok beginning to wake up.
Phuwin woke up first to the soft morning light hitting the living room. He didn't move. He just watched the steady rise and fall of Pond’s chest. He felt grounded. The anxiety from the night before was gone, replaced by a quiet, domestic certainty.
He pulled out his phone and sent a single text to their group chat.
Phuwin: Tell Fourth he’s right. We are in our own world. And I’m staying here.
*
The "Welcome Back" dinner was held at their favorite hidden shabu-shabu spot in Bangkok, a place where the steam from the pots acted as a natural curtain for their privacy. When Pond and Phuwin walked in, the table was already loud with the chaotic energy of their friends.
Fourth was the first to notice them. He stood up, waving a pair of chopsticks like a conductor’s baton. "Look who finally decided to join the mortal world! I thought you two were still breathing the 'exclusive' air of Manhattan."
As they sat down, the teasing began almost immediately. Gemini nudged Fourth, pointing at how Pond naturally reached under the table to find Phuwin’s hand the second they settled into their chairs.
"See?" Fourth whispered, loud enough for the whole table to hear. "I told you. They have their own magnetic field. I bet if I tried to sit between them, I’d be launched across the room by a repelling force."
Phuwin flushed, picking up a piece of wagyu with unnecessary focus. "We just got back, Fourth. Can we eat in peace for five minutes?"
"Peace?" Gemini laughed. "After those vlogs? The fans are convinced you two got married in a little chapel in Vegas. Honestly, the way you guys were looking at each other in that sunset photo... I almost felt like I was intruding just by scrolling past it on my feed."
Pond didn't look flustered. Instead, he leaned back, his arm draped casually over the back of Phuwin’s chair, his fingers occasionally brushing Phuwin’s shoulder.
"Actually," Pond said, his voice calm but with a hint of a challenge, "Fourth was right about one thing in that interview."
The table went silent. Fourth leaned in, eyes wide. "Wait, which part? The 'domestic' part? The 'honeymoon' part?"
Pond looked at Phuwin, who was looking back at him with a mix of shyness and curiosity. "The part about us being in our own world. In NYC and LA, it felt like it was just the two of us against the city. And coming back... I realized I don’t really want to leave that world. Even if it means dealing with you guys and your loud mouths."
The group fell into a rare moment of genuine warmth. They had all been through the industry grind together, and seeing two of their own find that kind of "anchor" was something they actually respected, even if they expressed it through relentless teasing.
"We’re just glad you're back," Fourth said, his voice dropping the playful edge for a split second as he dropped a cooked shrimp onto Phuwin’s plate. "The company felt too quiet without you two being 'scandalously close' in the practice rooms."
Phuwin smiled, the last lingering bit of his separation anxiety finally dissolving into the steam of the shabu-shabu pot. He wasn't in New York or LA anymore, but he was exactly where he belonged.
As the dinner wound down and they walked out to the parking lot, the humid Bangkok air felt like a warm hug.
"You okay?" Pond asked, opening the car door for Phuwin.
"I'm perfect," Phuwin replied, sliding in. He looked at the group of friends waving goodbye under the streetlights, then back at Pond. "Fourth is right. We are a lot."
Pond started the engine, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Let them talk. I’m not changing a single thing."
The drive back was quiet, the hum of the city fading into the background as they reached Pond’s apartment. The energy of the dinner had been high, but the moment the door clicked shut behind them, the atmosphere shifted into something soft and heavy with comfort.
Phuwin didn't even make it to the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the oversized sofa, burying his face in a cushion that smelled faintly of Pond’s laundry detergent.
Pond followed, hovering over him for a second before sitting down at the edge of the couch. He reached out, his fingers tracing the shell of Phuwin’s ear. "Tired?"
"Mhm," Phuwin hummed, turning his head to look up at him. his eyes were sleepy but bright. "But a good kind of tired. The 'I'm finally grounded' kind of tired."
Pond leaned down, pulling Phuwin’s legs over his lap so they were intertwined. It was their unspoken ritual—a physical anchoring that they had perfected over the last year.
"You know," Pond whispered, his voice dropping into that low, private register he saved only for these moments. "Fourth wasn't entirely wrong about the GPS tracker thing. Even when I was talking to Gemini tonight, I was counting how many pieces of shrimp you were eating. I was making sure you were actually full."
Phuwin let out a soft, breathy laugh. "You're a menace, Pond Naravit."
"Maybe," Pond shrugged, his hand settling on Phuwin’s ankle. "But I realized something tonight. In New York, we were 'Pond and Phuwin' for the fans. In LA, we were 'Pond and Phuwin' for the cameras. But here... right now... we’re just us."
Phuwin reached out, grabbing the hem of Pond’s shirt and tugging him closer until Pond was leaning over him, his hair falling forward to shadow Phuwin’s face.
"I like 'just us' the best," Phuwin whispered.
The separation anxiety that had gripped him just twenty-four hours ago felt like a lifetime away. The videos of Fourth, the teasing from their friends, the flashing lights of Times Square—it all felt like background noise. The only thing that mattered was the steady rhythm of Pond’s breathing and the warmth of his skin.
Pond leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to Phuwin’s forehead, then his nose, and finally settling his lips against his in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like home and certainty.
"Go to sleep, Phuwin," Pond murmured against his lips. "I’ll be right here when you wake up."
As Phuwin drifted off, he didn't feel the need to check his phone or see what the world was saying about them. He was exactly where he needed to be—tucked safely inside the world they had built, just for two.