Chapter Text
Phuwin had always believed that love can be predicted. That love would always have a pattern.
But not formula. He was not that arrogant. Love could not be solved like a mathematical equation or forced into a definitive timeline. But people had tells. And for a very observant person like Phuwin, people always revealed themselves in the things they asked for and the things they were too afraid to admit wanting.
Some clients came to him asking for someone successful, when what they really wanted was safety.
Some asked for someone exciting, when what they really wanted was escape.
Some asked for someone kind, but only because they had spent too long being taken for granted.
Phuwin listened. He observed. He carefully assessed. He translated loneliness into language people could understand and accept.
That was why his matchmaking agency had a waiting list.
That was why people trusted him.
That was also why he had rules. Strict rules that he always obeyed.
- Never promise forever.
- Never confuse attraction with compatibility.
- Never fall for a client.
The last rule was easy. Phuwin always pride himself as level-headed and objective especially when it comes to his work. And matchmaking had always been his bread and butter even before he graduated BS Psychology in university.
Until Pond Naravit Lertratkosum walked into his office.
He arrived seven minutes early and still had the gall to apologize for being late.
“Sorry,” Pond said, slightly breathless, one hand still on the strap of his bag. “The elevator stopped at every floor.” And Phuwin’s office was at the 25th floor of the corporate building.
Phuwin glanced at the clock.
“You’re early.”
Pond blinked.
“Oh.”
Then he laughed, soft and embarrassed, and gently scratched the back of his neck as if attempting to calm his nerves.
“Then sorry for almost being late.”
It was a stupid thing to say.
It was also, somehow, devastatingly charming. And Phuwin was rarely charmed by another human being.
Phuwin gestured to the chair across from him. “Please, Mr. Lertratkosum, no need to be this formal. Kindly take that seat.”
Pond sat carefully, like he was afraid of taking up too much space despite being impossible not to notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, handsome in a way Phuwin assumed he was tired of hearing. He probably got a bunch of admirers since he was young, Phuwin’s mind added without permission. But there was something else under it. Something hesitant. Something almost fragile.
Phuwin opened a blank client file.
“Let’s start with the basics,” he started while carefully assessing Pond beneath his glasses. “ Why did you come to a matchmaking agency? Why are you seeking our service?”
Most people had rehearsed answers.
Dating apps are exhausting.
I’m too busy.
My friends recommended you.
I want something serious.
Meanwhile, Pond only looked at his hands.
Then he softly said, almost like a whisper, “Because I think I’m bad at knowing when someone really likes me.”
Phuwin paused his note taking and carefully removed his focus away from his notepad and towards the man in front of him.
Pond smiled shyly-- it was small and seemingly not very happy.
“I know when people are interested. Contrary to what other people assume, I am not dumb or naïve. That part of knowing when others are attracted to me is actually pretty easy. But interest is not the same as choosing someone, right?”
Phuwin’s pen hovered over the page.
“No,” he shook his head and said quietly. “It isn’t.”
Pond looked relieved and validated, as if Phuwin had understood something he had not known how to explain.
Pond sat straighter than before, even looked much surer than when he first entered Phuwin’s office. “I want to be chosen,” Pond admitted. “Not because I’m convenient. Not because I’m fun. Not because I look good beside someone. I want someone who stays when it stops being easy.”
Phuwin wrote: seeks emotional certainty.
He did not write: lonely in a way that feels familiar.
“What kind of person are you hoping to meet?” Phuwin asked. He is curious and it is crossing personal inquiry rather than a professional one. And Phuwin did not like that one bit.
Pond thought for a long moment.
“Someone kind.”
“That’s broad.”
“I know.”
“What kind of kind?”
“The kind that notices,” Pond said.
Phuwin looked up.
Pond continued, softer now.
“When someone gets quiet. When someone says they’re okay too quickly. When someone doesn’t like their coffee but drinks it anyway because they don’t want to be difficult.”
Phuwin’s fingers tightened around his pen.
“Small things,” Pond said.
Phuwin wrote: observant. emotionally attentive. gentle.
He did not write: dangerous.
“And what do you offer in return?” Phuwin asked.
Pond blinked. “Me?”
“Yes. You.”
Pond looked surprised, as if no one usually asked him that part.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Phuwin sighed, not tiredly, but like someone who had dealt with this uncertainty for far too often that he almost expected Pond’s reply before he even opened his mouth. “Try.”
Pond looked toward the window. Late afternoon light spilled across his face, turning him softer around the edges.
“I think I try,” he said eventually. “Even when I’m scared. Even when I don’t know the right thing to say. I try to be someone people can lean on.”
Phuwin wrote: committed. emotionally sincere.
He did not write: someone I could lean on.
At the end of the consultation, Pond stood by the door and hesitated.
“Do you think you can help me?” he asked.
Phuwin smiled the professional smile he had practiced for years.
“Yes,” Phuwin nodded, “I think I can.”
Pond smiled back.
It should have felt like the beginning of just another case.
Instead, it felt like the beginning of a chaotic journey.
After Pond left, Fourth stepped into the office carrying two folders and a suspicious expression.
“New client?”
“Yes.”
“Good profile?”
“Very.”
“Then why do you look like someone handed you a knife and asked you to call it a flower?”
Phuwin closed the file.
“He may be difficult to match.”
Fourth glanced at the name on the folder.
“Pond Naravit Lertratkosum,” he read.
Then he looked at Phuwin with one raised eyebrow.
“Difficult?”
Phuwin placed the file in his cabinet.
“Yes.”
Fourth smiled slowly.
“Oh, this is going to be tragic.”
“It is going to be professional.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
Phuwin ignored him.
Pond was just a client.
A client who wanted to be chosen.
A client who noticed small things.
A client Phuwin already knew he would have to be very, very careful with.