Chapter Text
The hall smelled of oil lamps and sharp wine, gilded and hollow like every royal banquet ever held between two kingdoms that hated each other.
Prince Phuwin of Crimson Phoenix sat beside his father, spine stiff under the weight of a golden sash. His father’s hand gripped his shoulder with the pressure of command.
“Do not forget who they are,” King Suradej murmured in a voice only Phuwin could hear. “Silver Dragon smiles with their lips and poisons with their hands. You will eat with them, drink with them, but you will never trust them.”
“Yes, Father,” Phuwin whispered, though his chest felt unbearably tight.
The herald announced the arrival of Silver Dragon’s delegation. A ripple of hostility moved across the chamber as Prince Pond entered in embroidered black, head held high. He bowed with impeccable grace, though his eyes burned with something colder, sharper.
Phuwin’s gaze locked with him before he could stop himself. And in that moment, the noise of the banquet dulled, the torches flickered strangely, and it felt as if something deep inside his chest lurched forward toward him.
He looked away quickly. It was dangerous to feel anything at all.
The banquet dragged into hours of speeches and bargaining. When Phuwin finally slipped into the moonlit gardens for air, he didn’t expect to find the enemy prince already there.
Pond stood by the lotus pond, silver light pooling around him, his reflection quivering in the water.
Phuwin froze. His instinct screamed to leave, but his feet betrayed him.
“You followed me,” Pond said, not turning his head.
“I could say the same,” Phuwin answered, voice low.
Pond finally looked at him. His smile was faint, almost mocking. “And so the two dutiful princes run from their duties, only to find each other in the dark.”
Phuwin’s lips twitched despite himself. “Perhaps it's destined.”
That earned a soft laugh, the kind that stripped away Pond’s careful armor. For a few heartbeats, they weren’t rivals. They were simply two boys suffocating under crowns too heavy for their heads.
They met again the next night. And the one after that.
Always by accident at first, until it no longer was. They spoke in riddles at banquets, glances slipping between goblets of wine. They found each other in the shadowed corners of corridors, in stables smelling of hay, beneath trees where even the guards would not tread.
“What do you dream of?” Phuwin asked once, their voices hushed beneath the chirping of crickets.
Pond leaned back against a tree trunk, eyes cast upward. “A life where my choices are mine. Where I am not defined by my father’s hatred or my kingdom’s hunger for land.” His gaze shifted. “And you?”
Phuwin swallowed hard. “A life where I am not forbidden from standing beside the one I want.”
The silence that followed was thick, trembling. And then Pond’s hand brushed his, deliberately, dangerously.
Phuwin didn’t pull away.
But the world was merciless.
Their fathers grew restless with negotiations. King Suradej warned Phuwin in a voice edged with iron:
“I see how you look at him. Do not shame this kingdom. Do not forget who your loyalty belongs to.”
Meanwhile, Queen Chanthra cornered Pond in her chambers.
“You are a fool if you think the boy is anything but a weapon. He will unravel you, and Silver Dragon cannot afford a weak heir.”
Both princes listened, both bowed their heads. And both went to find each other again anyway.
One night, when shouting between their parents shook the palace walls, they fled to the stables. The horses stirred as if sensing the storm between them.
“Run away with me,” Pond said suddenly, his hand clutching Phuwin’s wrist. His voice was raw, stripped of princely calm. “We’ll ride tonight, disappear before dawn. We’ll make our own kingdom far from this madness.”
Phuwin stared at him, heart hammering. He wanted it god, he wanted it so badly. To be just a boy, not a prince. To be his.
But he could already hear his father’s rage, see the faces of his people who would suffer if he abandoned them. His duty was chains, and they cut too deep to shake free.
“I can’t,” Phuwin whispered, breaking. “If we run, our kingdoms will bleed for it. My people will pay the price.”
Pond’s jaw clenched. “So we are nothing but sacrifices, then?”
Tears burned Phuwin’s eyes. He tried to take Pond’s hand, but Pond pulled back.
“If that is the life you choose,” Pond said, voice hollow, “then do not come to me again.”
The peace talks collapsed days later. Their fathers parted in fury, armies already preparing for war.
On the final day, the two princes stood opposite one another, surrounded by guards and courtiers, cold masks on their faces.
Neither spoke. Neither dared.
The palace courtyard was empty, scorched from months of war. The banners of both kingdoms had been torn down, leaving only silence.
Phuwin slipped through the shadows, cloak dragging on the ground, heart pounding. He shouldn’t have come. He knew the risk. But the thought of never seeing Pond again was worse than any blade.
And then, there he was. Prince Pond, waiting beneath the broken archway, eyes red from sleepless nights, face pale under the moon.
For a long moment, they just stared. Neither spoke. Then Phuwin rushed forward and Pond caught him, and suddenly they were in each other’s arms, clinging as though the world might rip them apart again.
“I thought you were dead,” Phuwin choked out, burying his face in Pond’s shoulder.
“I prayed you were alive,” Pond whispered, voice trembling. “But gods, Phuwin, this is no life.”
They pulled back just enough to see each other’s faces. Tears blurred their vision, but their hands didn’t let go.
“I can’t keep fighting,” Pond said hoarsely. “I can’t go back to being a prince, to sitting on a throne that feels like a chain. Every breath I take without you feels like punishment.”
Phuwin’s lips trembled. “And I… I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you. Every time I close my eyes, it’s your face I see. But if they find us, if our fathers—” His voice cracked, and he pressed his forehead to Pond’s. “They’ll tear us apart again. I can’t survive that.”
Their tears mingled. For a long moment, neither spoke. The night air pressed heavy around them, carrying the ghosts of the war they’d just endured.
Then Pond cupped Phuwin’s face, thumb brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.
“Then let’s choose, Phuwin,” he whispered, voice breaking. “For once in our lives, let’s choose for ourselves.”
Phuwin’s breath hitched. “Choose what?”
“To end it,” Pond said, his lips trembling as they hovered against Phuwin’s. “Not apart. Never apart. If we die, we die in each other’s arms. No crown. No war. Just us.”
Phuwin shook his head, sobbing and racking his body. “Pond, I—I’m scared.”
“So am I,” Pond admitted, pulling him into a desperate kiss, wet with tears, salty and bruising. They kissed like men drowning, like this was the only breath they’d ever take. When they finally broke apart, Pond’s voice was steady, though his hands shook. “But I’d rather die in your arms tonight than live a hundred lifetimes without you.”
Phuwin wept, clutching Pond’s robes in trembling fists. “Then promise me we’ll meet again. Somewhere. Someday.”
Pond nodded, pressing his lips to Phuwin’s forehead. “In this life, in the next. Always.”
Together, they drew the dagger from Pond’s belt. Their hands overlapped on the hilt, knuckles white, eyes locked.
The world narrowed to this one moment, this one choice.
“I love you,” Phuwin whispered through his tears.
“I love you more,” Pond breathed back, breaking into a shaky smile even as tears streamed down his face.
And with a final kiss, they plunged the blade between them.
They sank slowly to the ground, still wrapped in each other’s arms, faces wet, lips trembling into broken smiles. As the courtyard filled with silence once more, their bodies stilled, but their hands remained locked together.
When dawn rose, it found the princes lying entwined in death, tears dried on their cheeks, lips parted as if still whispering love.
And though the world would curse their names, for one brief night, they had been free.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Notes:
Sorry for the delay in posting chapter 2 🥺 I wasn’t feeling well the past two days, but I’m doing better now! So here it is, i hope you enjoy reading it 😘✨
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Phuwin wasn’t nervous.
He had been doing this since he was a kid. He knew how auditions worked the waiting, the fluorescent lights, the fake smiles plastered across anxious faces. It was routine, nothing more but,
Pond Naravit. Tall, broad-shouldered, sitting a little too stiffly, like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. His eyes darted from wall to wall, memorizing every detail, like if he could anchor himself to the room, he wouldn’t drown in nerves.
“Newcomer,” Phuwin thought automatically, recognizing the type. Some collapsed under pressure. Others surprised everyone.
But there was something about him something in the restless energy, in the way he clutched his script like it might slip away that made Phuwin’s stomach knot.
The auditions rolled forward. Pond paired with Winny for Mork and Pi’s scenes. They kept laughing, exchanging nervous grins in between takes, the kind of laughter that wasn’t rehearsed. Still, Phuwin found himself watching Pond. Studying him.
And then, Pond looked back.
Their eyes locked.
It was just a second barely long enough for anyone else to notice. But it jolted through Phuwin like an electric shock. He looked away instantly, pulse spiking, unsure why the air suddenly felt too thin.
When Pond and Winny wrapped, it was Phuwin’s turn. He stepped forward as Duean, slipping into character with the ease of muscle memory. Graceful, precise, practiced.
But when the session was about to close, something inside him sparked. A strange impulse, rising from somewhere deeper than reason.
He turned to the director.
“P’Golf… can I try Pi’s role once?”
There was a pause, then a nod. Scripts shuffled. A new scene was handed out.
A confession.
Simple. Something Phuwin could do in his sleep.
He turned to Pond, offering a small smile, steady and reassuring.
“Just relax. Don’t overthink it. You’re doing great.”
Pond blinked, startled, then gave a shy, almost boyish smile. “R-right. Thanks.”
The cameras rolled.
Phuwin slipped easily into character, voice steady, gestures sharp. He delivered his lines with practiced ease, teasing, smirking, holding eye contact.
Pond was supposed to be the confident boy confessing to his crush. And he did. But it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t forced. It was… real. His confidence, his soft gaze, the way his voice caught slightly before softening, it wasn’t acting.
Phuwin felt it hit his chest, too raw, too familiar.
He faltered. Just for a second. His line stuck in his throat before he pushed it out, covering with his lines.
No one noticed. But Pond did.
He tilted his head, still in character, and whispered his next line with a trembling intensity that knocked the air right out of Phuwin’s lungs.
For the first time in years, Phuwin wasn’t acting. He was just… feeling.
When the scene ended, silence hung heavy before the casting director smiled. “Good. Very natural. Thank you, you two.”
Phuwin forced himself to bow politely, his face calm. Inside, his pulse raced like he’d run a marathon.
Weeks later, the callbacks came. Phuwin was used to them. He’d gone through dozens. But this time, his nerves refused to settle.
Because Pond was always there.
Few days later
The day the roles were announced, Pond found him first.
“They chose us.” His grin was radiant, almost disbelieving. “We’re the leads.”
Phuwin swallowed hard. Cameras were flashing, managers buzzing, but all he saw was Pond’s smile too bright, too warm.
And despite himself, he smiled back.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m glad it’s you.”
Every screen test, every rehearsal, Pond grew more confident, smiling more, his natural warmth shining through. And every time, Phuwin felt that strange pull, like a thread tightening between them.
One night, after a long shoot, they ended up on the steps outside the studio again.
Pond fiddled with his script, sighing. “Do you ever feel like… I don’t know, Like some things are meant to happen?”
Phuwin stiffened. “What do you mean?”
Pond chuckled nervously. “I’m not trying to be dramatic. It’s just… I’ve never done this before. Acting. And yet, being here with you, running these scenes… it doesn’t feel new. It feels like I’ve done it before.”
Phuwin’s throat went dry. He looked away quickly. “Maybe you’re just getting used to it.”
“Maybe.” Pond’s tone was light, but his eyes lingered on Phuwin a little too long.
And when he finally looked away, Phuwin realized his hands were clenched tight in his lap, his heart thundering with something he couldn’t name.
Notes:
That’s it for Chapter 2 🫶 Don’t forget to drop a kudos if you liked it, and I’d love to see your thoughts in the comments too 🥰
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Chapter Text
The world saw them as stars two boys who met on set, played lovers on screen, and rose to fame side by side.
But for Pond and Phuwin, it was never just about the spotlight.
It was about the little things the words whispered after a long day, the comfort of a hand held under a table, the countless times they held each other together when everything else threatened to tear them apart.
Pond still remembered the first time he nearly ran away from the stage.
It was their debut fan meet, and the noise outside was deafening. His heart pounded like a drum, palms sweaty against the hem of his blazer.
“I can’t do this,” he muttered, pacing the dressing room. “I’m going to trip, or forget how to talk, or—”
“P’Pond.”
The voice was soft, steady. Pond turned.
Phuwin was standing by the mirror, fixing his tie like it was the most natural thing in the world. His lips curved in a small smile. “Look at me.”
Pond swallowed hard, meeting his gaze.
“Breathe,” Phuwin said gently. “You’re going to be fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” Pond grumbled.
Phuwin chuckled, stepping closer. “I’ve been doing this since I was eleven. You think I didn’t panic back then?”
“At eleven I was… still trading snacks with my friends.”
“Well, I was eating snacks on set,” Phuwin teased. Then, softer: “You don’t have to be perfect, P’Pond. Just be you. That’s already more than enough.”
Something inside Pond loosened. He blinked, half laughing, half on the verge of tears. “Why do you always know what to say?”
Phuwin shrugged lightly. “Maybe because I know you better than you think.”
The months blurred together after that photoshoots, interviews, shooting until sunrise.
Pond fumbled often, but Phuwin was always there. He would nudge him when he forgot lines, whisper reminders before interviews, text him reminders to eat.
One night, after a long shoot, Pond collapsed on his bed and stared at the ceiling. His phone buzzed.
Phuwin: Did you eat?
Pond: Coffee counts, right?
A second later, Phuwin’s reply came.
Phuwin: P’Pond… 😒
Pond grinned, despite exhaustion.
Pond: Fine, I’ll eat later. What about you?
Phuwin: Dinner at home. Mom made soup.
Pond: Tell your mom I’m jealous.
A pause.
Phuwin: I’ll tell her. Also… you were good today. Better than you think.
Pond’s chest tightened. He typed slowly, fingers trembling.
Pond: Coming from you, that means something.
It became a ritual. Calls before bed, words exchanged that made the chaos bearable.
And then one night, Phuwin whispered something new.
“Nara.”
Pond blinked at the screen. “What did you just call me?”
Phuwin smiled shyly. “Nara. I like it better.”
“…That’s new.”
“Only in private,” Phuwin added quickly. “In public, you’ll always be P’Pond. But when it’s just us… I want to call you Nara.”
For some reason, Pond’s chest fluttered wildly. He grinned. “Then I’ll allow it.”
But love wasn’t always gentle.
As they grew more popular, rumors followed like shadows. Headlines compared them, twisting their friendship into rivalry.
One night, after weeks of gossip, Pond snapped.
Outside the studio parking lot, he turned on Phuwin, his voice tight. “Do you see what they’re saying? That I’m nothing without you. That I’m just… a shadow trailing behind.”
Phuwin’s expression softened immediately. “Nara…”
“Don’t,” Pond said sharply. “Maybe they’re right. You’ve been doing this since you were a kid. I’ll never catch up.”
Phuwin stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Do you really think I’d stay if I thought you were just my shadow?”
Pond froze.
“You’re not behind me,” Phuwin said, eyes steady. “You’re beside me. Always.”
The words struck Pond like lightning. His anger crumbled, leaving only raw vulnerability. “You… really believe that?”
“I don’t just believe it.” Phuwin’s hand slid into his. “I know it.”
Under the dim streetlight, Pond broke. He leaned into him, whispering, “Don’t ever let me forget that.”
“I won’t,” Phuwin promised. “Not in this lifetime.”
But not every wound was so easily healed.
There was the night Phuwin almost walked away.
Pond had promised to come home after work, but he ended up at a cast party, stumbling in hours later, smelling of alcohol.
Phuwin stood by the window, his back rigid. “Do you even realize what time it is?”
“I…” Pond rubbed his face. “I lost track—”
“You couldn’t text me?”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal—”
“Not a big deal?” Phuwin’s voice cracked. “I waited here for three hours, Nara. Three hours. Do you know what that feels like?”
Pond’s heart sank. “Win…”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Phuwin whispered, trembling, “if you even care.”
The words shattered him. Pond dropped to his knees, desperation flooding his chest. “Of course I care. Don’t say that. Please.”
Phuwin’s tears spilled, his voice breaking. “Then show me. Because I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one holding on.”
Pond took his hands, pressing them to his chest. “I was stupid. Careless. But don’t ever think I don’t care. You’re… you’re everything. I can’t lose you.”
For a long moment, silence stretched.
Finally, Phuwin whispered, “Promise me you won’t make me feel like this again.”
Pond pressed their foreheads together, voice shaking. “I promise. You’re it for me, Win. You always will be.”
And though it took time, they healed. They always did.
But there were tender nights too. Nights that stitched them together.
On their third anniversary, too tired for a fancy dinner, they sat cross-legged on Phuwin’s balcony, eating instant noodles.
Phuwin wrinkled his nose. “Too salty.”
“That’s because you dumped the whole packet in,” Pond teased, stealing his chopsticks.
“Excuse me, I’ve lived on these longer than you.”
“Yeah? Then why does it taste like seawater?”
Phuwin shoved him playfully, laughter bubbling out. “You’re impossible.”
Pond grinned, reaching to wipe a stray drop of broth from his lips. “And yet, you keep me around.”
Phuwin rolled his eyes, but his cheeks flushed pink. “Unfortunately.”
“Admit it,” Pond teased softly. “You’d be lost without me.”
Phuwin met his gaze, the teasing fading into something tender. “…Yeah. I would.”
Pond’s heart ached at the honesty. He leaned in, pressing their lips together gently, tasting the salt of soup and love.
By their fourth year, success had carved their names deep into the industry.
They were no longer rookies—they were icons. But fame came with exhaustion, and sometimes weeks passed without seeing each other properly.
One night, Phuwin returned home past midnight, drained from work, only to find Pond asleep on his couch, scripts scattered across his lap.
Smiling, Phuwin draped a blanket over him. His fingers brushed his cheek. “You waited for me again, didn’t you?”
Pond stirred, murmuring half-asleep, “Always.”
Phuwin’s throat tightened. He pressed a kiss to his temple. “Don’t ever stop.”
By their fifth year, they had learned how to fight and forgive, how to carry each other’s weight when the world became too heavy.
One evening, they sat on the rooftop after a press event, watching the city glitter beneath them.
“Do you ever think,” Phuwin murmured, “about how impossible this all should’ve been?”
Pond tilted his head, kissing his hair. “All the time.”
“And yet…” Phuwin sighed. “We’re still here.”
Pond squeezed his hand, firm. “We’ll always be here. No matter what the world says.”
Phuwin turned, eyes shining. “Do you really believe that?”
Pond smiled. “With every piece of me.”
For once, Phuwin believed it too.
What Phuwin didn’t know was that Pond already carried a small velvet box in his pocket, waiting for the right moment.
Because after every fight, every late-night noodle dinner, every whispered “Nara” in the dark, Pond knew this wasn’t temporary.
Phuwin wasn’t just his co-star. Not just his partner in fame.
He was his forever.
Though Pond would soon learn that forever has a price.
Notes:
Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated❤️💕
Twitter id: @Fortaekookever
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Notes:
Here is the chapter 4 enjoy reading🫶🏻🫶🏻
Chapter Text
The cameras stopped rolling hours ago, but Pond still hadn’t come home. Phuwin stared at the empty side of the bed, the silence pressing heavy against his chest. His phone buzzed with notifications fans screaming about Pond’s new role, pictures flooding Twitter but none of it meant anything compared to the single unanswered message he had sent.
Nara, are you coming home tonight?
No reply.
He should be used to it by now the busy schedules, the endless travel, the fact that they were no longer just two boys figuring themselves out but two names stamped on billboards. Still, every time Pond slipped away without a word, it felt like being left in a battlefield he thought he had already escaped.
And maybe that was exactly what this was: a war, just quieter, fought with silence instead of swords.
Pond finally unlocked the door past midnight. His shoulders slumped, eyes tired, hair messy from fans pulling at him on his way out of the venue.
“You’re still awake?” Pond’s voice was soft, almost guilty.
Phuwin sat up, his tone sharper than he meant. “You didn’t answer me. Again.”
“I was busy—”
“You’re always busy.” The words tumbled out before Phuwin could stop them, thick with hurt. “Sometimes I feel like the whole world gets more of you than I do.”
Silence stretched between them, tense and brittle. Pond exhaled, dropping his bag to the floor. “Phuwin, I’m doing this for us. For our future. You know that.”
Phuwin looked away, throat tight. “And what’s the point of a future if we lose each other in the present?”
The words landed like a blade. Pond flinched, then turned his back. “Maybe you don’t understand the pressure I’m under.”
“And maybe,” Phuwin whispered, voice breaking, “you don’t understand how it feels to be left behind.”
Neither of them said goodnight.
That night, Phuwin dreamed.
The banquet hall glimmered with gold, his father’s grip heavy on his shoulder. Across the room stood Pond—no, Prince Pond, enemy crown gleaming. Their eyes met, and the ache of centuries pressed down on his chest.
Run away with me, Pond’s voice echoed, raw and desperate.
I can’t, he heard himself whisper, chains clinking louder than his heartbeat.
He woke with tears on his face.
The next day, Pond noticed the distance. The way Phuwin’s laughter in interviews felt rehearsed. The way he avoided his gaze when they returned home. And Pond’s chest twisted with something he hated: fear.
But he didn’t know how to bridge the silence. Every word seemed like it might spark another fight.
It was Phuwin’s mother who noticed first.
“Phu,” she said gently one afternoon when he visited her, her hands busy with tea leaves. “Your smile is dimmer. Did something happen with Pond?”
Phuwin froze. He had always been good at hiding things—his career demanded it—but mothers saw through everything.
“Nothing happened,” he tried. His voice cracked on the last word.
She reached across the table, taking his hand. “Do you remember when you were eleven, and you told me acting felt like magic? And also when you said that as long as you had someone to hold your hand behind the curtain, you’d be brave enough to walk on stage?”
Phuwin’s throat tightened. “That was Nara. He was there.”
“And is he still?”
Tears welled in his eyes. He hated how young he felt in that moment, like the boy who once wanted to run away from the weight of crowns. “Sometimes it feels like he’s everywhere but here.”
His mother squeezed his hand. “Then don’t let pride silence you. Love doesn’t always shout, it whispers, it reaches. Go to him. Tell him before silence grows louder than love.”
On the other side of the city,
That afternoon, exhaustion caught up with him again. Pond had nodded off on the couch, scripts still scattered around him. In his dream, he was back at the edge of a battlefield. Phuwin’s body lay against his, blood on both their lips, and yet even dying together hadn’t freed them.
“Then promise me we’ll meet again. Somewhere. Someday.” Phuwin whispered faintly in his arms, before everything went black.
Pond woke with a choked gasp, clutching at his chest. His father walked in at that exact moment and frowned.
“Pond,are you okay?”
Pond rubbed his face, trying to steady his breathing. “Just… bad dreams.”
Pond sat with his father.
“Pond,” his father said, pouring him tea in their quiet living room. “Why are you brooding like an old man?”
Pond scoffed. “I’m not brooding.”
“You are.”
Pond looked at his father. “Dad.”
His father chuckled softly. “You think careers, pressure, reputation, are the reasons to forget the person beside you. But when the spotlight fades, only one thing remains- who is waiting for you at home.”
Pond’s chest ached. “But what if… what if he’s slipping away? What if I already hurt him too much?”
His father’s hand landed on his shoulder, warm and steady. “Then fight for him, son. Don’t let the mistakes repeat. You have a choice now, don’t waste it.”
That night, Pond returned home earlier than usual. He found Phuwin sitting by the window, lost in thought.
For a long moment, Pond just looked at him, at the boy who had once clung to his wrist in another life, the boy who had whispered promise me we’ll meet again.
Pond’s voice broke the silence. “Phu.”
Phuwin turned, eyes guarded.
“I don’t want us to keep doing this,” Pond said, his tone raw. “I don’t want silence to be the thing that wins between us.”
Phuwin swallowed hard. “Then why does it feel like you’re always choosing everything else before me?”
Pond crossed the room in two steps, sinking to his knees before him. “Because I’m terrified.”
Phuwin blinked, startled. “Of what?”
“Of losing you. Of not being enough. Of repeating the past—” His voice cracked, Phuwin’s voice cracked as he whispered, “I thought… I thought we were ending.”
Pond’s throat ached, his own tears blurring his vision. “I can’t lose you, Win. Not again.”
Phuwin stilled. “…Again?”
Pond froze, but something in Phuwin’s eyes urged him to continue. His chest trembled as he admitted, “I’ve been having dreams. Nightmares. Of us… but not us. You in silks, me with a sword. We—” his voice broke, “we die together, every time.”
Phuwin’s breath caught. His own hands shook as he cupped Pond’s face. “I see them too. The courtyard, the blood, the war. Every night, Nara. I wake up feeling like I’ve lost you already.”
Their foreheads touched, both trembling.
“Maybe they’re just dreams,” Pond whispered, desperate.
“Or maybe they’re memories,” Phuwin said softly, almost reverently. “Maybe we loved and lost before. But this time…” his lips brushed against Pond’s, “this time, let’s not let the world win.”
Pond broke into a sob as he pulled him close, holding him like he was holding the fragile thread of his own heart. “Never again. I’d fight the world, every lifetime, just to keep you.”
They kissed then, raw and desperate, as if sealing a vow written across centuries.
And for the first time in centuries, the two souls who had once died in each other’s arms fell asleep knowing they had a future worth waking up for.
Aasthaaa on Chapter 1 Wed 27 Aug 2025 12:29AM UTC
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