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The humidity of Bangkok always seemed to peak right when Phuwin was trying to focus. Or maybe it was just the person living exactly ten meters across the driveway.
Phuwin leaned against his window frame, staring at the sight he’d endured for eighteen years: Pond Naravit.
Shirtless and unbothered, Pond was fiddling with a motorcycle he definitely didn't know how to fix.
They were supposed to be studying for finals. Instead, they were doing what they’d done since they were five, existing in a state of high-tension biological warfare. Their rivalry wasn't built on hate. It was built on a series of escalating provocations.
At age seven, Pond "accidentally" kicked a soccer ball into Phuwin’s birthday cake. By age twelve, Phuwin told Pond’s crush that Pond still slept with a nightlight (he did). And at sixteen, a literal shoving match in the rain over the last seat on the bus ended with both of them soaked and staring a second too long.
Now, as seniors, the fighting had shifted.
It was quieter.
Sharper.
It wasn't about stolen toys anymore; it was about the way Pond’s eyes lingered on Phuwin’s throat, or how Phuwin found reasons to walk past Pond's house wearing his shortest gym shorts.
Neither of them understood why they did what they did, but they did it anyway. It was just simple teasing between two boys.
Right?
–
"You're going to strip the bolt if you keep turning it that way," Phuwin called out, his voice cutting through the heavy, humid air.
Down in the driveway, Pond didn't even look up, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He wiped a grease-stained hand over his forehead, leaving a dark smudge that Phuwin found unnecessarily distracting.
"I thought you were studying, Cat," Pond shouted back. "Or is the view from that window just too good to look away?”
Phuwin gets flustered but then tries to control his emotions.
He rolled his eyes at Pond and said, “What good is there to look at? And please stop calling me that. I don't even know where you got that nickname from.” His voice was full of annoyance.
Pond tilted his head to look at Phuwin, a smug grin spreading across his face.
“I’m handsome and you can't get enough of me,” he retorted, winking before he continued. “And the reason I call you ‘cat’ is because you’re exactly like one.”
Phuwin raised a skeptical brow. “What the hell are you blabbering about?”
“You’re all hisses and arched backs the moment someone tries to pet you,” Pond retorted.
“I am not—” Phuwin started, but Pond just laughed, turning his attention back to the motorcycle.
He leaned in close to the engine, his voice dropping to a low murmur that barely reached across the driveway. “You can act tough all you want, but your face turns red the second I mess with you. You’re just waiting for someone to scratch behind your ears.”
Phuwin didn't bother giving the "cat" comment another response. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was, chin resting on his palm, watching as Pond gave the bolt one final, stubborn twist. It clicked into place.
He subconsciously huffs in surprise and thought that it was either by sheer luck or brute force, Phuwin wasn't sure.
Pond straightened up, the muscles in his back shifting as he stretched. He tossed the wrench into a metal toolbox with a sharp clang that echoed through the quiet neighborhood.
Without a word, he gathered his things, shot one last unreadable look up at Phuwin’s window, and disappeared into his house.
The driveway felt suddenly, unnervingly empty.
Phuwin realized then that the sun had dipped lower, casting long, orange shadows across the pavement.
He’d been leaning against the window frame for longer than he cared to admit. His forearm was numb where it had pressed against the wood, and the humid air was starting to feel heavy in his lungs.
Across the driveway, a light flickered on.
Through the sheer curtains of the house opposite his, Phuwin saw a familiar silhouette. Pond had made it back to his bedroom. Even from ten meters away, Phuwin could see him pull a clean shirt over his head, the fabric catching briefly on his damp skin before falling into place.
Phuwin blinked and pulled back, finally breaking the trance.
He retreated into the cool, air-conditioned sanctuary of his own room. The silence here felt different now. It was thicker, more expectant.
He sat down at his desk and stared at his open textbook, the words on the page blurring into a mess of black ink.
He picked up a highlighter, but his mind stayed anchored to the driveway, to the grease smudge on Pond's forehead, and to the ridiculous idea of "hisses and arched backs."
He had finals to pass. He had a future to plan.
But as he tried to focus, he found himself hyper-aware of the light shining from the window exactly ten meters away.
Phuwin tried. He really did.
He stared at his notes until the diagrams of cell structures looked like nothing more than abstract art, but his brain refused to cooperate. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that smug wink.
Frustrated, he shoved his textbook aside and reached for the drawer at the back of his desk. He pulled out a worn, leather-bound notebook.
A diary.
He knew it was ridiculous. A senior in high school still venting to paper?
But it was the only place where he could be as petty as he wanted without consequences.
He began to write, his pen digging into the paper with aggressive strokes. He didn't write a name.
He never did.
He just filled the pages with complaints about "him." He wrote about the arrogance, the unnecessary shirtless motorcycle repairs, and the way he seemed to think everything was a game.
He was so engrossed in his silent outburst, the tip of his pen scratching loudly in the quiet room, that he jumped when a voice called from downstairs.
"Phuwin! Dinner's ready! Come down before it gets cold!"
"Coming, Mae!" he shouted back.
He dropped the pen, leaving the diary wide open on his desk, and hurried out. He figured he’d only be gone for twenty minutes, hardly enough time for the world to end.
Dinner was a blur of small talk and jasmine rice. When he finally made it back upstairs, the air in his room felt different. It was cooler, as if a breeze had swept through, despite the windows being shut.
He sat back down at his study table, reaching instinctively for the notebook to finish his thought.
His hand met empty wood.
Phuwin froze.
He blinked, looking at the spot where the diary had been just thirty minutes ago. He checked under his textbooks, scanned the floor, and even peeked behind his monitor. His heart began to thrum a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"You looking for this?"
The voice didn't come from the doorway. It came from the shadows by his balcony door.
Phuwin’s entire body locked up.
He turned his head slowly, his breath hitching in his throat. Pond was leaning against the door frame. Inside the room, casually flipping through the leather-bound book.
"Nice writing, Cat," Pond said, his eyes finally lifting from the page to lock onto Phuwin’s. "Though I have to wonder... who exactly is this 'arrogant idiot' you spent three pages complaining about?”
The shock snapped, replaced instantly by a surge of pure, heat-induced adrenaline. "Give it back, Pond! Now!" Phuwin barked, lunging across the room.
But Pond was faster.
He pivoted on his heel, hoisting the diary high above his head with a mocking grin. "I don't know, Phuwin. Section four is particularly gripping. The part about my 'annoying, distracting smile' really touched my heart."
"I never wrote that! Give it here!"
They began a frantic, clumsy game of keep-away.
Phuwin scrambled over his desk chair, reaching for the notebook, but Pond moved like a seasoned athlete, dodging every swipe with a low chuckle.
They circled the small space, the tension from the driveway finally exploding into a chaotic chase.
"Is this why you were wearing those short shorts earlier?" Pond teased, sidestepping a diving grab. "Hoping the 'idiot' would notice?"
"Shut up! Just shut up and give it—"
Pond backed away, laughing, his eyes fixed on Phuwin rather than his own path. His heel caught the edge of a stray gym bag on the floor. His eyes widened as his balance vanished.
"Whoa—!"
Pond stumbled back, and the diary flew from his hand, sailing through the air toward the bed.
Acting on pure instinct, Phuwin ignored the falling boy and launched himself after the book.
Thud.
The air was knocked out of them both in a synchronized groan.
Silence fell over the room, heavy and sudden.
Phuwin’s fingers were clamped tightly around the leather cover of the diary. He had it.
He’d won.
But as his lungs searched for air, he realized the victory came at a price.
He wasn't on the floor.
He was sprawled directly on top of Pond, who was pinned against the mattress.
Phuwin’s heart was hammering.
No. Not from the chase, but from the sudden, overwhelming heat of Pond’s body beneath his. He could feel every breath Pond took, shallow and jagged.
Phuwin looked down, intending to shout another insult, but the words died in his throat.
Pond wasn't laughing anymore.
He was staring up at Phuwin, his dark eyes wide and fixed on Phuwin’s mouth, his hands hovering just inches from Phuwin’s waist.
The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the synchronized, ragged thrum of their breathing.
For a long second, neither of them moved. Phuwin’s fingers were still white-knuckled around his diary, but the victory felt hollow compared to the heat radiating through his chest where it pressed against Pond’s.
Phuwin’s eyes flickered down to Pond’s lips, then back up to his dark, blown-out pupils.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
He was pinned between Pond’s thighs, his own weight holding the other boy down.
His brain finally screamed at him to move.
Phuwin scrambled to pull back, his palms slipping against the bedsheets as he tried to find his footing. "Get—move! You’re the one who tripped, you idiot," he stammered, his voice sounding suspiciously higher than usual.
Pond, sensing the sudden shift into panic, let out a sharp, breathless laugh.
It was a reflex.
His desperate attempt to claw back the upper hand.
"Careful, Cat," Pond teased, though his voice was rougher than before.
He didn't move to get up. He just stayed there, sprawled and looking entirely too comfortable. "If you wanted to get me into bed, you could’ve just asked. You didn't have to tackle me for it."
The joke was classic Pond, but it lacked its usual bite.
His hands, which had been hovering near Phuwin’s waist, finally dropped to the mattress, gripping the sheets.
Phuwin managed to stand up, clutching the diary to his chest like a shield. His face was a shade of red that had nothing to do with the Bangkok humidity. "In your dreams, Naravit. Get out."
Pond sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the pillow. The smug mask was back, but his eyes stayed on the door, avoiding Phuwin’s gaze for the first time in eighteen years.
"Fine, fine," Pond muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
He stood up, smoothing out his rumpled shirt, his movements uncharacteristically stiff. "I’ll leave you to your... literature. Just try not to write too many chapters about me tonight."
He headed for the window, but he stopped at the sill, looking back over his shoulder. The teasing was gone for a split second, replaced by something sharper. "And for the record? It’s a 10mm socket. You were right.”
–
The second Pond’s silhouette cleared the windowsill, the shock snapped.
Phuwin didn't wait for a wave or a final smirk. He lunged for the sliding glass door, throwing his weight into it. The frame hit the stopper with a violent thud, and he fumbled with the lock until it clicked home.
With trembling hands, he grabbed the edges of his heavy curtains and yanked them shut, overlapping the fabric until the outside world was completely erased.
The room was suddenly dim, lit only by the weak glow of his desk lamp.
Phuwin took a single step back and felt the strength drain out of his legs. His knees buckled, and he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, the leather diary still crushed against his ribs.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
His heart wasn't just beating.
It was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He pressed his forehead against his knees, trying to draw in a deep breath, but his mind was a chaotic mess of vivid imagery.
He couldn't get it out of his head.
He wasn't thinking about Pond’s teasing or the stolen diary anymore. Instead, his brain was stuck on the sight of Pond sprawled back against his pillows.
The way his damp hair had looked against the white fabric, the sharp line of his jaw, and the heat of his skin that seemed to have seared itself into Phuwin’s palms.
It was an image that felt too intimate, too real to belong in their dynamic.
"Stop it," Phuwin whispered into the dark, his voice shaking. "Just stop it."
He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made the mental picture clearer.
For eighteen years, Pond Naravit had been a nuisance, a shadow across the driveway, an obstacle. But now, the image of him on that bed had rewritten everything.
Phuwin felt lightheaded, as if the floor beneath him had suddenly tilted.
He stayed there on the floor for a long time, hidden behind his curtains, waiting for his pulse to slow and for that image to finally, mercifully, fade away.
–
Pond didn't just walk back. He practically launched himself across the gap between the balconies, his heart racing faster than the engine he’d been working with all afternoon.
He scrambled through his own window and didn't stop until he reached his bathroom, slamming the door shut and leaning his weight against it.
He was breathing as if he’d just run a marathon.
He turned the tap on full blast, cupping the freezing water in his hands and slamming it against his face. He needed to shock his system.
He needed to wash away the ghost of Phuwin’s scent.
That clean, soap-and-paper smell that had nearly undone him the moment they hit the mattress.
He gripped the edges of the porcelain sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was a mess, his eyes were dark, and his skin was flushed a deep, betraying red.
"Get it together, Naravit," he hissed, his voice cracking.
He was shaking.
Not from the adrenaline of the jump, but from the raw, pulsing heat radiating from between his legs.
He didn't even make it out of the bathroom. He slid his shorts down, his breath hitching as his skin met the cool air, but nothing could dampen the fire Phuwin had inadvertently lit.
As he wrapped his hand around his length, his eyes squeezed shut, and he was back on the bed. He wasn't in his bathroom anymore; he was pinned under Phuwin’s weight.
He could feel the lingering pressure of Phuwin’s chest against his, the way the other boy’s thighs had slotted between his own.
He started a slow, punishing rhythm, his head falling back against the door.
Every slide of his palm was a memory.
Stroke.
The way Phuwin’s face had flushed red.
Stroke.
The panicked, wide-eyed look that wasn't about hate anymore.
Stroke.
The scent of Phuwin’s skin, sweet and sharp like the air before a storm.
His movements became faster, more desperate, as the image of Phuwin straddling him became unbearable. He could almost feel Phuwin’s hands not hitting him or pushing him away, but clutching at him. The "biological warfare" they had played for years had finally turned into a something else.
Something deeper.
Something that made Pond stroke his member desperately.
Pond’s breath turned into jagged, broken hitches. He was losing his mind, trapped in a loop of "what-ifs" and the memory of that physical contact. His grip tightened, the friction turning into a blinding, white-hot ache.
When the snap finally came, it was violent and absolute. His body jolted, his back arching against the door as he came, his head thudding back against the wood. He bit his lip to stifle a groan that sounded far too much like Phuwin’s name.
As the high faded, leaving him drained and trembling in the dim light of the bathroom, reality crashed back in. He stayed there for a moment, his forehead resting against the cold door, his heart finally slowing down.
“Fuck this.”
–
The morning sun hit Bangkok with it's usual heat, but for Phuwin, the heat felt internal. He had spent the night staring at the ceiling, the ghost of Pond’s weight on his mattress haunting his every thought.
He managed to avoid the window all morning. He brushed his teeth in the dark to avoid seeing Pond’s balcony in the mirror. He was doing a masterful job of pretending Pond Naravit didn’t exist.
Until he walked downstairs and saw his mother packing a suitcase next to a pile of oversized sun hats.
"Phuwin, darling! Perfect timing," she chirped, snapping her luggage shut. "Your father is still in Singapore, and Auntie Rin and I are heading to the resort in Hua Hin for our 'Girl’s Soul Retreat.' We'll be gone for three days."
Phuwin felt a flicker of relief. ‘Great. Peace and quiet. I can finally study without distractions.’ He thought.
His mother’s smile turned apologetic. "Actually, I don't want you here alone. You forget to eat when you study, and with the neighborhood break-ins last month... I talked to Rin. You’re staying across the driveway. Pond is going to look after you."
Phuwin’s heart did a terrifying somersault. "He’s going to what?"
"He’s already agreed! Such a responsible boy," she said, patting Phuwin’s cheek. "Go pack a bag. He’s coming over to help you move your things in ten minutes."
Phuwin stood in his driveway ten minutes later, clutching a duffel bag like a life preserver. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and impending doom.
Then, the front door across the way opened.
Pond stepped out. He looked... normal.
Too normal.
He was wearing a fresh t-shirt (thank god) and dark joggers, but as he crossed the driveway, his gait was slightly more rigid than usual. His eyes didn't meet Phuwin’s. Instead, he focused intently on the strap of Phuwin’s bag.
"My mom said your mom said I have to babysit the 'cat,'" Pond muttered, his voice lower than yesterday.
"I don't need a babysitter," Phuwin snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
Pond finally looked up. For a split second, the memory of the bathroom floor and the frantic rhythm of the night before flashed behind his eyes.
He cleared his throat, reaching out to take Phuwin’s bag. Their fingers brushed, just a millisecond of contact and both of them flinched as if they’d been hit by a static shock.
"Just...let’s just get inside," Pond said roughly.
Pond’s house was almost a mirror image of Phuwin’s, but it smelled like cedarwood and motor oil.
"You're in the guest room," Pond said, leading him upstairs. "But the AC is acting up in there. My mom said you should just use the desk in my room to study since it’s bigger."
Phuwin stopped at the top of the stairs. "In your room? For three days?"
"Do you want to melt in the guest room or pass your finals?" Pond retorted, though the usual smugness felt forced. He walked into his bedroom—the very room Phuwin had watched from across the driveway for years.
It was a mess of textbooks, discarded hoodies, and the lingering scent of Pond’s cologne. Phuwin felt like he was walking into a lion’s den.
–
DAY 1
The first six hours were a masterclass in awkwardness.
Lunch. Sitting on opposite ends of the kitchen island. Both stared at their fried rice as if it contained the secrets of the universe.
Study session. Phuwin at the desk, Pond on the bed with his headphones on. Every time Pond shifted his weight on the mattress, Phuwin’s pen slipped.
Nap time. Pond pretended to sleep, while Phuwin pretended to read. Both were hyper-aware of the other’s breathing patterns.
By 7:00 PM, the tension was a physical weight in the room.
Phuwin was hunched over his biology notes, desperately trying to memorize the nervous system, but his own nerves were fried. Behind him, he heard the creak of the bed.
Pond was standing up.
"I'm going to shower," Pond announced.
"Okay," Phuwin whispered.
"Don't... don't go through my stuff while I'm in there," Pond added, a weak attempt at their old banter.
Phuwin turned around, a sharp retort on his tongue, but it died when he saw Pond’s expression. He looked exhausted. Not from school, but from something. As if from holding back.
"I have my own diary to write in, Pond. I don't need yours," Phuwin said softly.
Pond lingered at the bathroom door, his hand on the frame.
He looked like he wanted to say something. About the night before, about the way he’d whispered Phuwin’s name into the crook of his arm. But he just nodded and shut the door.
The sound of the shower starting filled the room.
Phuwin leaned his head back against the desk and sighs from frustration.
–
Time passed.
The sound of the water hitting the tiles became a rhythmic drone, a white noise that should have been soothing but only served to amplify the silence in the bedroom.
Phuwin sat motionless at the desk, his biology notes forgotten. His gaze drifted toward the bed. A mattress, a bit bigger but similar to where they had been tangled together just twenty-four hours ago.
The room felt smaller with Pond behind a closed door.
Without the feel of their usual bickering, the air was saturated with the scent of Pond’s cologne and that faint, underlying hint of motor oil.
Phuwin found himself tracking the muffled movements from the bathroom, his mind betraying him by visualizing the steam rising against Pond's skin.
Every sound. The click of a bottle, the shift of a shower curtain, all felt amplified in the expectant silence.
Minutes stretched like hours.
Phuwin tried to focus on the diagram of the human heart in his textbook, but it was a cruel irony. He was hyper-aware of his own heartbeat. Just like last night. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He realized he was holding his breath, waiting for the water to stop, yet dreading the moment Pond would emerge.
He reached for his pen, but his fingers were still slightly unsteady. He thought about the diary. The way Pond had looked at him while reading those petty complaints.
Pond had admitted Phuwin was right about the 10mm socket, a rare admittance that felt like a crack in his smug armor.
–
The shower finally cut off.
The sudden absence of the rushing water was jarring, leaving only the distant hum of the air conditioner.
Phuwin stared intensely at his notes, his eyes blurring the words into abstract art once again.
He heard the bathroom door handle turn. He didn't look back, but he felt the shift in pressure as the humid, steam-filled air escaped into the room.
"Phuwin," Pond said, his voice low.
"You're still on the same page," Pond remarked. His voice was lower, lacking the sharp, mocking edge that usually defined their rivalry.
Phuwin gripped his highlighter until his knuckles turned white. "It’s a complex chapter," he managed to say, his voice sounding higher than he intended.
He could feel Pond’s gaze on the back of his neck, a sensation that made him feel heat crawl and spread over his entire body.
Across the small space, Pond sat on the edge of the bed, the very furniture Phuwin had watched from his window for eighteen years.
The silence following Pond's remark was heavy, saturated with the lingering steam from the bathroom and the unsaid words of the previous night.
Phuwin kept his back turned, his eyes fixed on a diagram of the nervous system that he couldn't actually see. He could hear the soft rustle of fabric. Pond likely drying his hair or pulling on a shirt, and the sound felt uncomfortably intimate in the quiet room.
"You should probably take a break," Pond said, his voice closer now. "You’ve been staring at that same paragraph since I went in there.”
"I'm fine," Phuwin snapped, though the bite was missing from his tone. He finally turned his chair just enough to catch Pond in the corner of his eye.
Pond was sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel draped around his neck. His hair was damp, clumping together in dark spikes, and he looked smaller somehow, stripped of the bravado he usually wore like armor in the driveway. The smugness was gone, replaced by a weary tension that mirrored Phuwin’s own.
"The guest room AC really is broken," Pond said, looking at his hands instead of Phuwin. "I wasn't just saying that to get you in here.”
"I know," Phuwin whispered, the honesty of the moment catching him off guard. "My Mae mentioned seeing it abnormally leaking from the back of the house to Auntie Rin last week.”
They sat silently in that strange equilibrium for a few minutes, one at the desk, one on the bed, only separated by only a few feet of floor.
Until Pond broke the silence.
"Do you... do you want help with biology?" Pond asked suddenly, his voice rough. "I'm not as bad at it as I am at fixing motorcycles."
Phuwin looked at the textbook, then at Pond. The thought of Pond leaning over his shoulder, his damp hair close to Phuwin's face, made his heart do that same frantic thrumming it had done against his ribs earlier.
"Maybe just the diagrams," Phuwin answered, his voice barely audible.
Pond nodded and moved to pull a chair up next to the desk. As he sat down, his knee brushed against Phuwin’s thigh.
Both of them froze.
The static shock of the contact was internal this time, a slow burn that traveled up Phuwin’s leg and settled deep in his chest.
Pond didn’t pull away immediately.
For a heartbeat, the contact remained warm, firm, and grounding. Before he finally cleared his throat and shifted his chair a mere inch to the left.
The air between them felt thick, almost heavy enough to choke on, as Pond leaned over the desk to look at the open textbook.
"The nervous system," Pond muttered, his voice still sounding a bit rough from his shower. He pointed a finger at a diagram of a neuron, his hand hovering just over the page. "The signals...they move fast. Like an electrical impulse.”
Phuwin stared at Pond’s hand.
There were still faint traces of grease under his fingernails that the soap hadn't quite reached, a stubborn reminder of the boy who had been fiddling with a motorcycle in the driveway just hours ago.
"Action potentials," Phuwin corrected softly, his own voice sounding distant to his ears. "It's all about the change in voltage. The moment the threshold is hit...there’s no going back."
Pond’s eyes flickered from the book to the side of Phuwin’s face. From this close, Phuwin could see the dampness of Pond's eyelashes and the way the weak glow of the desk lamp caught the sharp line of his jaw.
The usual smugness that defined Pond's features for eighteen years was nowhere to be found.
In its place was a vulnerability that made Phuwin’s pulse jump.
"No going back," Pond repeated, his tone unreadable.
He didn't move away.
Instead, he rested his elbow on the desk, his shoulder nearly touching Phuwin’s. "Is that what happened last night? On the bed? Hit a threshold?”
Phuwin’s fingers tightened around his highlighter.
He could smell the cedarwood of Pond's cologne mixed with the lingering steam of the room, a scent that had begun to feel like a lion's den.
"We were fighting for a notebook, Pond," he whispered, though even he didn't believe the simplicity of the excuse anymore.
"I wasn't thinking about the notebook when I was looking at you," Pond admitted, his voice dropping to that low murmur that always seemed to reach across any distance between them.
The textbook remained open between them, a shield that was failing to protect either of them from the reality of the situation.
Every breath Pond took caused his shoulder to brush against Phuwin's, a rhythmic reminder of how small the room had become.
boys were hyper-aware of the silence of the house, with their parents gone and the rest of the world locked behind the curtains.
Phuwin finally turned his head, his eyes meeting Pond’s in the dim light. The air-conditioned sanctuary of the room felt anything but cool now.
"Why did you come into my room yesterday?" Phuwin asked, the question he'd been holding back since he saw Pond in the shadows of his balcony.
Pond stayed silent for a moment, his gaze dropping back to the desk where Phuwin’s highlighter lay abandoned.
The low hum of the air conditioner felt louder in the gap between them, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from where their shoulders nearly touched.
"I told myself I was just going to mess with you," Pond finally said, his voice barely a breath above the silence. "I saw your light on, and I knew your Mae was downstairs. It was supposed to be like always. Just a quick way to get a rise out of the cat."
He shifted slightly, his knee once again pressing against Phuwin’s thigh, but this time he didn’t pull away. "But then I saw the notebook. And I saw how much you’d written about 'him'. I wanted to know if the way you were looking at me from the window was the same way you were writing about me in the dark."
Phuwin felt the blood rush to his face, a deep, betraying red that had nothing to do with the humidity of the city. He looked at the biology textbook, specifically the diagram of the heart that felt far too relevant to the "thump-thump" currently echoing in his own ears.
"You're an idiot, Naravit," Phuwin whispered, his voice trembling just enough to give him away.
"Maybe," Pond replied, finally turning his head fully toward Phuwin. The vulnerability in his eyes was sharper now, cutting through the last of his smug mask. "But you didn't push me away. Not until you had to."
Pond reached out, his fingers hesitating for a second before they brushed against the back of Phuwin’s hand.
"It’s only Day 1, Phuwin," he murmured, his dark eyes fixed on Phuwin’s mouth. "Are we really going to pretend for two more days that nothing changed?”
Phuwin froze.
The small, intentional contact felt like a wave of adrenaline that threatened to wash away his remaining composure.
His brain, already a chaotic mess from the proximity and the scent of Pond’s cologne, finally hit its limit.
"I'm—I’m suddenly so sleepy," Phuwin interrupted, his voice sounding suspiciously higher than usual as he jerked his hand away. He didn't wait for Pond to respond or for the tension in the room to thicken any further.
He stood up abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the floor, and rushed toward the corner of the room.
With movements that were frantic and uncoordinated, he began to fix the extra mattress on the floor, the spot where he was supposed to spend the next three days.
He focused entirely on smoothing out the sheets, his palms still feeling the ghost of the static shock from Pond’s touch.
Pond watched him for a long beat, his expression unreadable and his body uncharacteristically stiff. For once, he didn't offer a smug retort.
Sensing the wall Phuwin had just slammed into place, Pond simply stood up from the desk.
He walked over to his own bed and plopped onto the mattress with a heavy sigh.
Without another word, he turned his back to the room and pulled the covers up, seemingly falling into a deep, silent sleep.
The bedroom fell into a heavy, expectant silence, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner.
Phuwin lay on the mattress on the floor, heart still beating out of his chest. He doesn't even remember when he started drifting to sleep.
–
DAY 2
The second morning in the Naravit household began not with the humid peak of Bangkok, but with the artificial chill of the air conditioner.
Despite the unit humming at a steady, cool temperature, the atmosphere in Pond’s bedroom felt stifling.
To avoid accidental eye contact, Phuwin spent an unnecessarily long time in the bathroom.
He brushed his teeth with his eyes averted, trying to scrub away the feeling of Pond’s weight and the lingering scent of cedarwood that seemed to have seeped through his skin.
Breakfast was no better.
It was a blur of small talk and fried rice.
They sat at opposite ends of the kitchen island, both pretending the other didn't exist, yet Pond’s gaze occasionally flickered toward Phuwin’s throat, and Phuwin found himself distracted by the way Pond’s fresh t-shirt fit his shoulders.
This awkward vibe would continue until 2 PM.
Phuwin couldn't stand it so he went back to the room and took a short nap.
Which ended up becoming deep sleep until 7 PM.
He groans after waking up and seeing the time. He decides to go down to maybe get something to eat, but on his way downstairs. He hears sounds coming from the kitchen and so he went to check.
There he was.
Pond.
He was cooking food.
Phuwin just stood there by the door frame, watching Pond's arms flexed every time he stirred the pan.
As if sensing the presence, Pond's head turns to look at Phuwin. “You're up. Hungry?”
The boy just nods. “Okay, I'm almost finished here. Go ahead and settle on the couch.” Pond continued.
Hearing the word couch made Phuwin's eyebrows raise.
“Mae’s not here, so I want to eat somewhere comfortable while I have the chance. There's a coffee table to put the food down there anyway and we can watch a movie or something.” Pond says.
Phuwin just hummed in response and plops onto the couch.
The silence in the living room was interrupted only by the rhythmic clack-clack of a wooden spatula against a pan in the kitchen.
Phuwin sat on the edge of the couch, the remote heavy in his hand as he scrolled aimlessly through Netflix thumbnails.
Every few seconds, he glanced toward the kitchen, caught in a loop of watching Pond's silhouette and then immediately looking away when the other boy moved.
The scent of garlic and soy sauce began to drift through the air, momentarily masking the cedarwood cologne that had been haunting Phuwin’s senses since they arrived.
Pond emerged from the kitchen minutes later, balancing two steaming bowls of stir-fried noodles and a couple of cold sodas. He didn't say anything as he set them down on the low coffee table.
He didn't sit right next to Phuwin. Instead, he chose the opposite end of the long couch, leaving a significant, intentional gap between them.
"Pick something," Pond said, his voice a low rumble that felt more grounded than his usual taunting tone. "I don't care what it is. Just no horror. I'm not in the mood to have a cat jumping into my lap every time there's a jump-scare".
Phuwin huffed, the familiar jab bringing a small bit of normalcy back to the room. "I don't jump. And I'm not a cat".
"Sure, Phuwin. Whatever helps you sleep on that floor mattress," Pond countered, though he didn't look up from his bowl.
They eventually settled on a slow-paced documentary about deep-sea creatures. The blue light of the television cast long, flickering shadows across the room, mimicking the orange shadows that had stretched across the driveway only two evenings before.
The atmosphere was thick.
Pond ate slowly, his movements stiff, as if he were hyper-aware of how his shoulder leaned or how his knee was angled toward Phuwin.
All while Phuwin held his bowl tightly, his eyes fixed on the screen, but his ears were tuned entirely to the sound of Pond’s breathing.
Every time their eyes accidentally met over a shared glance at the coffee table, the static shock from earlier in the day seemed to ripple through the air again.
Halfway through the movie, Pond reached for his soda at the same time Phuwin leaned forward to set his empty bowl down. Their forearms brushed, skin against skin, warm and lingering.
Phuwin didn't jerk away this time.
He froze.
The action potential he had described during their study session felt like it was reaching its limit. He could feel the heat radiating from Pond's arm, a heat that felt more intense than the actual humidity of the room.
"Phuwin," Pond murmured, the name barely audible over the sound of the television. He didn't finish the sentence. He just left the name hanging there.
The blue light from the television screen flickered against the walls, casting the rest of the living room into a deep, hazy blue.
For a long moment, neither of them moved, their forearms still resting against each other on the edge of the coffee table. They felt dangerously close.
Too close.
Phuwin finally pulled his arm back, but he didn't move away. He settled on the edge of the cushion, his heart performing that familiar, frantic thrumming against his ribs.
"You're doing it again," Pond said softly, his eyes finally moving from the screen to Phuwin’s profile.
"Doing what?" Phuwin whispered, his voice sounding thin in the quiet house.
"Hissing," Pond murmured, a ghost of his usual smirk appearing, though it lacked its sharp edge. "You're all tensed up like you're waiting for me to bite. I'm just sitting here, Cat".
Phuwin turned his head, his gaze landing on the dark smudge of a mole under Pond's eye, a detail he'd noticed years ago. "It's hard to relax when you're staring at me like I'm a puzzle you're trying to break".
Pond shifted, leaning his back against the arm of the couch so he was fully facing Phuwin. The arrogance he usually wore like armor was now absent, replaced by the same tension Phuwin had seen after the shower.
Pond reached out, his hand hovering over the fabric of the couch between them, close enough for Phuwin to feel the heat of his palm. He traced a stray thread on the cushion, his movements slow and deliberate.
"Eighteen years," Pond said, his voice dropping to that low murmur that always made Phuwin’s pulse jump. "We’ve lived pestering each other for eighteen years, and this is the first time we’ve just... sat here".
Phuwin looked down at Pond’s hand. The grease in his fingernails before was no longer there. He suddenly felt a strange, tightening ache in his chest. He recalled their childhood, the kicked cakes and the stolen bus seats, it all felt like a lifetime ago.
"Maybe we were too busy trying to ruin each other’s lives, so doing nothing feels weird." Phuwin pointed out, though there was no heat in the words.
"Was that what we were doing?" Pond asked, his dark pupils blown out and fixed on Phuwin’s mouth, echoing the look from the night they fell onto the bed. "Because I don't think I've ever wanted to ruin you, Phuwin".
The honesty of the statement felt like a physical blow. Phuwin felt lightheaded, as if the floor had tilted beneath the couch.
He knew that if he stayed a second longer, if he leaned just an inch to the left, the threshold would be crossed for good.
"I... I should go finish that chapter," Phuwin stammered, abruptly standing up.
He grabbed his empty bowl, his fingers trembling slightly as they gripped the ceramic.
Pond didn't try to stop him. He just watched him with an unreadable expression as Phuwin retreated toward the stairs.
"Day two isn't over yet, Cat," Pond called out quietly to his back.
Phuwin didn't look back until he reached the safety of the upstairs bedroom, the scent of cedarwood and motor oil following him like a shadow.
–
Phuwin retreated into the bedroom, the heavy thrumming in his chest making it difficult to breathe.
He set his empty bowl on the desk next to his open biology textbook, but the diagrams of the nervous system and the human heart felt like a mockery of his actual state.
He sat on the edge of the floor mattress, his mind trapped in a loop of Pond’s voice.
He thought about how Pond had been a constant shadow across the driveway for eighteen years, a nuisance he thought he understood.
Now, that familiar rivalry felt rewritten by the heat of Pond’s body and the vulnerability in his eyes. Pond hadn't just been messing with him. He had been watching Phuwin from his window just as intently as Phuwin had watched him.
Phuwin pulled his knees to his chest, hiding his face. Overthinking.
Yeah. He was just overthinking things.
Nearly an hour passed before the door creaked open. Phuwin didn't move, pretending to be deeply engrossed in a notebook, but every sense was dialed into the person entering the room.
Pond moved quietly, his usual heavy footsteps replaced by a cautious, almost hesitant stride. He clicked off the main light, leaving only the weak, warm glow of the desk lamp to cut through the darkness.
"Still awake?" Pond whispered, his voice rough and low.
"Just... reviewing," Phuwin lied, his voice barely reaching across the small gap between the floor and the bed.
Pond didn't climb into bed immediately.
Instead, he sat on the edge of the mattress, his silhouette looming over Phuwin’s spot on the floor. The scent of cedarwood and the faint, lingering heat from the living room seemed to settle over them both.
"Phuwin," Pond said, his hand dangling near the edge of the bed, only inches from Phuwin’s shoulder. "About what I said downstairs…”
Phuwin finally looked up, his eyes meeting Pond’s in the dim light. The air felt thick, saturated with the unsaid words.
“I never meant for it to come out weirdly…” Pond says with a low voice, almost shy. Vulnerable.
Phuwin thought, ‘There it is again.’
Pond always does something to Phuwin. Whenever he acts like that. Not the usual Pond. When he acts all shy and vulnerable. Something inside Phuwin suddenly twists. Like small bugs tickling him from the inside.
The other boy let out a long, jagged breath, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out and close the bridge between them.
And that.
That did something to Phuwin.
He doesn't remember how it happened. Or why it happened.
He suddenly got up from the mattress and starts walking towards Pond who was sitting on the edge of his bed.
And then he does it.
The very thing they'd both been avoiding all day but could not stop thinking about.
It all happened so suddenly that Pond's eyes blew wide open.
Phuwin's lips crashed into his.
He had kissed Pond. No. More like a peck.
At first, Pond just froze. Unable to comprehend what was happening.
Then he slowly tipped back to reality. His hands shot up to hold Phuwin's waist.
Then he heard it.
The sound Phuwin made when he felt the touch on his waist.
That small cry. As if his whole body was ticklish.
Oversensitive.
Phuwin then pulls away from the shock of the touch and also from what he had just done.
He was so shocked that he backed up one step.
Before he could back up more, Pond grabs his arms.
He lost balance and landed on Pond's lap, straddling him.
He was shocked and tried to get off. But Pond's arms were ridiculously strong.
Phuwin squirmed from the grip hoping to escape. But it was to no avail.
“What was that?” Pond says, voice now much lower than before.
Phuwin stopped squirming and turns his head to face Pond. “I–I didn't mean to…” He replied in a soft, low voice.
Pond just snorts in disbelief. “Here I was trying my best to hold back for two whole fucking days only for you to cross that line?” His voice was strong, but not quite angry. They were laced with something else. Something dark.
“I–I….sorry…” Phuwin apologizes, lowering his head with shame.
Pond didn't accept the apology.
Instead, he let out a sound that was half-growl, half-laugh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Phuwin’s thighs to keep him anchored.
"Don't apologize for starting something you're not ready to finish," Pond rasped.
He didn't give Phuwin a chance to back out. He surged upward, his mouth colliding with Phuwin’s with a ferocity that made the previous kiss feel like a polite handshake. This wasn't a question. It was a claim.
Pond’s tongue swept across Phuwin’s bottom lip, demanding entry with a restless, hungry energy.
When Phuwin gasped in surprise, Pond took full advantage, deepening the kiss until the taste of them both blurred into something intoxicating.
It was messy and desperate.
The sound of wet friction and heavy breathing filling the quiet spaces of the room.
Phuwin’s hands, which had been pressed against Pond’s chest to push him away, instinctively curled into the fabric of Pond’s shirt. He felt like he was drowning in the heat radiating off Pond's skin.
Pond tilted his head, angling his mouth to drink in Phuwin’s muffled moans.
One of his hands slid from Phuwin’s waist, traveling up his spine to bury itself in the silk of his hair, tilting his head back to expose the vulnerable line of his throat.
"Pond—" Phuwin tried to breathe, but the name was swallowed back into Pond’s mouth.
Pond’s grip tightened, pulling Phuwin’s hips stuck against his own, making the height difference and the intensity of the friction impossible to ignore.
The kiss turned filthy.
Less about romance and more about the years of repressed tension finally snapping.
It was teeth grazing against lips and the sharp, rhythmic intake of air as Pond practically devoured him.
Pond pulled back just an inch, his lips swollen and slick, his eyes dark with some sort of focus.
"You've been driving me insane," he breathed against Phuwin’s mouth, his voice vibrating through Phuwin’s entire frame. "Every time you looked at me, every time you walked away...I wanted this.”
He didn't wait for a reply. He dove back in, his other hand sliding under the hem of Phuwin’s shirt, his palm hot against Phuwin’s back.
The touch sent a jolt of electricity through Phuwin, making him arch his back and whine into the kiss, his knees tightening their hold on Pond’s waist as he finally stopped fighting the inevitable.
He couldn't.
They continue sucking and eating each other's mouths before Phuwin pulls away to gasp for air.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of their ragged, uneven breathing. Pond’s forehead rested against Phuwin’s, their noses brushing, the air between them still vibrating from the friction of the last few minutes.
Phuwin’s heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. His lips felt stung, swollen, and unmistakably marked.
He didn't pull away.
He couldn't. His legs were still locked around Pond’s waist, and the heat where their bodies met felt like the only thing keeping him grounded.
"Say something," Pond murmured, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. He didn't move his hand from under Phuwin’s shirt. His thumb just traced slow, possessive circles against the skin of his lower back.
Phuwin swallowed hard, his eyes flickering up to meet Pond’s. "I... I thought you hated me. Most of the time."
Pond let out a sharp, breathless huff that might have been a laugh if he weren't so wound up. "Hated you? Phuwin, I’ve spent eighteen years trying to get your attention. If I was a 'nuisance,' it’s because it was the only way I knew how to make you look at me instead of those damn textbooks."
Phuwin’s grip on Pond’s shoulders tightened. "That’s a hell of a way to show interest, Pond. You threw a water balloon at me during my midterms."
"And you chased me three blocks with a broom," Pond countered, a ghost of his usual smirk returning, though his eyes remained intensely dark. "I remember every second of it. Every time you got mad at me, it meant you were thinking about me. It was better than being invisible to you."
Phuwin looked down at Pond’s collar, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You weren't invisible. I just... I didn't know what to do with the way you made me feel. So I hid behind the books. I told myself you were just the annoying kid next door because the alternative was too scary."
"And now?" Pond asked, his hand sliding up to cup Phuwin’s jaw, forcing him to look back up. "Is it still scary?"
Phuwin took a shaky breath, feeling the solid, honest weight of Pond beneath him.
The rivalry, the bickering, the years of "hating" each other. It all felt like a thin veil that had finally been ripped away, leaving something raw and undeniable in its place.
"It's terrifying," Phuwin admitted, a small, genuine smile finally tugging at the corner of his bruised lips. "But I think I'm done overthinking it."
Pond’s expression softened, the "darkness" in his gaze melting into something much more tender. He leaned in, not for another bruising kiss, but to press a soft, lingering seal on Phuwin’s forehead.
"Good," Pond whispered. "Because I’m not letting you go back to your little study session tonight.”
Phuwin tilted his head, eyes dazed and mouth parted in a soft, agitated invitation. He looked like a fever dream: annoyed, aching, and begging to be ruined.
It hit Pond like a physical blow to the gut.
He had always known Phuwin was beautiful, innocent, clumsy, and unfairly adorable. But he had never imagined this version: a Phuwin unraveling with a hunger that matched his own.
The heat in Pond’s veins turned into a slow, heavy thrum of arousal.
He kept his gaze locked on Phuwin’s, his fingers snaking under the hem of the shirt, a slow crawl across his stomach that felt like a threat. Phuwin jolted, a sharp, needy whine snapping from his throat as he arched helplessly into the touch.
“Pond—”
Pond didn’t let him finish.
He crashed their mouths together, his lips bruising Phuwin’s just enough to let the words vibrate against his skin: “You’re so warm.”
Before Phuwin could even catch his breath, Pond was back inside. This wasn't like the first time. This was slow, wetter, and punishingly filthy. Pond was drinking the gasps right out of his lungs.
Phuwin’s thighs clenched tight on either side of Pond’s lap, his hips twitching forward by instinct.
He had been too lost in the drowning weight of Pond’s mouth to notice it before, but now it was impossible to ignore: something hard, thick, and demanding was pressing upward.
Pond’s erection was a solid, twitching heat between them.
Phuwin froze for a heartbeat, his pulse skyrocketing. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into the friction. When he finally rocked his weight down, slow, deep, and deliberate.
Pond let out a broken whine.
Pond’s eyes glazed over as Phuwin ground down again, harder this time, dragging his own length against Pond’s through the thin barrier of their clothes. Like his inexperienced body moved through sheer fucking instinct.
“Fuck—” Pond’s head fell back, the kiss breaking as his voice wrecked itself. “You’re gonna kill me...”
Pond’s hands caught his waist, fingers digging in with a possessive, white-knuckled grip. One hand began slowly, torturously sliding up the curve of his ribs, mapping every inch of skin he’d never been allowed to touch, then dipping back down to pull him close.
Phuwin was a mess in his lap, flushed and shivering. Breathless gasps spilled from his pink, swollen lips every time Pond’s palm found a new patch of skin. He was squirming, restless and unmoored, his shirt bunching as he lunged forward.
With a quiet, needy sound at the back of his throat, Phuwin tangled his fingers in Pond's hair and dragged him back down into the heat, desperate to be consumed again.
He pulled back just an inch, eyes dark and blown wide. A thin, glistening thread of saliva still connected their lips, a bridge of heat from the kiss they’d just shared.
“It’s not fair…” he whispered, his voice trembling.
Pond blinked, his fingers still biting into Phuwin’s waist. “What?”
Phuwin didn't answer with words. Instead, his hands dropped to the hem of Pond’s shirt, his knuckles white as he tugged.
A tiny, frustrated frown creased his brow. “I wanna see…”
Pond’s chest surged against him, his breath coming in ragged hitches. “See…?”
Phuwin tugged harder, his voice dropping rough, low, and suddenly, dangerously commanding.
"Take it off.”
Pond was stunned.
But it shifted in less than a second.
The look in Pond’s eyes turned predatory.
He released Phuwin’s hips just long enough to reach back, his muscles flexing as he yanked the shirt over his head in one fluid, swift motion.
It hit the floor with a heavy, muffled thump.
The sight punched the air right out of Phuwin’s lungs.
The golden dim light of the room seemed to worship Pond’s skin, clinging to the hard, lean planes of his body. His abs were cut deep that made Phuwin’s mouth water.
He was all broad shoulders and beautiful muscle, the veins in his arms standing out like maps of heat under his skin. His chest was wide and solid, glistening with sweat that made him look like a statue come to life.
Phuwin’s rhythm faltered. He just stared, his lips parted in a silent O of wonder.
Pond was young, but in this light, he looked more like a man than anyone Phuwin had ever known.
He had played this scene out in his head most times he saw Pond working on something in the driveway. But the reality was a fever dream. The weight, the scent, and the sheer, overwhelming power of Pond laid bare before him was so much better than the fantasy.
Real. Warm.
Raw.
“Holy shit…” Phuwin breathed, the words trembling against the air. “The dreams didn't even come close.”
Pond tilted his head, a slow, predatory smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve been dreaming about me, Phuwin?”
In response, Phuwin dragged his palms up the solid expanse of Pond’s chest. The heat was staggering. His thumbs grazed Pond’s nipples, a deliberate, heavy brush that made the other man’s breath hitch.
“All the time,” he confessed, his voice a wrecked whisper. His gaze swept over the corded muscle of Pond’s arms and the sharp ridges of his stomach. “But I didn't think you'd be this... this much.”
A low, amused laugh rumbled in Pond’s chest, the sound finally breaking the spell. Phuwin blinked, the haze in his eyes snapping into a sharp, wide-eyed panic.
He scrambled backward, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“Shit. Shit. Shit…” Phuwin hissed, covering his mouth with a trembling hand as he retreated.
Thud.
His heel caught the edge of the mattress on the floor, and he went down hard.
Pond didn't laugh this time.
He rose to his feet with a slow, predatory, his shirtless silhouette towering over the room as he began to stride toward him.
Each step was heavy, closing the distance until he was towering over Phuwin’s crumpled form.
“What? Backing out now?” Pond’s voice was low, mocking.
He dropped into a slow squat directly in front of Phuwin, his knees bracketed on either side of Phuwin’s legs. “You were just grinding on my clothed cock like your life depended on it, Cat.”
The nickname felt like a brand. Pond leaned in closer, the scent of his skin and the heat of his body overwhelming Phuwin’s senses. A wicked, sharp-edged grin spread across his face as his eyes dropped to Phuwin’s mouth.
“Don’t you want to know what the real thing tastes like?” Pond whispered, his voice vibrating with a dangerous kind of promise. “I can guarantee you... it’s much better than the dreams.”
Phuwin felt the air in the room vanish.
Being pinned by Pond’s gaze was one thing, but being trapped beneath the sheer, golden weight of him was another entirely.
His pulse was a frantic, trapped bird against his ribs. Every instinct told him to run, but his body was betraying him, growing heavy and limp at the sound of that low, mocking voice.
The word tastes echoed in his mind, making his mouth go dry and his stomach flip in a way that wasn't fear at all.
It was a terrifying, high-voltage want.
Pond saw the exact moment Phuwin’s panic flickered back into hunger. He reached out, his hand moving with agonizing slowness until his fingers hooked under Phuwin’s chin, forcing his head back.
“Lost your tongue, Cat?” Pond murmured, his thumb dragging firmly across Phuwin’s bottom lip, pulling it down to reveal the damp pink of his inner lip.
Pond’s other hand settled on the mattress right between Phuwin’s thighs, his knuckles brushing against that aching heat through the fabric.
He leaned in until their noses brushed, his voice dropping to a gravelly, private depth.
“You’ve been so brave all night. Don't stop now. Open up pretty for me and tell me exactly what you want to do to me. Or should I just show you what you've been missing?”
As he spoke, Pond shifted his weight forward, his bare chest inches from Phuwin’s face, the heat radiating off his skin like a furnace. He was a silent, muscular dare, waiting for Phuwin to either snap or surrender.
The atmosphere was thick enough to suffocate, the predatory tilt of Pond’s head making Phuwin feel like he was about to be swallowed whole.
Pond moved in, his shadow swallowing Phuwin as he prepared to finally close the gap and devour him. But as his hand slid higher up Phuwin’s thigh, the younger boy’s composure didn’t just crack. It shattered.
“Pond—wait,” Phuwin’s voice broke, the sound high and fractured.
Pond paused, his thumb stilled against Phuwin’s skin.
He looked down and saw it: Phuwin’s eyes were brimming with tears making them look glass-bright and terrified. His face was a mask of burning, raw shame.
“I’ve never…” Phuwin’s chin wobbled, his voice a humiliated whisper. “I’ve never done this before. Any of it.”
The confession hit Pond like ice water.
The sight of Phuwin beneath him, flushed, teary-eyed, and looking so painfully vulnerable.
It was undeniably hot, a visual that sent a fresh surge of blood to Pond's gut. But it was the shame in Phuwin's voice that stopped him cold.
The predatory heat in Pond’s eyes flickered, replaced by a sudden, heavy realization of just how much weight this moment held for the boy on the mattress.
Pond let out a long, ragged sigh that sounded like a prayer for patience.
He didn't push. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Phuwin’s forehead.
Gentle, grounding, and completely devoid of the filthiness from moments before.
“Stay here,” Pond murmured.
He rose to his feet, the sudden absence of his heat leaving Phuwin feeling chilled.
He began to stride toward the bathroom, his silhouette still frustratingly perfect in the dim light.
“Pond?” Phuwin called out, his voice small and dazed. “Where are you going?”
Pond stopped at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. He gestured bluntly down at the heavy, unmistakable ridge straining against his waistband.
“Taking care of this,” Pond said, his voice gravelly but not unkind. He gave Phuwin a look that was half-fond, half-tortured. “Go to bed, Phuwin.”
The bathroom door clicked shut, the sound of the lock turning echoing in the quiet room.
Phuwin let himself collapse back onto the mattress, his limbs feeling like lead. He stared up at the ceiling, his chest heaving as he took in a deep, shaking lungful of air.
It felt as if he had just spent the last twenty minutes underwater and had finally, miraculously, remembered how to breathe.
Before he realized, he was already drifting to sleep.
The exhaustion of the earlier events finally dragged his eyelids shut.
–
DAY 3
When the third morning arrives, the usual chill of the air conditioner feels different. Less like a barrier and more like a quiet sanctuary.
Phuwin wakes up on the extra mattress he’d frantically prepared the first night.
He expects to see Pond’s silhouette across the room or hear the familiar creak of the bed that had previously caused his pen to slip from nerves. Instead, the room is empty, the sheets on Pond's bed rumpled but cold.
As Phuwin makes his way downstairs, the scent of motor oil and cedarwood—the smells he once found unnecessarily distracting, now replaced by the aroma of breakfast.
He finds Pond in the kitchen, shirtless and unbothered, just as he was in the driveway eighteen years ago, but the context has shifted entirely.
Pond looks good as always, his back muscles shifting as he moves at the stove, reminiscent of the way Phuwin used to watch him from his window.
Instead of the sharp, mocking edge that usually defined their rivalry, Pond greets him with a quiet, genuine smile. The smug mask has been replaced by the vulnerability they first shared while studying biology.
They sit at the kitchen island, but the atmosphere is no longer filled with awkwardness. Phuwin remains a bit shy, his face still prone to turning red as Pond messes with him in a gentler way.
As they eat, the conversation flows into random topics, perhaps about the motorcycle Pond still doesn't quite know how to fix or the 10mm socket Phuwin was right about.
The action potential of their relationship has been hit, and there is "no going back" to the petty fighting of their youth. Every accidental brush of fingers over a coffee mug feels less like a static shock and more like a grounding connection.
After their quiet breakfast, the final day of their stay becomes a series of slow, domestic moments. They spend the late morning in the driveway, but the dynamic has shifted from Phuwin watching from a distance to standing right beside Pond.
Pond works on the motorcycle, and this time, when Phuwin offers advice, Pond actually listens.
When Pond hands Phuwin a wrench, their fingers brush, and while they still feel that static shock of contact, neither of them flinches away this time.
The heat of the afternoon drives them back into the air-conditioned sanctuary of the house. They lounge in the living room, the space between them on the couch significantly smaller than the opposite ends where they sat on the previous days.
They move back to the bedroom to hit the books. Pond helps Phuwin with biology and Phuwin helps him in other subjects.
As the night falls, the tension that was once a physical weight has softened into a deep, mutual longing.
Pond is lying on his bed, drifting toward sleep, his back turned to the room.
The mattress dips as Phuwin, no longer satisfied with the extra mattress on the floor, slowly crawls up behind him. He reaches out, his arms wrapping around Pond’s waist as he settles against his back.
Pond doesn't stay still this time.
He lets out a long, grounded breath, turns in the small space, and pulls the ‘cat’ into his chest. He holds Phuwin close, his chin resting atop Phuwin’s head, lulling them both into a deep, peaceful sleep that feels like the end of their long rivalry and the beginning of something much deeper.
–
FINAL DAY
Phuwin wakes up not to the usual silence of the room, but to the sound of loud, excited whispers. When he opens his eyes, he realizes he is still in Pond’s bed, tangled in the cuddle that had lulled them both to sleep the night before.
To his horror, he sees both his mother and Pond’s mother, Auntie Rin, standing over them with their phones out, squealing and taking photos of the "adorable" scene.
Phuwin’s eyes widen in pure shock as the reality of the situation hits him. He shoots up immediately, a movement so sudden it causes Pond to groan and wake up as well.
The mothers are ecstatic. "You two finally get along now! This is adorable!" one of them chirps, likely Phuwin’s mother, who had originally arranged the stay because she didn't want him to be alone. She proudly declares, "I will stick this photo to our fridge!”
Still half-asleep and dazed from the sudden commotion, Pond just looks at the scene with utter confusion, while rubbing the back of his head.
Meanwhile, Phuwin is completely mortified, covering his face with his hands to hide the deep red flush that has nothing to do with the weather.
Seeing the boy crumble into a ball of shyness, Pond finally let out a low, raspy laugh. The sound was warm and devoid of its usual mocking edge.
He reached out, his large hand finding Phuwin’s messy bedhead and rubbing it firmly, a gesture that was half-teasing and half-comforting.
"Calm down, Phu," Pond murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. "It’s just a photo. Though you're definitely going to have to live with that being on the fridge forever."
Phuwin groaned into his palms, but he didn't pull away from Pond’s touch.
Slowly, they disentangled themselves from the sheets.
The morning routine, which had started days ago with cold avoidance, was now synchronized. They squeezed into the small bathroom together, shoulders bumping as they brushed their teeth in front of the same mirror.
Phuwin caught Pond’s eye in the glass and tried to look annoyed, but the sight of them both messy haired, wearing rumpled clothes, and sharing a tube of toothpaste, made a small, genuine smile break through his embarrassment.
Downstairs, the house was filled with the clink of plates and the triumphant chatter of their mothers. The breakfast spread was massive, a celebration of their ‘reconciliation’.
As they sat side-by-side at the kitchen island.
No longer at opposite ends.
Pond reached under the table, his hand finding Phuwin’s knee and giving it a supportive squeeze while their moms showed off the blurry morning photo on their phones.
After breakfast, the mothers headed out to run errands, leaving the boys alone for their final few hours.
Instead of retreating to their separate corners, they moved to the porch. Pond sat on the steps, once again fiddling with the motorcycle, but this time Phuwin sat right behind him, leaning his chin on Pond’s shoulder and actually helping him hold the flashlight.
"I told you it was the 10mm socket," Phuwin whispered into his ear.
"Yeah, yeah," Pond muttered, though he was grinning. "You’re a genius, we get it."
As the afternoon sun began to dip, they spent their final hour in the living room, surrounded by half-packed bags. There was no more high tension silence.
They talked about the upcoming semester, about the action potentials they had studied, and made plans for the next weekend.
When it was finally time to leave, Pond took Phuwin’s bags into his arms. Just before they walked out of the door, Pond leaned into Phuwin's ear, ignoring the watchful eyes of their mothers at the back. He didn't say anything rude or sarcastic or even joke.
"See you tomorrow?" Pond asked.
Phuwin nodded, the shy smile back but the shame finally gone. "Tomorrow."
The rivalry was over, but the teasing, much softer and sweeter kind was only just beginning.