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Pond looks up at the condo, lit up by scattered lights in different windows, the whole shiny mass of it stringing along with the dusky sky like a Picasso painting, like something that blends and embosses itself with the background instead of standing out.
His car keys are still in his hand when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. Pond smiles, a little embarrassed by himself when he checks the caller id and it’s Phuwin, of course it is—this is his condo, after all. Pond accepts the call and lets Phuwin ask him banal questions because he likes having his voice pressed so close, mechanically altered but decidedly still Phuwin’s.
Phuwin’s side is quiet, not even a stray peep from the TV that he keeps in his living room, or the clatter of cutlery, which has started happening more and more these days when Pond comes to pay him a visit. It’s all quiet, now, though, like an end at the tail of the traffic, a gentle ceasing of sounds and sights and smells where a simple silence, dark and wooly, stretches on in all directions.
Pond is at the door by the time Phuwin’s told him about the passkey— “I recently had to change it after Fourth jokingly broke in”— and his head is full of Phuwin’s voice, eyes full of a pleasant yearning, and mouth full of a soft aching.
He shuffles inside as soon as the door opens, then carefully locks it, wondering if anyone at all was in the parking lot where he parked his car, if anyone could’ve seen him come in; he takes off his hat and mask, contemplates the black jacket. But before he can really get his thoughts in order and allow himself to mentally enter Phuwin’s apartment, a white fur ball races towards him, and Pond is greeted by Hana in the most shocking manner since she was a kitten: Hana jumps up and into his arms.
“Oh—whoa,” Pond balances them, himself and the cat, breaking out into joyous chuckles at the blue eyes gazing electric up at him, all innocent and suave.
Phuwin’s bare feet appear somewhere farther away, advancing closer. “Oh, look at her! She missed you.”
Pond’s heart squeezes; he looks up, smiling, or trying to, but Phuwin is not focused on him, although his eyes are curved in mirth and his lips are already curled to match. His hands rise in the air and gently card through fifteen seconds of emptiness before Pond shuffles a tiny bit closer, and then Phuwin’s hands are on Pond’s arms, sliding down as soft as a greeting, petting Pond through his black jacket that he was about to take off.
Pond looks down at him, eyes hooded, and breathes out a quiet exhalation. Hana purrs in his hold, and Phuwin’s smile does a thing—a widening and a deepening, as if the touch of god on a creation he’s proud of, a shine in his eyes that’s equally soft and sharp—and Pond decides that he needs those same eyes on himself. Needs to be looked at like he’s Phuwin’s to take care of.
So he shifts his left shoulder into Phuwin’s loose embrace—Phuwin finally looks up, eyes unchanging—and then he's pulled into a hug, warm and heavy, Phuwin’s slightly tighter grip on his shoulders betraying his impatience.
It lasts less than three seconds, but it sears itself through Pond’s soul. Leaves him wondering if Phuwin’s as bruised by the impact of the gentle hug as he is.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Phuwin’s smile pinkens. “You’re just in time for lunch.”
There’s a soft, demanding pause between them. Then, Pond leans just a fraction of an inch closer, and Phuwin leans up just the same, and then the motion keeps going like two spinning planets colliding with each other’s orbit.
The kiss is brief, almost a peck, sends warm tingles all the way down to Pond’s arms and knees till it reaches his toes. He keeps his mouth closed and blinks his eyes open slowly only when the warm press lets up. There’s a soft sound, all skin, contained safely between them as they part. Pond watches the flush dance in Phuwin’s eyes, but what was once new and shocking has eased into the comfort of familiarity.
They do not need—words.
Then, with a light squeeze at his bicep, Phuwin is gone, and all Pond wants to do is pull him back. Instead, he takes a deep breath and smiles down at Hana, gently rocking her as he goes deeper into the living room.
Phuwin’s apartment smells pleasantly like him, a sort of enchanting, clean aroma that’s infused in the walls and fitness magazines, spare parts of an unfinished gaming project, and a long list of bills at the coffee table that Pond realizes don’t belong to Phuwin at all.
He pauses over the table, curious. Hana takes it as cue to end their quality time together and scampers off his arms as quickly as she’d gotten there.
“Whose coffee are you paying for these days?” Pond says, casually circling around the couch to take a seat near the corner.
The bills are—he discovers upon a closer inspection—three weeks old, and scribbled on each one is someone’s cutesy handwriting looping around what appears to be a signature. When Phuwin returns from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea, Pond raises an eyebrow at the unusual choice but accepts it wordlessly, and Phuwin says, “Minnie and her friends’. I’ve drunk more cappuccino than I ever wanted to.”
Pond laughs; can’t help it, replying, “Well, you didn’t have to drink them, Phi.”
This earns him a glare too soft to be called as such, and Pond goes back to fiddling with the bills, noticing the multiple lipstick marks and the random doodles at the bottom. He can imagine it perfectly, though he has been busy with his work: the silent indulgent smile on Phuwin’s face as he meticulously rounded up his sister’s friends and clicked their photos; later, maybe he added his own lipstick mark on the expensive cappuccino order, trying not to giggle, shirt-sleeves rolled up revealing a glinting wristwatch on his elegant wrist.
The mind-image turns and reflects burningly in his eyes, causing Pond to look up at the man sitting next to him, sans wristwatch and rolled shirtsleeves, but just as precious. Short hair falling over his forehead as he drinks from his mug, eyes locked on Pond’s. He’s seen Pond looking.
“You didn’t share the photos with me,” Pond says, hopelessly pathetic even to his own ears.
Phuwin lowers the mug (pink, wet lips and the tip of a quick tongue), almost laughing, says, “I did. You fell asleep on me. Just look at the chat, see if I’m lying.”
Pond blushes, but he believes Phuwin so he can’t exactly argue against the claim.
It hasn’t happened a lot but Pond sometimes falls asleep while Phuwin’s still on the other line, after they’ve been silently existing together for a while, letting the phone bills pile up as the minutes go by—and they don’t talk much, just listen to each other’s breathing, and Pond gets too comfortable and succumbs to sleep. The next morning, he leaves all the messages on read, makes a mental note to come back to them later but somehow never finds the time to.
“Listen,” Phuwin speaks up again, voice different, less bold. “I—”
Pond startles, snapping his eyes off Phuwin as Hana jumps up into his lap again, almost unbalancing the mug in his hands which is still full of hot tea. Laughing, he sets the mug aside, cooing at her and trying to meet her eyes, whispering reprimands into her fur. Much like Phuwin, Hana brushes him off with a regal air, and circles a few times before settling down in the gap between his crossed legs.
Phuwin crawls closer, hand extended to pet his lovable ball of floof, and Pond relaxes himself against the armrest. Somehow, they end up locked together on the couch, all three of them—Phuwin curled against Pond’s chest, playing with Hana as Pond shifts deeper into the cushions, spreads his legs some more and Phuwin’s feet brush his ankles as they cuddle.
He seems oblivious to the position itself, completely boneless against Pond as he scratches Hana behind the ears. And yet, this is not the first time Phuwin has backed him against the couch or draped his long-limbed body on him with such easy languish, or preoccupied himself with Hana while Pond watches on with helpless affection. It’s also a little like that bathtub photoshoot, Phuwin’s back to his chest, except Phuwin’s shirt is not in any danger of falling right off his shoulders.
Pond slides his fingers into the back of Phuwin’s hair, thumb digging into the small dip at the base of his skull, which causes Phuwin to shiver and make a small, breathy noise. “Cat,” Pond whispers close to his ear. He gently scrapes his nails behind the right one just to tease Phuwin.
If Phuwin is affected, he gives no indication of it except for a familiar shudder.
Phuwin’s dad calls them when Phuwin and Hana are about halfway to dreamland, asking about their plans for today. Pond is suddenly glad he dressed casually nice and not in his lousy sweats and crocs like he’d been tempted to earlier.
“You want to spend your day-off at my parent’s?” Phuwin asks with some amusement. He turns in Pond’s arms and Hana goes scampering with a light quipping mewl. Then he rolls over until he’s almost lying face-down on Pond like a human blanket, “Do you not like hanging out with me and Hana or what?”
Pond shifts against the armrest he’s been covertly cornered into, and slowly runs his thumb over the skin peeking from under the hem of Phuwin’s t-shirt sleeve. He’s not sure who it’s soothing—Phuwin or him. “Its not like that. I want to visit your house one last time before our schedules get crazy.”
Phuwin has to swallow that sentence, and something moves behinds his soft-dark eyes before he launches himself forward, throwing his arms over Pond’s shoulders and hitching his knees farther up the couch, bracketing both sides of Pond’s thighs.
“When I get a puppy,” Pond speaks muffled into Phuwin’s fabric-softener, “will you come visit us too? Just like this.”
“I love you so much,” Phuwin almost sounds angry, but there’s nothing but honesty in his voice, plastered all along the front of Pond’s body and wrapped securely around his throat.
Pond smiles, and pats Phuwin softly on the back, “I love you too.”
“But you’ve been spending all your time with Hana,” Phuwin snaps, jerking away from the embrace, and Pond startles for the hundredth time today. “You love her more than you love me, obviously.”
Pond holds his waist and looks up in awe; he thinks that he’s still too young to be so sure of these things, but also he’s pretty sure that Phuwin is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
The realization is almost gentle, except it finds that convenient opening between his third and fourth ribs swiftly, lodges itself into the soft vulnerable parts of him and draws blood. It hurts.
Pond circles both his arms around Phuwin’s waist and starts the arduous process of pretending that everything is completely the same as it was three milliseconds ago.
A second realization follows that maybe he’s been doing this pretense for a while, only now he has a name and address for it. He has finally seen his god, and because it is impossible to survive such a divinely powerful knowledge, he must try to forget. Only Pond cannot, not even on his life, ever possibly again forget to love Phuwin.
“Yeah, maybe,” he breathes, heart racing. “You’re right. I love Hana so much. So much.” He adds the English phrase for good measure, and Phuwin laughs, just as Pond had hoped he would.
Then he swoops in to steal a kiss—barely longer than a peck—and starts to get off Pond’s lap, eyes two gracious crescent moons and twice as bright, “Okay. I’ll be ready in a minute.” He pats Pond’s shoulder before leaving, adding a sly “and don’t let Hana steal treats from you”.
Pond and his loud heart sit in the silence that follows, drowning in pressed kisses to used coffee bills and a yearning to indulge.