Chapter Text
The college library in the late afternoon was a quiet yet dynamic space, bathed in the warm, golden light of the setting sun filtering through the windows. The scent of old books and paper lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee from the remaining students’ cups.
The atmosphere was hushed, the only sounds being the soft rustle of pages turning, the muted clatter of keyboard keys, and the occasional whispers of students working together. Some sat hunched over their work, brows furrowed in concentration, while others gazed out of the window, lost in thought.
Phuwin paid little attention to his surroundings. He was comfortably settled behind the front desk, elbows resting on the counter, flipping through a worn copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. His job was supposed to involve shelving books and answering questions, other than checking out whatever the students borrowed. However, he was pretty fast and finished his tasks pretty early, which left him time to do whatever he wanted, especially during late shifts.
He had just reached one of his favourite parts when someone cleared their throat loudly in front of him.
Phuwin barely glanced up “A moment, please. A man is about to be humbled.”
Another throat clear, more impatient this time.
With a sigh, Phuwin looked up, only to be met with the sight of a man towering over the counter: dark, beautiful eyes and features that could have landed on the cover of magazines if their owner had wanted them to.
Phuwin knew the guy, kind of impossible not to, actually. Pond Naravit, the university’s star basketball player. The guy who usually looked confident, walking around like he was some main character (and he was), now stood awkwardly over the counter, seemingly desperate. His dark gray hoodie was slightly damp, probably from practice, and his duffel bag hung loosely from his shoulder.
Phuwin blinked. “Well, if this isn’t a great surprise.”
“Trust me, this is the last place I expected to be on a late Friday afternoon,” Pond muttered, the deep voice sending shivers down Phuwin’s spine, an unvoluntary reaction that he conveniently decides to ignore. Then Pond ran a hand through his slightly messy hair, an act that somehow made him seem even hotter.
“Charming,” Phuwin said dryly, trying to hide his lingering gaze and fighting the urge to stare into the guy’s soul, what was wrong with him all of a sudden? “What can a mere student do for the basketball star?”
“I need a book.”
“Well, good news: you’re in the right place. We have plenty.”
Pond exhaled sharply. “No, I mean- I need a specific book. For an English poetry class.”
Phuwin raised an eyebrow. Poetry? That was unexpected.
“Really? You don’t seem like a poetry kinda guy”
Pond sighed. “I’m not. But I had to take an extra class and thought poetry would be an easy way out. Turns out it’s hard as hell, and I completely suck at it. I have to analyse a poem for an assignment, and I’m lost. If I fail, my GPA tanks, and if my GPA tanks, my basketball career could face the same tragic end.”
Phuwin listened to the guy ramble, scowling at the easy way out part. Of course an engineering student would think any humanities subject was a piece of cake for their great scientific minds. He closed his book, stretched lazily, and stood up.
“Alright, follow me, let’s see what we can do for your tragic academic crisis.”
Pond hesitated. “Why do I feel like you’re amused by my suffering?”
“Maybe I am,” Phuwin shrugged, before shooting him a sassy smile and leading the way toward the poetry section, the one he knew perfectly well as an English literature major. The poor guy had walked straight into his domain, and Phuwin could never let a good plot twist go to waste.
“Did the professor give you any particular guidelines?” Phuwin asked, turning to face Pond, who was giving him a disoriented look. Phuwin fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“I mean, did they tell you to just pick a random poem, or did they specify the period? Like Neoclassical, Romanticism, Victorian…” he explained further, failing to hide the sass in his voice.
Pond scratched the back of his head, clearly lost and utterly embarrassed, before shaking it. Phuwin arched an eyebrow, questioning. The basketball player realized a verbal answer would’ve been clearer.
“Actually, the class just started, and it’s kind of a personal assignment, so we can pick any poem, even recent ones,” Pond explained.
Phuwin nodded, feeling a twinge of envy. It had been a while since he’d gotten an assignment as enjoyable as this. His professors followed strict syllabi, and personal taste rarely factored into the coursework. Maybe he should have looked that extra class up.
“Contemporary,” Phuwin muttered, and Pond shot him another questioning look, confused.
“The right term for ‘recent poems’ is contemporary,” Phuwin explained further, while the other guy nodded, his expression not matching the action.
“Never mind. So you’re here because you’ve never read a poem in your entire life and don’t even know where to start, right?” he asked.
Pond nodded again, looking even more embarrassed.
Phuwin snickered before turning to face the bookshelf. “In that case, let’s forget Neoclassicism; it would probably worsen your subject trauma. How about a Romantic poem? The options are broad, and you should be able to find one that clicks.”
As they walked through the shelves, Pond frowned. “What even is Romantic poetry? Like, love poems?”
Phuwin hummed thoughtfully. “Not necessarily. The Romantic period was all about intense emotion, nature, and imagination. Love was a big theme, but so were beauty, death and existential dread.”
Pond made a face. “Great. Just what I need. More existential dread.”
Phuwin chuckled as he stopped in front of a shelf and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. “Or, if you want something different, we could go with Shakespeare’s sonnets. Some might be too complex for you, but I think you could find one that suits your taste. A classic, never gets out of style.”
Pond eyed the book warily. “Shakespeare? You mean the guy who wrote Romeo and Juliet? I already hate this.”
Phuwin scoffed. Of course he was one of those people.
“Hey, don’t disrespect Shakespeare. And don’t you dare minimize Romeo and Juliet to just ‘a stupid love story’, like I know you’re doing, or I’ll leave you here to suffer alone.”
Pond smirked. “Isn’t that what it is? They love each other but can’t be together, so they kill themselves for love, except they’re like thirteen. Any trashy romance novel has that kind of plot.”
Phuwin’s jaw nearly hit the floor. God, this man was even dumber than he thought. Thank God basketball didn’t require much brainpower, ord he’d be doomed.
“Firs of all, those trashy romance novels came after Shakespeare. Not sure if you’re aware, but the dude’s been dead for centuries, and he’s probably been tossing and turning in his grave thanks to idiots like you. Then again, Romeo and Juliet is about the tragedy of feuding and hate. About facing the tragic consequences of refusing change, as a demonstration: their families’ outdated feud and traditions- why are you looking at me like that?”
Phuwin stopped mid-rant when he noticed Pond staring at him, an amused yet oddly soft look in his eyes. His lips were slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something but had forgotten how to form words.
Phuwin frowned. “So..?”
Pond blinked rapidly, his ears heating up as he cleared his throat. “Nothing, nothing. So, which poem do you recommend?”
“Well, you could go with something popular, that way it’s also easier for you to find help online. Here, sonnet XVII for example. ‘Shall I compare thee…”
Pond groaned. “Nope. I’m so gonna fail this class.”
Phuwin smirked. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”
“Easy for you to say. You like this stuff.”
“True,” Phuwin admitted. “But look at it this way: if you can survive running up and down a court for hours, you can survive reading a few lines of poetry.”
Pond sighed dramatically and accepted the book. “Fine. But if I fail, I’m blaming you”.
“I’ll take the risk,” Phuwin said, crossing his arms.
Pond was already turning to leave when Phuwin casually added. “Oh, by the way. I’m a literature major and I tutor occasionally. In case you need a translator for all those hard words.”
Pond stopped mid-step and tuned back, eyes wide open. “And you tell me that now? You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Phuwin just smiled, resting his chin on his hand. “What gave it away?”
Pond shook his head and muttered something under his breath as he walked off.
Phuwin watched him go, the corner of his lips tugging upward.
Well, he tought to himself. This semester just got a whole lot interesting.
***
An hour after his shift ended, Phuwin traded the quiet charm of the library for the cozy hum of the campus café. The place was alive with the soft clinking of mugs, the low chatter of students, and the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries.
Phuwin sat comfortably in a plush corner booth, one leg tucked under the other as he lazily stirred his iced tea with his straw. Across from him, his best friends Ploy and Fourth sat with an excited look on their faces.
“So let me get this straight,” Ploy said, her chin propped up on her hand, dark eyes glittering with intrigue. “Pond Naravit, basketball team captain and campus heartthrob, came to you for poetry help?”
Phuwin arched a brow, taking an apparently unbothered sip of his drink. “That’s correct.”
Fourth snorted, leaning back against the cushioned seat. “And you didn’t roast him into oblivion?”
“I had my fair share of fun,” Phuwin admitted, smiling at the memory. “But then he looked like a lost puppy, it felt way too cruel.”
Ploy gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like she just witnessed a miracle. “Phuwin Tangsakyuen. Feeling bad for a himbo? Is this some new character development?”
Phuwin rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
“No, no this is fascinating, actually,” Fourth said, grinning. “So, what did he say exactly? Was he charming? Awkward? Please tell me he suffered.”
Phuwin smirked at the memory. “Oh, he suffered alright. Poor guy looked like he was facing a divine punishment. I gave him a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets, and you should’ve seen his face, it felt like I handed him his death sentence.”
“So,” Fourth said, eyes narrowing playfully, “when’s the wedding?”
Phuwin nearly chocked on his drink, smirk erased from his face as he coughed.
“Excuse me?” he spluttered, ears reddening madly as the realization of their surroundings hit him. He bowed his head lightly in the direction of other students and cleared his throat before lowering his voice. “Excuse me? Are you crazy?”
Ploy laughed hard, one hand on her belly as she tried to stifle her laughter. “Oh, come on. Pond’s cute, you clearly liked teasing him, and I know you have a soft spot for dumbasses, even if you try to hide it.”
“First of all, I don’t have a soft spot for dumbasses.”
“Okay, explain Fourth then,” Ploy asked, tilting her head and pointing at the guy sitting next to her.
“Hey!” Fourht protested.
Phuwin groaned. “This is different. I am only helping a poor, academically challenged soul survive poetry. That is all.”
A literature major and a basketball team captain who had Shakespeare completely misunderstood?
Yeah. Never.
In that moment, his phone vibrated in his jeans, signalling an incoming message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Okay I surrender. I need help.
Phuwin: Well, well, well. Look who finally cracked.
Unknown: Come on, what are you? Some kind of sadistic villain?
Phuwin: Worse. But you’re so rude. And here I was, ready to generously share my literary genius with you. This is what I get?
Unknown: Generously?
Phuwin: Oh come on. I was going to make fun of you a little first, but then I’d help.
Unknown: Now you’re honest.
Phuwin: Of course, meet me at the library tomorrow at 5 p.m. don’t forget you dignity this time.
Unknown: I hate this.
Phuwin: Don’t be late. See you!
Phuwin put his phone down, grinning to himself.
This was going to be fun.
***
The echo of laughter and the hiss of water bouncing off the tiles walls filled the locker room. Steam clung to the mirrors, and the smell of soap and clean sweat lingered in the air as the basketball team wrapped up another intense afternoon practice.
Pond sat on the edge of the wooden bench, a towel around his shoulders, hair damp and falling into his eyes. He reached into his locker for his phone, only half listening to Joong and Dunk arguing about where to eat later, as usual.
“Thai BBQ,” Joong said, slamming his locker shut.
“Not again,” Dunk groaned. “We went there last time and you made us wait forty minutes for grilled mushrooms.”
“I love their mushrooms!” Joong retorted, tossing his sweaty jersey at him, making Dunk scrunch his face in disgust.
The conversation faded into the background as Pond started unlacing his sneakers. He should’ve been thinking about the team’s upcoming match or his project on structural dynamics. He should’ve been thinking about anything really, except-
“You’ve been smirking at your shoes for a solid minute,” Joong said, diverting attention from the conversation with Dunk. “Either you’ve gone crazy or something’s up.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pond said quickly.
“You were smirking, tho,” Dunk chimed in from the other side of the bench, blow-drying his hair, slightly puffy cheeks still flushed from practice. “So? What’s up?”
Pond groaned. “It’s nothing…” He hesitated. He didn’t even mean to bring it up, but now that the ball was in his hands, he might as well throw it into the basket. “You know the guy who works at the main library? Brown hair, glasses, judging face permanently on display?”
Joong squinted. “Yeah, the literature kid with the scary GPA”
“Oh, Phuwin?” Dunk asked, catching the attention of the other two men. “He is Fourth’s best friend. You know the guy, Gem’s boyfriend.”
“Yeah him, at least that’s what the nametag said,” Pond muttered. “I ran into him today. Asked him for poetry books because I’m definitely gonna fail that class.”
Joong leaned forward, grinning. “Let me guess, he was a menace in a cardigan?”
“Pretty much,” Pond huffed a laugh. “He enjoyed my sufferings and roasted me. Like, full sarcasm. Didn’t even stop thinking about the remarks, they came naturally.”
Dunk smiled knowingly. “Sounds like a fun guy to have around.”
“Well, he’s tutoring me now,” Pond added, almost like he couldn’t believe the words himself.
Joong’s eyebrows shot up. “Voluntarily?”
“I needed help. He made fun of me. And then offered to help,” Pond said, shaking his head. “Really don’t get him. Can’t imagine what he’s even thinking.”
“Sounds like you’re curious about him, though,” Dunk said, nudging Joong with a grin.
“I’m curious about how someone that nerdy could pack that much snark into one breath,” Pond muttered, but the edges of his mouth twitched up.
“He’s a certified pretty boy. Sharp tongue but cute smile. Dangerous combo considering he’s exactly your type,” Dunk said, pulling on his hoodie as they got ready to exit the locker room and go get dinner. “Good luck surviving your tutoring sessions, dude.”
“I don’t need luck,” Pond said, lifting his bag and yanking it onto one shpulder with a sigh. “I need some xanax, and subtitles.”
Joong burst out laughing. “Did you at least get his number?”
Pond blinked. “Not really, kind of. He wrote it on a post-it and stuck it on the book he gave me. Said to text him if I needed help.”
Joong wiggled his eyebrows. “So is it a crush?”
“That’s going too far. I just met the guy,” Pond said quickly, but his fingers were absently tapping against his side. “It’s not a thing. Plus, he probably forgot my name already. Gonna ask me for it before the tutoring session.”
Dunk looked at him. “You do realize you’re the captain of the basketball team, right? Your name is everywhere and your face too. Kinda hard not to remember who a popular guy like you is.”
Pond rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he headed out to get to his car trying to ignore the fact that Phuwin’s face kept popping into his head. The dry tone, the way he barely looked up from his book and still managed to be effortlessly intimidating.
Intimidating and- kind of cute.
Pond groaned internally.
This was going to be a disaster.