Pond sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed, his sketchbook resting on his thighs, the tip of his pencil moving in quick, thoughtful strokes. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of paper and the distant sound of waves crashing beyond the open balcony door. A salty breeze drifted in, fluttering the edge of a curtain and brushing against Pond's cheek.
He didn't need colors tonight. He had already memorized the way the sunset had painted Phuwin's skin in golden hues earlier on the beach. He could still see it clearly in his mind: Phuwin standing barefoot in the sand, his smile unguarded, the breeze lifting strands of his hair. Pond's pencil moved with purpose, sketching the curve of his cheek, the crinkle near his eyes when he laughed, the way his fingers had curled into the hem of his shirt shyly.
His sketchbook was filled with drawings like this—moments with Phuwin that Pond never wanted to forget. Some were messy, drawn in the backseat of cars or in between classes. Others were soft, careful studies made during quiet mornings or peaceful evenings like this. And every single one of them reminded Pond just how lucky he was.
Sometimes, he still couldn't believe it.
The sound of running water from the bathroom stopped, and a moment later, steam curled out from the slightly ajar door. Phuwin stepped out, towel-dried hair a bit tousled, his bare feet silent on the wooden floor. He wore nothing but a white bathrobe, loosely tied, and his skin still glistened slightly under the warm glow of the bedside lamp.
Pond didn't look up. His pencil was now shading the area beneath Phuwin's collarbone, trying to mimic the soft shadows from memory.
Phuwin crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a half-smile. "You're still sketching?"
"Mhm," Pond muttered, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he added the curve of a smile to the sketch.
"I just walked out of the shower wearing practically nothing," Phuwin said pointedly. "And you're telling me that sketching is more interesting than this?" He motioned to himself, smirking.
Pond finally looked up, his pencil pausing mid-air. He took in the sight of Phuwin—fresh-faced, damp hair, that mischievous glint in his eyes—and felt his heart stutter for a beat. But instead of saying any of that, he simply smiled.
"I'm trying to capture every moment with you," he said softly. "Even the ones you don't notice."
Phuwin's expression softened. He pushed himself away from the door and walked over to the bed, sitting beside Pond and peering down at the sketchbook.
"Is that from earlier?" he asked, tilting his head. "The beach?"
Pond nodded, flipping the page around for Phuwin to see properly. "You were standing there, looking out at the waves. The light hit you just right."
Phuwin studied the drawing. "You make me look better than I am."
"I draw what I see," Pond replied simply.
Phuwin laughed, but it came out quietly, almost shy. "We have cameras, you know. You could've just taken a photo."
Pond leaned back against the pillows, still holding the sketchbook in his lap. "Photos are easy. They're fast. But drawing you… that takes time. Focus. I have to really look at you."
Phuwin turned to him, one eyebrow raised. "So you're saying it's your excuse to stare?"
Pond grinned. "Maybe."
"Unbelievable," Phuwin muttered, but he was smiling as he reached out and brushed his fingers lightly over the page. "You even got the little fold in my shirt."
"I notice everything about you."
Pond shifted slightly on the bed, the sketch still half-done in his lap. His eyes flicked up to catch Phuwin's gaze, but he found the other boy frowning now, a faint crease between his brows.
"What?" Pond asked, confused by the sudden shift.
Phuwin let out a quiet sigh and crossed his arms again, the robe falling just a bit looser around his collarbone. "I just don't get why that sketchbook always comes first."
Pond blinked. "It doesn't. You come first. This is about you."
"Then why does it feel like I'm talking to the back of your pencil?" Phuwin said, stepping closer. "You know we can still use cameras, right? Ones that don't steal your attention from me?"
Pond glanced down at his sketchbook, then back up again. "Cameras feel… impersonal. Cold. I don't just want a picture of you—I want something I made with my own hands. Something only I can make."
Phuwin's lips parted, but instead of a reply, he narrowed his eyes slightly, like he was sizing Pond up. Then, without a single word, he reached for the knot at his waist.
Pond froze.
"What are you doing?" he asked, voice suddenly tight.
Phuwin didn't answer. With one smooth motion, he tugged the robe open and shrugged it off his shoulders, letting it fall quietly to the floor.
Pond's breath hitched.
Phuwin stood there, fully exposed, with no hint of embarrassment. "You want to draw me so badly?" he said, his tone low and steady. "Then I'll give you a better view."
Pond's eyes went wide as saucers. "Phuwin—!"
"What?" Phuwin stepped closer. "Didn't you say you want to capture every angle of me? Then go on. Draw me like this."
"I—I didn't mean like that!" Pond stammered, his hands suddenly unsure of where to go. He clutched the sketchbook like a shield.
Phuwin tilted his head slightly, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Why not like this? Afraid of a little inspiration?"
"I'm afraid of something, alright," Pond muttered under his breath.
Phuwin reached down, gently plucking the sketchbook from Pond's hands before he could protest. He tossed it aside, letting it land softly on the rug with a dull thud.
"Hey—!"
"No more distractions," Phuwin said, climbing onto the bed and straddling Pond's lap in one confident move.
Pond immediately tensed, his hands awkwardly floating in the air, unsure whether to hold him or stay completely still. His cheeks flushed bright red. "You're really doing this."
"I'm tired of competing with a bunch of pencil lines," Phuwin said, his voice a mix of irritation and something playful. "So I figured I'd make myself the center of attention for real."
"Well, mission accomplished," Pond croaked, his eyes darting everywhere but straight ahead.
Phuwin leaned in until their noses almost touched. "Still think your sketchbook's more interesting than me?"
"I never said that!" Pond's voice cracked.
"Good," Phuwin said, lowering himself until his chest pressed gently against Pond's. "Because I'm not going anywhere. And you're not picking up that pencil again tonight."
Pond exhaled shakily, hands finally landing on Phuwin's waist, tentative and unsure.
"I'm not good with… this," he admitted quietly.
Phuwin smiled, the kind that softened everything in the room. "You don't have to be. Just look at me."
"I've always been looking at you," Pond whispered.
Phuwin rested his forehead against Pond's. "Then show me. Without the paper. Without the pencil. Just you."
Pond's words faltered as a sudden heat stirred inside him. His breath hitched, and he felt himself growing harder beneath Phuwin's weight. His fingers trembled just slightly before reaching up, brushing across Phuwin's pale chest—soft and smooth, almost like fine porcelain.
"It's like you're a masterpiece," Pond whispered, his voice thick with awe.
Phuwin smiled against him, a slow, confident curve of his lips. Without breaking the kiss, he slid his hands under Pond's shirt and peeled it off in one fluid motion, letting it fall away to reveal Pond's tanned skin.
Pond's heart hammered as his own hands began to explore, tentatively at first, tracing the lines of Phuwin's body. Each touch felt electric, like discovering a secret painting come to life under his fingertips.
Phuwin's lips moved against Pond's neck, warm and insistent. His hands were gentle but sure, roaming over Pond's chest and sides as if memorizing every inch.
"You're incredible," Pond murmured between kisses, voice low and a little breathless.
Phuwin's fingers twined in Pond's hair, tugging him closer. "Only because you're here."