Chapter Text
Chapter 1: "Roommates"
The university campus buzzed with life.
Sunlight bounced off the old brick buildings, the air thick with the scent of fresh notebooks, nervous excitement, and late-summer heat.
It was Pond’s second first day of college. He tucked his documents under his arm and glanced around, feeling a little out of place among all the bright-eyed students.
Most of them were barely out of school, carefree, excited.
Pond was twenty now — and it already felt like he had lived two lives.
He finished filling out his forms, the weight of his responsibilities a familiar ache.
His mind drifted for a moment to his little brother at home, waiting for his text.
A year ago, he should have been here already — should have been laughing with friends, getting lost between buildings, worrying about exams.
But then his father had gotten sick.
And everything else — dreams, college, the world — had crumbled away without ceremony.
Pond still remembered the way his mother’s voice had broken over the phone the night it happened.
He remembered holding her hand at the funeral, feeling too old and too young at the same time.
He remembered packing up his acceptance letter, tucking it away like a wound he couldn't bear to touch yet.
But time moves even when you don't want it to.
And somehow, here he was — one year late, but standing tall — holding a battered backpack and a folder of registration forms as he made his way through the maze of campus buildings.
He smiled politely at the admin staff, filled out his housing paperwork, and nodded when they told him his room number:
Dormitory Building B, Room 308B.
One step at a time, he reminded himself.
Finally, he found the right building and trudged toward his assigned dorm room.
He paused in front of the door — 308B, adjusted his grip on his backpack, and pushed it open.
***
The first time Pond met Phuwin, he thought the guy looked... easygoing.
Like life had never demanded too much from him — and he moved through it lightly because of that.
Phuwin arrived at their dorm room in the late afternoon, his parents wheeling two neat suitcases behind him. He wore a plain hoodie, jeans, sneakers that looked barely worn. His brown hair was slightly messy, like he'd just rolled out of bed but hadn't thought twice about it. He looked relaxed, comfortable. Like someone who didn't have to worry much about how the world turned.
He knocked lightly on the door before letting himself in.
"Hi," Phuwin said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "You’re Pond, right? I’m Phuwin. Roommates, I guess."
Pond, who had been unpacking the last of his books onto a shared shelf, straightened and gave a short nod.
"Yeah. Pond."
His voice came out quieter than he intended. It always did when he didn’t know someone yet.
Phuwin didn’t push for more. He just moved to his side of the room, setting down his stuff with a calm, almost careful energy while his parents hovered nearby — straightening the sheets, wiping down the desk, chatting in low, cheerful voices.
After a while his parents finished their last-minute goodbyes. A few hugs, promises to call, and then they were gone — leaving behind a faint scent of fabric softener and the lingering warmth of people who cared.
Pond watched Phuwin for a second, how easily he moved to shut the door behind them, how he tossed his keys onto the desk with an easy flick of his wrist.
It must be nice, Pond thought, to have people looking out for you. To have someone to set things up for you before you even needed to ask.
"You’ve been here a while?" he asked casually, glancing at the already-made bed and the stack of textbooks.
"Just arrived like an hour before you," Pond answered.
"Cool."
Phuwin didn’t say much after that. He unpacked his things efficiently — headphones, a slim laptop, a few folders that Pond recognized as music composition sheets — and set up a small Bluetooth speaker, though he didn’t turn it on.
Phuwin wasn’t loud. He wasn’t messy. He didn’t fill the space with noise or chatter. He just was.
Calm. Comfortable.
***
College settled into a pattern quickly.
Pond’s days were always full. Classes in the morning, practice with the university track team in the afternoon — his sports scholarship depended on it — and a shift at a local café most evenings. Somewhere in between, he squeezed in studying, laundry, calls to his mother to check on things back home.
When he came back to the dorm, it was usually past midnight. Exhausted. Muscles sore. Eyes burning.
Most nights, he would find the room dark, Phuwin already half-asleep at his desk, music playing softly through his headphones.
Phuwin’s life moved at a different pace.
He made friends easily — in the cafeteria, in classes, in the music club he joined within the first week. There was always someone laughing with him, dragging him off to concerts or small house parties or midnight food runs. He fit into college life like he was built for it.
At first, Phuwin asked Pond along.
"Come with us? It’s just down the street."
"There’s a band playing tonight — you’ll like them."
"We’re getting late-night ramen. You gotta come."
But Pond, always polite, always tired, would shake his head.
"Next time, maybe."
"I have work."
"Thanks, but I can’t tonight."
After a while, Phuwin stopped asking. Not out of resentment — just understanding.
They lived side by side, two lives running parallel but rarely touching.
And yet, somehow, Pond kept quietly weaving himself into Phuwin’s days.
There was the coffee mug that appeared next to Phuwin’s laptop during finals week, steam rising from it without a word.
The extra set of laundry folded neatly on Phuwin’s bed when he forgot he'd left it downstairs.
The way Pond would pull Phuwin’s guitar case inside when it rained, even if Phuwin had left it carelessly by the window.
Pond never mentioned these things. Never asked for thanks.
He had learned long ago that giving was simply part of living. That caring was silent work, stitched into small, invisible gestures.
Phuwin noticed, though.
At first, it surprised him. He’d grown up an only child, surrounded by plenty but rarely called to share it. He wasn't used to someone thinking of him without asking for something in return.
It unsettled him a little — this quiet care he hadn’t earned.
It made him watch Pond more closely, in the spaces between the busy rush of college life.
And slowly, before he even realized it was happening, Phuwin started wanting to give something back.
He just didn’t know how yet.
***