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Pond Naravit did not believe he needed therapy.
He believed he needed the following instead, in no particular order:
- Sleep
- A less stressful job.
- To stop answering his mother’s calls during lunch.
- Better coffee.
- Maybe a boyfriend.
- A boyfriend who understood psychology.
Which, according to Pond’s roommate Joong, was “therapy with extra steps and possible legal and ethical issues.”
Pond ignored him.
This was because Pond was twenty-seven, handsome, successful, emotionally avoidant, and very good at turning red flags into lifestyle choices.
“I’m just saying,” Pond said, lying on the couch with his phone held above his face, “Counseling is expensive.”
Joong stared at him from the kitchen.
“You spent twelve thousand baht on shoes last week.”
“They were on sale,” Pond replied defensively.
“They were still twelve thousand baht,” Joong said pointedly.
“The were emotional support shoes,” Pond muttered.
“I heard you!” Joong shouted, “What you need, my dearest friend, is a therapist.”
Pond shook his head. “I need someone emotionally intelligent.”
“You need a therapist. And I cannot emphasize it more. You. Need. A. Therapist.”
“Maybe I can date someone emotionally intelligent.”
Joong put his mug down.
“Pond.”
“What?”
“You cannot date a therapist as a replacement for therapy.”
“I didn’t say therapist,” he shrugged.
Pond looked at his phone.
On the screen was a dating app profile.
Pond stared at the profile like destiny had arrived wearing glasses and a dry sense of humor.
Joong slowly walked over. He gasped upon seeing what his friend was doing.
“No.”
Pond heard nothing and swiped right.
Joong closed his eyes, “Natural selection has failed us.”
The match appeared immediately.
It’s a match!
Pond sat up, “Oh.”
Joong looked at the phone.
Then at Pond.
Then back at the phone.
“Do not open with ‘I need therapy.’ I beg you.”
Pond, again heard nothing, already typing, froze.
He deleted:
Hi, I need therapy but counseling is expensive so—
Joong snatched the phone.
“Absolutely not.”
Phuwin knew something was wrong with the match the moment a certain Pond messaged him:
Pond N. [11:20 PM]
Hi. Important question. Is it unethical to ask someone on a date because they seem emotionally stable?
Phuwin stared at the screen.
Then, against his better judgment, laughed.
He should have unmatched.
He really should have.
Instead, he typed:
PhuwinTang [11:28 PM]
Yes, if your goal is free therapy. No, if your goal is dinner and normal human conversation.
The reply came almost instantly.
Pond N. [11:30 PM]
What if my goal is dinner, normal human conversation, and mild emotional insight?
Phuwin smiled despite himself.
PhuwinTang [11:37 PM]
Pay a licensed professional.
Pond N. [11:38 PM]
You are a licensed professional.
PhuwinTang [11:40 PM]
Not for you.
Pond N. [11:41 PM]
Because we matched?
PhuwinTang [11:43 PM]
Because we matched.
A pause.
Then:
Pond N. [11:47 PM]
So you’re saying romance is still on the table?
Phuwin stared at the message.
He should have unmatched.
And still, he did not. He hated himself a little because of this but whatever.
PhuwinTang [12:10 AM]
Dinner is on the table. Romance will require evidence-based evaluation.
Pond N. [12:12 AM]
I don’t know what that means but I’m inspired. :D
That was how Phuwin ended up at a small ramen place on a Friday night, sitting across from a man who looked like he had been created by a committee of people trying to design the most dangerous possible combination of stupidly handsome and emotionally underdeveloped.
Pond arrived ten minutes early.
He brought flowers.
Not roses.
Sunflowers.
“I panicked,” Pond said immediately. “The florist asked what kind of message I wanted to send and I said, ‘Not therapy.’ She gave me these.”
Phuwin looked at the flowers.
Then at Pond.
“That poor florist.”
“I tipped well.”
“Good.”
Pond sat down.
For five seconds, he behaved normally.
Then he said, “So how much emotional baggage is acceptable on a first date?”
Phuwin picked up the menu.
“None.”
Pond nodded seriously.
“Second date?”
“One carry-on.”
“Third?”
“Depends on whether you’ve booked actual counseling.”
Pond groaned.
“You’re strict.”
“I’m ethical.”
“Hot.”
Phuwin, despite himself, blushed against his will and lowered the menu.
Pond froze. The tips of his ears burning red, “I said that out loud.”
“You did,” Phuwin slowly nodded, unsure of where this conversation would go.
“I meant it respectfully.”
Phuwin chuckled, “No, you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.” Pond laughed bashfully.
Phuwin hated that he laughed.
Pond looked relieved, then pleased, then far too beautiful for someone whose dating strategy was apparently “commit psychological malpractice, but make it charming.”
Dinner was good.
Annoyingly good.
Pond was funny in a way that seemed accidental. He asked questions and actually listened to the answers. He had strong opinions about soup. He talked with his hands. He laughed with his whole face.
He also deflected every serious question with a joke.
“So,” Phuwin said, halfway through dinner, “what made you download the app?”
Pond lifted his glass.
“Loneliness and capitalism.”
“Try again.”
Pond blinked.
Phuwin waited.
Pond smiled.
“Wow. You really do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make silence threatening.”
“It’s not threatening. You’re just used to filling it.”
Pond’s smile faltered.
Only slightly.
But Phuwin saw it.
Of course he did.
Pond looked down at his food.
“My ex got engaged last month.”
Phuwin softened.
“Oh.”
Pond waved his hand dismissively, “It’s fine.”
“Well, that was fast.”
“What?”
“You said ‘it’s fine’ too quickly.”
Pond laughed.
It sounded different.
Less bright.
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“The truth usually works.”
Pond looked at him.
For a second, something vulnerable moved behind his eyes.
Then he smiled again.
“The truth is depressing for a first date.”
Phuwin leaned back.
“Then save it for your therapist.”
Pond groaned.
“You are really committed to this.”
“Yes,” Phuwin answered sternly.
“What if I don’t know where to start?”
Phuwin paused.
That was the first honest thing Pond had said all night.
So Phuwin answered honestly too.
“Start with a consultation. Many clinics have sliding-scale rates. Some universities have supervised counseling services. Some NGOs offer mental health support at lower cost. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be a start.”
Pond looked at him.
No joke this time.
“Okay.”
Phuwin nodded.
“Good.”
“Can I still take you out again?”
Phuwin should have said no.
Instead, he said, “Only if you don’t ask me to diagnose you over dessert.”
Pond smiled.
“What about over coffee?”
“Pond.”
“Dinner. Normal human conversation. Got it.”
Pond booked therapy two days later.
He sent Phuwin a screenshot of the appointment confirmation with the caption:
Pond N. [10:30 AM]
I am now emotionally responsible and therefore dateable.
Phuwin replied:
PhuwinTang [11:30 AM]
One appointment does not make you emotionally responsible.
Pond N. [11:31 AM]
But dateable?
Phuwin stared at the message for a long time.
Then typed:
PhuwinTang [11:40 AM]
Debatable.
Pond sent back a selfie of himself giving a thumbs up outside the clinic.
Phuwin saved it.
Then immediately regretted it.
Their second date was coffee.
Their third was a bookstore.
Their fourth was supposed to be a movie, but Pond cried during the trailer for an animated film about a lost dog, so Phuwin cancelled the movie and took him for cake instead.
“I’m not always like this,” Pond said, wiping his eyes.
“You cried before the movie started.”
“The dog looked abandoned.”
“It was a trailer.”
“Trailers have emotional arcs.”
Phuwin slid a napkin toward him.
“You’re a mess.”
Pond smiled weakly.
“Professionally speaking?”
“Personally.”
Pond’s smile softened.
That was the problem.
Pond was funny, yes.
Ridiculous, obviously.
But beneath all that charm was someone trying very hard not to be seen wanting too much.
Phuwin recognized the type.
Not as a psychologist.
As a person.
Pond gave affection easily, but only in ways he could pretend were jokes.
A sunflower because he “panicked.”
A coffee because he “accidentally bought two.”
A text saying, Did you eat? Not caring. Just statistically curious.
A jacket over Phuwin’s shoulders because “the air-conditioning is a public health issue.”
He was careful. A little too careful.
Like someone who expected love to become embarrassing if named directly.
Phuwin tried not to fall for him.
This was difficult because Pond made it everyone’s problem.
He sent photos of dogs.
He reported his therapy attendance like a student submitting homework.
He texted after difficult sessions, never asking Phuwin to process them, only saying:
Pond N. [1:30 PM]
Therapy was hard today. I’m going to eat something and sleep early.
Pond N. [1:32 PM]
Just wanted to tell someone I didn’t run away.
Phuwin stared at that message for a very long time.
Then replied:
PhuwinTang [1:40 PM]
I’m proud of you.
Pond did not answer for seventeen minutes.
When he did, it was only:
Pond N. [1:57 PM]
Oh.
Then:
Pond N. [1:58 PM]
Thank you.
Phuwin realized then that Pond was not used to being praised for trying.
Only for being charming.
Successful.
Easy.
Fun.
Trying was new.
Trying was tender.
Trying made Pond quiet.
And Phuwin was in trouble.
The first fight happened because Pond forgot the rule.
Not intentionally.
That almost made it worse.
They were in Pond’s car after dinner, rain tapping against the windshield. Traffic crawled along Sukhumvit. Phuwin was tired from work. Pond had been unusually quiet all night.
Then he said, “Can I ask you something?”
Phuwin looked at him.
“As me or as a psychologist?”
Pond hesitated.
Too long.
Phuwin’s chest tightened, “Pond.” Disappointment leaking from the sound of Pond’s name.
“I don’t know.”
The answer was honest.
Still, it hurt.
Phuwin turned toward the window.
Pond immediately looked panicked.
“I’m sorry.”
Phuwin said nothing.
“I didn’t mean--”
“I know.”
“It’s just--therapy brought up something today and I wanted to talk to you.”
“As your boyfriend or as backup counseling?”
Pond flinched.
They had not used the word boyfriend yet.
Not officially.
Phuwin regretted it immediately.
Pond’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“I don’t know how to separate it sometimes.”
“That’s exactly why I told you this was risky.”
“I know.”
“I like you, Pond. I really like you. But I can’t be the place you put everything because therapy feels too hard.”
Pond’s face twisted. He quickly glanced at Phuwin, hands gripping the steering wheel. “I wasn’t trying to use you.”
“I know you weren’t trying.”
The car fell silent.
Rain blurred the city outside.
Phuwin swallowed hard.
“I spend all day holding space for people. I chose that work. I love that work. But when I’m with someone, I need to be allowed to be a person. Not a resource.”
Pond’s eyes burned. He tried blinking fast to get rid of the tears quickly forming at the edge of his eyes.
“I made you feel like a resource?”
Phuwin looked at him. “Tonight? A little.”
Pond pulled over a gasoline station when it was safe.
He turned off the engine.
For a moment, he stared at his hands then he looked at Phuwin with sad, regretful eyes.
Then he said, “I’m sorry.”
Phuwin closed his eyes. “I know.”
Pond’s voice shook. “I like you. Not because you’re a psychologist. Not because you know what to say. Not because you make me feel less broken.”
Phuwin’s throat tightened.
Pond looked at him.
“I liked you first because you were funny and mean about cheese.”
Despite himself, Phuwin almost smiled.
Pond continued, “I liked you more because you didn’t let me turn my pain into a pickup line. And now I like you because you’re you. Because you glare when you’re worried. Because you pretend you don’t like sunflowers but keep them until they die. Because you read the last page of books first and call it emotional preparedness.”
Phuwin looked away.
Pond’s voice softened.
“I don’t want you to be my therapist.”
“Good.”
“I want you to be someone I don’t perform with.”
The sentence landed quietly.
Phuwin looked back at him.
Pond’s eyes were wet, tears streaming down his face.
“I’m sorry I forgot how to do that tonight.”
Phuwin breathed in.
Then out.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Not fixed. But okay.”
Pond nodded quickly.
“Okay.”
“And you should talk about whatever came up today with your actual therapist.”
“I will.”
“And with friends.”
“I have Joong.”
“Poor Joong.”
“He is suffering nobly.”
Phuwin laughed.
Pond looked at him like the laugh hurt and healed him at once.
Phuwin’s voice softened.
“And if you want to tell me as your boyfriend, you can. But you have to ask if I have capacity first. And I get to say no.”
Pond stopped breathing.
“Boyfriend?”
Phuwin froze.
Then sighed. “That is what you chose to hear?”
Pond shrugged. “It was a significant word.”
“You are impossible.”
“Am I your impossible boyfriend?”
Phuwin closed his eyes and groaned.
Pond smiled as he wiped his tears.
“Too soon?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Pond’s smile became very small.
Very real.
“Can I hold your hand?”
Phuwin looked at him.
“Can I hold your hand, impossible boyfriend?
Phuwin smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
Pond reached over the console and took his hand carefully.
No performance.
No joke.
Just warmth.
Rain softened against the windshield.
For once, neither of them tried to fill the silence.
Being Pond’s boyfriend was both easier and harder after that.
Easier because they had rules.
Harder because rules required honesty.
Pond learned to say:
“Do you have space for something heavy?”
Sometimes Phuwin said yes.
Sometimes no.
When he said no, Pond learned not to look abandoned.
Mostly.
Phuwin learned to say:
“I am tired and cannot be emotionally impressive tonight.”
Pond always replied:
“Great. Be emotionally mediocre with me.”
They watched bad movies.
Ate noodles.
Argued about coffee.
Sent ugly selfies.
Phuwin met Joong, who shook his hand solemnly and said, “Thank you for making him pay a professional therapist.”
Phuwin smiled and said, “You’re welcome.”
Pond looked at the two most important people in his life and said, “I am standing right here.”
Joong patted his shoulder.
“And we’re proud of you, brother.”
Pond got quiet.
Phuwin took his hand under the table and squeezed.
Pond squeezed back.
The first time Pond said “I love you,” it was accidental.
Of course it was.
They were grocery shopping.
Pond was holding two brands of cereal.
“This one has more fiber,” Phuwin said.
“This one has a cartoon tiger.”
“You are twenty-seven, babe.”
“My inner child has voting rights.”
“Your inner child needs supervision.”
Pond smiled.
“I love you.”
Phuwin froze.
Pond froze too.
The cereal boxes stared back.
Pond’s face went pale.
“I--”
Phuwin put the fiber cereal in the basket.
Then the tiger cereal.
Then he looked at Pond. Against his will, he stomped his foot and pouted.
“You are not allowed to say that in the cereal aisle!”
Pond swallowed.
“Where am I allowed?”
Phuwin’s heart was pounding. He huffed and tried to look at other stuff except Pond.
“Somewhere with better lighting.”
Pond looked like he might cry.
“Okay.”
Phuwin softened and looked back at his pouty twenty-seven-year-old boyfriend who’s 2 seconds away from crying. At the cereal aisle.
“Pond.”
“It’s okay,” Pond shook his head and tried to hide his tears from Phuwin.
“No.” Phuwin stepped closer. “It’s not bad.”
Pond’s eyes lifted.
Phuwin took the cereal boxes from him and set them aside.
Then, because he was braver in supermarkets than he had expected, he said, “I love you too.”
Pond stared.
A woman behind them cleared her throat because they were blocking the oatmeal.
Phuwin closed his eyes.
“I hate this.”
Pond laughed, already crying.
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“In the cereal aisle.”
“Do not romanticize this.”
“I will romanticize it forever.”
“I’ll break up with you.”
“No, you won’t.”
Phuwin glared.
Pond smiled.
“Evidence-based evaluation.”
Phuwin tried not to smile.
Failed.
Pond kissed his cheek quickly, then looked embarrassed by his own courage.
Phuwin took his hand.
They bought both cereals.
Six months later, Pond still went to therapy.
Once a week.
Sometimes twice during difficult months.
He no longer sent Phuwin appointment screenshots like proof of dateability.
Instead, he went because it helped.
Because he deserved help.
Because loving Phuwin had taught him that care was not something you tricked someone into giving.
It was something you learned how to receive honestly.
One night, after dinner, Pond rested his head on Phuwin’s lap while Phuwin read.
“Phu?”
“Hm?”
“I’m glad you didn’t become my therapist.”
Phuwin looked down.
“I would have been expensive.”
Pond smiled. “I’m serious, honey.”
“So am I.”
Pond turned his face slightly against Phuwin’s thigh.
“If you had tried to fix me, I think I would have let you. And then I would have loved you wrong.”
Phuwin closed his book.
Pond looked up at him.
“I like how we are,” Pond said. “Messy, but not unethical.”
Phuwin laughed.
“That should not be romantic.”
“But it is?”
“A little.”
Pond smiled.
Phuwin touched his hair.
“You fixed yourself, you know.”
Pond shook his head.
“I’m still fixing.”
“Fine. You are fixing yourself.”
“With professional help.”
“Yes.”
“And emotional support cereal.”
“Unfortunately.”
“And you.”
Phuwin raised an eyebrow.
Pond corrected quickly, “As my boyfriend. Not my therapist.”
“Good.”
“My mean, beautiful, with strict emotional boundaries boyfriend.”
Phuwin’s ears warmed.
“You are very annoying.”
“You love me.”
“I do.”
Pond’s smile softened.
“Again?”
Phuwin knew what he meant.
Pond still needed to hear it sometimes.
Not as therapy.
As love.
“I love you,” Phuwin said.
Pond closed his eyes.
“Again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
Phuwin leaned down and kissed his forehead.
“I love you.”
Pond reached for his hand.
On the coffee table sat a vase of sunflowers.
Fresh ones.
Phuwin had bought them this time.
When Pond saw them earlier, he had cried for eight minutes.
Phuwin had pretended to be annoyed.
He had also taken a photo.
Outside, Bangkok moved loudly beyond the windows.
Inside, Pond breathed easier.
Not healed completely.
Not magically fixed by romance.
But loved.
Supported.
Trying.
And Phuwin, who had swiped right on a man who opened with an ethics violation, smiled down at his boyfriend and thought, with great professional concern, that maybe some risks were worth assessing.
Pond opened one eye.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I should have unmatched you.”
Pond gasped.
“You wound me.”
“You opened by asking if emotional stability was a dating criterion.”
“And look where it got us.”
“Into a relationship founded on boundaries and cereal.”
Pond smiled.
“My favorite kind.”
Phuwin rolled his eyes.
Then bent down to kiss him properly.
No diagnosis.
No treatment plan.
No emotional shortcuts.
Just two people who had learned, slowly and imperfectly, that love was not a substitute for healing.
But with care, honesty, and professional help when needed, it could become a very good place to come home to.