Chapter Text
While they were stopped at the red light, Vegas drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, in a sort of off-beat rhythm that didn’t match the music that was flowing out of the speakers.
Pete wasn’t entirely sure what it was, just some sort of melodic sound, definitely Korean, Pete recognized it from all the K-Dramas Tankhun made him watch.
It was at this moment, sitting in the passenger seat of Vegas Theerapanyakun’s cherry red Maserati, that Pete realized something.
He was probably going to die.
“Sorry, the music probably isn’t to your taste,” Vegas said, fiddling with the dials for a moment, before turning it off of bluetooth and onto the radio.
“No, no! The music is fine, it’s-it’s fine!” Pete exclaimed, waving his hands wildly.
Was insulting Vegas’s music taste going to put him on the fast-track to a one way ticket to super hell? Pete wasn’t totally sure, but saying that it was fine probably couldn’t hurt his chances of survival.
Vegas huffed out a soft laugh.
“You can plug in your phone, if you like,” Vegas glanced over at him and smiled. “Pick something.”
Pete swallowed and nodded, wondering if he was actually going to die and how difficult it would be to clean blood off of leather seats, because maybe, if it was really hard, he could use that to his advantage.
Instead of saying any of this out loud, he plugged his phone into the car and turned on what he hoped was the least offensive playlist he had.
Vegas smiled again, and Pete couldn’t help but realize just how soft it was, compared to the times he’s seen Vegas from before, mostly from a distance, but still… He looked almost… gentle.
It was a strange juxtaposition with the black slacks, the blood red silk shirt, undone practically all the way and the chains hanging from his belt. His clothes and the way he carried himself made him seem like he should be dangerous, and in all regards, every single story Pete had heard about him had confirmed that, but the way he acted and the warmth in his eyes, how safe he seemed, contradicted that so harshly that Pete wasn’t sure what to believe.
His thoughts were interrupted by a cutesy alarm tone, ringing through the car.
Vegas scoffed and laughed, nervously, as he grabbed his phone to shut it off, explaining, “Macau was probably fucking with me and set it to that. God, I am so canceling his PS now subscription,”
Pete couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that, before quickly covering his mouth with his hands.
He opened his mouth to apologize, when Vegas was fixing him with that gentle smile again.
Vegas reached around into the back and grabbed the black duffle bag he had packed, pulling out what appeared to be a weekly medicine container.
He popped open the one for ‘Friday’, dumping the pills into his palm, then took a water bottle out of one of the cup holders, tossing the pills back and swallowing them down with the water.
Instead of the apology he intended to give, Pete found himself asking, “What are those?”
“Oh, uh,” Vegas looked a little embarrassed as he put everything away, glancing up as the light finally turned green. He began driving again, flicking on the turn signal as they reached another intersection. “My medications. Antipsychotics and ADHD stuff, nothing major. If I didn’t set an alarm for myself to take them, I’d definitely forget.”
“Medications.” Pete stated, dumbfounded.
Vegas glanced at him, nodding slightly.
“Yup… Prescribed and everything,” He laughed, awkwardly, resuming his drumming against the wheel. “Promise I didn’t steal ‘em.”
Pete blinked once.
Then twice.
“That’s why I’ve been, uh,” Vegas seemed to struggle for the words, before finally settling on, “Different.”
Different.
Yeah, Pete could agree with that.
He hadn’t heard any stories about the young master of the minor family tearing any throats out or brutally torturing anyone recently, so… Yeah.
Different.
Just then, disturbing Pete from his thoughts, Vegas's phone chimed.
"Oh, shit could you hand me that?" Vegas asked, pulling off to the side of the road, to stay out of the way and not be on his phone while driving.
Pete complied, passing the phone to Vegas, who opened it up in a few, quick movements, eyes scanning across the screen as he read whatever message he had received.
Pete watched, in utter fascination as Vegas groaned and thunked his head against the steering wheel.
"Good news, I know where Porsche is," Vegas began. "Bad news, Kinn will kill me if he finds him first, so we have to hurry."