Chapter Text
Chay goes back to Dr. Mar on Monday, triumphant. She gives him a little round of applause when he tells her about how much he and Porsche talked over the weekend. She gives him an even more satisfied smile when he tells her that he feels a little fuller than he used to. Like the pit in his stomach is closing up a bit.
He gets a text halfway through the session. Usually he doesn’t have his phone on, or even with him, during the session but he kept it close in case Porsche texted.
It's Ohm. They haven’t spoken since the kidnapping. Or, Chay hasn’t. Ohm, who is an excellent friend, has maintained a steady stream of worried memes and coded emojis. The latest text is in all caps.
DID WIK WRITE A FUCKING SONG ABOUT YOU????? CALL ME RIGHT NOW!!!
Chay’s choking cough draws Dr. Mar into the seat next to him. He shows her the screen. She frowns at the phone, then turns to him. “Do you want to know? It’s your call Chay.”
He finds that, with Dr. Mar’s thigh pressed firmly against his, that he does.
Kim–Wik–has posted a video singing his song for the entire world to hear. Dr. Mar takes his hand and lets him crush her fingers for support. Chay hits play. They watch the emotional trainwreck that is the video together. When Chay doesn’t say anything at the end of the video, she lets out a long long breath. When she inhales, Chay joins her. Then he hits play again.
Kim looks good. He always does. But he also doesn’t. He looks even less like he’s slept than the 30 seconds they spent together in the elevator. The video is recorded on his balcony, facing the skyline, and he looks washed out.
Chay had spent many hours before they even met committing every detail of that face to memory. He knows Kim’s lips are drooping at the corners more than they used to. He knows that his eye bags were never this noticeable. He never had a hair out of place, the whole time Chay was … not dating him. Even the one or two times Kim let him pet him, for lack of a better word, his hair always fell back into place. The outfit is simple, the video is simple, and the comments are absolutely inane. Dr. Mar watches him scroll through them, saying nothing as he does.
They could be worse. They could be better. Most people just want to know who he is, why Wik sounds so sad, where Wik had been the past few months. A few are encouraging words for Wik, which makes Porchay feel sick to his stomach.
They’re both silent for a good long while after the video ends. Chay’s phone screen is black between them. He’s zoned out in a way he hasn’t been in a few sessions.
15 minutes of silence later, Dr. Mar speaks. “That’s not an apology, Chay.”
“It isn’t,” he agrees. His cheeks are wet. They’re quiet for a moment again, but this time it’s occasionally interrupted by little watery hiccups.
She slides back to her chair and fidgets with her pen. “It’s not an apology,” she repeats, “but it sure does sound like a confession.” They stare at each other for a while. She sets the pen down. “So, why don’t we talk about how Kim seems to think you’re the one that left?”
–
Chay can’t avoid Kim forever. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been bumping into him every day, given that he’s living in Kim’s childhood home.
The inevitable happens at one of Khun Korn’s stupid family dinners. He’s never been invited before, but he’s spent enough time around the compound to know that it’s less of an honor and more of a herculean task. Chay hasn’t seen Korn since their chess match, and he’s not particularly looking forward to seeing him now.
P’Tankhun insisted on taking charge of his wardrobe for the dinner. Chay isn’t sure why Khun seems to think that the dress code for family dinner is slutty, but considering how Khun Kinn and Porsche parade around with their tits out all day, he supposes it can’t hurt. Besides, he knows Porsche will think it’s funny and he likes to watch his brother smile.
The final product is … not at all what he expected. He has to admit, he looks good. Khun has selected a crisp white button down, tucked into a pair of straight leg blue slacks that make Porchay look taller than he used to. Chay isn’t planning to let him dye his hair anytime soon, but he lets Khun smudge some liner at the corner of his eyes and unbutton more of his shirt than he would ever think to (thought, that might have to change, as this family seems to wear approximately 3 of their shirt buttons. Chay thinks it might be a better sign of who their enemies are dealing with than those ostentatious rings). When he isn’t looking, Khun hands him a jewelry box. “For a job well done, I think,” he says. He’s been quiet tonight, shoo-ing all his guards out of the room before he started in on Porchay.
Chay was expecting to be completely overstimulated and overwhelmed by Khun’s facade before he even arrived at the table, but it seems Khun has declared him worthy of a dropped guard. He works in silence. It’s … nice, Chay thinks. He’s left feeling a bit warm to be one of the only (the only?) Khun isn’t pretending with. And the longer it goes on, the more Chay sees Khun relax as well. The corners of his lips loosen, the same way Kim’s do when he’s comfortable.
Chay accepts the box with token protest, but his voice drops away when he sees the contents. The necklace is beautiful, a thick gold cord, clearly of expensive make. But it’s the pendant that stops Chay. It’s a scale, the judge’s scale, the one that means balance. Something about it is … enchanting to Chay. He looks up at Khun and is met with the most serious face he’s ever seen on the man.
“We are what you make of us, little Porsche,” he says. “Treat us well.”
–
When he enters the dining hall, a delicately and carefully decorated room that is entirely too large to be anything but a hall, Porsche and Kinn have already arrived. Kinn greets him with a nervous little nod–it’s somewhat comforting to know he holds some power there–and Porsche bounds over to pull him into a hug.
He pulls back to take Chay in. “God, look at you! When the hell did you get so tall?” He says, smacking Chay’s shoulder. Then he turns to Tankhun; “excellent work as always, Khun Nu.”
Chay watches Khun crow his triumph to Porsche with a small smile and allows him to lead Chay to his seat with a flutter of hands. There’s chatter too, something about pheasant and plumage. He’s sure now that Khun himself isn’t sure of what he’s saying. Or of its meaning, at least. He shoots Khun a conspiratorial smile and then allows the mask of docile younger brother to slip over his features just as Khun Korn’s arrival is announced.
Korn takes his seat at the head of the table, turning a fatherly smile on each of them in turn. “It is wonderful to see family sitting together,” he says. “We seem to be missing one though. Has anyone seen Kimhant?”
No one responds. Korn’s smile doesn’t drop.
“Chay?” He looks up. Korn gives him a little nod, as if to encourage him to speak.
Chay feels himself begin to shrink, all the newborn confidence Khun had given him with his trust leaking out of him like a punctured balloon. When he glances around the table he can’t help but feel like a mouse surrounded by lions. The Theerapanyakun brothers have twin faces of unsettling curiosity. Porsche clears his throat.
“Why would Chay know where Kim is?” Porsche asks, face crinkling in confusion. God, his tactless brother. Kinn leans forward beside him, like he could miss the answer to Porsche’s question if he isn’t careful.
Chay is saved from having to answer when the door to the hall opens. In union, they all turn to stare at the newcomer. And, well, perhaps saved is the wrong word.
Kim looks incredible tonight, though still a bit pale and tired. He’s ditched his Wik costume for an all black base and a maroon dinner jacket. In true Theerapanyakun fashion, his shirt is unbuttoned to the point of indecency. He’s fixing his cuffs as the door closes behind him, making no move to look up at his captive audience. When he does he turns an assessing eye over them all. He freezes when his gaze lands on Chay. “Porchay,” he mouths. It doesn’t even seem like he knows he’s done it.
How dare he. Genuinely, how dare he. Anger rushes through Chay and he feels it when it reaches his cheeks. Kim is looking at him like Chay has wounded him, like he is the one hurting. And Chay … Chay wants Kim to hurt. He wants to knock the pretty little ‘o’ his mouth makes back into his head. He wants him to burn.
He knows how to do it too. And if he’s calculated right, and Korn is mostly interested in him because of his tie to Kim, then he will sit back and allow Chay to pitch Kim a curveball.
“Wow, P’Khun, you didn’t tell me your brother Kim was Wik!” he squeals, turning to Khun and grabbing onto his feathered arm. It’s the most animated he’s been in weeks, and he doesn’t quite know if he’s carrying it off if the way Porsche’s eyes narrow are anything to go by. It probably sounds a little manic. He puts a little more into it. “This is so cool! I thought people on twitter were joking when they said they’d join the mafia just to get to see him in person, but look at this!”
Khun is eyeing him with a shrewd look. He seems to read something in Chay’s eyes and matches Chay’s manic smile with an equally mischievous grin. “Tell me Chay, what else do they say about my little brother on the internet?”
Chay giggles, a little hysterical. This is the weirdest temper tantrum he’s ever thrown. “Well, none of them really know him or what he’s like, so it’s a little pathetic for them I guess.” Kim, who hasn’t moved since Chay started talking, lets out a quiet pained sound and seems to take a step forward like he’s being yanked. “But plenty of people talk about the things they would do for his attention! And compare him to a cat.”
He’s not sure why he says the last part. It’s not angry, just true. It’s a little bit of the old Chay slipping through and he curses himself.
“Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you K’Wik! Don’t worry, I’ll try not to make you uncomfortable, I know my place as a fan.” He gives Kim his most winning smile, then turns to the rest of the table, ignoring the way Kim’s eyes burn into the side of his head. “In the interest of that respect, actually, I should let you Theerapanyakun’s have family dinner!” He rises, and Porsche starts to stand in very confused brotherly solidarity.
Korn shakes his head. “Nonsense Porchay,” he says, “we wouldn’t want you to miss this chance to get to know your idol more personally. Please, Kimhant, have a seat. Indulge me, both of you.”
Kim sits. Chay does his best not to groan when he takes the empty seat across from him. This huge fucking hall and they don’t have a kids table he could cower at? For once, he resents being treated like an adult.
Korn leans back in his chair and snaps his fingers. Chan is by his side at once–Chay didn’t even see him move–and then Korn is holding an envelope with a very similar seal. Chay’s breath catches.
“Before we begin dinner, and while I have you with us Porchay, it seems that the university has not been given your updated address,” Korn says lightly. He gives a gentle, slightly condescending, smile. “This was delivered to your old address. I had one of my men pick it up for you.”
Chay can’t look away from the letter. He didn’t go to the audition. That letter contains a rejection, and Chay would bet every coin he’s saved that Korn not only knows he didn’t go, but will find a way to “accidentally” slip it into conversation.
He can feel every eye at the table on his skin like a needle. Korn’s face does not change, but Chay can see some kind of sick satisfaction at this little win in his eyes. This is what he wanted, to put Chay in his place and remind him that it is at his behest that Chay’s life was quiet. Chay wants to do anything–throw the table, scream, take his brother and run–but he can’t. All he can do is stand like a man walking to the executioner and wordlessly accept the letter from Korn. He glances up from his spot at Korn’s right hand, making eye contact with Porsche, then Kim. Fuck, Kim is going to know.
He tears his gaze away and back to the envelope.
Chay slides his nail through the top and pulls out a single slip of paper. Under everyone’s watch, trembling, he unfolds it. His eyes flick over the page.
Dear Mr. Kittisawat.
Thank you for your application. Each year we receive hundreds of applications from hundreds of incredible students and the admission decision process is difficult. We cannot accept every applicant, though we appreciate the efforts of each and every one.
With that said, we are proud to offer you a spot as a student in–
The paper is snatched out of his hand and he realizes Khun has been at his side and calling his name for a minute. He blinks up at him and breathes, “Phi …”
Tankhun flips the paper back open with a thwap and glances it over. Then he positively screeches, wrapping Chay into a hug. “Our Porchay is going to college!” he squeals.