Work Text:
What the hell am I doing?
Win thought to himself as he stared soullessly at the large, brightly-lit mirror in front of him. The lights were nauseating, to be honest. It was too much for his eyes to handle, but he couldn’t shut them off. Not unless he wants his make-up artist to kill him for ruining the mascara she expertly applied on him just a couple of minutes ago. Now, she’s busying herself applying the last dabs of blush over his very pale cheeks.
If he were to meet a fairy right this instant, Win was certain that he would beg her to zap him back to bed. He’s not in the best of shapes today, after consuming booze beyond his threshold just two days ago. It was at a party with his high school gang, and he had been looking forward to it for months. He had to expertly work his packed schedule around that Saturday because he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He had to beg his P'Eed countless times—even buying her her favorite macarons and lattes every morning—just to get his approval. She relented in the end, but not before making Win sign a blood contract that he will be at the Kazz Awards no matter what.
It’d be easy, Win figured, since he’d have the whole of Sunday to recover anyway. But that was before his mom and his siblings literally dragged him from his bed just so they can all hang out at the mall.
“Come on, sleepyhead. Wake up!” shouted Mick as both his sisters, Ice and Ming, took turns pounding him with pillows.
“Come on, Win. Ice is flying to Chiang Mai on Wednesday, and we won’t see her for a month,” said his mother.
“Whyizshegongthur?” came Win’s unintelligible response, which, surprisingly, all four of the waking up committee managed to understand.
“I’m helping Dad out with the business there, remember?” Ice replied, matter-of-factly. “Now, get up!”
In the end, Win stood up, got dressed and didn’t even bother to shower. He had no idea what happened the entire Sunday afternoon, but he sure did remember feeling glad to spend it with family. It had been a while, indeed. He just can't say no to them.
“There, you’re ready,” P’Ole, his make-up artist said, after giving him one last look-over.
Win looked in the mirror and was surprised to see himself looking alive. P’Ole managed to erase the traces of last Saturday night, at least physically. With a smile, he clasped his hands together and said thanks to his make-up artist.
“Don’t you dare ruin my work,” P’Ole warned, shooting him a playful death stare as she headed out the door after gathering all her make-up bits and bobs and pots.
“I’ll try my best.”
Here he was, hair and face glammed to perfection, dressed to the nines, and with a pounding headache to boot. Win figured the venue would probably have lots of restrooms he can dash into in case he felt like puking his insides out. He closed his eyes hoping to squeeze sleep in if only for a minute. Thank God no one else was in the room. The silence was something he truly appreciated. But not five seconds into his much-coveted snooze did soft knocks come and the door to the room slowly creaked open.
“Hey,” came a hushed greeting from a voice that’s all too familiar. “Are you ready to go?”
He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. Still, he opened them halfway and saw Bright through the mirror, his head sticking halfway through the door’s opening.
“Hmmm,” came his reply. Before he knew it, Bright was already right behind him, placing both his hands softly on his shoulders. When he managed to fully open his eyes, the first thing that registered was how handsome the man who came to fetch him looked. His hair was brushed up and styled differently. His suit, though probably half an inch too big, suited him way too much.
"The van's already waiting for us downstairs. We need to get going," Bright said with the faintest hint of urgency in his voice.
"Five minutes?" Win said as he angled his head slightly upwards, meeting Bright's big, round, and pretty eyes with his own squinty ones. He's tried this tactic one too many times to count. He knew this was going to work.
Bright stared right back at him, pausing, before giving Win a sorry smile. "I'm sorry, but we really have to go. The show starts in an hour and if we don't leave now, we'll definitely get stuck in traffic."
Bright had a point, and Win didn't bother to push the issue further. Bangkok traffic is crazy, after all.
You committed to this, Win, he thought to himself before eventually forcing himself to stand up. He ironed his clothes with his hand and gave himself one final look in the mirror. He looked back at Bright who was already standing by the door.
“Let’s go,” Win said.
He was never the type to break commitments, and he’s not going to start now, hangovers be damned.
Cool air blew steadily inside the van, a stark contrast from the humid heat circulating in the streets of Bangkok. The car also smelled of lavender, which helped abate the nauseating feeling Win was trying so hard to fight. Slow jazz was playing in the background. All that’s missing is a masseuse and this car could already pass for a spa on wheels.
They left GMMTV at exactly 8:00 PM. Waze alerted that all things considered, they should be at the venue in 20 minutes. Win took it as a chance to grab some more shut eye, feeling just the littlest bit sorry for leaving Bright to find other ways to while the minutes away. The driver expertly maneuvered the car that he slept like a baby in a cradled cot.
Win dreamt of the Aston Martin he’s been saving up to buy. The dream felt so real that he could almost smell the upholstery made of nice Italian leather. He was about to open the door to the car, when he felt light taps on his right arm. His eyes slowly flew open and he saw Bright looking at him in that peculiar way only he could pull off. He fished for his phone from his pocket and felt a bucket of ice splash down his spine when he saw the time.
“9:00 PM?!” Win asked, pushing his phone literally just an inch away from Bright’s amused face.
“Yes. Did you have a good sleep?”
“Uh, no. I mean—yeah, I guess. 9:00 PM? I thought we’d be at the venue by 8:20 PM?”
“We did get here by 8:20 PM.”
Win thought Bright wasn’t making any sense that he was sure he’s still dreaming.
“So why are we still here in the car?”
“Because you were sleeping so soundly and I didn’t want to wake you,” Bright explained. The look of amusement never left his face. And judging by the way his eyebrows continued to furrow, Win was evidently still having a hard time assessing the situation.
“I talked to P’Eed and managed to haggle some more time for you to sleep. I know you needed it,” Bright further explained, leaving Win utterly speechless. "I asked P'Run to park here first since it's much quieter here. I heard fans are already waiting at the basement entrance.
Win was in a daze, for sure. But it wasn’t because of the hangover or the lethargy anymore. It was because Bright had done this for him so many times, but it always felt like it’s happening for the first time. The warm fuzzy feeling crept its way from the tips of his toes all the way up to the strands of his hair. There’s that eclectic sensation again that Bright—and only Bright—could make him feel.
Bright instructing the driver to move them down to the basement entrance shook Win out of his reverie. In less than a minute, a throng of fans came into view and their loud shrieks had already drowned out the soothing jazz music that was playing inside the vehicle.
As the van came to a stop, Win watched Bright look out its heavily-tinted panes, like a bodyguard gauging the situation. When the coast was deemed clear, he looked back and asked Win.
“Are you ready?”
He never was. This fame came to the both of them all too fast and all too sudden. He never had the time to ready himself for the whirlwind that came with it. But looking at Bright, at the way he was smiling reassuringly at him, at the way he was intently looking at him, at the way his presence became a constant source of strength for him through all this, Win managed to smile back and say:
“Let’s do this.”