Work Text:
Chay gives his brother a generous month to respond to his texts, before he heads over to the Hum Bar himself.
Deciding to try his luck in hoping that the backdoor's lock is still busted isn't exactly a good plan—by all accounts, it was actually a terrible plan—but Chay doesn't have many options at the moment. He'll take whatever chances land in his lap.
He catches the last bus of the day, with only the buzz of the engine to occupy him. The bus smells like burnt rubber and cigarette smoke; he knows from experience that if he stays in his seat and stubbornly faces the window, no one will bother him.
He spends most of the ride staring out into the endless expanse of white and gray rolling past the windows, not really seeing anything but his own reflection on the glass. His eyes are red from lack of sleep. The sun sets as the bus rolls to a stop, casting the world around him in a deep orange glow.
When he reaches his stop, the door barely waits before sliding closed just behind him, letting out a gust of cold air. It cuts through the thick layer of fog Chay's been clinging to all day, and he shivers as his feet hit pavement.
In the distance, there's a dim yellow light spilling out from the Hum Bar. Even at this late hour, people are still milling about outside, talking and laughing amongst themselves.
Even after the city's lights turn themselves off for the night, life keeps going. For a second, he feels jealous of it; he'd love nothing more than to slip comfortably into the boasting student life, where he could pretend that everything was normal.
Instead, Chay pushes himself forward.
His foot crunches against loose gravel. As he draws closer to the Hum Bar, he picks up the pace, until he almost jogs towards it. By the time he reaches the back door, his hands are trembling slightly. He takes a deep breath, and tries not to think too hard about what he's doing.
He pulls the handle with shaky fingers, wincing at the dull click as it turns, and the door swings open—the lock is still busted. After tonight, he'll mention it to Yok, just in case.
He pushes it open and slips inside, glancing nervously over his shoulder, the bar is as rowdy as Porsche's always described it, with the sound of clinking glasses and raucous laughter filling every inch of the room—the perfect atmosphere for Chay to blend into, if anyone were to question him.
His heart pounds as he walks down the stairs, making a beeline straight for the bathroom on the far end of the bar, keeping to the wall and making himself as small as possible. He needs to gather himself for a moment, before he goes looking for Yok.
It's a while before his nerves begin to settle. He hears footsteps coming from down the hall, echoing softly off the tiles. The lights turn from yellow to blue, probably signaling some change in boosted music from outside the bathroom, the door swings open.
"Chay—?"
His head jerks up as he hears the sound of his name being called, up to see Jom, who's standing in the doorway, frowning at him.
(Chay had toyed with the possibility of running into Jom or Tem, as they were just as regular at Hum Bar as Porsche had shifts, but he hadn't exactly thought this far ahead.)
"What the hell—you're not supposed to be here," Jom mutters, stumbling over to the sink that Chay's beside, splashing water onto his face. Jom runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head like he's trying to knock something off. Chay doesn't move, watching silently as Jom stares intently at his reflection in the mirror above the sinks.
Then Jom blinks rapidly, and startles, eyes snapping back to Chay.
"Wait, how are you here?"
Chay winces, but shrugs. Jom’s visibly too drunk to work through any explanation Chay can come up with in the moment, so he doesn’t even bother.
Jom rubs a hand over his forehead, "how did you get in here? Did you come in through the front door?"
Chay shakes his head.
“There should've been someone posted at the door," Jom mumbles, and then turns back around to look at him again, "wait... why are you here? How are you here? Does Porsche know you’re here?”
"I thought Porsche was with you," Chay says, in lieu of a greeting, because Jom was swaying dangerously, and Chay isn’t sure how much longer Jom will be coherent.
Jom squints at the clock just above Chay's head. "Nah, he’s working," Jom says, voice slurred. He looks like he might fall over any second.
Strangely enough, it settles something in Chay, because Jom's admission at the very least meant that Jom was in contact with Porsche.
"Ah, well, do you know where he is?"
"Shit," Jom grunts as he straightens up on his feet, looking around.
The knot in Chay's stomach tightens further.
"Fuck," Jom swears again, running a hand down his face and muttering something Chay can't hear over the pounding of blood in his ears.
"Porsche will kill me if he sees you in here," Jom finally decides. He grabs Chay by the elbow, keeping it gentle, half pushing Chay along, rushing him right out of the bathroom. Jom makes a quick step to the bar, clearly meaning to leave through the front door, before he stills.
“Yok will kill me if she sees you, let’s just—”
“Backdoor?” Chay offers, cautiously.
“Right, right, okay,” Jom mumbles, already stumbling through the sea of people until they reach the backdoor. Jom steps outside, practically dragging Chay through the door before letting go of Chay's arm with a sigh. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Chay leans against the brick wall and watches as Jom takes out his phone, frowns, starts punching numbers into it again before putting it back into his pocket. After a couple minutes, Jom shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, hunches forward, staring at the ground.
Jom doesn't look particularly good. He looks rough, more tired than usual, like he hasn't had sleep in weeks. The shadows under his eyes seem darker, more pronounced. It sends a jolt of worry through Chay. It's not unlike how Chay feels at the moment.
"Listen, kiddo," Jom starts, eventually, without meeting Chay's eye, "did you want dinner? I could use some food. Maybe pizza, or something."
"Okay," Chay replies softly, grateful despite the pit of anxiety in his stomach. If there was one thing he could trust in Jom, it was his friendship with Porsche—Chay has lost track of the number of times Jom had dropped off dinner for him when Porsche's shifts ran long. It was a relief to know that Jom was still firmly in Porsche's corner, even with the uncertaining of things at the moment.
They end up ordering from a street vendor just after midnight—one who Jom is apparently familiar with, because the vendor just waves Jom's money away with a smile, nodding once at Chay, before handing over two sets of chilling chicken skewers.
Jom settles quietly beside him on the street curb.
It's cold and late, a breeze ruffling through Chay's hair and sending little puffs of breath in front of his face.
"Jom?" Chay tries, and Jom hums around a bite of chicken.
"I'm worried about Porsche," Chay exhales, entirely truthful. He doesn't know what he's expecting exactly, but he's hoping Jom gives him even a shred of information. Anything would do right now. That, or maybe Chay just needs to get his words out, to anyone willing to listen.
Jom sighs and nods, the movement slightly more exaggerated and jerky than was probably comfortable.
"He'll be fine," Jom assures him. He picks at his meal. "He knows what he's doing."
Chay blinks at Jom’s slip. “What is he doing?”
Jom bites his skewer, chewing slowly. “Well, a new job always requires an adjustment period,” he answers vaguely, and then shrugs as though to say it’s too complicated to explain.
Chay lets the subject drop. For now. He switches lanes.
"Is my brother seeing anyone?"
Jom chokes on his mouthful of food.
"You know about that?" Jom manages, when he recovers.
I don’t know anything, Chay thinks, and immediately regrets the bitterness that laces his thoughts.
"Sorry, of course you know, Porsche is pretty obvious, isn't he?" Jom says, his eyes crinkling in kindness as he laughs, but Chay only feels his heart sink.
"Yeah," he agrees quietly, looking away.
Jom bumps shoulders gently against his side. "Don't worry so much," he encourages, "you know your brother better than anyone else. He'll be okay."
Chay forces himself to swallow the knot that's risen to his throat. He nods, forcing a shaky smile.
(1) missed call from [Chay], voicemail outgoing.
▷ 0:18 ⸺⸺⸺
Transcript:
“—don't forget to have dinner today, and don't skip it, I'll know! I hope you've been eating well, and Jom bought me some chicken yesterday, so treat him back sometime, okay? Call me when you have some time off, but I know you're busy... so, I'll study hard. Text me as soon as you get my messages, okay? Love you!”
When Jom shows up the next day at Chay’s front door with takeout, Jom’s guilt is palpable.
“Hey, kiddo,” Jom offers, in a familiar greeting, “I got your favorite, I think.”
Chay takes a deep, steadying breath and lets a smile stretch across his face as he lets Jom in. “Thanks!” he says, voice bright and cheery, and Jom smiles back, genuine and relieved.
"How are you?" Jom asks, dropping onto the couch and pulling the container towards him. Chay follows suit.
"It's exam season," Chay explains, "but I'm not having much luck studying lately," he adds truthfully.
Chay almost mentions that his guitar lessons with Kim have been going well, but he bites his lip at the last second, holding back; it feels too personal. He hasn’t even gotten a chance to tell Porsche.
Jom chuckles.
"I don't miss that,” he says, waving a fork in the air, "though I didn't study much either." His smile is sheepish. “Well, neither did Porsche or Tem, but at least I went to class. Whenever they skipped, I had to bail them out a shit ton of—or, a lot.”
There’s no bite behind Jom's words—he's just musing on old memories, but Chay winces nonetheless. It's unspoken between him and his brother—that Porsche spent more time picking up odd jobs than he ever spent at University, almost dropping out entirely once he landed his job at Hum Bar.
Chay blames himself. Porsche doesn't blame anyone. Chay wishes he would.
"Hey, actually,” Jom starts, and Chay shakes himself from whatever reverie he’d been caught up in, “I need to head out soon, I've got a shift to cover, but I just wanted to check up on you."
"Oh," Chay says, "sure." He doesn't like how small his voice sounds. "Thank you," he adds quickly, offering a smile.
Jom smiles back, giving Chay's shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Don't mention it," he says, and he pushes himself off the couch and makes his way to the entryway, “I’ll see you later. Call if you get bored, alright? Tem doesn't have work tonight, so he can stop by if I'm busy—whatever you need, just let us know.”
Porsche's friends were endlessly kind. It leaves Chay miserable.
from kim ♡
Hey
Can we reschedule your session?
Chay stares at his phone for an uncomfortably long time.
from chay
of course!!
i dont have exams next week so any day works
whats the best day for u!
from kim ♡
I’ll check my calendar
When Kim doesn’t send a follow-up text, Chay acquiesces quietly.
from chay
ok no worries
ill see u next week:)
He sets his phone aside, feeling the weight of it heavy in his chest—his texts to Porsche stacking up with no response, the missed calls to Porsche similarity rising in number. Kim needing to reschedule isn't anything new. He's an artist—one with a following. Gigs. A kind of fame that Chay will never understand.
Because, by some crazy stroke of fate, Wik materialized himself out of Chay's iPad screen—into Chay's life, into his daily routine.
He was never again going to be just a pseudonym to Chay, because now Kim was someone real. Kim, who made all the difference, just by extending the offer to tutor him.
Though, his mind still sometimes flounders at the idea that someone like Kim wants to hang out with him; that someone other than his brother could care enough about him to show up and spend an afternoon teaching him to play guitar.
He finds his eyes lingering over the message on his screen, the one he'd sent to Kim just minutes ago.
His house is too quiet. He tries not to be too disappointed; instead, he tries to focus on what he can do to pass time, despite being troubled by thoughts of where Porsche might be. He spends the first half of the evening sitting by the window, playing random scales that Kim taught him while trying to remember familiar melodies, humming absently.
It’s easy to doze off, with his—Kim’s—guitar balanced against his hip, his head knocking slightly against the window, that he almost misses the flash of his phone, lighting up with another message. When he sees it, he jolts upright, just managing to catch himself from sliding off the sill, his fingers hovering just above his keyboard, hesitating.
from kim ♡
You around?
Around? Chay sits back, puzzled.
from chay
im practicing actually:)
Incoming call from kim ♡: [accept] [decline]
Chay fumbles slightly, staring bewildered at the display before hitting accept, holding his breath.
A long pause, and then, “Porchay?”
“Uh, hi,” he says, trying not to sound as surprised as he feels. “Is everything alright? Are you okay? I mean—"
“Everything's fine,” comes Kim's quiet reply. Chay hears the rustle of paper on the line, or something close; Kim must be working on music.
"Okay, that's good," Chay replies, cautiously, "did you call to reschedule?"
There's a moment's silence. Then: “Yeah, I did. Your exams finish by Tuesday, right? I'll come by on Thursday."
Chay relaxes slightly, letting himself slouch back against the window frame and nodding, even though Kim can't see him doing so. "Thursday's good!”
“Alright,” Kim says. And then they lapse back into silence. It feels different somehow, but Chay can't put a name to the feeling. Though, the longer Kim remains silent, the more uncertain Chay feels. Eventually, he blurts out, “how was your day? Did you get a lot of writing done?"
The sound Kim makes in response is somewhere between a laugh and a exhale, and Chay smiles despite himself.
“Not really,” says Kim. “I did write some stuff down though.”
“Oh, yeah?” Chay says, leaning forward, curiosity taking over. “What did you write?”
"I'll show you Thursday," Kim muses, voice light, like he knows exactly how curious Chay is. Or maybe Kim's just teasing him.
Either way, Chay smiles wider. "No spoilers?"
"No spoilers," says Kim, and Chay can hear a smile in his tone.
(1) missed call from [Chay], voicemail outgoing.
▷ 0:31 ⸺⸺⸺
Transcript:
“—he promised to show me some of his new lyrics, which is so—it’s crazy, can you believe it? Hearing Wik’s lyrics before anyone else? Or, at least I think so, though his managers probably heard them first, but—listen, you have to promise that you’ll listen to his stuff when you’re back, okay? Love you, I’ll go study now. I miss you. I’ll see you soon.”