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Kim stared at his bleeding hands, his vision shifting in and out of focus. This was the third fight he'd lost just this week and he knows his brother wouldn't be too happy to clean up his mess. Again.
Kim knew there were better ways to go about this. That he couldn't keep going out night after looking for crates of vodka and a fight. That no matter how many people he drove to death's door, he was going to have to come back home at four in the morning and face himself in the mirror as he inevitably stumbled into the bathroom and threw up until it was just dry heaving and leaning against the walls. Bloodshot eyes, lips set in a straight line, hair that looks like feeding ground for birds -- oh, that explains the shattered bathroom mirror.
Kim's therapist would tell him he's stronger than his demons, that Kim didn't need to let his violent urges turn inwards. She had given him a rubber band to put around his wrist and a journal to scribble his thoughts into. That made him feel like a child and he had snapped off at least fifty rubber bands before he almost punched a hole into something. His journal was pages filled with romanticised, watered-down versions of pain. Kim was a writer and he was just honing his creative writing skills to appease his therapist and concerned older brothers.
Strangely, it was Vegas - who was less bullet holes and more kindness these days - who had told Kim that therapy wasn't going to work for Kim. Kim didn't ask why, he didn't want to find out he shared similarities with his cousin but he knew. He lied to his therapist, he lied in his journals and he buried everything so deep down that not even his Kimlock persona would be able to unearth it.
Kim kept lying, refusing to open the pandora's box that seemed to fuck everything up for him. The only time he could stand to tolerate himself was when he cried himself to sleep in his apartment's studio. His therapist didn't get it - not that Kim wanted her to - he could not tame his demons, they were trained to make Kim into a weapon. Kim's mind worked at hundred miles an hour, he had to learn to keep up with his father and his demons always ran with him. They needed blood to quiet down and Kim was tired of their screeching.
(Until Chay. Being around Chay made everything quiet down, Kim could greedily take big gulps of air like a dying man. And maybe the analogy wasn't too far off : Kim was always on reckless, life-threatening benders with nobody to look out for him, with nobody he wanted to come home to. Until Chay.
Which is why Kim didn't dare to sleep in his bed. He didn't want the nightmares to take away the memories of the one night he had Chay in his bed. He didn't want to slip under the covers and be reminded that he had driven off his allies again, that he'd turned on his winter frost and made the sun disappear. Chay was his best friend, his only friend and Kim would risk his life over and over for Chay because that was the love of his life, the one who had dragged him back from the edge and showed him there's more to life than constantly courting danger. Kim didn't want to miss Chay and his warmth in his own bed, he wasn't strong enough for that.)
The night before he was supposed to travel for work, Kim had come down with a panic attack. He'd have to leave Bangkok for a week, would have to trust his bodyguards' intel and not be able to keep tabs on Chay himself. Kim needed to wait outside Chay's building, needed his fight instincts to kick in when Chay was a few minutes late. He needed to sigh in relief when Chay walked past him because beyond that Kim had no purpose in life. What if Kim had not been doing a good job of hiding his weakness? What if someone had clocked in on his feelings for Chay? What if someone had wanted to get to Kim right through his heart? Kim had shed everyone from his life, built a fortress so nobody could get to his loved ones. But he had a feeling Chay had brought them crumbling down.
Kinn had found him on the floor, fingers bleeding because he'd gripped the guitar strings too hard, because he hadn't had Chay's hands in his when he was looking for a grounding force. Kinn couldn't help him, them brothers had always been the same kinda useless at comforting someone. So Kim had begged at Kinn's feet, his paranoia not letting him settle until Kinn had agreed that he'd have bodyguards shadow Chay until Kim came back.
Kim was supposed to be putting out music, he was supposed to be a rockstar. But all he was usually left with was a comedown that was never worth the high, and too many riffs that died as the sun came up. Chay had been holding back his vices and now that Kim had lost again, they come back with a vengeance. On nights he was too drained and dizzy to go out, he'd end up with pages full of lyrics that he later used to crush more of the weed on.
Mostly, Kim was scared. He knew Chay was alive and well but it felt hard to believe when Chay haunted every corner of his house. The kitchen where Kim was taught to make instant noodles, the couch where they would have video game and tickle battles, the balcony where Chay claimed to lose his breath everytime he looked out. Kim's head was static-y, channels switching from writing about Chay and too much burned so many bridges got nowhere to go, I'm smoking cigarettes until it burn a hole in lungs, in my soul, in my denim coat, same place I'ma keep that knife if I slit my throat.
Chay showed up in back alleys he wasn't supposed to be in, he showed up when Kim tried to forget by feeling someone else's skin against his own. He especially had the habit to come sit with Kim when he was alone. The phone would keep ringing but Kim would be down on the floor, knowing he was no good alone. Chay would smile at him and Kim would swallow pills and his tears until he was sure he wouldn't lose sight of Chay before he fell asleep that night. He'd kiss mind-Chay goodnight and even though he had the feeling replicated, he could never conjure Chay's warmth to soothe his ice kingdom of isolation.
"endless time, love, there will be another place for you and me"
Kim woke up with a gasp, body breaking out in a cold sweat. Chay had been right there, so fucking close to Kim, and Kim? He had been too drunk to move an inch forward, too inebriated to reach out and save Chay. His sunshine had been smiling right until the end, right until Kim lost him again.
"Baby, hey. Are you alright?", a voice cut in through the ringing in Kim's ears. Kim looked beside him and almost cried in relief. If he would have been standing, he would have fallen to his knees at the sight. Chay was there in their bed, sharing the covers with Kim and looking up with concerned eyes. As he came down from the scare, Kim remembered. He'd gotten his shit together just in time to get Chay back. Two smacks to his face and a whole night of tears later, Kim had realised that all Chay had wanted to Kim to acknowledge his feelings and stay. Chay couldn't keep running when Kim was supposed to be home.
Kim had figured that him and Chay had always just been a grace note, a story lost in the footnotes of the cruel world around them. But, he had forgotten how much Chay had changed the world for Kim, how Kim didn't write the same music anymore because his old melodies didn't create harmonies anymore.
Kim smiled at Chay and shook his head. He had promised no more lies and there wasn't any scenario where he would risk losing his angel again. He went easily when Chay pulled him in, singing the song that had played a big part in bringing them where they stood today. Kim had never had the luxury of easy sleep, the comfort of dreamless slumber, but like everything else was with Chay, he had the fortune of receiving this late gift too.
"it's you, only you..."