Work Text:
*
*
All…
All he wants is…
Porchay stares around, gripping the wall-corner, making sure nobody else is looking for him.
Finally!
He excitedly eyes Jom's guitar left out, tiptoeing on.
Along the back-area of this coffee shop is a low-leveled stage and a high, wooden stool set up to face the entrance-way. It's for anyone who wants to perform. Anyone — anyone at all. They get a bunch of students from Anantrameka University, coming in late, asking for caramel mochas and vanilla foam drinks and lattes of all sizes. Sometimes, they play live music.
(Porchay heard from Ohm about a young professional violinist showing up before closing. She got recorded by local news.)
"Oi!" Porchay yelps, feeling a hand seize onto his apron's straps.
He's lurched backwards.
Jom, the owner of "The Coffee Club" as well as the retro-looking guitar, frowns.
"Quit messing around," he scolds, lightly thumping the back of Porchay's head. Like he did when Porchay was younger and got caught being naughty. Porchay mouths out a softer "oi!" and rubs the spot. It doesn't hurt… but it doesn't stop him from being indignant. "Don't make me call your big brother, alright? Get back to the mobile orders with everyone else. We're swamped."
Porchay tries to not make a face — this IS his boss, after all — and marches behind the front counter.
"All I ever do is mobile orders," he grumbles. It's true. They get a lot more of these new printed orders than any friendly face.
"I prefer this over having a drive-thru," one of the girls announces, wearing a similar lilac apron tied to Porchay.
She huffs.
Porchay ignores her, staring longingly back at Jom's guitar and imagining himself up there. Imagining a larger and more enthusiastic crowd. With him up there, of course. If he could, Porchay would already be enrolled in the Faculty of Music after passing his interview exam.
Someone approaches the front counter.
"Welcome. How can I…"
Porchay stops himself as soon as he looks up and recognizes who it is, brightening.
"…ah, hi."
Despite himself, Porchay's voice goes up an octave, and Kim, Kim, seems to be holding back a slight smile while nodding a greeting.
Oh, it's — it's Kim.
"Back again, huh?" Porchay asks, cheerful. Overly cheerful. He can't help himself. "Is it the usual you want?"
Another nod.
"Thanks," Kim says lowly, and it sounds like a deep rumbling in Kim's chest. Porchay can nearly feel it in his own.
Kim is… the most interesting… the most coolest person in the world. He has to be. There's this kindness in his eyes, Porchay sees it. Even if Kim doesn't talk much. Or to anyone. He's got pianist hands. Wears leather jackets and big silver rings and statement necklaces. Porchay can see a bit of dark stubble growing on Kim's upper lip, and he feels lightheaded. In a good way.
"I'll… I'll do that right now."
He hurries over to a machine, flipping it on.
Kim wants his coffee an exact way, Porchay supposes. He rarely addresses anyone else but Porchay whenever Porchay's working, oddly enough. Kim's coffee has gotta be black, but not too black. Ristretto, instead of the espresso. Perfectly temperatured at 50 degrees Celsius as soon as it's done and ready. No sugar. No milk. No nothing but this exact brewed coffee.
But…
Porchay grins, clearing his throat loudly to get Kim's attention. He's been staring contemplatively at Jom's guitar. Kim slips a hand out of his brown, fringed-sleeve leather jacket, and takes the travel mug. Porchay inhales sharply when their fingertips brush.
There's the sip, and then the utter sense of hesitation Porchay anticipated.
"Did you…"
"I added the homemade maple syrup we order in it," Porchay says gleefully, eyeing him. "What do you think? Something new?"
Kim doesn't stop frowning, looking down at the white plastic-covered lid.
"It's good," he concludes.
Porchay's grin goes wider, until everything aches, and he can feel himself blushing like an idiot. Porchay lets out a close-mouthed noise of euphoria, watching Kim's frown lessen, grinding the side of his wrist shyly against the countertop's edge.
With a tap of his card, Kim pays. And, he walks off.
"Um!" Porchay blurts out. His nervousness flares up when Kim turns around to him. His gaze attentive. Like Kim could listen to Porchay for forever. Maybe he would want to. Porchay's insides flutter. "Do you want to, um… with me, I mean, if you would like… to go…"
Damn it.
Porchay's face reddens.
"N-Nevermind…"
His eyes squeeze shut. Damn it, damn it… why…
"It's nothing… it's nothing," Porchay repeats softly, opening them. His head hangs forward.
That's when he stiffens, inhaling deep and holding his breath, as Kim's forefinger tilts up Porchay's chin. "I'll be here tomorrow. Ask me then," an expressionless Kim tells him. But his eyes… there's… oh my god, is Kim gonna laugh? What would that even sound like?
Porchay's heart races.
He can feel a slow streak of warmth, where his thumb purposely drags over Porchay's chin, before Kim finally walks out.
The entrance's bell tinkles.
Porchay wheezes out the air, his knees sinking. He grabs for something — anything — and it's a tamper.
"Seriously…"
Another girl, Ohm's girlfriend untying Ohm's lilac apron strings to adjust them, snickers.
"Porchay, you're so hopeless…" she teases.
"You think he's good with his dick?" Ohm says aloud, wagging his eyebrows at a completely humiliated Porchay, and Ohm's girlfriend makes a so-so face. Porchay wants to disappear. Right now. "It's probably big, right? The guy looks like he's swinging a big dick—"
"—and you would know absolutely nothing about that," Porchay deadpans, his cheeks flushed.
Ohm's girlfriend snickers harder.
"HEY!"
He deserves that.
And well, yeah, Porchay is sure… that… Kim's perfect down there. In every way.
And that Kim knows how to use his.
For reasons.
Definitely not the reasons Porchay gets off to in the middle of the night… when he's definitely definitely not thinking of Kim also in his bed with him… or against a wall… or during a ridiculously long shower… or on top of the cooled-down industrial washer after Porchay's shift ends…
"—knock it off—Porchay, you do know he's stalking you, don't you?"
"No, he's not," Porchay interrupts the ongoing (and totally unacceptable!) conversation, glaring. "Don't say that about Kim."
Ohm's girlfriend sighs.
"He's only here when you are here, I noticed," she adds, a little less teasing. "Don't you think that's strange?"
"It's strange you're noticing and making assumptions."
"Be cool," Ohm mutters, taking Porchay's shoulders when Porchay glares harder. "Listen. I don't think he's a creep, but Chariya's right. I saw him come in for a week straight, and you were out sick, Porchay. He left every time. There's never a mobile order."
"Don't worry about me. Everything's fine." Porchay nods, trying to seem reassuring. After all, this is… Kim.
Ohm ends up sighing and putting up his hands.
"—hey, hey!" Jom appears, clapping his hands at them. "I don't pay you to stand around and discuss your love life! Get moving!"
Porchay snatches up a steam pitcher, groaning.
It's not…
*
It is. Fuck, it is.
This is stalking Porchay, isn't it?
Kim mentally groans.
His thumb tingles with the memory of someone else's warmth, and Kim finds himself absentmindedly brushing his lower lip.
Fuck.
*
Anantrameka University bustles with footsteps and murmurous laughter.
He tugs awkwardly on his uniform-collar.
None of this is going to last, Kim insists to himself. He needs to get further. Further out. Possibly further out of the city and Thailand itself if Kim can. The major family could track him, if they haven't already, and force him back in. Kim would rather be shot.
Going to school… it's been like having sense of comfort to him. An illusion of safety.
Kim enjoys playing musical instruments. All of them. He discovered a talent for playing and composing music a long time ago. While Tankhun had been left to entertain himself, and Kinn was training for the possibility of a 'war' against other mafia families, Papa insisted on Kim's education elsewhere. (He also insisted on Chan giving him tactical survival lessons and demonstrations on hand-to-hand combat from when Kim turned six.)
One day, Kim can see himself graduating and earning a record deal, and having…
A real life.
Nothing pretend. Nothing to do with his family's expectations… and having to kill in cold blood… again…
Kim grimaces, struggling on a new swallow of coffee.
"Oooo!"
Wiʞ's friend — because Kim doesn't trust him with his own name, let alone a nickname — calls out. He waves from one of the study tables. Two of their peers, also seated, firmly ignore both Kim and Wiʞ's friend to scribble their mathematics work packets.
"Huh! You got coffee!"
"I don't see why that's interesting," Kim says dully, stopping over.
"… ooohh, you so saw him again, didn't you?" Wiʞ's friend snickers, nudging Kim. "He's the cute-looking one? You're picky, Wiʞ."
Kim tsks under his breath. "Nosy."
Another snicker.
Sure, there's not a lot of decent coffee shops around their university, but… "The Coffee Club" is decent enough if Kim is in a rush. He's usually rushing. Porchay is usually always there. In his whipped cream-smudged apron and pinstriped bow-tie. Porchay's dark, thick hair uncombed. Kim catches himself staring, and thank god, Porchay doesn't notice. Or he's too polite to mention it.
Porchay never lets anyone else do Kim's order, quickly diving in. Honestly, Kim doesn't mind either way. It's just coffee.
But…
It's how thoughtful and wholehearted Porchay acts. How easily he smiles.
(There's a light surrounding him… and the dark spaces manifesting inside Kim, lurking, twisting their roots… they crave Porchay.)
"Ask him out!" Wiʞ's friend crows, impatient. "Someone else is gonna before you do! You'll regret it!"
"Be more concerned about your exam," Kim retorts softly, his mouth twitching up when Wiʞ's mischievous friend nudges him again. He's tolerable. More importantly, he's probably the only one attending in their class who doesn't seem the least bit intimidated by Kim.
"I gotta go! Remember what I said, Wiʞ!"
Yeah…
That's the problem…
Kim heads towards the open walkway leading from the university's northern quadrangle. He doesn't finish what's still steaming in his traveler's mug. Kim makes his way for the garbage bin, throwing it. There's a commotion. Sunlight burns hotly in his eyes.
What Kim wants…
He blinks, looking suspiciously in the direction of where everyone else looks.
Kim's hand goes up, shielding his eyes.
Outside the sea of pale school uniforms, there's a man waiting by a limo. A man in a tailored, black-and-burgundy suit. There's no mistaking the familiar, mousse-slickened hair coiffed. He looks right at Kim. And, Kim's instincts scream to run… run, run now…
"… Kinn?"
As soon as they're standing together, Kinn nods as if understanding, touching Kim's shoulder.
He's not affectionate to Kim.
Ever.
Kim steps out of Kinn's grasp, his brows furrowing.
"You need to come home," Kinn says hoarsely, stepping in. The whites of Kinn's eyes bloodshot. "It's Papa."
All…
All he wants is…
*
Porchay doesn't know what is going on.
Why Kim isn't here. Why it's so late in the afternoon and why there's not a single sign of him.
Not knowing… it's making him feel anxious.
(Feeling anxious means messes.)
"Shit!" Jom yells, waving a dirtied rag. It stinks like expired peach syrup. "Porchay! Porchay, you need to go home! Your shift's over!"
Porchay brings his hands together in front of his face, inclining his head. "I'm sorry, please…" he says, keeping his eyes lowered. Ohm complained to Porchay about Porchay wiping down all of the equipment already. "Please let me stay a little more. Please."
"You get THIRTY minutes, and then—you're CLOCKING OUT!" Jom yells again, fuming.
He stomps off.
Ohm blows out air through his lips, eyeing Jom's back.
"D'you think he's mad about getting rejected from the TK modeling agency…?"
(Jom hasn't exactly kept this to himself. He shows off the business card, proclaiming that once he's hired… Tem, his co-owner and other best friend as well as Porsche's other best friend… he will be running things in Jom's place. Porchay doubts it.)
"I dunno," Porchay mumbles, taking a broom.
"You don't wanna hear it, I know, but… Jom's right. Maybe you should go." Ohm's face scrunches. "He's not gonna show."
Porchay's lips harden together, fighting a quiver.
"He will," he mumbles, ignoring Ohm who uncrosses his arms. "And… I'm sure everything's fine. Kim wouldn't… everything's fine."
"Yeah, okay. Take care of yourself."
Ohm leaves, clocking out, taking his girlfriend outside with him.
Porchay banishes himself to the tables, lugging a opened cardboard box and digging out napkins. He bangs on the metal napkin dispensers. For a little while… Porchay forgets. Up until the shop's entrance-bell tinkles, and Porchay's head jerks around.
"Chay!" Porsche beams, and Porchay's sudden smile droops.
(He has never been more upset in his life to see his big brother.)
"I'm working," Porchay tells him impatiently, digging for more napkins and getting thwarted by a hug. He squawks.
"You should be at home getting ready for your interview exam this weekend. Haven't you been practicing your songs every day?"
"Bro, not now…"
"THIRTY MINUTES!"
Jom's voice carries in from the office's opened door.
Irritation thrums through Porchay. He grumbles, shoving aside the napkin-box, cursing.
"Watch your language," Porsche laughs, ruffling Porchay's hair. "Get going, Chay. I'm making pork dumplings tonight."
"You don't know how to cook them right."
"Oh, well, excuse me—"
Porchay can't help but laugh at Porsche's mock-offended expression.
He hopes everything's fine.
*
In the dead of night, Kim won't sleep.
He paces, gazing out to the city's skyline, listening to Tankhun fidgeting.
"Kimhan!" Tankhun says Kim's name like a command, even gently. He pats the couch cushion beside him. "Sit! Sit with me!" When there's no answer, or no spasm of a facial expression from Kim, Kinn shakes his head. It's always been like this.
Tankhun hums, instead joining Kim stopping his pacing.
He leans his shoulder on the the gigantic glass-window. His eyes squint.
Despite what everyone thinks… it's not about Tankhun's state of mind compelling him after his kidnapping.
He's not broken. He's surviving.
"You're not here, Kimhan," Tankhun drawls, getting oddly perceptive. Kim's jaw tenses. "You're far… far… away when you shouldn't be. Come home."
"No…"
"We need you, you brat."
For a moment, Kim's lips curl up. Tankhun smirks.
"You have a leader," Kim declares, looking to Tankhun and then nodding in Kinn's direction. "Papa decided who he wanted to run the major family when he got too old. There's too many rivaling families. They want blood. Without a strong leader here, it's over."
Kinn makes a low, gruff noise.
"If you know this, and you know this so damn well," he says harshly, and Kim frowns, "then why do you stay away from your family?"
"… I'm not you, Kinn."
Before anything else happens, Chan enters, bowing and stepping aside for a doctor appearing as old as Papa himself. Kim doesn't recognize him. IS this a specialty doctor from outside the TK Group? And why was there so many doctors when Kim arrived?
"We have done everything we can for his heart. I am sorry."
"Excuse me?" Tankhun blurts out, looking offended. He glances, even more offended, between Kinn's show of grief, Kinn's head burying briefly in his hands, and the doctor apologizing once more. "You're… you're not serious. Do you know where you are? Are you confused?"
Kim grasps onto Tankhun's arms, fisting into the dusty orange tweed of his jacket.
"Khun, sit down," he mutters, trying to lead him away.
But…
Kim was never the leader. He never wanted this.
"NO!"
Tankhun wails, collapsing onto his knees.
"NO! NO! NO!"
He beats his hands against the royal red carpeting.
"Do what you want!" Kinn yells furiously, rising to his feet and going to Tankhun sobbing out high-pitched.
Tears shine in his eyes.
Kinn's arms embrace their older brother, and Kim feels like he's seeing himself outside of his body. His muscles shudder.
He shudders.
And…
*
Kim runs.
*
Maybe it's too early for this.
Porchay yawns, grumpily trudging down the street. Ohm's girlfriend was supposed to be opening for the early morning shift, along with Porchay and someone else, but she's running late. On top of it, their co-worker just texted them about having mild flu symptoms.
"Great! We're screwed! Porchay, you got the keys! Get in there and I'll be there to open the cash registers as soon as I can!"
He takes the long way.
*
Ughh…
It is too damn early, Porchay thinks moodily.
He wants to be in bed. Not thinking.
There's hardly any people around. Most in business suits… others not… a foreign lady nearly losing her vibrantly colored wig…
Kim, his white t-shirt speckled red, dashing out of the alley…
Kim?
Porchay manages to catch Kim's bare arm. His eyes widen.
"Get out of here—"
"Whoa! Kim!" Porchay breathes, catching Kim's other arm and holding on. "Are—are you okay, Kim? Is that—BLOOD?"
"You don't understand—they're coming—"
The air peppers with heat.
Horrified, Porchay recognizes the sound of deafening gunshots, but it's not a video game. He sees real bullets flying past him, embedding into the concrete, ricocheting off. As soon as he hears stomping, Porchay catches onto Kim's hand this time, running off.
No, no!
They're getting SHOT at—
Porchay veers them towards one of the market alleys already packed with customers, narrowly avoiding a hit. Or multiple hits. Kim's hand wrings his. He runs them into another open-air building, into a courtyard with stone steps, and out into another alley.
He knows where to go.
*
All of the lights in "The Coffee Club" remain shut off.
Porchay unlocks the side-entrance, heaving Kim through and almost forgetting to lock. They scramble behind the counter. Kim crouches down, on his right, looking above their heads. He's close enough, so close, that Porchay can smell the richness of Kim's cologne.
Nobody seems to be following.
Hopefully.
(Kim vanished for several days, without warning, and now… he's getting chased? Shot at with REAL guns?)
Who… who is Kim?
He realizes… Porchay doesn't know.
Not this Kim. Kim, with someone else's blood visible on his shirt, breathing hard from the running but not panicking at all.
Their hands clutch.
"Were they trying to rob you?"
Kim huffs for another breath, shaking his head.
"The only thing they want is my life… I'm sure of it. But if you're gonna talk, keep your voice down."
"Got it," Porchay murmurs, slouching against the counter's wall.
He folds an arm around himself.
"Then what do we do, Kim?"
"We wait. They've already attracted too much attention to themselves. It won't be much longer before they need to leave and regroup."
"Do…?" Porchay gives him a deeply incredulous look, separating their hands. "Do you know them…?"
An equally incredulous look.
"Do you think they would be set on killing me?" Kim snarls.
Humiliation warms Porchay's neck.
"Right," Porchay looks up, twiddling together his fingers, and then looks back to Kim and exaggerates a whisper, "Is it the mafia?"
Kim says nothing, peering to the empty, dimly lit spaces around them.
He should be terrified, and he should terrified of Kim…
Right?
"What do they want?" Porchay asks, more fascinated than fearful. After all, it is Kim he's talking.
"My family is in the mafia, too…"
Kim's words burn themselves inside him, like a scarring, and Porchay's mouth goes dry. His heart thuds.
"With them?"
"No," Kim says without any hesitation. It could be the most sincere response Porchay has ever had from Kim, if he considers this. "I was raised in it. I've been trying to find a way out, and now…" Kim turns away, his eyes suspiciously wet. "Papa is dead now… my family is vulnerable to the other families trying to take over. I don't want to be involved, but… I don't want Kinn or Khun hurt."
Porchay nods, retaking Kim's hand, secretly enjoying the flicker of amazement across Kim's expression.
His little finger wraps comfortably around Kim's.
"Then… that's all that matters to me," Porchay says helpfully, beginning to grin.
He straightens up, and then winces.
Porchay's arm unfolds from his middle. Crimson dampens through Porchay's sleeve, revealing itself in a large misshapen blot.
Oh…
"That's bad," Porchay murmurs, staring down woozily as Kim hurries to examine him. He can practically feel the tremor of Kim's hands. A few minutes pass. Porchay isn't sure if he should be feeling more pain or not. How big can a gunshot wound be? How bad is bad?
A ragged, relieved breath.
"Nothing went in," Kim whispers, crouching closer, and Porchay twitches when Kim's hot-feeling fingers touch his skin. This really isn't how he imagined them in the dark and Porchay without his shirt. "Hold still, Porchay. I just need to stop the bleeding…"
"There's…"
Porchay hesitates, jerking a little with his chin.
Ow, okay.
"There's clean aprons in the drawer. Over here."
The adrenaline wears off. Porchay hisses out, closing his eyes and flinching with his teeth exposed when Kim's hand presses down. Shit, that's — ow! OW! — that's worse than Porchay thought it was. He opens his eyes, slumping and glimpsing a concerned Kim watching him.
"Hey, talk to me…"
"About what?" Porchay mumbles, partly baffled and partly sarcastic about it. He's not exactly in the talking mood.
Somehow, that's the thing to make Kim smile.
(A real and beautifully tender smile.)
"You know what, I think you're gonna be alright…"
"Oh, good," Porchay says quietly, hating how every bit of his side throbs painfully. "Because I was thinking I needed a doctor."
"We'll get you one. Soon." Kim reassures him, both of his hands on his wound. Porchay wonders how bleeding out looks. Probably awful. Bleeding out has ruined his pastel blue-sweater sleeve. Aah, damn. Porsche bought him that. "You're gonna need rest for the fever."
"Fever?"
"Yeah, you've been shot. It happens more than you think."
Porchay grunts. He does feel a little warm. But maybe it was the running for his life.
"I thought all I had to worry about was…" Porchay cringes, uttering out a "aah!" and feeling Kim's hands pressing down again, "…was my graduate interview…" he breathes. "I want to go to Anantrameka University. The Faculty of Music. Do you know it?"
"Yes, I…"
Everything goes hazy. Porchay droops. "Mmm."
Kim frees up one of his hands, cupping the side of Porchay's face and easing him upright. "Porchay?"
"Mm?"
"I'm not going anywhere. So stay with me."
"Mmm'kay," Porchay breathes, laying his head drowsily onto Kim's shoulder. He smells good. Perspiration and warm, dark cologne. And, maybe Porchay is imagining it with his fever climbing, but there's a sensation of Kim's lips pressing on top of Porchay's head.
*
Before the ambulance gets to them, Porchay goes limp and unconscious.
Kim pleads under his breath for Porchay to wake up, pleads Porchay's name, over and over… dropping his cellphone onto the ground while the emergency operator calls Kim's name, over and over. He's never asked for something in his life. Not a damn thing.
But this…
This is something Kim can never lose.
"Stay with me, Chay… stay…"
*
It's the last time Kim sees him for a while.
I'm not going anywhere.
*
Kinn's eyes tell him that he shouldn't be here, and Kim doesn't cower. There's always worse.
The bodyguards vanish from the rooftop of the high-rise building.
"I'm surprised," Kinn finally murmurs, cradling to himself a glass tumbler of alcohol. Between Kinn's fingers, a lit cigarette.
Kim nods. "How is Tankhun?"
"He's asking for you. I wanted to talk to you first."
Kim nods, accepting the glass from Kinn. Smells like brandy. He takes an entire mouthful down, unflinching. Yeah, this is sweeter brandy. Kinn likes sweet. Alcohol or desserts or men. Kim never did. He likes… shit, Kim doesn't know what he likes anymore.
Kinn's forehead creases.
"I heard what happened," he announces, and to Kim's own surprise, there's benevolence. "If you came home, you would be protected. Right?"
Kim hands back the mostly emptied tumbler.
Then, he steals Kinn's cigarette.
"… Who killed Uncle when Papa ordered it?" Kim acknowledges, inhaling. Smoke seeps out of Kim's lips and nostrils. He exhales, lifting an eyebrow. "Exactly. You refused. That was probably the first time you ever questioned one of Papa's orders, wasn't it, Kinn?"
"How did it feel? Taking your first life because you could?" Kinn murmurs, and Kim knows he's not saying this in malice.
Kim remembers every second. Every pulse of blood. He had been Porchay's age, two years ago. Two years of carrying something Kim shouldn't have, and now… Papa didn't have the courtesy of making it right to his youngest for it before deciding to die. How is that fair?
"Kinn…"
"Let's forget about it," Kinn says wearily, taking his cigarette back. "Are you staying for Papa's funeral ceremony?"
Kim lets out a low, shaky breath.
"I'll try…"
He can do that much to his family.
*
Kim hasn't allowed himself to grieve any tragedy in his life: his fucked-up childhood… or Mama, who died giving birth to him…
Or Papa…
With Tankhun's hand clutching his, on a bright sunny day, Kim does.
*
Kim…
Porchay begrudgingly shifts in the hospital wheelchair.
"Are they sure nobody came by when I was asleep? Nobody at all?" he questions for the umpteenth time. Porchay's head cranes.
"I told you already, Chay. Ohm stopped by."
Porsche thanks the nurse, gripping the wheelchair-handles himself and insisting he can lead Porchay. They roll out past the elevators. "Since you feel like talking… are you gonna tell me what happened?" Porsche brings this up, and Porchay sighs. "And why the police won't?"
"Bro, I don't know… I started running when a guy was shooting at everyone. And then, it's like I blacked out."
"You know, I can tell when you're lying," Porsche insists, reaching out one-handed. "Your ears go red."
Porchay softly scoffs, craning to see Porsche's shit-eating smile behind him.
"No, they don't!"
"They do."
"No—"
Porchay winces, hissing out and clutching his injured side again. He shouldn't have tried to turn.
"Chay, it's alright." Porsche stops them over by the hospital's exit, going to a knee. His hand rests on Porchay's. "Take it easy."
"There's…" Porchay whispers, looking away. He sniffles. "There's somebody I thought would come see me." Porsche's low and understanding noise, because that's how he is, only makes Porchay's eyes sting hotter. "I knew he wouldn't. He doesn't know what room I'm in. I just…" Porchay takes a breath, forcing a small smile while looking back to him. "Mm'tired, Porsche. Can we go?"
Porsche nods, getting onto his feet.
"We can."
Good.
*
Here's how it is…
The other smaller mafia families won't stop. Anywhere Kim goes, it will be dangerous. And dangerous for anyone around him.
He can't responsible for getting Porchay hurt…
Not again.
Kim tells himself to stay away from Porchay's coffee shop. Or anywhere Porchay could be. For weeks. It's best for both of them. But, he can't help it. And for weeks, there's no sign of Porchay. "He quit," the owner barks out, like it's an accusation. "You're lucky that I don't chase you outta here."
Despite this, Kim comes back every day to see if it's true. If Porchay has really vanished out of his life.
And, one day…
Kim enters during one of "The Coffee Club" performances.
The overhead lights have been dimmed to a yellowish-orange. Starlight projections on the wall. There's the tall, wooden stool, and there's the guitar Kim noticed before, and there's Porchay. Porchay, his hair slicked back. Porchay, wearing a dark leather jacket and a silver necklace.
Everything in Kim's head goes tunnel vision…
No matter what misery I've faced…
I will keep walking…
He finishes on a strum, beaming as every person watching at their tables claps. Porchay's friends, gathering at their own table while dressed in the lilac-aproned uniforms, whistle out their approval. Their giggles echo. Porchay hurries off-stage, giggling with them, being clapped on the back.
Somehow their eyes meet.
Porchay's giggles fade.
He seems so withdrawn, observing where Kim goes as Porchay excuses himself and seats at one of the booth-tables.
Kim half-expects himself to leave.
(Running was always easier.)
"Hi," Porchay murmurs, solemnly staring up to Kim approaching. For a moment, it's reminiscent. "Back again, huh?" He looks good. Not injured. Even if Porchay took a little slower to sit than anyone else would. Kim clears his throat, sitting down across from him. His cheeks burn.
"… They told you?"
"Ohm and Chariya told me soon as I was in the door." Porchay 'hmms' and contemplates this. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."
Kim's heart clenches.
Sorry.
"There's nothing you have to be sorry for," Kim insists, frowning and putting his hands on the booth-table. "There's nothing."
Porchay doesn't look convinced, his mouth thinning.
"When I got out of the hospital, I needed to think about what's happened," he admits, Porchay's voice strengthening. "And about you."
Kim holds himself still.
But, whatever he's expecting, it doesn't come… none of the harshness or well-deserved rejection…
Porchay's hand reaches in front of them.
He slips his fingers under Kim's, lightly grasping his wrist. It's such a sudden and steadying motion that Kim gulps.
"I'm reapplying for my interview exam. They'll let me schedule it. When I explained I missed everything for a hospitalization, it worked out fine." Porchay cracks a smile, and Kim nearly does. "And… and I think this could. I think I want to be with you, Kim. For a long time."
For…
Kim stares softly over him.
Porchay grins, raising his eyebrows a little. "Do you want the same thing?" he asks.
There's an expectant gentleness in Porchay's hopeful approach, and the corners of Kim's mouth uplift. He nods faintly, igniting a brightness in Porchay's widening grin. Kim's afraid to say something. The right words scramble in Kim's head, and it's not enough.
"… Nice jacket."
"Thanks," Porchay says boastfully. His shoulders hitch. "It reminded me of you when you weren't there."
Kim's throat bobs.
"Wait… I need to tell you something, Chay," Kim breathes, looking down and shaking his head.
You won't be safe.
You can't live the life you want if we do this.
I don't know how to love someone.
I've killed someone.
Make this easier and tell me you hate me instead.
"I…"
"Kim," Porchay speaks up, now eyeing him worriedly, cradling all of their fingers together. Kim inhales, holding everything in before it has to come out. He's… never felt like this. So much of it. Whether it's love or not. "You don't have to tell me everything right now, Kim. I'm not going anywhere."
"Just listen. You saved my life when you hid me here." Kim tries to explain this, his heart pounding, "You did it without thinking, right?"
Porchay tilts his head, confused. "Right. So…"
"So… according to my family, and according to the laws held in every generation of my family… I owe you a life debt."
"Okay," Porchay says tonelessly.
He stands up and leans over the booth-table. His eyes unfocused.
"And I know that sounds craz—huh—" Kim mumbles, and then he blinks, eyelids fluttering. Porchay's mouth touches his. A hand slides over Kim's jaw, holding his cheek. Porchay lets out a little, moaning 'ooh' between them and that's when Kim decides to stop thinking.
One kiss leads to another, their mouths flush.
Kim grunts, already standing, relocking their lips with a small, licking kiss. His fingers dig deep into Porchay's hair. Both of Porchay's possessive hands hold his face. The tip of Porchay's thumb strokes Kim's cheekbone. He's never been more grateful to be disorientated by a kiss. Porchay's kiss.
They pull away, soundlessly and slowly, focusing back on the sight of each other.
But, god, Kim wants him back… ravaging his mouth, kicking the fucking table out the way… and getting Porchay in his arms. Feeling him. Feeling that bit of warmth Kim remembers stealing when he first touched Porchay's chin. It feels like years and years ago, instead of weeks.
Porchay gazes over Kim's determined expression, and his kiss-swollen mouth, elated.
"… what's a life debt?" he asks in the same toneless voice.
Kim huffs a slightly smiling laugh.
"You'll see."
*