Chapter Text
The city of Bangkok is loud with feet stepping on concrete as people walk around all over the place. Vegas Theeranpanyakul himself is part of the infinite amount of footsteps. For it being a Thursday morning, there seems to be quite a bit of people-traffic. There are some going to work, others barely on their way home, and a few tourists on such an early day. Whatever it be the reason they are out here this bright, it irks Vegas, not a huge fan of large crowds to begin with.
To any passerby on the street, he looked like a high-level executive, some kind of CEO, but there was a slight edge to his movements that suggested something far more lethal. Who could blame them, he was dressed in rich silk fabric and a black button coat, and wearing a watch that caught the sunlight with a mechanical glint throughout his walk.
He was constantly eyeing his surroundings out of a habitual need. He didn’t exactly need to go to a public coffee shop. But this morning, his house felt more like a tomb than most days. The subsequent silence of it all was becoming too deafening.
The way to his destination was not far, he just happened to park his car away from view. It's too much of a hassle to bring it to the part of town he was going toward. He didn’t even mind the short walk, it gave him a bit of quiet thinking (despite the busy sidewalks). The atmosphere was cold on his face and he breathed out, a cloud of cool air huffing out of his mouth. Winter has caught up already and he can't tell if he hates it or not.
“Alec!”
Vegas makes a mental note of writing down the name upon entering the coffee shop, walking in like he owns the place. He radiated an aura of intense boredom, but also this sense of authority that made him stand out, especially with the way he was dressed so formally for a simple coffee visit. A few heads turned to look at him and he pretended not to notice. Instead, he paid attention to his surroundings.
It’s a cozy shop, with cushions and soft chairs and nice tables. Plants in each corner with an earthy vibe filled with warmth and coffee. The place is a stark contrast to his imposing world. Vegas didn’t think much of it. He rarely visited mundane places as he feels there is no need to. He could adjust to change but would rather avoid it. Trying new things isn’t what he strives for but he figured a simple coffee shouldn’t disappoint. He needed to get out of the house anyway.
Vegas takes notice of all the noises in the shop. There was a phone ringing, then there was a conversation following right after, the sound of milk being poured in a cup, the call of another name, the grinding of beans, the coffee machine buzzing, the cash register sliding open, and of course the sound of Vegas' feet tapping his foot. He’d be lying if he said he was a patient person.
As the line moved forward, his eyes gazed over at the counter and watched the employee take orders with such grace and friendliness he almost rolled his eyes. The guy was too bright, his eagerness to satisfy his customers was an irritating anomaly. The man had a fringe of hair that gave him a boy-ish look that casted over his eyes. He wore an onyx brown apron with the coffee's logo on it, but underneath, he had a simple white shirt combined with dark blue jeans. He also had blue nail polish on which Vegas found interesting.
Now at the counter, Vegas wasted no time. “Black coffee. Medium,” his voice even and low, speaking before he let the barista utter a word to him, who smiled at him cheerfully and nodded. Vegas noticed the dimples on his cheeks and for a split second he could admit it suited him.
“Will that be all?” He asks Vegas, who just slided cash to him. The barista, ever efficient, took it without another word and quickly prepared the order, sliding it across the counter and offering another grin to Vegas. “Here you go, you have a lovely day!”
Vegas hums as a thank you. He snatched his coffee and was already turning to leave but as he did so, a young girl collided directly with him and the piping hot black coffee in his hand sloshes, spilling onto the floor.
He freezes. The stillness in his body language screamed dangerous to the offending customer who bumped into him, who was currently profusely apologizing to him. The chatter in the place filled with nervous murmur as they watched the scene before them. While Vegas is too proud to cause a scene, there was a shimmering bit of anger looming in him at the inconvenience of a wet coat and silky shirt.
The barista who had attended Vegas, however, reacts almost instantly. “Oh goodness! Sir, are you alright?” He comes rushing over with a clean cloth and doesn’t hesitate to dab at Vegas’ chest with practiced ease and a genuine expression on his face. “I am so sorry about this! Can I get you another drink? On the house, of course.” He was a whirlwind of helpfulness and quite frankly, it was overwhelming.
Vegas was a little stunned at the barista’s quick assistance. He’s familiar with people trying to get away from him or others cowering or apologizing pathetically out of fear of being on Vegas’ bad side. The employee seemed quite earnest though, his touch light and professional, trying his hardest not to come across as overbearing.
His eyes narrowed as he looked down at the barista who was now crouched to further dry him up as best as he could. He reads the embroidery on his apron and sees the name Pete.
Almost gently, Vegas pushed Pete’s hand away from him. His eyes shifted from Pete’s face to the girl who visibly flinched at his stare. He held his gaze for a moment before he gave a perceptible nod, a final gesture before he turns and strides out of the cafe. Pete watched him leave while the clumsy girl beside him remained frozen until the doors swung shut behind Vegas.
Pete turned to the girl beside him, confused at how visibly shaken the girl looked over spilled coffee. “Are you alright? You look pale.”
She offers a small smile, looking embarrassed and she assures him she’s fine. She goes to pick up her cup that had coffee which Vegas is now carrying around on his shirt, but Pete quickly aids her.
“Here, let me.” Pete picks up the cup and drops the cloth to clean the spill. “Mistakes happen all the time, you’re okay. He probably didn’t mean to look so angry.”
Before the girl can respond, Pete hears a loud voice behind him call for him. “Pete! What is this I’m hearing?” His boss, Perth, who’s just heard what happened, is heading towards them.
“I apologize, sir. Small issue with a spilled drink, but I’m currently dealing with it.”
“This is you dealing with it?” He suggests the mess on the floor and then gestures to the customer. “Are you alright, ma’am? Would you like a replacement for your drink?”
She shakes her head. “I’m alright, thank you. I’ll just be on my way.” She quickly heads out the door, leaving Pete and his boss next to the mess.
“Forget the mess,” he hisses. “And issue him a check right now for the inconvenience.”
Pete stares. “A check? It was just coffee, sir, a simple accident. He didn’t look too bothered.”
“Pete!” He whispers harshly. “That man right there…that’s Vegas Theerapanyakul! Do you have any idea who you just spilled coffee on?” Pete, still confused, doesn’t respond. “Issue that check immediately and personally deliver it to him to his home, do you understand me?” Pete nods at him. “Good. Now go.” He stalks off into his office, leaving his employee baffled and unable to comprehend the immense urgency over spilled coffee.
Just who is this Vegas guy?
A while later, Pete reluctantly shows up at Vegas’ house. With confusion knotted in his stomach, he filled out a ridiculously large check worth more than the cost of Vegas’ stained shirt or a thousand spilled coffees. It was an absurd gesture to give to someone who’s deemed important, but Perth was persistent and Pete was not about to disobey his boss.
With the check in hand and a sketchy address, Pete stands in front of a long driveway that leads to the house that looks more like some kind of fortress. This Vegas guy is rich by the looks of it, no doubt about it and maybe even powerful, given how Perth reacted earlier. Pete didn’t bother searching up the name or finding out who he is because he didn’t trust outside resources. People talk and streets are always filled with rumors. Vegas might not be who he is and you can’t judge a person when you don’t know them.
He looks at the check, curious to know what kind of person deserves such a generous amount of money for a simple mistake. Maybe he’s some kind of celebrity. Regardless, he’ll find out today or he won’t. He makes his way to the door and knocks.
A maid, looking formal and stoic in her uniform answers the door. Pete offers a smile and states his business regarding the payment and she deems him harmless enough to let him in. Once inside, she leads him through hushed, echoing hallways and finds a few men standing by. He silently questions their stay but doesn’t think much of it, figuring they work for Vegas.
He’s ushered into a minimalist living room where he catches sight of Vegas sitting by a large window that looks over the grounds, with a book. He rips his eyes away from the book when he hears them entering, his gaze falling on Pete. A flicker of genuine surprise forms on his face but is quickly masked before he waves a hand at the maid for her to leave the room.
“Barista,” Vegas says, a hint of annoyance laced in his voice. “Of all people. I hope you have a good reason for this unexpected visit.” He shuts his book and sets it on a dark, polished side table beside him.
“My boss sent me here. Lovely home, by the way. It costs more than my life.” Pete tries to joke, but Vegas just watches him with an unreadable expression. He clears his throat, feeling awkward, and holds out the envelope. “It’s a gift. We are sorry about earlier and we hope you accept this gesture of apology for the inconvenience.” He bows.
Vegas takes the envelope with a slight disdain look on his face. He opens it and looks over the numbers on the check. “Generous,” he scoffs, tossing the check on top of his book. “But completely unnecessary. While slightly humiliated, my convenience isn’t measured in terms of money.”
Pete chuckles nervously. “Look, I know it’s just coffee, but my boss insisted.” He tries to reason. “He really values his business and he–we don’t want any trouble. Clearly, you don’t need any more money but he wants you to have it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Pete?” Vegas tilts his head. “Are you insinuating I’m spoiled?”
Pete’s eyes widened a little. “No, of course not. I, uh, I’m just assuming. I don’t mean to insult you, at all.” Then he furrows his eyebrows. “How do you know my name?” Vegas eyes his name tag and Pete looks down at himself. He coughs, “Right.”
Vegas stands and slowly walks toward the window. “Tell me. What concerns did your boss conjure up that would require such an offer? Surely, your paycheck would be affected by this…gesture.”
“I don’t know for sure. He was just very insistent that I bring you that. We really don’t want any trouble, sir. I hear you’re very influential. I’m just here to make things right.”
Vegas turns his head to look at him and he lets out a humorless chuckle. “Influential?” He takes a step toward Pete, and then another, and another until he’s in front of him. Pete’s beginning to get a little nervous. “Does this ‘influence’ you speak of scare you?”
“Um, why would it?” Pete asks.
Vegas’ eyes bore into his. “You stand here in my house discussing influence and potential trouble all over a simple accident. I’m just curious why you don’t seem threatened.”
Pete doesn’t feel threatened or thinks there’s a need to be. He’s still a little confused about who he is, but it’s really none of his business to know everything. “Personally, you’re just a guy who was unfortunate to have had coffee thrown all over you. You don’t seem like a bad person. I think you’re just misunderstood.”
Vegas hadn’t expected that response. Pete seems too good, willing to see the good in everyone kind of person. This leaves Vegas with an unreadable assessment in his hands as his gaze sweeps over Pete, taking in his open expression and soft clothes, and the warmth radiating from him. He didn’t want the check. But Pete looked like a very stubborn individual and quite naive, which sparked a certain curiosity in Vegas.
Pete steps away after a few minutes. “Anyway, that is all. I will be on my way now.” He quickly bows and offers him one last smile, one too bright for someone like Vegas and he finally walks away.
The silence Vegas was sitting in earlier settled back in as he sat back down in his seat, reaching for his book, eyeing the check that lay on top of it. He should be dismissing Pete entirely as an inconvenience, as a nuisance who interrupted him over coffee, but he couldn’t. What was it about Pete that drew him in?
He found pride in being able to read those around him. He can figure out people’s motives and predict reactions just as fast as he can blink. He can sense evil, fear, and desperation. However, Pete was like an anomaly. For whatever reason Vegas found him unpredictable, his lack of intimidation had nothing on him. It was kind of annoying.
He sighs. Pete. The barista. Just an ordinary human being. One that has sparked a genuine curiosity in Vegas it’s almost infuriating. Even his one night stands don’t gather that much interest from him. This is what he gets for trying something new; a ruined jacket and a nuisance.
Vegas goes back to burying himself in his book and the check remains untouched on the table.
The next morning, Pete is wiping down the counter and completing his duties when the door to the shop opens. He looks up to meet the customer and his heart jumps a little at the sight. Vegas stands there, with the very same aura he carried yesterday that says, “I own this place and I own you.” He stands out with his fancy clothes and expensive watch, only this time he doesn’t look impatient or entitled. He’s observant, too precise about the way his eyes glaze over the place before his eyes land on Pete, who notices the check in his hand. The same check he had given him yesterday.
With a stride only Vegas carries, he heads to the counter and lays the check down. “I thought I made it very clear, Pete. I don’t accept charity.” He slides it to him.
Pete sighs and before he can say anything, Vegas keeps talking, “However, for whatever reason I decided this, I’m willing to offer a new perspective to,” his eyes look around the cafe again, “this shop.” He takes his wallet out, handing Pete bills, far more than the actual price of the drink. “Black coffee. I do hope it’s not spilled again.”
Pete was a bit surprised but didn’t know what to say. He nodded and began to prepare the coffee. He handed it over to him–careful not to spill it–and Vegas walked away with it after a curt nod. Pete’s eyes followed him to a table, where he sat and proceeded to take out a journal.
Every now and then he’ll see Vegas write down a word or two. He does this after a customer’s name is called and he’ll look up sometimes to look at the faces of the names being called out. Pete finds himself interested in this man, he debates walking over and chatting him up but Vegas doesn’t look like the kind of guy that seeks conversation, and with Pete of all people.
But Pete being Pete, he chooses to approach the corner a minute later either way. Curiosity got the best of him. Besides, Vegas was a very attractive man.
“Is everything okay with your coffee? Would you like anything else?” He asks, a bit nervous. His eyes wander at the open journal and before Vegas can respond, Pete points, “Oh, are these customer names? What are they for?” He looks down at Vegas’ neat writing and sees a list of names.
Vegas fixes his gaze on Pete, a bit surprised at the casual approach. He could see Pete’s genuine interest and hesitated just a little before replying in a low voice, “If you must know, it’s for my cat.”
Pete blinks in surprise. “You have a cat? I didn’t peg you as a cat person. Or any animal person, really.”
“I’m glad we know each other enough to make assumptions, Pete.” Vegas closes his journal and tucks it away.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. I just don’t recall seeing a cat at your house yesterday.”
Vegas leans back in his seat, a small smirk forming on his face. “It’s a work in progress.” He goes for a sip of his coffee. “And frankly, I could use the company.” He admits. “Too much space there.” He doesn’t admit out loud how lonely it feels, living by himself–aside from his employees. Even then, no one’s around but the house maid and a few bodyguards.
His brother, Macau, is studying abroad and Vegas does nothing but work. While he enjoys his solitude, there is still that bit of longing of not wanting to be alone and Macau suggested he finally get a pet. While Vegas rejected the idea at first, he realized it might not be so bad after all.
“Wow, I can only imagine what it’s like to live there.” Pete’s eyes lit up. “My apartment is terribly small, you’d be surprised at how close I sleep to the front door,” he says with a light chuckle.
“Well if your place is so terrible and my house is too big, you should just move in with me. You get the space and I get a new pet. We all win.” Vegas’ nonchalant tone carries out the idea and Pete is too stunned to even realize Vegas referred to him as a pet.
Vegas’ expression is unreadable, so Pete can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. Sarcasm has never been a tool he could detect and coming from Vegas, it’s much more difficult to notice so he fails to recognize his sarcastic tone.
He stands there processing the conversation, wondering what would prompt him to make such an offer. But it’s so random and quite daring that Pete doesn’t find the offer so bad. If anything it appeals to him in an act of spontaneity. He looks for a sign of a jest but finds nothing, Vegas looks too serious for his liking. It’s a crazy thought, a wild opportunity but Vegas seems trusting, all things considered.
So Pete can feel himself warming up to the idea on the spot. “Okay, deal.”
Vegas’ smirk vanishes and his eyes widen just slightly. “What?”
“I’ll help you find a pet. And I could really use a roommate.” Pete grins at him.
Vegas’ facade cracks realizing Pete is taking him very seriously. He anticipated anything but acceptance, he assumed Pete would brush it off as a joke, or even ignore him but never this. He stares at him, bewildered, his lack of self-preservation throwing him off.
“When shall I stop by?”
Genuinely surprised and not wanting to contradict his own word, Vegas clears his throat before he stands abruptly. “Tomorrow,” he grunts. He pushes his chair before he strides out of the cafe, leaving Pete to continue working while thinking to himself why it feels strangely like he just made a deal with the devil.
That night, Vegas lay in still silence under the duvet covers of his bed, consumed by a single, incomprehensible entry: Pete. He couldn’t help but replay yesterday’s events. The spilled coffee was nothing but an inconvenience. Pete’s reaction, however, was intriguing. He didn’t bristle with anger or cower away in apology, but instead moved with a natural sincerity Vegas found jarring. Whereas Pete’s boss must’ve nearly collapsed at hearing about the situation, panicked enough to feel he owed Vegas a huge sum of money he didn’t need. It was a ridiculous gesture, an exaggeration, but it was the standard. It was how people were meant to react to him. Fear his mere existence.
Then Pete arrived at the mansion. He stood there, not an ounce of fear in him, insisting on a check that Vegas thought meaningless. Vegas had probed around just to witness a crack in that annoyingly earnest facade. But Pete only titled his head and declared him “misunderstood.”
Misunderstood. Such a word applied to him of all people, of a man who thrived on being feared and whose actions were deliberately calculated to be intimidating, and Pete calls him misunderstood? Was that really his reputation in Pete’s sun-drenched world? It was a laughable thought, but not in a humorous way.
And then today. Vegas’ joke. A sarcastic offer thrown out on a whim, a test that proved just how far Pete’s naivety went. He extended an invitation he never believed would be accepted. But now, it was a commitment. A commitment Pete accepted just like that.
Vegas prided himself on absolute control and emotional detachment. So being genuinely perplexed by a simple barista has him thinking he’s going crazy. It wasn’t infatuation he was feeling, nor admiration. He couldn’t categorize it but whatever it was had him itching to study Pete up close.
He closed his eyes and for the first time in a while, Vegas felt a tremor of anticipation for tomorrow.