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Rebellion looked good on Chay. That was what all his friends had been saying lately - they seemed endlessly amazed at the new depths of confidence he’d been displaying, paying him constant compliments every time he showed up with his hair streaked in some fun new colours, or with glittery, razor-winged eye make-up straight out of a TikTok tutorial, or once, memorably, with a lip piercing.
(Admittedly, it had been a fake - a real one would have riled Porsche up to an extent that he still wasn’t quite sure he was ready for. Although he had an appointment to get his ears pierced next week, which was a start.)
He could happily admit that he hadn’t been making the best decisions lately. But he was quickly discovering that making a few bad decisions on purpose tasted a hell of a lot sweeter than he’d ever been led to believe.
Tonight, the beat of the club’s shitty EDM was thrumming in his veins, his last shot he’d thrown back was adding to the comfortable haze that had settled across his senses, and the new shock of red adorning his bangs had definitely passed peer review among his friends. Even if Porsche would be angry with him for sneaking out yet again, Chay couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it.
Especially when he’d wrangled a new partner in crime out of it all. Even if Macau Theerapanyakul was more naturally proficient as an enabler than as a friend, he’d somehow managed to become both to Chay. It was Macau who had guided Chay to the bars that trod that fine, fine line of just edgy enough to scratch the itch that had been living under his skin since the day the truth had taken a wrecking ball to his life, while also maintaining enough of a veneer of respectability that he’d never felt truly unsafe in any of them. On the other hand, it had been Chay who’d coaxed Macau first into playing a few games together, then into some movie nights, and finally into feeling comfortable enough around Chay that he’d ended up crying into his shoulder more than once.
Chay would bet that he didn’t know all of Macau’s secrets, not by a long shot. But he knew more than a few, by now.
But Macau hadn’t been able to make it to the club tonight, so when a red-cheeked, burly older man with whiskey-sour breath suddenly loomed over Chay, he felt a twinge of very real fear. Macau seemed to be able to make just about anyone back off with barely more than a glance - having been brought up in the butcher’s den, all of his edges had been honed to more than razor-sharp. All of Chay’s freshly-learned bravado was a pale reflection by comparison - even though he was gradually realising that his spine was made of stronger steel than he’d ever given himself credit for, it was still raw, and unforged, and certainly not sharp enough to cut. Out on his own for once, the difference between them suddenly felt like a chasm.
The stranger grunted something at him, too garbled for Chay to understand over the thump of the music. He tried to convey as much, but that was the wrong move; anger flashed in the drunkard’s gaze, focusing it, and a clumsy hand swiped out in Chay’s direction.
Before the adrenaline even had a chance to truly crackle through his veins in response, someone else intercepted and caught the punch with their own hand. A smooth voice, somehow perfectly audible even above the pulsing rhythm, crooned in English, “Oh, I don’t think you want to be doing that.”
Chay whirled around, and found himself face to face with one of the last people he’d have expected to see - despite his newfound friendship with Macau, he’d rarely crossed paths with his brother. At least until now.
Vegas Theerapanyakul was smiling sweetly at his aggressor, which was somehow all the more terrifying. Or at least, it should have been - instead, Chay felt all of his fear draining away, replaced by an utterly incongruous sense of safety, which somehow refused to fade even when the man retreated cradling a pair of newly-broken fingers; even when Chay’s gut was telling him that such a controlled display of violence was really a show of exemplary restraint, when it came to the man now standing in front of him.
Outside the club, a few minutes later, Vegas lit up a cigarette and offered another to Chay, which he hesitantly accepted. After a moment of awkward silence, during which he valiantly managed not to cough, Chay ventured, “Uh. Thank you, Khun Vegas.”
A curt nod was the only reply. And there must have been more of the vodka still swirling through his system than he’d thought, because he found himself adding, “Why were you there, though?”
Vegas cocked an eyebrow; Chay met his gaze head-on.
He really did keep surprising himself, these days.
Finally, Vegas let out a soft laugh, barely more than a sigh. “You are like your brother,” he mused, before taking another drag of his cigarette. He blew the smoke out almost pensively, then continued, “And I guess I’m like him too, in some ways.”
He paused for so long, Chay almost gave in to the urge to prod him to continue. But eventually, Vegas continued, “You’ve been hanging around Macau a lot, lately. Guess I was curious if you were worth his interest.”
Chay wasn’t entirely sure if he was being baited, or if that was a simple statement of fact. Either way, he refused to rise to it. “And why did you step in to help me?”
A look of genuine surprise crossed Vegas’s face, at that. “That’s my family for you, kid. Reprisals against anyone who threatens one of our own is what we do.” He shrugged, and stubbed out his cigarette. “If Macau’s decided that you’re one of our own, that’s good enough for me.”
Chay kept staring at the end of the alleyway until long after Vegas’s retreating back had been swallowed up by it. He had the niggling feeling that he ought to be more bothered by the fact that he’d possibly been quasi-adopted by one of the most dangerously unhinged men he’d ever met, but somehow, all he could muster was a quiet sense of comfort.
Maybe he ought to get that lip piercing after all, he mused. After all, what was there to fear from his older brother’s ire, when he apparently had a much scarier older brother in his corner anyway?