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Pete didn’t think much of the fact that he’d been absent for weeks with, as he understood it, little to no attempt to seek him out. He had, after all, said it to Khun Kinn himself: if he was caught spying in the minor family’s house he would be tortured and killed, and in the end…you didn’t send out risky rescue missions for one bodyguard who was probably already dead. He should’ve been dead. It was just pure dumb…not even luck, Vegas decision-making that he wasn’t.
He’d been a little delirious and out of it but he thought he vaguely remembered Khun Noo holding some kind of…funeral? memorial service? for him, so that was kind of nice, even.
So he didn’t hold any kind of grudge, or anything. Honestly sometimes he thought Vegas was more offended on his behalf about it than he was. What do you want them to have done, kicked down the door and shot you in your own safehouse, Pete had said, and Vegas had frowned but didn’t outright say no, which put Pete in a bad mood for the rest of the afternoon.
And, if he had been inclined to carry any resentment, he could always remind himself that in a weird and fucked up and seemingly incomprehensible to anyone else way, it’d worked out in his favor. If the main family had swooped in earlier and rescued him from Vegas then maybe they never would’ve gotten closer, and in that case either Vegas would’ve been shot in the back in the attempted coup by the guards Pete had sent off, or maybe Pete would’ve shot to kill. Or Vegas would’ve blown his idiot brains out by the pool himself.
Pete didn’t like thinking about that, though, so mostly he just tried not to think about the entire subject, at all.
Generally speaking, it wasn’t that hard to avoid. It wasn’t like anybody else wanted to talk about it, either, or at least not that part of it, though there was initially a lot of cautious probing from Arm and Pol that amounted mostly to blink if you need someone to save you from him. There was also some cautious allusions to his, uh, vacation, that were very far from subtle. Porsche, at least, didn’t seem inclined to push for more information than he already had, which was already more than Pete really wanted him to know.
And that was that. Moving on.
The first time Arm came around to carefully ask if Pete wanted to hang out, maybe, sometime, Pete got the impression that he was half expecting Vegas to pop up out of nowhere and drag Pete away screaming. He tried not to let it annoy him and just agreed, enthusiastically, and then steeled himself to talk to Vegas about it.
Vegas twitched about it. It was very clear he didn’t like it. But he told Pete to go –obviously I’m not going to keep you from seeing your friends, have fun, say hi from me – and didn’t take it back when Pete asked if he was sure.
He didn’t pass on Vegas’s greetings, though.
After that…Pete wasn’t always entirely sure it wasn’t at least partly a wellness check, but they hung out pretty regularly, the three of them, and sometimes Porsche, though that could be a little weird, and sometimes Khun Noo which was always more than a little weird. Khun Noo seemed to veer wildly in and out of forgetting that Pete wasn’t his bodyguard anymore and treating him like they were ordinary best friends. It was almost like having regular friends like a normal person, sometimes, but not really.
Today he’d ended up roped into a beach party, which meant an outdoor pool party where Khun Noo had had decorations set up to make it look like a beach.
Vegas had not been invited. He usually wasn’t. Porsche was, but not Khun Kinn, because Khun Noo said this beach party was for his former and current bodyguards only.
Mostly it was going pretty well. Only–
“Porsche,” Pete said, deciding it was time to call him on it, “are you staring at my chest?”
Porsche, who was well and truly drunk by now, startled, almost spilled his drink, and just managed to steady it. “I was? Oh, yeah, it’s just – I don’t usually see you with your shirt off.”
“I don’t usually go around with it off,” Pete said, smiling a little. “Are you hitting on me?”
“No, no,” Porsche said, though after a brief pause like he was thinking about it. Pete wasn’t going to touch that. “It’s the–” he gestured at Pete’s chest, but before Pete could work out what he meant he said, “--the scars, you know.”
Pete’s muscles seized up momentarily and he forced them to relax. He smiled reflexively, glancing over his shoulder, and became acutely aware that everyone was listening.
He resisted the urge to reach for his shirt. “They’re not that bad,” he said, trying to make it a joke. “Some people think scars are sexy.”
He knew he shouldn’t have said it before Khun Noo lowered his sunglasses and said, “does Vegas?”
That opened a hole in the conversation. Pete glanced at the gate, wondering how fast he could make an excuse to leave, feeling rotten for thinking about it, it was fine, everything was fine, he laughed, smiled–
“That’s not what I meant,” Porsche said. “I was just thinking – I’m sorry, you know? I don’t think I ever said that.”
Pete fell very still. “Sorry?” he said. “For what?” Trying to go through what Porsche might be talking about, and all he could come up with was the fact that he was pretty sure Vegas had been at Yok’s bar because Porsche had told him Pete would be there, and Pete had been there because Porsche had brought him. But he’d decided he wasn’t going to go after Porsche about it now. It would feel sort of stupid.
“Well,” Porsche said, faltering a little. He glanced at Arm and Pol and Khun Noo. “I mean, if we’d…”
Khun Noo pulled his sunglasses the rest of the way off and said loudly, “Porsche is trying to say that he’s sorry he and Kinn forgot about you. Isn’t that right, Porsche?”
Pete blinked. He stared at Khun Noo, and then back at Porsche, who wasn’t looking at him. “What?” he said blankly, struggling to process…that.
“That’s what happened!” Khun Noo said. “You were gone, supposedly on vacation without saying anything to me or anybody else, and my brother sent you on a very dangerous mission before that you didn’t come back and check in from, and nobody thought anything of it until I said something!” The indignation in his voice reminded Pete, rather absurdly, of Vegas, somewhere in his brain where he wasn’t trying to process what Khun Noo was saying.
“Oh,” Pete said.
“It wasn’t Kinn’s fault,” Porsche said, sounding both a little desperate and a little defensive. “I was the one who…who told him not to worry about it.”
Pete’s thoughts felt like they were moving through very sticky mud. “Oh,” he said again. He sounded like an idiot and he knew it, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to say.
“Pete?” Porsche said, expression turning worried. Pete shook himself and smiled.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know you had a lot of stuff on your mind.”
Porsche winced. Arm, who was sort of hiding his face in a mai tai and pretending not to listen, also winced.
“It’s not,” Porsche said. “I should’ve, should’ve tried calling you, or…”
“It’s fine,” Pete said again, more loudly. His lungs felt tight. “I don’t know what you think you could’ve done anyway, and it’s in the past now, so forget about it.” Everyone was staring at him now. Pete wanted to shrink, to disappear, wanted people to stop paying attention to him, that was how it was supposed to be and how it had been for a long time and right now he wanted it back.
He scrambled for some kind of change of subject but nothing was coming up. He was thinking about Vegas’s smile as he talked to Pete’s grandma. About the way he’d breathed on Pete’s neck as he tried not to cry on the phone, tried to sound normal. About – everything. The fear and pain and exhaustion he made an effort not to think about, and what came after that – after he was free – was somehow almost worse.
“Who wants another drink!” Porsche said suddenly, too loudly. Pete jumped, jerked back to the present.
“I need to piss,” he mumbled under his breath, grabbed his shirt, and walked away a little too fast, and then walked all the way out of the main family’s house.
He called Vegas.
“Can you come get me,” he said. He couldn’t tell if his voice sounded as weird as he felt, but based on the quiet on the other end of the line Vegas heard something. He should’ve just texted.
“Now?” Vegas said.
“Yeah,” Pete said, willing him not to ask. Thankfully, at least this once, he didn’t.
“Be right there,” he said, and then, “love you, Pete,” and hung up.
It still hit Pete a little funny, the way Vegas would just say stuff, sometimes. But he didn’t stick on that for very long. He felt weirdly…blank. It seemed like there should be something there, anger or disappointment or something, but…nothing. Just empty space.
He and Kinn forgot about you.
Arm and Pol didn’t know where he’d been; they at least had that excuse. Porsche knew. Khun Kinn knew. Khun Kinn had sent him there and acknowledged the risks, the danger he was going to be in, but when Pete wasn’t standing in front of him he disappeared. Maybe that wasn’t fair. Porsche had said I was the one who told him not to worry about it which suggested that Khun Kinn had at least thought of it at some point.
(And how long did that take?)
Porsche was his friend. Pete had gone in the first place for Porsche’s sake.
Pete wished Khun Noo hadn’t said. Maybe he should be glad he’d been honest, that at least he knew the truth, or something like that, but he didn’t feel that, either.
Vegas rode up on his bike and stopped in front of Pete, took one look at his face, and frowned. His eyes darted dangerously toward the entrance to the main family compound. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”
Pete smiled automatically. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. He wasn’t not fine, anyway, on account of not being much of anything. Vegas’s eyes narrowed a little more and Pete’s stomach squirmed, but he didn’t elaborate.
“Sure,” Vegas said after a long silence. “If you say so. Get on.”
Pete climbed on behind Vegas, put his arms around his waist, and mostly zoned out all the way home, still drifting. He could feel Vegas’s tension and worry but didn’t know how to address it. Or didn’t feel like he could, not right now.
The cat rubbed against his legs when he stepped inside with a loud meow, and he reached down absently to rub behind her ears.
“So are you going to tell me what happened?” Vegas said.
Pete shook his head. Then said, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if you’re going to tell me?” There was something faintly dangerous in Vegas’s voice. Pete sort of wanted to chase it, to see what Vegas would do to him, but he was afraid the answer might be nothing or just be annoyed with him and give him the cold shoulder and he didn’t think he could take either of those things right now.
He grabbed two handfuls of Vegas’s shirt and yanked him forward, smashing their lips together. Vegas made a brief, startled noise but adjusted quickly, one of his hands rising to cup the back of Pete’s head, the other sliding around his waist to the small of his back. Pete crowded closer, then pivoted, turning them so he could press Vegas’s back against the door. He didn’t try for any finesse, just diving into the kiss like water he could drown in.
When Pete surfaced he was breathing hard, but he wasn’t the only one. The sharpness in Vegas’s gaze had shifted and now he looked hungry and intent, eyes on Pete picking him down to bones. That feeling, having all that focus and intensity and want trained on him, left him feeling a little dizzy and filled some of the empty space inside him.
Pete swallowed and dropped his head to bite his shoulder only for Vegas’s hand in his hair to bring him up short.
“Down, boy,” he said, a bit of a laugh in his voice. He did a quick scan of Pete’s face but whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because he said, “okay, baby. Let’s go.”
One of the things that made Pete so good at his job was the fact that people didn’t really see him.
Khun Korn employed a number of bodyguards who looked as dangerous as they were, who could project the right air of controlled violence. The kind of people whose presence emphasized the danger they posed to anyone who tried something – a deterrent to minimize the odds of an enemy trying an attack.
That wasn’t Pete’s purpose. For one thing, Khun Noo didn’t like that kind of bodyguard. They made him nervous. And considering that Khun Noo wasn’t exactly going places where he’d need a highly visible deterrent…
It suited. Khun Noo had a complement of bodyguards he was comfortable with, and if anyone snuck far enough to reach him, his last line of defense would be there, blending into the background up until they didn’t.
Pete was good at that. Blending in, going unnoticed. It was a kind of invisibility, and when somebody did notice him he was good at getting them to write him off again.
That was one thing about Vegas. When Pete had Vegas’s attention, he had all of it, so much it could burn sometimes. It was hard not to get addicted to that, after he’d realized how much he wanted it. Sometimes he still wasn’t sure if he’d always wanted it or if Vegas had just hit him like a first dose of heroin and now he couldn’t stop.
Sprawled on the bed, floating in a pleasant haze, Pete could feel Vegas’s eyes on him, watching him closely, but at least he hadn’t asked yet.
“What would you do,” Pete heard himself say, “if I took off without telling you where I was going?”
He felt Vegas tense, and as clearly felt him forcing himself to relax. “I’d find out where you’d gone and follow you,” he said. “Why, are you thinking about it?”
That wasn’t a fair comparison, and he didn’t want to make it anyway. He could feel himself starting to slip and tried to shake it off. “No. Never mind.”
“Does this have something to do with why you called me to pick you up early?” Vegas asked. Pete’s stomach tightened and he suddenly wanted to pull the blankets up over himself and hide in them. Disappear.
“No,” he said, but he didn’t like lying to Vegas. “Maybe.”
“What did they say to you?” Vegas said. It was clear he was trying to restrain it but Pete could hear his temper starting to rev up. He shook his head and swallowed hard, his stomach uneasy, not quite nauseated.
“It’s not really – nobody did anything wrong,” he said. “I just freaked out. It was stupid.” He laughed uncomfortably.
“Freaked out about what,” Vegas said, all but through his teeth. Pete wanted to curl up into a ball. His throat was tight and his heart was beating in his stomach. This was all wrong, everything was wrong and he was, very suddenly, on the verge of tears; he knew it was just the come-down hitting him wrong but knowing didn’t help. “Pete?” Vegas said. “Shit – augh. Hey, you’re okay. C’mere. We can talk about this later, I’m sorry.”
I’m not, Pete thought, but it felt hard to route his thoughts to his mouth. I’m not okay and I don’t know what to do about it. He still felt shivery and sick. He’d wanted this to help but he didn’t feel any better.
He reached for equilibrium. For acceptance. The ability he’d cultivated to let things that might sting roll off him, because he knew his place and he knew his value and that was what mattered.
Vegas pulled him into a tight hug, rubbing Pete’s back, and he thought, all that work making a cover story and it didn’t matter, because nobody was thinking about me anyway.
It shouldn’t matter. He was just one bodyguard. He headed Tankhun’s detail and Kinn trusted him more than anyone else and Arm and Pol and Porsche were his friends but what did it matter, what was the difference between being given up for dead and being–
Forgotten? Abandoned?
“I’m real,” Pete said into Vegas’s shoulder. Vegas’s hand on his back paused.
“Yeah?” he said. “Obviously you’re – what do you mean?”
“Nothing,” Pete said. “It’s not important.”
He didn’t feel real. He felt insubstantial, barely present at all.
When Pete looked at his phone again there were a number of messages and missed calls from his friends, worried about him. Pete wrote both Arm and Pol with a simple we’re good. Don’t worry about it and hoped they didn’t try to talk about it more. Khun Noo’s voice message was longer, and Pete decided to listen to it later.
Hey can we talk, said the message from Porsche. Pete stared at it for a while, started to type a response, stopped, and put his phone aside. He didn’t know what he would say. There was probably something he should but he didn’t know what that was, either.
About what, he wrote back eventually, feeling petty. He remembered Porsche sitting next to him as he was curled up in a bathtub, asking him what had happened, who’d done this to him. Had he pushed so hard because he felt bad? Like it was his fault, in some small way?
Pete, was all Porsche’s response said.
Pete rubbed his hand over his mouth and finally wrote I don’t know what there is to say.
That was it, wasn’t it? There was nothing to be said. He wished he didn’t know. He’d been happier not knowing. He’d rather be marked as disposable, he’d realized, than erased as invisible.
There was something bitter about realizing that he’d been both.
Pete couldn’t avoid Porsche forever. He couldn’t avoid Porsche for more than 24 hours, which was how long it took for Porsche to just come to their house, and Pete didn’t have a good excuse to leave.
“Pete, please,” he said, sounding a little desperate. “Can we talk?”
Pete sighed. A part of him wanted to say do we have to but he didn’t think he could get away with that, and something gnawing on his stomach did kind of want to…
He wasn’t angry. Not exactly. He couldn’t be angry.
But he didn’t want to forgive him, either. An ugly part of him wanted Porsche to feel bad, to feel guilty. Pete didn’t like that part of himself much.
“Okay,” he said, smiling. If he was feeling just a little nastier he might’ve said okay, Khun Porsche.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” Porsche said. He glanced over his shoulder at the guards who’d accompanied him – nobody Pete recognized, which was a relief – and said, “you can go back. I’ll be safe with Pete.”
The two of them glanced at each other, exchanging a profoundly dubious look. “Khun Porsche,” one of them said, with a little bit of audible strain. “We can’t leave you alone with no detail.”
Porsche looked at Pete with a a little help here expression. Pete looked back at him, keeping his face blank, and didn’t help. Porsche’s face fell.
“It’s a private conversation,” he said.
Pete spared a sympathetic thought for whoever’d been assigned as Porsche’s regular bodyguards, dealing with somebody who was used to being able to go wherever he wanted, unwatched. He was also relieved that Vegas was out. He could imagine the curl of his lip, slight and brief but still there. Leader of the minor family? Look at him, he could almost hear in one of Vegas’s nastier tones.
Vegas didn’t always resent Porsche. And he was pretty sure he didn’t hate him. But he wasn’t exactly friendly right now, either.
“We can go to the backyard,” Pete said, having some mercy. “The two of you can stay in the house where you can see us through the back door. Does that work?”
Porsche looked pained, but his bodyguards looked relieved. “Yes, Khun Pete,” one of them said, which made Pete blink. He half wanted to look over his shoulder to see if they were talking to some other Pete. “Thank you.”
They went through the house to the backyard – Pete could see Porsche looking around with an air of curiosity and realized he hadn’t been here before, but he didn’t offer a tour. It felt like Vegas would know if Porsche had been in their house, like a tiger scenting an intruder on its territory. Another time.
They sat down at the table. Pete stared at the pond (empty for now, though Vegas made some noises about koi) and felt Porsche staring at him. He turned his head just enough to keep him in his peripheral vision, and so he’d be able to tell right away if either of his guards made a move.
“If you want to punch me,” Porsche said, “I understand.”
“I don’t,” Pete said. Even if he did, he wouldn’t. Porsche made a bit of a face.
“Probably be easier if you would,” he said lightly, like he was making a joke, but Pete didn’t laugh and Porsche sighed, the start of a smile falling away. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Pete said, which was true. There was a lot of latitude in the word fine.
“You’re pissed,” Porsche said. “That’s fair.”
Pete kept himself from twitching. “I know it’s fair.”
“I’m sorry,” Porsche said.
“You said that already.”
“Yeah, but now I’m saying it when you actually know what I’m talking about and I’m sober,” Porsche said. “I was stupid and selfish and you got hurt because of it.”
Pete shook his head. “I got hurt because I was on a mission for the main family and I got caught.”
“Sure, okay, but if I’d been thinking about it – we could’ve found you sooner.”
“Maybe,” Pete said. “But it’s not like you could’ve done anything about it.”
Porsche’s expression went stubborn. “I’d’ve come after you myself.”
“Khun Korn wouldn’t let you,” Pete said. “And even if you could get around him you wouldn’t have any idea where to go.”
“Pete–” Porsche sounded frustrated. “Are you trying to argue with me that I didn’t do anything wrong?”
“I’m just saying,” Pete said.
“It’s not just about what I or we might’ve done differently,” Porsche said. “Even if you’re right, even if it wouldn’t’ve changed anything, it’s still…” he trailed off.
“You know,” Pete said abruptly, turning his head so he wasn’t looking at Porsche, “I know people don’t get it. Why I left the main family for Vegas. I know Pol thinks I’ve lost my mind.”
“Pete,” Porsche started to say, but he cut himself off.
“But the thing is,” Pete said, a laugh burbling in his throat, “the thing is that even when – things were bad, it felt like Vegas really saw me. It might suck but I was still there.” And it was when he’d lost that, after he’d had a moment of not just being present but being a real person–
He turned his hands over and looked at his palms, the still-fresh scar running across his palm.
“It turns out I wanted that,” he said quietly. “I wanted to…” He groped around for the right words, but they weren’t coming.
“I get it,” Porsche said. Pete looked at him and bit back the urge to say do you? It wouldn’t be fair. Porsche shifted a little and pulled out a cigarette, offering one to Pete. He shook his head and watched Porsche light one for himself. “I remember when I was a little kid – after Chay was born but before my dad died. Mostly I was glad to have a little brother but for some reason that day I was jealous of all the attention he was getting, and I remember thinking about running away, because when my mom and dad got upset and came after me I’d know they cared.”
Pete gave Porsche a sidelong look.
“I know, I know,” he said immediately. “Different situation, I’m just saying it’s…”
“I didn’t expect anyone to rescue me,” Pete said. “I never did.”
“You should’ve,” Porsche said. Pete opened his mouth, and Porsche cut him off. “No, I know, that’s not how it works when you’re a bodyguard, I just mean…you deserve to expect someone to rescue you.”
It’s not about deserving, Pete thought, it’s never about deserving, but his eyes were prickling and his nose was burning like he was about to cry. He bit the inside of his cheek and flipped his hands back over so he could press his palms into his thighs.
“I don’t think I’ve been a very good friend,” Porsche said. “I want to try to do better.”
Pete shook his head, a lump in his throat. “It’s okay,” he said.
“Not really,” Porsche said. “But thanks.” He put his hand on Pete’s shoulder, cautiously at first like he was expecting to get shrugged off, but Pete’s shoulders dropped and he leaned a little toward Porsche so he knew not to pull away.
They sat there next to each other for a long time.
After Porsche left, Pete took one of the cars for a drive and didn’t come home until after the sun had set. He smelled food cooking through the door and rested his head against it for a moment before coming inside.
“Hey, P’Pete!” Macau said from the couch, quickly dropping his phone and picking up the book he was probably supposed to be studying. “Hia’s in the kitchen.”
Pete nodded. “How’s the homework going,” he said mildly. Macau made a face at him.
“Great, thanks,” he said. He paused, lowered his voice, and looking a little furtive said, “hey, if you write this essay for me I’ll pay you–”
“Nope,” Pete interrupted. “Absolutely not. You don’t even want me to.”
“Hey, Macau! Did I hear the door? Is Pete home?”
“Pete is home,” Pete said, before Macau could respond.
“Oh, good, I need to borrow your tongue. Come in here,” Vegas called. “Stove’s on.”
“Good luck on your essay,” Pete said to Macau, and headed for the kitchen.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t want to walk in on,” Macau shouted, after Pete but most likely at Vegas. “You make food on those counters for me, remember?”
Pete knew he was flushing, but he didn’t acknowledge the comment. Vegas was hovering over the stove, wearing an apron printed with hedgehogs – a purchase Pete talked him into after the third silk shirt he’d pitched a fit over ruining with cooking oil. Looking at him staring with narrowed eyes at a sizzling wok like he was trying to intimidate it, Pete couldn’t help his smile.
“There you are,” Vegas said. “C’mere, I want you to try this and tell me what it needs.”
Pete shook his head a little. “You’re assuming I’m going to be able to identify what it needs,” he said. “You’re the cook, not me.”
Vegas turned a stare on Pete that probably made other people nervous. It made Pete’s spine prickle a little, too, but it wasn’t exactly nerves. “Come here and try this,” Vegas said again, firmer. Pete went, and accepted the mouthful Vegas offered him without trying to take the spoon it was on. Vegas’s eyes darkened and a pleased smile touched the corners of his mouth, but he didn’t say anything, just waited.
“It’s not spicy enough,” Pete said.
“You say that about everything. Some of us like our taste buds.”
“Salt?” Pete tried. “Basil?”
Vegas hummed. “Sugar,” he said abruptly. “It needs sugar. Thanks, Pete.” He leaned over and kissed Pete’s neck, adding, “good boy,” like an afterthought. Pete twitched.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure you got it on your own.”
“Still helped.” Vegas smiled at him and turned back to the stove, adjusting the heat. Pete stayed where he was and watched him. The deft motion of his hands and the intensity of his focus as he worked.
“Did you have a good talk,” Vegas said after a few moments, more seriously.
Pete thought about that. “I think so,” he said finally. Vegas nodded, not looking up.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No,” Pete said. Then paused, and corrected himself, “not right now.”
Macau wandered in with his hands in his pockets. “I’m taking a break,” he said defensively when Vegas looked over at him.
“Uh huh,” Vegas said. “Better be a short one.”
Macau turned to Pete. “You were gone a while,” he said, not quite a question.
“Went for a drive,” Pete said.
Macau nodded, glanced at Vegas, and then said, “good thing you’re back now, hia was starting to get antsy.”
Vegas’s ears turned a little pink. “I’m going to throw something at you, brat,” he said.
“‘Hey, Macau,’” Macau said, in an exaggerated mimicry of Vegas’s voice. “‘Have you heard anything from Pete? Did he tell you when he was coming home? Did he say if he was going to be here for dinner?”
“Don’t you have an essay to write,” Vegas snapped at Macau, who grinned at Pete and mouthed, see? Pete bit his lip so he didn’t smile.
“Sorry I didn’t let you know,” he said to Vegas, warmth settling in his stomach and spreading up to his chest.
“It’s fine,” Vegas said, expression softening with the smile he turned on Pete. “Next time I’ll just call you.”