Chapter Text
Porchay had never given much thought to how he would die. But dying in the place of someone he loved seemed like a decent way to go, all things considered.
If there was one fact Porchay Kittisawat wanted marked down for posterity’s sake, it was this: He did not want to move in with Porsche and Porsche’s rich mafia boyfriend. He’d protested the idea from day one, arguing that their family home was more comfortable. That it held all their happiest memories. That all of his friends were nearby.
Porsche had just hugged him tight to smother any more complaints and said something about making new memories together. Chay couldn’t argue further, anyway. He didn’t really have any other choice. He couldn’t stay at their old place by himself; his brother (and potential future brother-in-law) insisted that things simply weren’t safe for them there anymore. They would keep the deed under Porsche’s name, and Chay be allowed to come and visit under strict bodyguard supervision, but it was no longer his place of residence. No longer his safe haven.
And who was at fault for the move, precisely!? He’d wanted to scream. To shout and sob and break things. When he’d been still and silent in Porsche’s arms that afternoon, he’d been a raging storm. He wanted to ask: Who went off to fall in love with their debt-collector’s boss and become the third most powerful gangster in Thailand?
The answer was Porsche.
Not Porchay, Porsche.
So yeah, Chay hadn’t wanted to move into his new room at the Compound – not house, not home, Compound – yet there he stayed. Stuck. Trapped. He’d been registered at a prestigious university almost immediately and yanked away from his small handful of school friends. He didn’t know anyone other than the bodyguards who hung around his brother, and he ached for the warmth and bustle of his old neighborhood. He missed the familiar faces of those he’d grown up around, who’d watched him grow up in turn. He missed the familiarity of his family’s tiny kitchen, of his bedroom desk nook, and his sunny living room…
At least Porsche was too busy to hover lately.
The first day at Chay’s new school went about as well as expected.
Despite the whirlwind of new faces, classrooms, and subjects, he managed to make a few friends and find a place to sit at lunch. It was there in the canteen that he first set eyes on the man who’d change his life forever, while sandwiched between a fellow freshman named Gem and a sophomore who insisted that she be referred to only as Diva.
He was just swallowing a bite of rice and vegetables when it happened.
A small herd of young men entered the room.
Their uniforms were pristinely laundered but in various states of completion; some shirts were buttoned while others were not, two of the four wore ties, and only one had bothered tucking in the hem. Every lock of dark, shiny hair stayed perfectly in place as they crossed the room and every inch of skin appeared flawlessly smooth. They weren’t speaking to one another, but they moved fluidly as a group, every step in sync. Chay felt like he was watching a very stoic ballet. He elbowed Gem in the side and asked quietly, “Who are they?”
Gem and Diva’s heads shot up, and the people across the table turned to glance over their shoulders. The eldest of the group was a junior, and she wiggled her eyebrows at him when she answered, “Those are the Theerapanyakuns.”
“Err, huh?”
“He’s new to this part of the city,” Diva stated. “He doesn’t know about their reputation.”
“Wh-What reputation?”
The students surrounding him sent a series of glances around the table, silently agreeing on something before turning their attention back to Porchay. Gem leaned close and kept his voice unnecessarily low. “Everyone is pretty sure they’re mafia. Like… serious mafia. They have more money than God and always look like runway models. They don’t talk to other people, they don’t have girlfriends, and they disappear at random. Sometimes they aren’t back in class for days…”
Chay squinted over at their small corner table. They just looked like a bunch of guys who’d invested a lot of time in their skincare routine. Their surname sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember how or why. Maybe Porsche had mentioned them before, and they actually were mafia somehow. Maybe he’d caught it somewhere else. Regardless, the detail had at least partially stuck, hadn’t it?
Curiosity piqued, Chay plucked up the courage to inquire: “Do they have names?”
“The two eldest are Vegas and Pete. They’re both graduate students, they’re a couple, and they’re, like, obsessed with each other. Pete isn’t technically a Theerapanyakun, but he lives with Vegas and they might as well be married. Do not make eye contact if you want to live.”
“Noted.”
“The other two are juniors. Kimhan is the one with longer hair. He’s in the music program like you, Chay. Macau is taller and he’s a business major, we think. Nobody really knows because he shows up all over campus and never talks to anyone.”
“Oh.”
“That’s really all you have to say? Oh?”
“Err, yeah? What else do you want me to say? They’re mysterious and broody. Good for them.”
Diva and Gem seemed completely surprised, as did a few of the other students around the table. The junior girl whistled, “You’re damn brave.”
Chay just shrugged, thinking of Porsche and Kinn and Kinn’s threatening eyebrows. “What are they going to do, murder me?”
The new kid shrugged, appearing only half-interested. The freshman’s mind remained frustratingly blank no matter how hard Kim concentrated. His thoughts were totally unreadable even as he opened those stupidly pink lips and said: “What are they going to do, murder me?”
Giggling under his breath, Macau jostled Kim’s elbow and muttered, “I mean, we could…”
None of the vampires in his family really enjoyed listening in on human conversations, but sometimes it was fun to snoop. The fact that Kim couldn’t access any of the infuriatingly adorable freshman’s thoughts might have factored in at least slightly, though. And the boy was in Kim’s department, too, if he'd heard correctly.
Kim rolled his eyes at Macau's teasing and jostled his cousin right back. “Don’t start anything. He looks like a marshmallow.”
“You think?”
“You have eyes, yeah?”
“Yeah. I still don’t get why this one is off limits when none of the others are, dude.”
“Whatever, it’s your choice. But it looks like a stiff breeze would bowl him over, and there’s already enough people on this campus to fuck with. Why not try picking on someone your own size?”
“Jeez, fuck. Fine,” Macau held up his hands with a chuckle, signaling his surrender. “I won’t mess with the fluffy little new kid.”
“Good. If I hear otherwise, I’m going to be pissed.”
“Cross my heart, asshole. I won’t mess with your pet freshman.”
Kim shot the older man a glare, but he already knew his cousin would keep his word – he could read Macau’s thoughts, after all.
Chay shuffled his way into one of the darker, emptier corners of the university’s spacious music studio and set his guitar case to the side. Finally, a chance to practice without his brother or one of the bodyguards interrupting. He unlatched the case and pulled out his instrument, settling it carefully on his lap and tugging the strap over one shoulder. He warmed up his hands and voice with a few quick chords, quiet enough to keep from interrupting any fellow students.
Chay was so focused, in fact, that he didn’t notice most of the other students scurrying from the room like rats from a sinking ship. He definitely didn’t notice the sharp-featured man in a leather jacket stepping through the door. He didn’t feel two coal-black eyes instantaneously zero in on his turned back; couldn't sense the man’s automatic prey-drive kicking in. The freshman’s eyes were closed as his ears and fingers worked in tandem to pull the start of a familiar song from his guitar.
Which meant that he damn near toppled from his borrowed stool when a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder and an unfamiliar voice – low and smoother than silk – murmured into his ear: “What are you still doing here?”
“Err, uhm… huh?” Porchay spun to face the speaker and nearly dropped his precious baby. There, hovering over him, was Kimhan Theerapanyakun. “Oh! I-I’m so sorry, Phi.”
Kimhan appeared to be amused by Chay’s high-pitched apology and subsequent squeak of embarrassment. His face burned. His eyes watered. And in his rush to escape the presence of a potentially dangerous (not to mention hot) upperclassman, the lace of Porchay’s left shoe tangled with the stool support and sent him crashing against Kimhan’s chest.
The older man steadied him instantly, his reflexes more than catlike. Every twitch and flicker felt calculated as his fingers barely left an indent on Chay’s skin. Kimhan knelt and tugged his shoelace free, then handed Chay his bag and guitar case. The junior raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow and hummed impatiently. “Get going, I have this room reserved on Monday afternoons.”
“R-Right, yeah. Sorry. I– I’m– Goodbye!” Chay offered Kimhan the world’s fastest wai and took off toward the door. Every step he took echoed a singular thought back to him from the acoustically perfect walls: Could this situation get any worse?
The answer was yes. Obviously.
The moment Chay stepped past an upright fan placed in the doorway, Kimhan reared back as if struck. His perfect nose wrinkled. His eyes narrowed. The corners of his mouth curled back in disgust. Porchay watched it happen through the reflection on the glass door and made yet another humiliating noise of distress. Was he really that gross?
Throwing his pride and caution to the wind simultaneously, Porchay booked it to the library. He found a corner table and did everything in his power to calm his racing heart. After a few minutes of pleasant distraction (thanks internet), Chay set his phone aside and pulled out a textbook. He was breathing normally and ready to study.
Until the universe once again proved him the unluckiest person alive.
Two expensive-looking leather boots appeared in his peripheral vision, attached to a long pair of legs in black uniform trousers. A voice nearly as smooth as Kimhan’s but lighter in tone asked from beside him, “Hey, you’re one of the incoming freshmen, right? Porchay?”
Chay glanced up, and his throat closed from breathless confusion for the second time in so many hours.
It was Macau Theerapanyakun, and he looked delighted at his quarry's obvious flustered terror. Porchay groaned internally and wondered if setting himself on fire would be less painful than all this blushing.
"Aww. He was right, you're a real cutie. I'll be keeping an eye on you, alright? Call me P'Macau."
All Chay could do was nod dumbly and watch, flabbergasted, as the maybe-mafioso wandered off toward the fiction section.
As far as first days went, this was a disadter wrapped in a nightmare. First he'd upset Kimhan, and then Macau had sought him out. Spoken to him... Something Diva and Gem insisted he never did.
Porchay was so fucked.