Chapter Text
To be honest, losing his security detail for the night so that he could investigate some shit that would most definitely piss Kinn off was not Kim’s brightest idea.
On any other day, it wouldn’t make that big of a difference. Kim took his vows to separate himself from the Theerapanyakul family extremely seriously and went to great lengths to maintain the image of the prodigal son who had no intention of ever returning. He led the kind of boring, straight-laced life that had always seemed so out of reach. But if his curiosity sometimes got the better of him — well, that was only for him (and maybe Big) to know.
So getting away from the two bodyguards Khun Korn, in his infinite generosity, kept assigning him — even though it had been years since he'd broken off from the Main Family — should have been just a regular Thursday night for everyone involved, right?
Not this time.
Kim ducked and went low on his knees before kicking his attacker’s legs out from under him. The goon grunted and fell over like a sack of potatoes, heavy and uncoordinated. Whoever sent these guys (six of them, to be exact) after Kim had clearly gone for numbers instead of skill. Kim honestly couldn't decide which way he preferred it. On the one hand, the sheer incompetence of his opponents gave Kim a pretty good chance to break free of them; Kim was, after all, one of Chan’s best and most dedicated students when it came to hand-to-hand combat. On the other hand, defending oneself from six attackers at the same time was quite difficult, no matter how many black belts you had.
Kim thought he could get high ground by luring those idiots into a narrower space where they would be forced to take turns coming after them. But it turned out easier said than done. The men couldn’t attack Kim all at once, just as he had hoped, yes — but they could (and had) cut off any exit route from the little backstreet Kim had led them to.
He shouldn’t even be there, he thought angrily, jumping up. His left foot found purchase on the nearby wall, and that gave him enough momentum to strike another thug with a strong kick to the head. It was a far cry from the perfect round-house kick Chan would have expected of Kim in training, but these were hardly controlled circumstances.
The point was, earlier that night, Kim had been following one of Kinn’s foot soldiers, a greasily-haired mousy type that held a startling resemblance to Severus Snape (the book version, not the Alan Rickman one). The guy’s beady eyes just screamed suspicious, especially after Kim had done a little digging into his private finances. It wasn’t that uncommon for somebody in the mafia to have additional money squirreled away, hidden from hawk-eyed bookkeepers, but it was extremely rare for them to be actually good at hiding it. Kim was pretty sure the guy was planning to screw Kinn over by leaking intel to the fucking Bratva, of all people; Kim wouldn’t be even surprised if he did it with the Minor Family’s blessing. He could, of course, go with this directly to Father, and watch the guy be gunned down where he stood — but that wouldn’t get him any closer to uncovering Uncle Gun’s nefarious plan to undermine his own brother and nephews. Eliminating the traitor, even if he squicked, would play right into Uncle's hands.
So Kim had decided to do a little sleuthing — hence getting attacked in the alley behind some disgusting dive bar. He was supposed to be in and out, just take a peek at the man’s contact and get out of there. Kim had been so sure of himself that he even promised his manager an impromptu stream on his Instagram to surprise the fans this very evening.
Well, Kim felt the attack was surprising enough. At least for him.
The second guy didn’t fall immediately like his ugly friend had. But he did lose his footing and unwittingly blocked the way for the rest of his unfortunate-looking friends. Kim didn’t wait around to see how long it would take them to gather their bearings again; he ran.
His headstart, however, was unfortunately short-lived. The men had not only followed him but also closed the distance between them in record time. It seemed that another confrontation was inevitable. Anyway, Kim was getting tired. His head hurt from the initial hit he’d taken when he’d been tackled to the ground and he could swear his vision was starting to grey around the edges. Trying to stick to his original strategy, he ducked into the closest door, hoping it would lead him to one of the nearby establishments.
Instead, he found himself in a little backyard, full of bottle crates and unspecified restaurant junk. Fuck, the space was so badly lit that he couldn’t even make out the closest exit. No, no, no, he couldn’t be trapped, not like that —
“You okay there?”
Kim’s situational awareness had to be shot to hell because he did not realize that the backyard was already occupied. To make matters worse, the guy who had spoken looked like a total dickhead. He was leaning against a concrete column of sorts, lazily puffing out clouds of cigarette smoke. He looked a little dazed and a lot satisfied... While sporting a giant, fresh hickey on his neck.
Ew.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Kim told him, while still trying to catalog his surroundings. The entrance to what had to be a bar was up a metal, unstable-looking staircase. It was too far away. The men hired to kill Kim were nearly there. He wouldn’t make it. All he could do now was stand his ground and make the space around him work in his favor.
“Rude,” the man snorted instead of getting out of there like yesterday. He took another drag of his cheap-smelling cigarette, looking like he was very deliberately not planning to dash upstairs in a desperate attempt to save his life. “Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?”
“I said go —!” Kim tried again, but it was already too late.
The goons (only five of them, he noted with some satisfaction) finally found their way to the backyard. Upon seeing Kim, the one who seemed like the leader smiled in a particularly nasty way.
“There you are, princess,” he wheezed. Well, if Kim was a princess then the man was a knock-off Disney villain; all he was missing to complete the ensemble was a golden tooth or a hoop earring. “We were looking for you.”
Kim rolled his eyes. While the guy was gearing up for an evil monologue of some kind, Kim corrected his stance and raised both fists in front of his face. He would not give Ugly and his companions the satisfaction of riling him up. He was a Theerapanyakul, for fuck’s sake. If he was going down, it would be with at least some modicum of dignity.
“Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Ugly continued and Jesus Christ, did he just lick his lips? What a creep. Kim decided to break his face first, just to wipe off that annoying smirk.
Kim refused to take the bait and the goon snickered. In his right hand appeared a small switchblade.
Not good.
“Well, the hard way it is…”
“Woah, woah, woah!”
If his life weren’t in immediate danger, Kim would appreciate the comedic timing of this interruption. It was the smoker, a half-burnt cigarette still dangling between his fingers. He took a few steps in Kim’s direction and now, with his other hand outstretched in a peacekeeping gesture, was practically shielding Kim from the attackers.
“Look, man, I’m sure you’re very justified in your anger,” the guy said in a deceptively calm way, though there was a mocking undertone to the seemingly neutral statement. “But I don’t think I agree with you taking it out on some random kid, okay?”
Kim froze. Which was rather dumb of him, of course. The first ten to twenty seconds of any fight could decide its outcome. He knew that and so he also knew he needed to stay as sharp and rational as possible.
But Christ, he couldn’t remember the last time he had heard anybody refer to him as a kid. Especially random.
“And who the fuck are you?” Another man spat out. He was standing a little to the back but Kim still noted his uneven complexion, marked by what looked like some nasty pox scars.
“Um, the voice of reason?” The guy who fancied himself Kim’s savior had obviously a serious problem with reading the room. “There’s five of you and only one of him. I think you made your point, man. I’m sure he’s very sorry for whatever the fuck he did to you, and will never, ever bother you again. Right, kid?”
That last question, accompanied by what looked like an inviting nod of the head, was apparently directed at Kim, who only frowned in response. He didn’t know what the guy was playing at; if he had some kind of agenda, or was just plain dumb.
But did it matter? Kim gave him an out and warned him to get as far from the fight as possible. He couldn’t, in good conscience, be held responsible for the man ignoring all of his very sound advice.
Kim opted to stay silent. The guy had the audacity to fucking chastise him, “You’re not helping your case, you know.” Wow, Kim wasn’t going to be sorry when the man would inevitably end the night in a puddle of his own blood, tears, and piss. Not at all.
“Step aside, pretty boy, and maybe I’ll let you keep at least some of your fingers after this is all done,” growled Ugly.
The man sighed.
“Okay, just give me a second,” he said and finally, finally stepped away from Kim.
That was apparently what the goons had been waiting for. The two at the front jumped forward, aiming at Kim’s head and legs, respectively. Making a split-second decision, Kim ducked, narrowly avoiding a fist to the face but having to take the kick to the thigh. When he inevitably stumbled back, the men pressed their advantage. Kim turned, trying to regain balance and gather momentum for a strike of his own. He went for the throat, punching the first thug in the trachea. He didn’t have time to admire his handiwork, but the sound of desperate gurgling was confirmation enough that he had hit his mark. Kim turned to the second man, planning to take him out with a well-aimed kick to the spleen. But before he managed to execute this move, the opening left by Goon Number One was filled by Ugly.
And Ugly was pissed.
Kim saw the gleam of the switchblade seconds before it nearly found his stomach. He jumped back, silently cursing the knife that now successfully prevented him from getting close to the man wielding it. Instead, Kim quickly turned to Goon Number Two, aiming his foot in the general direction of his groin. Unfortunately, he was off yet again; his foot slipped, hitting the hip instead. The damage Kim did to the man was minimal, and Ugly took this as an opportunity to wave the knife entirely too close to Kim's face —
Kim felt somebody pulling him by the collar before he was suddenly thrown back with enough force to make him stumble and fall into some pile of empty boxes. He heard the distinct sound of breaking glass and a pain-filled shout.
“I asked you to give me a second!”
What happened next was a blur. The guy who Kim had been so sure had finally fucked off to parts unknown, appeared seemingly out of thin air, and started to methodically hand the goons their asses.
Kim knew how to fight. He was trained by the best martial artists in the region. Not only could he demonstrate the proper moves for nearly every fighting style known to a man, but he also knew how to use those moves with deadly accuracy. So yes, Kim could recognize when someone was just as skilled as him. If not more.
The guy was ruthless. Gone was the slightly goofy attitude and not-so-subtle mockery; all that was left was power, speed, and precision. The man was using his surroundings just like Kim had planned to do before it had all gone to shit. He danced between the attackers, preventing them from executing any cohesive strategy. Now separated, they were forced to back away and break the formation they had attempted. And when his opponents started to show the slightest signs of being winded, the fucker somehow doubled down on them.
Kim had to think fast. Now that the men were otherwise engaged, he could try running. But never before had Kim let other people deal with his messes. He sure as hell wasn’t planning to start now.
After he decided to join the fray, it took less than two, maybe three minutes for all five men to be lying on the concrete floor in a heap of tangled limbs.
“Why didn’t they wait?” complained the man who, for some inexplicable reason, had risked his life to save Kim. “I had to take a leak!”
Kim just stared, trying to keep his face blank. The stranger must have found Kim's reaction concerning because he furrowed his brow. “You okay?”
Kim didn’t get to answer (what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck was what he wanted to scream in the man’s face) because that’s when they both heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked.
“Shit!” Kim hissed and, acting on pure instinct, grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him in the direction of the stairs. The guy had to have at least some sense of self-preservation because he didn’t let Kim drag him toward the exit without asking for any additional explanation. They were nearly at the door when the shot rang. Thankfully, it missed.
They dashed through the crowd; they were, just like Kim had suspected, in a bar. The music was loud enough to drown out the sounds of the fight but not a gunshot. Some people were already screaming and trying to get to the door, while others were still milling about, laughing, or dancing.
Fortunately, the man seemed to know the bar very well. He never stopped or hesitated, leading Kim confidently through the sea of sweaty, drunk bodies straight to the entrance. Kim could hear the commotion behind them. He didn’t have to look back to know that some of the grunts were back on their feet and already going after them.
Kim was forcefully pushed out of the bar and into the parking lot. On their way out they passed some random employee, who gaped at them like a fish. Kim’s newly acquired friend didn’t spare the poor valet even a glance before waving at him dismissively and getting to one of the motorbikes. Kim didn’t need to be told twice — he hopped on the back of the bike, holding onto the stranger while they sped away. Only then did he look back, just in time to see his pursuers spill out onto the street. Three shots were fired in the bike’s general direction, but the distance was already too big.
The bike flew through the city at breakneck speed. Bangkok’s lights flashed before Kim’s eyes; fluorescent smudges marking their way. The adrenaline was slowly seeping out of his body, leaving the previously taut muscles relaxed and his head dangerously floaty.
They didn’t drive for long, stopping at a big, well-lit gas station. There was a small supermarket next to it and some people milling about — employees and late-night customers.
Kim hopped off the bike and immediately felt a wave of nausea overcome him. Before he had time to process what was happening, he doubled over and started to retch.
“Ah, shit. Here, lemme…”
A strong hand gripped Kim by the collar of his leather jacket; humiliatingly, it became the only thing preventing him from falling to the ground. That first hit to the head had to be more powerful than Kim had thought — the adrenaline was probably the only thing keeping him upright for the last hour or so. Now, when the danger had passed and Kim’s body could let go, a strange rush of weakness overcame it. He locked his knees, too stubborn to let it get the better of him.
He fucking hated being concussed.
“Steady, kid, I’ve got you. Try not to make any sudden movements, okay? Trust me, it’s only gonna make it worse.”
I knew that, Kim wanted to snap, but instead of harsh words, there was only a disgusting excess of saliva coming out of his mouth.
They stayed like that for a while, Kim unsuccessfully trying to throw up the food he hadn’t eaten and the man holding him by the scruff of his neck. After a few minutes, the grip moved under Kim’s arms, which Kim had to admit was a little more comfortable and a lot less mortifying. All this time, the guy was murmuring something that Kim couldn’t make out — curses or maybe reassurances, there was no way of knowing. At one point, Kim felt a hand patting him awkwardly on the back and that’s when he knew he was beyond pathetic.
When the worst of the nausea passed (Kim’s stomach seemingly deciding it was done for the night), Kim propped his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths. After another moment, he straightened up gingerly, hoping to keep the last shreds of his dignity, even though deep down he knew it was already too late for that.
Finally, after what felt like centuries, Kim, his throat scratchy and voice a little strangled, asked, “What do you want?”
He felt… Not angry, not exactly. More like peeved. Irritated, maybe. He hated being in anybody’s debt. Also, he could never be certain he wasn’t readily stepping into some kind of a trap. Set by whom — enemies or family — remained to be seen.
The stranger just snorted.
“A thank you would be nice for a start,” he teased. Now that Kim had time to study the man, he had to admit he was quite handsome — if you liked your men disgustingly pretty. Not much older than Kim, tall, and long-limbed, the guy had a nicely toned body with arms that Kim knew for a fact could pack quite a punch. He silently admired the man’s wiry, unassuming musculature. He was only human after all.
Still, Kim also couldn’t help but think there was something a little off about the man. His slanted eyes were crinkled with delicate laugh lines; where Kim came from, wrinkles were considered positively shameful. The corners of the man’s mouth seemed perpetually raised as if he was silently laughing at a joke only he understood. His whole demeanor radiated playfulness that Kim hadn’t seen in a person since Tankhun had gotten himself kidnapped and their mother murdered in the garden while tending to her precious geraniums.
Whatever the guy’s deal was, Kim did not like it.
The headache wasn’t helping.
“Thanks,” he said with the most insincere, shit-eating, and mean-spirited smile he could muster. The one that made Khun furrow his brow, Kinn roll his eyes, and Father shake his head in exasperation. The one reserved for the family’s more annoying associates, pushy journalists, and generally, anyone else who needed to fuck off.
With that out of the way, Kim turned around, thinking the conversation over. But before he got away, his arm was roughly grabbed for what had to be the third time that night.
“Ah, ah, ah!”
Kim felt his body coil. He looked back at the man, raising one incredulous brow in silent question.
“Call someone to come and get you,” said the stranger. “I’ll wait with you.”
Now he was furious. “What?”
“Call someone. A parent, a friend, your babysitter, I don’t fucking care.” The guy rolled his eyes at Kim, seemingly unimpressed by his angry huffing. He patted his pockets and fished out a pack of cigarettes and a cheap, plastic lighter. “I’ll wait with you until someone comes. My night’s already been shot to hell. Losing ten or forty more minutes — doesn’t make a lot of difference to me.”
Kim faced the guy fully, not even trying to keep the sheer disbelief off his face.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He growled while the man kept trying to light his cigarette. When he finally succeeded, he took the smoke deep into his lungs and then released it into the night air. “Some second-rate vigilante? My knight in shining armor?” Kim mocked. “You helped me out, I said thanks. I asked if you wanted anything in return, and you said no. So this — this is where it ends, okay? I’m grateful and you can just… Pat yourself on the back, or whatever the fuck gets you off, and we go our separate ways.”
The guy took the cigarette out of his mouth and rolled it between his long fingers. He studied it for a moment like you would study a particularly interesting specimen of a rare butterfly.
“You’re obviously a child, even if you’re legal,” he started as if he didn’t hear a word of what Kim had said. He wasn’t even looking at Kim, the fucker. “You were chased through the not-so-savory part of the town by five men.” Six, Kim corrected silently. But the guy didn’t have to know that. “You’re also concussed, look dead on your feet, have no means of transportation, and probably no idea where you are.”
“Ever heard of Google Maps, Grandpa?”
The man sighed yet again, before finally looking at Kim. His mouth twisted in another smile, this one a little self-deprecating and brittle around the edges.
“You might be dressed like a lesbian going through her grunge phase.” Kim sputtered indignantly, his face heating up. “But it’s clear you’re pretty well-off. That jacket alone could probably cover my next three mortgage payments. You try to hail a taxi or order a Grab, you’ll get mugged before you finish giving directions to your fancy uptown condo. And do you know how that will make me feel?”
“Like it’s none of your business?”
“Like all of my hard work to save your life,” the man jabbed a finger into Kim’s chest, “went down the drain. All because you’ve refused to wait with me for half an hour for someone you know to pick you up.”
Kim wanted to laugh. He wanted to argue. He wanted to flash his Theerapanyakul ring — not the silver signet Kinn wore as the heir to their father’s throne, but the same one Khun had, the one Kim pretended to have thrown away. Less conspicuous but no less meaningful.
Kim thought about calling his security detail. He’d wait for them and when they’d come, he could have this idiot beaten up. He could force him to say that he was sorry and that he’d never talk like that to Kim ever again, with such insolence, indifference, and care all mixed into one giant annoyance.
Kim could wipe the smirk off the man’s face with just a gesture of his hand, with a nod of his head, with one look —
He blinked, mentally shaking himself.
The truth was, he was tired. And concussed.
And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit impressed by this man who had cut through five thugs like a knife cut through butter.
“Look, I get that you probably can’t wait to get away from me. But seriously, I have invested a lot of time and energy into keeping you alive. It would be counterproductive to try to fuck with you now,” the guy reasoned, oblivious to Kim’s inner turmoil.
There was just no good reason not to wait in this guy’s company for his bodyguards (Big, he was gonna call Big, not those other morons who could never keep up with him). And when his men came, armed to the teeth and ready to shoot anybody they deemed a danger to Khun Kim’s safety, they would just. Take him home.
“I can take care of myself,” Kim said as a reflex, even though he had already made his decision.
To his surprise, the guy flashed him a brilliant smile.
“I know!” He enthused. “Your high kick’s actually fucking high! Good form, if you ask me!”
“I didn’t,” Kim grumbled, his neck becoming dangerously warm. He told himself it was probably another side-effect of the concussion before stretching out his right hand in the guy’s direction.
“Give me your phone,” he demanded in a way that Khun would refer to as regal and Kinn would call simply asshole-ish.
As he dialed Big’s emergency number, the one only he was privy to, he could swear the man grumbled, Un-fucking-believable.
“Hello?” Big replied after the second ring. Kim silently prayed for Big not to be stuck in some boring-ass meeting with the dumber of his two brothers.
“I’m calling from a borrowed phone. I need a ride,” Kim barked in lieu of an explanation.
“Of course, sir,” came the immediate answer. “What are your coordinates?”
Big didn't comment on Kim’s location nor on the fact that he wasn’t alone. The judgment, though, was obvious even through the phone.
“I want you to come,” Kim said. Alone, he didn’t add because it would sound suspicious, but he meant it.
“Understood,” Big repeated. “ETA thirty minutes.”
Kim hung up.
“So,” the man started after maybe half a minute of blessed silence. He clearly wasn’t used to keeping his mouth shut. “Out of curiosity, how were you planning to get home without a phone?” He tilted his head like a dog.
Kim shrugged. “Through spite and sheer force of will,” he answered blandly, just to be a shit.
The guy snorted, amused.
“The name’s Porsche, by the way,” he offered lightly, even though in Kim’s world giving out your name to a complete stranger was anything but light.
“I don’t care.”
The guy — Porsche — just laughed.
“You’re a prickly one, aren’t you?”
“And you’re a nosey fuck, but you don’t hear me complain.”
“Part of my charm,” Porsche replied, still looking entirely too happy to be stuck in an empty parking lot in the middle of the night with somebody who did nothing but insult him. “How’s your head?”
“Fine,” Kim said through gritted teeth. Porsche really was a talker.
“Want me to buy you some water? With a concussion, it’s important to stay hydrated, you know.”
Kim was pretty sure only sixty percent of his headache was due to the blow to the head. The other forty percent had to be Porsche’s incessant chatter. He’d scream if it weren’t so undignified and a sure way to make him feel even worse than he already had.
“Why do you even care?” Kim couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his tone.
He just didn’t get it. He hated not getting things.
Porsche gave him a small, secret smile in response and then winked. Kim wanted to gouge the offending eye out.
When Big finally showed up, he found Kim propped against Porsche’s bike in what could only be described as capitulation. Kim had already drunk most of the water Porsche had gotten him and was now slowly chewing on a chocolate bar that had been unceremoniously dumped in his lap with the bottle. Porsche was filling what should be an uncomfortable silence with meaningless anecdotes about himself, his cartoonish friends, boss, and colleagues. Each story proved beyond any doubt that wisdom didn’t always come with age.
Kim’s limbs felt like jelly and the white noise in his ears was getting worse by the minute. At least he was no longer seeing double. He was able to spot the family car as soon as it veered off the main road and entered the parking lot. It was one of their less flashy vehicles — a black Mercedes Benz that didn’t draw too much attention.
Big obviously understood the assignment, because apart from taking the Benz, he changed out of his uniform into regular clothes: a blue logo-less t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans. With his hair up in a ponytail and aviator glasses, Big could pass for a tourist at worst and a rich fuck-boy at best.
“Ready?” He asked Kim in a clipped tone and somehow Kim just knew he was gonna get an earful as soon as he stepped inside the car. You wouldn’t know it if you weren’t acquainted with Big’s moods (not that there were too many; according to Khun, Big had only two settings: slightly bitchy and very bitchy), but to Kim, it was obvious that the man was pissed.
Not that Kim cared for Big’s delicate sensibilities. He cleared his throat. “My ride’s here,” he said to Porsche who was giving both Big and the car a surprisingly cool once-over.
“If you’re sure,” Porsche responded warily and for a second Kim was convinced that Porsche’s eyes landed on where Big would have strapped his gun under the shirt.
“Hey, man, thanks for watching out for my little cousin.” Big was so full of shit it was a miracle he hadn’t choked on it already. “His parents are really grateful for your help and since they’re pretty well-off, they asked me to give you this.”
Big reached into his jeans pocket and took out a rather generous wad of cash. Kim didn’t know why it surprised him. He was asking, no, suggesting that very thing to Porsche himself just half an hour ago. But Porsche was so adamant about not wanting anything in return for helping Kim, that now it seemed somewhat absurd to think that he would accept the reward.
Kim was confronted with Porsche’s eyes growing impossibly large as he was trying to estimate how much money he was being offered. Kim felt a pinprick of disgustingly naïve disappointment. It was obvious that Porsche wasn’t rolling in cash. Whatever Big deemed to be a fair price for saving his employer's youngest son, Porsche wanted it. Badly.
But as fast as the shadow of want mixed with desperation came over Porsche’s face, it disappeared, smoothed out by a crooked smile.
“Nah, man, keep it,” he said, shaking his head a little. “I have enough gas money to get back home without a problem.”
With these words, Porsche started the bike’s engine.
“Take care of yourself,” he said and, because he was a ridiculous person, added, “Don’t undo all of my hard work!”
“Can’t promise anything.” Kim shot back while shrugging, even though the movement made him want to puke again.
Porsche laughed at that and saluted before taking off and speeding away from the parking lot, back into the night.
Kim stood motionlessly, for some reason feeling like an idiot.
“Sir?” Big caught his attention, worry marring his face.
“I’m fine, Big, just a little sore,” Kim said, quickly adopting a perfectly neutral, unaffected tone. “Take me home.”
“Right away, sir.”