Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s never easy these days. Maybe this level of complicated is the new easy.

It‘s comforting to think that some day, not far from now, he will cut through the Bangkok traffic on his red Ducati again.

Vegas sits up, feeling like his guts are sloshing inside him, rearranging themselves in a position that will allow him to get up and go about his day. He imagines the blocked pathways, the detours, the shunts his fluids have to travel through since he got shot and the surgeons had to do some serious redecorating inside his ribcage.

He’s grateful to still have his life. He really is. But the reality of waking up to this every day is nonetheless devastating.

Try to set some positive goals for yourself, Mr Theerapanyakul. Give yourself enough time to reach them.

His lead surgeon had a lot of good advice for him, but neglected to warn him of how powerless and small he would feel along the way.

No one prepared him for how alone and desperate he would be. And how much hate he would have for himself, regardless of that reasonable part of him that reassures him he is doing his best.

It was simpler when it was just him.

Now, living is a far bigger agony. He’s not alone, and he’s loved, he has a family who supports him and who wants him around. His father didn’t make it, but he did, and something must have tilted the world off its axis and made time stumble, because what reality does Vegas Theerapanyakul deserve a fairytale ending in?

The problem with fairy tales though, is they never show you what happens after the prince and the princess kiss. You’re supposed to believe that everything is solved, now that they have their love. They don’t show you the drudgery of every day life. The petty arguments over non-issues that start chipping at the perfect picture.

Vegas doesn’t even have those issues. Pete may be a flawed man, but he is a perfectly fitting partner for him. But everything else is so hard and insurmountable and Vegas has no idea how he’s supposed to manage.

Like today.

Today he reached for the jar of instant coffee in one of the suspended kitchen cabinets and he felt like he was going to pass out from pain. It started in a nerve in his arm, exploded in his chest, then travelled lower into his legs. He had to grab onto the edge of the work surface to remain standing, but then a wave of nausea washed over him and the compost bucket had to deal with the acid from his empty stomach and the bile that his body expelled.

The grossness of it all, the powerlessness, the utter lack of control brought Vegas down. He wanted to crumble to the floor in a heap, but he remembered he would have a hard time getting up again, so he sat at the kitchen table, on a chair, crying for what felt like hours to him. 

When he told Pete there’s nothing left, he really meant it. He wonders if Pete thought he meant the money and the minor family head position. Someone like Pete would view those things as unnecessary for a happy life, but… Vegas knows there’s not much left of him .

Maybe he will never be well enough again to ride his motorcycle. Maybe he will never have his stamina from before. He definitely knows for a fact the Vegas who could pop an erection on command is gone.

Waking up alone in the house is also a hurdle. He comes to, groggy and disoriented, feeling like a newborn gazelle, having to run for his life from the very first moment. There’s panic and confusion - where is he, what’s happening, where is everyone?

Pete and Macau are in town.

Macau had school today and some of his classes fell through, so Pete went to pick him up.

Why aren’t they home?

Vegas wants to call. He wants to use the online tracking app to look for Pete’s and Macau’s phones, but he forces himself not to. The paranoia, if not kept in check, will finish what the bullets started. 

He does send a tentative text to Pete.

Are you two going to be late?

The reply comes within seconds.

Yes, Macau talked me into going to bubble tea shops. We should be back soon. 💖

He could have texted me so I don’t worry , Vegas thinks. But then he remembers Pete is new at wrangling Macau, who now feels safe enough to be his fullest, brattiest self and who retroactively soaks up all the attention he was denied before. 

He freshens up, as much as he can without risking slipping in the shower on his own and not being able to get up again. It only costs him two small breakdowns and one round of tears.

Sometimes, like now, it feels as though he is standing at the bottom of an abyss, and it’s so far down he can’t even see the sunlight when looking up. 

How is he ever going to go back to being Vegas ? Or is this what they mean by bloom where you’re planted ? Is he supposed to build himself a temple in hell, simply because he can’t ever leave?

He has to get out. He has to. The alternative is to admit defeat, to say what happened to him did in fact take his life from him. To start calling himself a broken toy, which can only be operated by tripping the wires every time.

His spiralling dark thoughts are interrupted by the front door being open with a key.

Pete and Macau walk in, talking animatedly and giggling like two happy drunks.

Vegas hears them rustling some bags in the kitchen and bickering over something.

“Stop poking me or I might puke all over the tiles.” Vegas hears Pete say, no upset behind his words. 

“Come on, you only had two. I had four and I maybe, sometime soon, need to pee.” Macau replies, sounding amused.

How easily they seem to get along. How they bonded over nothing - and miraculous and fortunate as it is, Vegas wishes he could understand how come his brother and his boyfriend became thick as thieves at the flip of a switch. 

“I think you should pee sooner, rather than later, if you want to show me that dance challenge today.” Pete says. “Wouldn’t want any accidents on the TV room carpet.”

“You first, old man.” Macau gives back, and Vegas hears the loud “phbbbbtffffbt” his little brother ends  his cheeky comeback with.

“I’m moving slowly. Don’t wanna slosh it around too much.” Pete says, and Vegas hears him lower himself into a chair at the kitchen table. “Fuck. What was I thinking when I agreed to this?” He wonders aloud, although he is alone in the room and Macau did make a beeline for the downstairs toilet.

“Hi.” Vegas says, having made his way to the kitchen and leaning on the doorframe. “Did you have a good time with Macau?”

“Hi, Vegas. Yes, he wanted us to check out the bubble tea shops in town. We got you some stuff to sample too. In the fridge.”

“Aww you shouldn’t have. I’m not a big fan of sweets.” Vegas says, thinking that maybe they cut their fun time short to bring him the treats and to rush home to him. It sounds like him being a burden in his mind. 

“You’ll like it. Have you never had bubble tea before?”

“The only thing coming close to that was if whoever poured me the whisky at my uncle’s home let too many air beads gather in the glass while pouring.” Vegas says, sighing. Bubble tea is a frivolity, something for children and women. People with no responsibilities - people who are not him. He has to blink a few times to clear his mind, recognising, at least in this case, that this particular thought rang out inside his head in his father’s voice. 

“All the more.” Pete says, getting up and walking over, smiling and reaching for Vegas, stepping in close to kiss him softly. “Next time we’ll go together. We now know where the best place is.”

Vegas lets himself be kissed, even responds, getting lost in the feeling. Kissing Pete always feels like a holiday, with fireworks going off behind his eyelids and tingles travelling up and down his spine. It’s like Pete has the unique power to turn his blood into champagne with the mere touch of his lips. 

“Alright you two, think you can unglue your lips for one hot second so my brother can sample what we brought him?” Macau says from behind them, approaching the kitchen.

“We got you yuzu tea with peach infusion and lychee bubbles, and we also brought black tea with salty caramel infusion and coffee jellies.” Pete announces, taking the big plastic cups and their carrier out of the fridge and letting Macau unpack them.

“I’m not a fruity kind of guy but I will try them. For you.” Vegas says, accepting Pete’s arm that winds itself around him and pulls him close into Pete’s side.

Pete leans in close and kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth, then a spot at the top of the side of his neck, beneath the ear.

Macau snorts loudly.

“Hia, you’re the fruitiest man I know. Now pop those lids and get to tasting.” He says from the other side of the kitchen table, grinning like he’s anticipating a prank to play out.

Vegas complies, smiling at realising he walked right into that one, willing to play along for his little brother nonetheless.

Both Pete and Macau are watching in total silence, even holding their breaths, as he tastes the teas. First, the one with the fruity aromas and the bubbles, then the one with the jellies.

“Mmmm yes, I now see the appeal.” Vegas agrees, waiting for a punchline.

Macau and Pete just exchange smiles and a fistbump over the kitchen table.

“Told you he’d love it!” Macau beams.

“And I believed you.” Pete gives back.

“Was I not supposed to?” Vegas asks.

“Yes, yes, you were supposed to like it. But on the off chance you didn’t, it would have meant we can’t do this together in the future. We want to go there again - but with you this time.”

Vegas allows himself to smile. Pete and Macau really want him there with them.

The teas might taste good, but drinking too many of them is apparently a party-crasher, because Pete and Macau take turns disappearing from the dinner table, needing to pee.

Vegas himself needs to pee a couple of times, but later during the evening. Macau goes to meet with his online friends and play Ark Survival Evolved, asking Pete to join him.

Pete declines with a smile. He wants to watch tv for a bit before bed.

Vegas somehow finds a comfortable position, leaning against Pete on the sofa while Pete watches youtube videos. Vegas couldn’t say what the videos are about if his life depended on it. His evening was good  for a change - he wasn’t as alone for as long with his internal monologue, and seeing Pete and Macau get along so well, laughing and having inside jokes, did a lot towards patching up his mangled soul. 

He could fall asleep here. It’s comfortable and Pete is busy with something, but still uninterested in leaving his side, so he doesn’t feel guilty about dozing off or being semi-awake, lulled by the ambient sounds and Pete’s heartbeat and belly sounds. It sounds like Pete swallowed a whole pond’s worth of frogs, most likely because of the huge amount of sugar he ingested with those bubble teas he dumped down his throat in town. 

Vegas doesn’t mind - it means his love is happy and felt safe enough to indulge in something not necessarily good for him.

Later, when they go to bed, he finds Pete in his bedroom once he’s done in the bathroom. Pete is once again only wearing a sleeping shirt and nothing else, and while the sight before him would make any man cry with need, Vegas freezes.

If Pete came to his bed quasi naked, it must mean he is horny, right? And Vegas is grateful he is wearing a full pyjama set. Top and bottom. Closed and covered.

He can’t hear the consolations. The soft letdowns. The stoic acceptance. He can’t bear to see Pete’s mournful expression every time his bullet wound scars are exposed.

He hates that he’s going to be so much more aware of his sad boiled noodle with Pete lying down next to him and not judging him. Vegas will call it a cock if and when it resumes acting like one.

But Pete is innocent in all this. It’s not his fault Vegas gave up on his journey out of misery. So Vegas doesn’t let his inner hell spill outwardly onto his soulmate. 

It’s too hot though, and neither of them can sleep. Well. Pete dozes off at first, but wakes soon, and he moves closer to Vegas, who now bakes in his pyjamas. Eventually he peels the soaked top off and gasps at the drenched sound the clothing item makes when he tosses it to the floor.

Luckily the room is plunged in semi-darkness, with only a few moon rays coming in through the sunroof. He doesn’t have to worry so much about Pete seeing . That he will snuggle too close and feel the jagged contours of Vegas’ front is somehow less upsetting. Pete never says things to hurt him. 

“You are so wound up, my heart. Please let go of at least a part of your worries so you can rest. We can look at the remaining others tomorrow in the daylight.” Pete says. “I will snuggle tightly around you and protect your sleep from worries.” 

“Do you know that I might never be the man back at my safehouse for you again?” Vegas blurts out. The sweetness Pete brings is unbearable, it makes his shame seem so much bigger in contrast.

Pete seems to consider the scenario.

“I hope so. I have no intention to be tortured like that for a second time.”

“I meant the other part. I’m sorry, Pete. I will never be that Vegas again.”

“Oh…” The realisation dawns on Pete and he looks genuinely puzzled. Like he hasn’t considered this a factor at all. “You are worried that if we don’t have sex, I will lose interest and leave?”

He props himself up on one hand and looks at Vegas in the dark.

“I began to love you before dick was an option. I just never considered it until I did. And I don’t miss itif you don’t point it out? But I do miss you . You don’t have to wait to allow yourself to live. Macau and I miss you and need you with us soon, now. Not later. As you are.” 

This time, although there have been similar times before, Vegas doesn’t hurry to judge Pete as naive, but instead turns towards himself and notes how much of a bully he’s being to himself. As though that is the most surefire to win at everything. He has this idea from his father, but perhaps now he is free to not hold on to it. 

“I’m scared, Pete? What if the pain never improves? What if I can’t do any of the things I did before?”

“You find a new normal. Grow a new you. This time, a better one since you’re no longer living to please anyone. When I resigned from the main family, I wondered briefly how I would carry on, since serving others is all I’ve known for most of my life.” Pete says. “But then I thought of you. And how I want you, not as a dirty secret, sneaking together in between assignments from Khun Korn. I saw you kneeling next to your father with your gun raised and I knew I wanted to protect you from them all. You’ve been robbed and wronged on every corner, Vegas. You of all people earned the right to only live for yourself now. You get to be who you want, how it best suits you.” 

Vegas almost cracks a defensive joke at Pete having so many thoughts on this. Pete is not a wordy person usually, but it occurs to Vegas that his partner has so much to say about this because he’s lived through his own turning point and has witnessed Vegas being pushed towards and through his. 

If his uncle hadn’t shot his father, Vegas would have never broken free of his duty to the family. He wouldn’t have dared to, so used to bending the knee before his superiors, who were family only when it suited them.

Pete snuggles closer and brings a leg up and over Vegas.

“Get out of your mind, my heart. Be here with me in the dark.”

Vegas allows himself a long exhale, and the world weighs a little less heavily.