Chapter Text
The car ride–limo ride, if he’s being honest, this is a fucking town car–to Porsche is quiet. There’s not much to say anyway, not to these copy paste men in black suits and black ties. They look funeral ready, which might be the point. After all, they never know when their bosses are going to turn their errands, their meetings, their day to day into a wake. Makes it easier to attend if you’re always dressed for it. If you don’t have a choice.
Porchay hasn’t moved since he got into the car. He remembers the doctors telling the bodyguards in his room at the hospital that he was cleared to go home, remembers walking down the white halls and out into sunlight that felt offensively bright, humidity that felt oppressively heavy. He remembers climbing into the car, the seat behind the passenger seat so that if someone were to point a gun at him it would be an awkward angle, and then–nothing.
Or, not nothing. There’s a ringing in his ear that started when he felt the car turn on. His heart is beating too fast and he hasn’t blinked in long enough that tears are starting to stream down his cheeks. He’s not crying though. He’s barely breathing.
Porsche didn’t come get him from the hospital. The inside of a black bag. Duct tape around his wrists. Porsche didn’t come home. Kim, shouting from inside the house. Porsche didn’t come with him in the ambulance. Porsche didn’t-
“Khun Porchay?”
Chay looks up and into the face of another black-suited bodyguard. He looks away almost immediately and wipes his cheeks clean. Lets himself be guided from the towncar.
“Khun Porchay, my name is Chan. I am Khun Korn’s head bodyguard. If you have a moment, Khun Korn would like to speak with you before you settle in.”
Chay doesn’t know who this Khun Korn is, but he has enough experience with men who walk through the world like it should move out of their way to know that if a man like Chan is following his orders, Khun Korn is not asking. This is more of a judge's sentence than an invitation. Besides, its not like Chay has anywhere he needs to be, only places he'd rather be, and none of those are options at present. Chay nods wordlessly and allows himself to be marched into the mass of a mansion before him.
–
Khun Korn, as it turns out, is an unassuming looking old man. He greets Chay with a fatherly smile, and gestures for him to take a seat across him at an old chess board. Chay wais as politely as he can but does not speak, dropping into the chair gracelessly.
“Welcome to our home, Porchay Kittasawat,” Korn says. He eyes Chay expectantly.
Chay has the distinct feeling he’s being tested. Still, he’s spent his whole life hiding what he felt, what he knew, what he saw from the person who claimed to know him best in the world. There’s a hole in the bottom of his stomach that’s been gaping since he woke up in the hospital alone. His poker face isn’t forced, he couldn’t muster an expression right now if he tried.
“Thank you, Khun Korn.”
“Your brother has been making quite the impression since he arrived.” Korn slides a pawn forward. Chay traces the movement up to Korn’s eyes, a growing feeling of fear and a distant amusement at how cliche this … mafia boss is. There’s an invitation there for Chay to speak his mind, to give Korn something to work with. To let out some of his anger at his brother.
Chay doesn’t take it. “I hope he hasn’t given you too much trouble, khun.”
Korn smiles and it’s meant to look kind but it’s absent at the corners. “No, of course not. Has he told you much about what he’s gotten you into?”
Chay studies the board, and slides a pawn forward, right into Korn’s pawn’s path. He watches Korn take it bemusedly. “No sir, not yet.” It’s an implication of trust he doesn’t feel, but he’s not stupid enough to let Korn see him as anything but fawning and naive. Something animal, deep in the recesses of his mind, tells him that it is for the best that Korn thinks him useless. Chay wonders if everyone feels like a prey animal under Korn's gaze.
“This is a bit of a dangerous world you’ve been dragged into," Korn says, sounding for all the world like he's discussing the weather. "Mishaps like these happen and they can be startling at first. I imagine you are a bit shaken up. I hope we can provide some comfort.”
Mishap. Startling. A bit dangerous. Are these the words they’re going to use to describe Chay being taken? It almost feels like the damage control a PR team would do at a company. He wonders if every victim, or even every casualty, of the Theerapanyakun undergoes the same subtle threatening. Korn is putting on his best comforting uncle face, and Chay imagines putting his fist through it. He's never been a particularly violent person, and he's not feeling particularly violent at the moment, but he distantly thinks it might be nice. A shiver rolls through him but he’s not cold. He’s heating, actually. There’s a pot stirring in his stomach. Still, he can’t quite get it all the way to his face, to his head, so his face doesn’t change and he moves another pawn.
They play in silence for a bit, Korn easily taking most of Chay’s pieces off the board. Only his queen and a knight are left, and he can tell that Korn is toying with him. The game should have ended ages ago. Chay was never trying to win, but he's stopped even pretending to put up a token effort. He's deliberately throwing himself in Korn's path, and it seems as though he's trying to read Chay from his choices. Chay hopes that all he can get from this is that Chay is a bad chess player, even though he won a school tournament once.
“Perhaps one of my sons could be of assistance in orienting you,” Korn says. Chay looks up when the old man gestures for Chan to bring him a framed picture off his shelf. He hands it to Korn facing away from Chay. Korn slides the photo out of the frame and turns it over, placing it innocently on the table. Chay doesn’t move to take it but he does glance over and freezes.
There are three boys in the photo. The eldest is wearing something atrociously pink. Next to him is a vampiric man with caterpillar eyebrows in an ombre suit that should look ridiculous, but works well enough given that the man is stunning. And then …
“P'Kim,” Chay breathes. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Korn lean forward a bit, feels his eyes drinking in his face. It seems Chay has lost this game. He doesn't care. He's too busy staring at the photograph.
Kim, for what it’s worth, doesn’t look happy to be there. He’s wearing his stupid leather jacket, the one he draped over Chay’s shoulders a couple of weeks ago. His eyes are dark and empty, and there’s no trace of Wik on the rest of his face either. He’s standing stiff like a soldier, like a weapon, next to his brothers. Even though both of the other two seem to be holding themselves straight, they lack the tension Kim does. There’s something wild, something terrifying about the stillness of this photograph. Kim looks like a predator. He looks like a mafia son. He stares up at Chay from the paper and Chay cannot unite this man with the boy who fell asleep holding him, whose screams of his name as Chay was taken have not yet left his ears.
Oh. Chay thinks. He was never mine to begin with, was he?
“You know my Kimhant?” Korn asks, redundantly. Chay glances up from the photograph and it only confirms his racing thoughts. Korn knew. He knew about Chay and Kim and he knew that Kim hadn’t told Chay anything.
Kim may look like a predator in this photo, but Chay could feel in his bones that Korn was the lion; top of the food chain. Chay was nothing but a stupid gazelle. Suddenly he was very very tired.
Korn takes his knight.
“Checkmate.”
–
Chay’s attempting to peel himself off the bathroom floor and go look at the boxes of his things that the bodyguards must have collected from home when Porsche finally arrives. He’s aggravated, Chay can hear it.
“Chay?” Porsche calls out. “Chay!”
For a second, Chay thinks about calling out to him. Then another voice speaks.
“Porsche, this has to be quick.”
“I know, I know,” Porsche responds. Chay can hear him return his focus to the room and start walking around. “Chay! C’mon kiddo, doesn’t hia deserve a hello?”
And suddenly all of that anger Chay couldn’t make himself feel when he was talking to Korn comes flooding out of him in one go. He turns to the toilet, dry heaves a little, and then pushes off the floor. He flies into the bedroom like a bat out of hell, then pulls up short to drink in the sight before him. Porsche is pressed into eyebrows from the family photo at the shoulders. Chay's eyes narrow. He wishes he could say it's surprising that there seems to be even more depth to Porsche's bullshit than he thought but, well, it isn't.
“You want to talk about what you deserve?” He says coolly. Porsche blinks at him like he doesn't recognize him. "Don't you think that should be a family conversation?" He stares pointedly at eyebrows, who shrinks a bit under his gaze but, perhaps to his credit, does not react further. Porsche shakes his head. "Anything you want to say to me can be said in front of Kinn. He's safe." The way this is said makes Chay think that there's an implication he doesn't understand there. He hopes he never does. He doesn't like the note of intimacy to it. “Very well," he says, taking a step forward, balling his hands into fists at his side. For the first time in his life, he locks eyes with his big brother and says what he thinks. He's surprised he hasn't cried yet. He was never very good at confrontation, and boys in his class used to make fun of how quick to tears he was. Not in this moment, it seems. "For years, hia, I have done absolutely nothing while you run our lives. I have gone along with every decision you made, even the dumb ones. I have sat back quietly and supported you playing dad because it made you feel better and taking care of me gave you a purpose. I have pretended not to notice the bruises, the cuts, the hickies, the alcohol poisoning at four in the morning. I have patched you up in silence and I have cooked you eggs the next morning like nothing happened. I have raised myself because you were so busy out there trying to distract yourself from our shitshow of a life and justifying it by my name. And never, NEVER have I asked you to explain yourself and you have never ONCE asked me what I thought.” He’s shaking from head to toe, but he’s not done. “Do you even care? Do you even care that by forcing yourself to live for me I had to live for you? Do you even care that the guilt of knowing you were fucking martyring yourself for me has made it impossible to be a person to you?”
He pauses, stepping back and away. He lets go of Porsche’s shirt. His brother has yet to take a breath, yet to blink, yet to move.
“So please hia, tell me what it is I owe you. Tell me what you deserve.”
Tears are rolling down Porsche’s cheeks and he should feel guilt, but all he feels is empty. There’s a sound from the door when Porsche’s legs wobble and ombre suit from Korn’s photo rushes over to catch Chay’s brother when he crumples.
“Chay-”
He is so very, very tired. “Forget it hia. I’m sorry I yelled.” He knows he’s got a sympathetic little smile on his face, but he doesn’t remember putting it there. He’s pretty sure he isn’t in his own body right now. “I just need sleep, I’m sure. Let’s talk tomorrow?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He leaves to the sound of his brother sobbing into ombre suit’s chest. He has an errand to run.
–
He walks himself to Kim’s apartment. He’s pretty sure he walks himself back afterwards too, but he doesn’t remember any of it. He had sat there, outside the apartment building, for no less than an hour; alternating between crying and hurling his guts out until all that was left was clear fluid from his guts and eyes.
When he walks in, atrociously pink is awaiting him. He’s flanked by two very attractive men in suits. The one in the glasses folds into a polite wai, and the other one gives him a friendly smile.
Atrociously pink shrieks. “Baby Porsche! Come, come, I haven’t gotten a good look at you yet!”
Considering he’s spent the last 45 minutes dissociating and the hour before that clearing his entire body of fluids, the last thing he wants to do is get to know anyone who’s calling him ‘little Porsche’ right now. Still, if he hasn’t been permitted to make any decisions for himself before, he’s not sure why that would change now.
He folds into a wai. “Hello Khun.”
“None of that,” pink–who is actually currently wearing something that manages to be both green and purple–says. “Where are you going? You look terrible, and I don’t just mean the ill-fitting trousers. Are those Porsche’s doing? He usually gets sizing a little better than this. No matter, tell big brother Tankhun what’s wrong.”
The barrage of words is so unexpected and so random that Chay can feel himself return to his body. He offers a little smile, the best he can, and it almost feels genuine. “I was just on a walk. It’s been a bit of a long day. I was just going to look for the kitchen and make myself something.”
Tankhun blinks and then mumbles something that might be, “little brothers,” and "terrible liars," under his breath. “Pol will take you to the kitchen and introduce you to our head chef. We don’t do the cooking around here, young Porsche. He’ll bring you to me afterward, I have my work cut out for me procuring you an outfit that doesn’t make me want to put coins in your hat.” And with that, Tankhun whirls around, stalking off with the bespectacled bodyguard trailing after him.
Chay opens his mouth. Closes it. Turns to the leftover bodyguard helplessly.
The bodyguard, Pol, chuckles. “Yeah, he tends to have that effect at first. Don’t worry, it gets less overwhelming over time. He really is the loveliest of the bunch.”
Chay nods, but his face must betray some disbelief.
Pol smiles indulgently and then turns away. “Follow me and let’s get some food into you.”
–
As it turns out, even when he applies his best auntie skills–honed from years of older women pinching his cheeks and asking why his mischief-making brother hasn’t been by–Not, the head chef, won’t let him in the kitchen. Instead she strong arms him into the giant dining hall and sits him down with a loving swat to the arm. “This may be the Theerapanyakul household, but that is my kitchen. No one goes in there unless I give them express permission.”
Pol grins at Chay, slipping into the seat next to him, “what about when the young masters come by Auntie Not?”
Auntie Not turns on him with a glare that is 10% annoyance and 90% motherly affection. “Hasn’t happened in years Pol, how about you bring your charge down here sometime, hmm?” They grin at each other and then Auntie Not turns back to Chay. “Stick close to this one, you hear? He’s good people and this is not an easy job you’ve signed up for.” Then she bustles back off to the kitchen.
“Ah, sorry about that Khun Porchay,” Pol says. “She must have thought you were a new recruit. She practically raised the lot of us boys, so she’s used to dropping formalities. Don’t worry, I’ll let her know who you are by next time. I apologize for the disrespect.”
“No!” Chay blurts.
Pol startles, eyebrows raising.
“Sorry,” Chay says, “I just meant–please don’t tell her. I didn't grow up fancy, and I don't want to be fancy just because Porsche is some hotshot here.”
Pol’s eyebrows raise even harder, but drop as he settles into a wide grin. “Alright. Then can I drop khun too?”
“Please,” Chay breathes.
–
As it turns out, Pol is incredible company. He’s also the biggest gossip Chay’s ever met, barring Yok. It’s a welcome distraction from the day he’s had, especially when Auntie Not bustles back out and sits down to join them, dabbing at her brow.
“-- and I think that’s when we all figured out Porsche and Khun Kinn were together, because Ken and Big may be stupid and not know the difference between punishment sounds and tearing off each others clothes but everyone in this compound seems to keep forgetting that Arm has access to all the security footage. Nong, I didn’t even know shirts ripped that easy, I swea-”
Pol is cut off from likely the most embarrassing Porsche story Chay has ever heard by the sound of the door swinging open. His eyes widen and he jumps to his feet, dropping into a bow. “Khun Kinn! My apologies, I didn’t see you.” Not drops into a matching bow and excuses herself.
Eyebrows–Kinn–doesn’t react. He also doesn’t spare Pol a glance, eyes solely focused on Chay. “Out.”
Pol hesitates, glancing over at Chay. “Sir, I-”
“Pol. Out. Now. I’ll walk him to Khun’s room myself.”
Chay gives Pol a tiny smile, trying to reassure him with a confidence he doesn’t feel himself.
Pol ducks out. He leaves Chay feeling cold.
“Porchay,” Kinn starts once they're alone. Then he seems to run out of steam, hovering awkwardly behind the chair Pol just vacated. Chay wonders idly if he's regretting sending Pol away. It certainly isn't winning him any points.
Chay doesn’t plan to cut him any slack. He stares down into his kaeng lueang, the emptiness in his stomach returning full force.
“Please don’t blame your brother,” Kinn says, words slamming together with how fast he says it. He slows down. “It’s my fault that he wasn’t by your side, that he wasn’t able to contact you. It was the best way to keep you safe, but I can see that it hurt you and Porsche holds no fault in that. It’s mine.”
Chay doesn’t look up. “Okay,” he says, finally.
“Okay?” Kinn repeats.
“What do you want from me, Khun Kinn?” Chay asks, finally meeting his eyes. He’s so empty. He just wants today to end. He just wants to go to bed so he can be anywhere but here for a couple hours.
“I’d like us to be friends. Porsche is, ” Kinn pauses, “Porsche is the man I love. I plan to spend the rest of my life with him. You’re important to him, so you’re important to me.”
Chay feels his stomach fall out. There’s nothing left in him now. If Porsche and Kinn are together then … then that means that this is his forever now. Chay is well aware of Porsche's ... extracurricular activities. He's never taken anyone seriously, never brought up anyone important. But love ... for Kinn to declare himself in love so boldly and confidently means he's discussed this with Porsche already. Means Porsche loves him too. And Chay knows that when Porsche chooses to love someone, there is no turning back. There will be no escaping this life for the two of them, or even for Chay alone. Porsche choosing to be with Kinn means that he made another, irrevocable life decision that changes everything. And the worst part is that Chay, who hates his brother more than he ever has in this moment, would still never leave him behind.
No, the worst part is that Chay isn’t sure Porsche would walk away if he asked. He's never had to share Porsche's love before. He's not sure how it works.
And what does this mean in regards to Kim? If his brother dates Kim’s brother … there will be no way for him to avoid Kimhant Theerapanyakul. He is going to spend the rest of his life watching Kim live his. And Kim has a life outside these walls, as Wik. Chay is growing increasingly sure that he will not.
Something in him crumples. Something in him dies. He should feel something about this, now that he’s followed the train of thought to it’s logical conclusion. He doesn’t. He stares blankly at Kinn, who is looking at him with increasing confusion and–dare he say it–concern. Chay doesn’t know what to do with that.
“Whatever is most convenient for you, Khun,” he settles on. The response doesn't please Kinn, but that wasn't ever the goal. Porchay rises to his feet and moves towards the door, not waiting to see if Kinn follows him.
Kinn, true to his word, walks him to what he assumes are Tankhun’s quarters. He turns to Chay when they stop. “You’re very different from him, you know,” he says. “Your brother spent the first part of our knowing one another driving me insane with his nonsense and, well, I don’t know that he’s since stopped.” He laughs a little, looking like he expects Chay to join in. He doesn’t. It gets awkward.
Kinn is right. He’s nothing like Porsche. It’s the only thing Kinn’s said yet that doesn’t make him wish Kinn was dead.
“Goodnight Khun Kinn,” he settles on.
Kinn sighs. “Please Porchay, just Kinn.” He waits for Chay to say it. He doesn’t. Kinn’s shoulders droop, but he keeps a good face, to his credit. He leaves.
Inside Tankhun’s quarters, there’s a set of gigantic couches and a padded coffee table. Underneath the coffee table a sleeping mat, comforter, and no less than 30 pillows have been set out. Tankhun is sitting on one of the couches, dressed in silk pajamas with cartoon sheep on them. He gestures to a matching pair for Porchay.
“Little Porsche! Go change, bathroom is all yours. You and I are having a sleepover tonight!”
Chay doesn’t have it in him to argue. He takes the shower, changes into the pajamas that are–admittedly–the softest thing he’s ever touched, and stumbles his way back to the couch. Pol is there now, and he gathers Chay under his arm like they’ve known one another for years. Chay sinks into it. Nobody comments on his sniffles when the intro for Ouran Highschool Host Club starts playing, and Pol doesn’t bat an eye at the wet spot near his armpit. Chay drifts off somewhere around the fourth episode, lulled to sleep by the sounds of the twins arguing on screen, Tankhun’s constant questions for Arm, and Pol’s loud snoring.
–
Chay has a nightmare, the first since the kidnapping. Not too surprising, considering that he’d been high as hell on morphine in the hospital and this is his first night back.
Kim, covered in blood, laughing at him as Chay cried. Porsche, turning his back with Kinn’s hand at his waist and walking away as Chay sank through the floor. Korn, sticking chess piece after chess piece into his gut, little knives attached to the bottoms of the characters.
He peeks into the bedroom and finds Tankhun and Arm sleeping, wrapped tight around one another which, huh. Pol is still on the couch where Chay left him. It calms his heart a bit to know where everyone in the room is.
He isn’t sure it’s polite of him, but he crawls into the makeshift bed below the coffee table anyway. He wasn’t invited, but being able to see the ceiling and being hidden from view make him feel safe. The comforter is a bit weighted, and the feeling of being pressed in, of being held from all angles, pushes the last of the nightmare from his body. It still plays in his mind, but it doesn’t feel so real anymore. Not under the glow of the fairy lights Tankhun has strung everywhere.
Again, he sleeps.
–
Chay is awoken to the sound of muted arguing. He blinks heavy eyelids up at the underside of the coffee table, too empty and gray to move. Instead, he forces himself to listen.
One of the voices is Tankhun, that much he can tell. It sounds a bit like he’s mediating. There’s two other voices, a shouting match, and while he recognizes them both he also can’t quite put his finger on it.
He slides out from under the table and makes eye contact with a sleep rumpled Pol, who grins at him. Chay offers him a tiny smile, but even he can tell it’s not sufficient. Pol makes a hurt little sound, and scoops Chay out from under the table, setting him on his feet. Then he crushes him into a hug.
They stand there, swaying, until the shouting stops and Tankhun returns. They lock eyes over Pol’s shoulder and Tankhun meanders over, tapping his bodyguard gently on the cheek. “Let him breathe teddy bear. Go take a shower and change. You smell. Chay and I will be fine.”
Pol nods, clearly not entirely awake, and stumbles towards the door. Chay, who had felt just a tiny bit warm in Pol’s hold, can feel himself sinking again. Tankhun doesn’t let it happen. He scoops Chay up, draping him over himself in a manner more suitable for a five year old than an 18 year old and takes a firm hold of Chay’s wrists. He meets Chay’s eyes and keeps his voice as calm as he can, a completely different person than the vapid man Chay met only a day ago. Something in Chay loosens.
“When I was 13, I was kidnapped,” he pauses, something steely and violent in his eyes. Instead of scaring him, Chay feels even safer. “As far as the rest of this household knows, I have never been the same. They aren’t wrong Chay, this is the kind of thing that can change you. So, to avoid you falling into the same trap I did, this is what we’re going to do.”
According to Khun, there is going to be therapy. With a therapist that Tankhun is going to personally vet. There is going to be martial arts training, for a couple hours a day. Self defense. If he does well, Khun will personally teach him how to hold a gun.
“I don’t think my brother will like this,” Chay says quietly.
“Your brother can stuff it,” Khun says, startling a laugh out of him. “This is your life little Porchay. What do you want?”
And for the first time since he arrived at the main house, Chay breathes.