Chapter Text
In hindsight, Phop thinks it’s a given; he should have known he would be the end of his own hubris.
Not to give himself too much credit, but he was a healthy esteemed young man of 22. He’s living comfortably, with a harmonious family, and a steady career in a job he is moderately passionate about.
Something has got to give…
Enter Klao.
A mystery of a man, really. He’d known him for the longest time and yet the one in front of him right now wouldn’t be uttered in the same breath as the word ‘familiar’.
Ever since he came back after going missing, something about him has been different. Not terribly so, but it is things Phop cannot just brush off easily. It is one thing to have a sudden change of food preference; but it is quite another to forget how to read and write, to apparently be fluent in the language of the Farangs, and most notably -to be skillful in the art of persuasion.
The Klao he knew was a shy and modest kid. Compliant, good-natured -driven when he wants to be, but always respectful and unselfish; mostly talking in few polite words. He thought Phichit could only change a boy so much because even after moving back to Phra Nakhon and leaning into becoming a social pariah -acting recluse, callous, hostile, and almost self-destructive, Phop could still see the old Klao underneath the thick veil of loss and hurt. So it is a wonder that it apparently only takes several days of being lost in the forest to have him come back from it, almost a brand new man.
If not for his face and the small petal-like birthmark on his upper right arm, Phop would believe that he was meeting a different person entirely. And not to question his dear friend Jom’s medical opinion, but blaming Klao’s random huge gaps in memory on his past alcoholism always sounded shaky.
Which was why he was not so strict about letting Klao drink some of his wine.
He’d have thought it better than letting him sneak out to the markets to find drinks at the taverns there -at least this way he could keep a close eye on him. But in hindsight; that was a mistake anyway -a different, unprecedented one; but still one lending him to his predicament now.
He has got no one to blame because truthfully he had started it all; sets himself up. Told Klao that if he wanted a drink he would ”have to ask nicely and call himself ‘Nong’.” Thought to himself, that there is no way the new Klao would do it -he could barely look him in the eyes when they are talking, and even when he does it is with clear disdain.
So it shocked Phop when Klao did as asked. Resigned and sheepish, but clear enough for him to raise an unbelieving eyebrow at.
“Phi Phop, please let Nong have a drink of the wine too…”
Phop only remembered staring back in disbelief.
“Na~?”
He almost choked. It’s like looking into the ghost of their childhood past.
It was like being 9 again. Still a child himself and yet also an older brother figure to Klao. Not knowing how to say no when Klao asked for him to take him to the market, when Klao asked for him to sneak sweets out of the cook house before lunch was supposed to be served, when Klao asked for him not to tell anyone about the ducklings he’s keeping behind the stables, when Klao asked for him not to go home with his parents and stay instead for a sleepover.
Back then Luang Preechaphiban used to scold him for it. “Giving in to my little Klao -no matter how pitiful you find his eyes to be, is rarely a wise thing, Luk. I expect better of you.” And yet every time after -even when Phop hesitates, it doesn’t take long until the little thing’s sweet voice and bright sparkling eyes charms Phop into compliance. In those days, Phop would probably give little Klao the world if he had asked.
And of course every time after, when news reaches their fathers (-Phop couldn’t blame the servants for being worried and big-mouthed after all), his nights always end the same. Luang asked him once; “You know I’m likely to give you a scolding every time you let him have his way, Luk. So why do you keep doing it?” Phop remembered only keeping his head down, not giving Luang an answer. Not because he was incapable of one. But because saying anything other than something as unseemly as; ‘the joy in his smile enamours me’ felt dishonest.
Truth be told -even now, something in his being is saying it’s not Klao. And yet a part of him is also saying that it’s him. It’s all very confusing.
For one thing, his stubbornness is anything but. The outspoken and defiant nature he now assumes; atypical. The change of preferences, the new skills as well as the lack thereof of his old ones, and the forgetfulness; all very uncanny. Not to mention the evasiveness, which he is still unceasingly suspicious about.
And yet the curl of his lips? The twinkle in his eyes? The saccharine tone dripping honeyed words from his mouth?
It’s Klao.
And so Phop finds himself relenting for the first time in a long long while. Let Klao have his way; the way he used to.
Which is when the trouble starts.
-
He soon finds out that this Klao -this new one, is perceiving. Scarily so. And that as soon as he learned what a little begging and batting of the eyelashes could accomplish, there was no way to stop him.
The one afternoon when their reading-writing lesson gets a bit too much for him, he scoots closer and pouts. Whines; “Please let Nong rest for the day, Phi Phop.” And Phop relents.
The one hot day where they’re supposed to go horseback riding, he huddles under the shade of the stables. Stroking Si Nuan behind her white ears and speaking low; “Phi, you wouldn’t be so mean as to let Nong ride in this weather, right?” And Phop relents.
The one time after he almost caused a ruckus in the market -a mere second away from a brawl with Cherd and his goons if Phop hadn’t stepped in, he gave him the piteous eyes. Begs; “Please don’t tell Than Ok and Khun Ying. Nong was just trying to help. They were bothering E-Pim. Phi Phop has to believe Nong~” And Phop relents, again and again and again.
It is hard to admit, but Phop would be lying if he says he doesn’t know what sets this off. It is that word
Nong
Out of the mouths of his subordinates or even the lady suitors who sometimes come to see him on his patrols, it’s just a word like any other.
But out of Klao’s? It sounds charming, inviting -alluring? Is that even appropriate? Phop doesn’t know. But it does.
He reasons that maybe it’s the repressed yearning he has for a younger sibling, bubbling up again after Klao’s return. He was raised an only child after all -and while he has many step-siblings, they were somewhat different from his idea of someone he could coddle and protect. He had wanted a baby brother; a nong chai. To love and to play with, to teach and to keep safe. Someone he could take care of as an older brother.
Just one problem though. Phop’s increasingly sure that’s not what he wants Klao as anymore.
He might have when they were young. The way he spoiled little Klao rotten even when it begets a surefire scolding a proof as strong as any. But no, not now.
It is that word.
It is a perfectly innocent word. And yet, coming out of Klao’s mouth it spreads a new kind of warmth in his chest. Having it coupled with his sparkly round eyes turns his ears aflame. Hearing it whined out of his perfectly plump lips sends a tingle down his spine.
It is bad. He’s quite sure these aren’t older brother feelings. That is bad.
But what is worse is that Klao uses it without so much of a mind, like he recognizes its effect on him but somehow unaware of its extent. Klao must think that that word is his free pass and nothing else -and while that’s evidently true in its effect on Phop, he is blithely unaware of how hard it makes it for Phop to not just kiss him on his pouty lips.
See, even that expression:
Kiss.
Klao has gotten him using the word the way the Farangs do. Him! Oldest son of Phraya Pichaiphakdee. Proud Thai gentleman that he is.
Good time as any to remind himself; this is bad. Really bad.
-
It is maddening.
Especially because he is sure Klao does not even feel the slightest bit the same.
The fact that he was fast friends with Jom and Harn, but still mostly drawn and stilted when it is just them two. How he runs away from him and hides behind his servants or even Phop’s own parents. The way he was so eager to matchmade him with Wana. How he steps back instantly and smiles in jest at the women lining up to have him apply talc powder on them during the New Year’s Festival -ignoring Phop completely at some point to play excitedly with Kaew.
Any way you look at it, all of that seems to amount to disinterest. And that is driving Phop mad. Because while Klao’s disinterest is clear, Phop on the other hand is finding it harder and harder to hide that he is interested.
Like right now.
-
It is tinged with irony really, how Phop finds himself again in a situation so alike the start of his predicament.
It is the same bright moonlit night. The same patio and the same serving table. There is again another bottle of foreign liquor on the table -the contents of which someone has emptied almost half of. That someone right now sits beside him, swaying gently with the night breeze -cheeks a sure red and eyes clearly hazy. In a second, that someone reaches back for his cup, brings it to his mouth, and makes an obviously disappointed noise when he finds not a drop of liquid in it.
That someone is Klao. And judging by the pout he is quick to sport, Phop knows exactly what is coming for him.
“Phi Phop…”
Here we go.
“Please let Nong have another cup of the wine…”
Phop turns to him, schooling his face into a look of stern rejection-
“Na~?”
-which instantly melts into barely masked helpless adoration because Klao’s little pleas really are his undoing. So like a fool, he relents. Pours Klao another cup as the younger watches happily. But in a show of bargain -before Klao can bring the cup to his lips, Phop takes a hold of his arm to give him an ultimatum.
“I am letting you have this cup, but know that right after you finish it I expect you to come back willingly to your quarters to rest for the night.”
Klao makes a little noise of complaint -and it is as adorable as a kitten’s mewl, but Phop stays strong. It is getting late. “Do I make myself clear, Klao?”
Klao eventually nods, “Yes, Phi Phop. Nong will sleep right after.”
“Good.”
And so he drinks, and drinks; until his cup is empty with nary a drop of wine.
And Klao makes good on his promise -or at least tries to. As the second he puts his cup down on the table, he rises to his feet -clumsily, abruptly. Too abrupt for someone that intoxicated; swaying dangerously close to a fall if not for Phop’s knee-jerk response to pull him upright and close by the waist. Klao giggles as he slumps his body on Phop’s. Mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like; “My hero”.
And Phop is a mess. One because he severely underestimated the effect the alcohol could have on Klao (he really needs to start considering Jom’s words more). And two, because having Klao so close under the wrong circumstance does nothing to alleviate the pounding in his chest.
But no matter, this is his Nong. And taking care of him will always come first.
So Phop carries him by the shoulder. It is of great relief that the patio and their quarters have only about 10 steps between it. He crosses the threshold of Klao’s room in no time. Brings him by his bed and lets Klao throw himself down on it.
Phop stays a bit to make sure Klao is comfortable. His legs and arms hanging out of the bed frame are tucked neatly to his sides. The cushion squashed under his back is adjusted to rest behind his head. He fixes the covers, so it is rightly blanketing the younger’s body. Last he brushes away strands of hair -tousled by the night wind, from Klao’s face. And then lingers, lingers long; hypnotized by the proximity.
Phop stares, at the face in front of him. Stares at the very face plaguing his dreams and every waking thought. Lets himself. Shrugged his guards down; after denying himself the pleasure for the longest time.
He stares, and marvels at the beauty.
Gazes in awe at the porcelain skin, nary a flaw in sight. Watch the delicate flutter of his closed eyelids -crestfallen at not seeing the small galaxies it usually holds, so instead counts the lashes leaving butterfly kisses on his cheeks. Discovers constellations, the sprinkling of stars -beauty marks; on his nose, right by his lower lash, on his cheekbone, and below his eyebrow. And then his lips -plump, plush, bitten cherry red, and oh so inviting; the object of Phop’s greatest fixation.
He doesn’t know how long he stares -how long he lingers. He just does so. For once: selfish. Because this time there are no prying eyes, no captious glances. Just Phop and the magnificent vision of Klao. He lets himself have this. He lets himself have.
But of course, the universe is a cruel jester.
“You keep staring like you want to taste...”
Phop lurches backwards in fright -or at least tries to; eyes rounding in shock as one of Klao’s hand pulls him back close. Resuming their positions before, when Phop had foolishly beheld what he could of Klao while the younger slumbers -or well, pretended to.
He blanches at the words once he has enough mind to register them. Defense coming in hot but ultimately short, as he stutters through an excuse.
“Klao! This is not -I was not-”
“Why don’t you just do it?”
Silence. He knows what Klao is asking and yet he’s too scared to attest to it -wouldn’t let himself believe the odds. So he keeps his silence. Silence is safe.
But Klao would not let him, only pulled him closer by the collar.
Phop nearly topples if not for his hands -flat against the bed, catching him. He is hovered over Klao, arms caging his slender body. In this moment, they are closer than they have ever been. Klao’s eyes on his are probing -dissective, challenging a response out of him with the whisper of his next words.
“Why don’t you just kiss me?"