Chapter Text
The halls of power hummed with an undercurrent of tension, a palpable energy that seemed to emanate from the very walls. In the heart of bustling Bangkok, where the pulse of the nation beat strongest, Prime Minister Pat watched as his nation's fate unfolded with each decision he made.
The sun's rays filtered through the windows of his gargantuan sized office, casting a warm glow that danced upon his polished mahogany desk. Pat stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his gaze fixed on the cityscape that stretched before him—a testament to the vibrant life of Thailand. He sacrificed so much for his beloved people, he worked non-stop every single day, almost alarmingly so, it was hard work, but seeing all his nation prosper and his people happy is what matters most to Pat.
Pat pinches himself as he takes in the view. It has been almost a year since he got elected as the most powerful position in the nation. From a simple small town boy living at the edge of the capital, who would have thought that Pat would become the Prime Minister of a country. His parents still could not stop gushing about him to everyone. How proud they are that his son is literally running the country.
Pat knows that his responsibility is for the people and his country. Pat has always been clear on that.
His attention was diverted as the door to his office swung open, and his fixer strode in. His presence as unwavering as the man himself, he looked like a typical professional in his boring drab office wear, but Pran was a figure of intrigue, his sharp eyes and calculated demeanor shrouded in an air of mystery.
"What now, Pran? Do you know how peaceful this morning has been." Pat's voice held a touch of exasperation, but his eyes betrayed a hint of curiosity.
Pran's lips curled into a grin, his gaze unwavering.
"Just a little fire you need to put out, Prime Minister."
Pat's brow furrowed, irritation flaring up.
"How many times have I told you, Pran? I don't need you to fix every little problem that comes our way. Every itsy bitsy problem that pops up, you somehow know about it first and handles it behind my back and then tell me about it after it's been fixed. Why not just tell in the first place."
Pran leaned against a wall, his arms crossed casually. If there is one thing that really grinds Pat's gears is how nonchalant Pran is with Pat's position. Pat is basically the most powerful person in Thailand- beside the king, of course- but even with his high position, Pran practically ignores most of the things he says.
"Ah, but you see Prime Minister, this isn't a little problem. It's a media storm waiting to happen."
The room seemed to buzz with tension as Pat and Pran engaged in a silent battle of wills—a contest of control that they both were unwilling to back down from. It has been this way since day one in the office, something about Pran that attracts Pat to hate him. Maybe it's the way that he does things to perfection, even coldly so, or the way he looks undeterred at everything, making him look so freakishly cool.
"And why do you always assume I can't handle things on my own?" Pat's voice was laced with defiance.
Pran's eyes bore into Pat's, their intensity almost unnerving.
"Because you're the public's golden boy, Prime Minister. And the public can be a fickle mistress. Nowadays one small mishap and they will have your head on a chopping board in a minute. And not just your head, they will have your entire organs on the world's stage for all to grab a piece of you."
Pat's fingers clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw set in a stubborn line. Pran is not incorrect. Darn him!
"Fine. Tell me what mess you've gotten us into now."
Pran's lips curved into a triumphant smile.
"It seems that a certain member of parliament was caught in a compromising situation last night—a situation involving a rather... intimate gathering. To be more specific, the minister of agriculture was caught red handed with numerous videos of him canoodling with nineteen-year-old escorts at a private party. Most concerning is how he motorboated the escorts' breasts who is literally his grandkids' age. Not to mention his drunken behavior."
Pat's eyes widened in disbelief.
"You've got to be kidding me. This can't be true. The minister is what, sixty this year?"
Pran's expression remained unchanged, his demeanor calm and collected. "He's sixty-three to be more precise, Prime Minister, but unfortunately, it will be soon all over the tabloids. I've received scoop that we have a window of two hours before other news websites start posting. At least six hours before anything is made into print."
Pat rubbed his temples, a sigh escaping his lips, and he was just enjoying his morning.
"This is exactly the kind of thing I've been trying to avoid. Fucking old geezer! What's the plan, Pran?"
Pran pushed away from the wall, his steps measured. He took out an ipad that seemed to appear from nowhere and began typing.
"I've already arranged a meeting with all the parties involved. We're going to address the situation head-on, control the narrative before someone else does, and ensure that it doesn't escalate further. I've already talked to the minister's family members. We have them on internet lockdown for now."
Pat's gaze bore into Pran's, a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect.
"And what about the media?"
Pran's lips quirked into a sly smile. "Leave that to me. I have a way of diverting their attention."
Pat's frustration simmered beneath the surface, but he knew that Pran's methods were effective—even if they grated against his own principles.
"Fine," Pat conceded, his tone resigned. "Handle it, Pran. But remember, this doesn't mean I'm surrendering to your control."
Pran's grinned a winning smile, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Of course not, Prime Minister. We both know you're far too stubborn for that."
As Pran turned to leave, Pat's gaze followed him, a mixture of irritation and intrigue warring within him. There was something about Pran that challenged him, something that made him want to uncover the layers of the enigma before him. Pat has worked his way against a tsunami of old political geezers who can politicize their way out of satan's maze, every single one of them he'd slayed with his sword with his dignity and integrity intact, but Pran... he's just something else.
"Wait," Pat's voice stopped Pran in his tracks. "I still don't understand why you're always so involved in every aspect of my work."
Pran stopped in his heels and turned to face Pat, his gaze unwavering.
"Because, Prime Minister, my job is to ensure that you remain unburdened by the chaos that comes with your position. Your public image and the image of the Prime Minister's office is my responsibility."
Pat's eyes locked onto Pran's, a spark of fire igniting within him. He could see clearly that behind the polished exterior of Pran was a ruthless and merciless worker that would stop at nothing but to be the best at his job.
"And what if I don't want to be shielded from the chaos? What if I want to face it head-on?"
Pran's smile faded into a tight lip. His demeaner suddenly charged from cold to glacial.
"You may be the Prime Minister, but you're also human. And normal human beings break at the pressure that comes with this position. And sometimes, you need an extra help to make the tough decisions for you, to ensure that you're not consumed by the storm that comes with this office."
Their gazes held in a silent battle, an unspoken understanding passing between them—a recognition of the roles they played, and the complexities of their ever-evolving alliance.
As Pran walked out of the office, the tension that had filled the room seemed to linger—a reminder that in the world of power and politics, alliances could form in the unlikeliest of places.