Chapter Text
It was shaping up to be another one of those nights. When Top slid into the chair next to Mew with that self-satisfied expression he seemed to have permanently stapled onto his face, Ray had half a mind to demonstratively get up and leave. But that would just make him look like a sore loser and anyway, this was his table, his friends, and he wasn’t about to let an asshole like Top drive him away. Instead, he put on a fake smile and slouched in his chair, spreading his legs and putting on an air of boredom. He reached for the glass he had declared his last one only moments ago, and downed it in one go. Next to him, Boston burst out laughing because he’d been the one to bet that it would definitely not be the last. Ray ignored him. He found that ignoring Boston was sometimes the only way to endure him, especially when he got into one of those callous moods. Way worse than Boston’s laughter was Namchueam’s eye-roll. It was one thing to be ridiculed, another to see annoyance clearly caused by him. Ray forced his hand to be steady as he put down his glass while bile rose up his throat that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He tried to ignore the embarrassment and focused on bitterness instead. It was easy - all he had to do was to look across the table.
Top scooted his chair closer to Mew’s and leaned over to whisper something into his boyfriend’s ear. What a fucking farce. Everyone except the Mew could see that Top’s only goal was to get into his pants. He might be attempting the long game for fun, but Ray was certain that once he got a taste, he would drop Mew like a boring toy he had grown tired of. Ray would never do such a thing. Ray would cherish Mew, Ray would do everything to make Mew happy, he would lay the world at Mew’s feet. Only that Mew didn’t want the world. Or anything else Ray had to offer.
Instead, Mew wanted fun. He laughed in a way Ray had never heard him laugh before and shoved playfully at Top’s shoulder. Top briefly grinned over at Ray. Were they talking about him? Ray had gotten used to being the group’s running gag - not like he was making it especially hard for them - but seeing Mew of all people make fun of him hit different. He was too sober for his bullshit. Boston cheered when Ray got another drink, Namchueam sighed. Whatever. So what if Ray made himself comfortable in the mold they had put him in?
“I knew you wouldn’t make it,” Boston grinned and patted Ray’s thigh.
“I could,” Ray said, trying for casual. “But it’s Friday and I had my last exam this week. I think I’m allowed some fun.”
“You don’t look like you’re having fun, my brother. You look like your glass is filled with vinegar.” Boston leaned in closer and whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear, “You look like a scorned lover.”
Ray’s gaze, as much as he tried to stop it, automatically flickered over to Mew. For a heartbeat, they made eye-contact. And there in Mew’s face, Ray saw the worst thing of the evening. Not ridicule, or annoyance, or even disapproval. Pity.
Ray flinched back and glared at Boston. Unfortunately, sometimes it was impossible to ignore him. “Fuck you, Boston.”
“Hey, hey.” Boston raised his arms in mock-surrender. “Did I hit a nerve?”
Ray felt Mew still looking at him with that small frown etched between his brows, and he was viscerally reminded of the evening he had forced a kiss on his friend. Mew’s soft lips underneath his, before he had jerked away and regarded Ray with pure disdain.
Top’s eyebrow was raised, his arm wound around Mew’s shoulders, and he looked expectantly at Ray.
Ray felt sudden panic claw at his throat and he forced himself to remain calm. I’m over it, I’m over him, I’ve moved on. He managed a smirk, first in Top's direction, then at Boston. “Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Scorned by whom? My boyfriend is pretty happy with me, I think.”
“Boyfriend?” Boston said with a disbelieving laugh.
“You have a boyfriend, Ray?” Mew’s calculating look made way for a bright smile, as if that was good news, as if he wasn’t feeling the smallest hint of dejection at the prospect of Ray having found someone else.
“What, is that such a surprise?” Ray asked, fingers so tight around his glass that he could almost hear it creak.
“Sure is,” Boston said. “What’s his name? You should introduce him to us.”
“A lot of things need to happen before I introduce him to you,” Ray said and hoped his grin didn’t look as forced as it felt.
“Such as?”
“A vow of celibacy on your side.” Ray toasted in Boston’s direction and downed his drink. Everyone laughed and the conversation veered in other directions. It never stayed too long with Ray; he was the kind of friend that was more of an extra and never contributed much. In this case, he was glad for it. But he also knew it wasn’t the last they'd talked about it. And he knew he needed to prepare. And even in his drunk state, he had an idea or two. His eyes swayed to the stage, where the band ended their last song of the night. Sand, all bright smile and enthusiasm, thanked the crowd and got some screams in return. Briefly as his gaze swept over the crowd, he made eye-contact with Ray. Ray grinned at him and gave him a thumbs up, and Sand did that thing. The one where he rolled his eyes and shook his head and failed to stifle a smile as if Ray was annoying but a good kind, and it never failed to make Ray's night just a little bit better. Sand endured a lot of Ray. Maybe just enough to do him one more favour.
-
Sand knew it had been another one of those nights when he found Ray lingering outside the bar, using the tip of his shoe to draw circles into the dusty street like some school kid who had been waiting for his mother to fetch him. He sighed, adjusted the guitar on his back, and walked right past him. Expectantly, he made it two quick steps before a hand closed around his wrist.
“Think you can get past me?” Ray said, voice slightly slurred and smile entirely faked.
“I just did,” Sand informed him, well aware that nothing he said was going to have any impact on how this evening was going to end. He wasn’t sure when exactly he had given up the role of protagonist in his own life to become an extra in Ray’s, but somewhere along their acquaintanceship it must have happened. Sand ignored the voice in his head telling him he'd never been a protagonist, never even made it to second male lead, and instead turned towards Ray who was now grinning up at him.
“And yet here you are," he said, habitually unconcerned with any kind of half-hearted resistance Sand managed, much to Sand’s detriment. Because he himself was habitually powerless against Ray’s half-puppy-half-wolf eyes. Tonight, he veered more towards wolf, which told Sand exactly the kind of night it had been. That, and he’d seen Top join the groups table. Which, fair, would have ruined Sand’s evening as well. Only that for him, it would have most likely ended in a black eye while for Ray, in ended in the need to prove he didn't need what Top had taken. That he was so far over Mew that he had no problem sleeping with other people. And always, other people was Sand.
“You’re drunk,” he deadpanned.
“Barely,” Ray purred back.
“It’s late.”
“Perfect time for us.”
“I’m tired.”
“I’ll do all the work.”
Sand was running out of excuses he didn't mean. He pretended annoyance, rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue and it only served to widen the grin on Ray’s face.
“Whatever,” Sand said. Like he always did. Followed Ray. Like he always did. All day, every night, cook, driver, therapist, a doll for Ray to dress up in the role he needed him in. And Sand wondered why he kept offering more outfits. He got into the car next to Ray and turned towards him, ready to deliver a sarcastic quip or at least a pointed remark, but Ray met his gaze and he was smiling in a way that looked like a thank you and Sand didn't say anything.
If Ray wanted to talk, he would.
He didn’t, and Sand was somewhat glad for it. Each time Ray spoke about his friend group, the hard indifference Sand pretended to feel regarding Ray’s life cracked in several places. But it wasn't his place to judge who Ray hung out with, no matter how badly they treated him. They weren't that close, after all.
They arrived at Ray’s house that was too big to be homely, and Ray hadn’t even fully put on the handbrake before he already climbed over it to give Sand one of those deep, filthy kisses that always tasted like vindication, like Ray was saying Look at this, Mew, you’re not the only one making out with other people.
Sand grabbed the back of his neck and took control to reply, This is me Ray, and by the end of the night you’ll remember it.
Ray groaned into his mouth and then he was fully perched on Sand’s lap, buried his hands in Sand's and tried to angle his head so he could deepen the kiss. But Sand wouldn’t relinquish control. On nights like this, Ray needed to feel wanted and claimed, and Sand knew just how to do it.
By now, it was a familiar game. Sand knew all the rules and all the tricks (and was still on the losing side, always). Out of the car, up the stairs, slam Ray against the door before he could unlock it. Grab the keys from his pocket, make sure to dig your fingers into his thigh as you pull them out to elicit a low moan.
They had fucked against the wall, on the sofa, the table, but in the end they still finished on Ray’s ridiculous bed because it offered the most possibilities for Sand to show Ray just who exactly he was having sex with. And when Ray moaned his name instead of Mew’s, it was all Sand needed to follow him over the edge.
They didn’t cuddle afterwards. There was some basic aftercare, but that was about it. Spooning was for lovers, as were slow mornings waking up next to each other. Usually, Sand would be awake long before Mew, use up half of the warm water during an overly long shower, grab food from the fridge and fuck off so he could continue to pretend he didn’t care. Sometimes Ray texted him, saying how great he felt, how sore, and that Sand had given him a great excuse to skip class. Mostly, their nightly activities remained unmentioned. Probably so Ray could continue to pretend he only wanted Mew.
This morning was different. Sand woke up and found the other side of the bed empty. Even more surprising was that, when he stepped out of the shower, he heard sounds from the kitchen. He threw on a shirt and made his way over, smooth wood under his bare feet and indirect lighting illuminating the corridor. Sand had gotten annoyingly used to the display of wealth he had always despised in the past and thus wasn’t as annoyed as he could have been when he pictured some servant setting up breakfast. His annoyance would have been unjustified, anyway, because in front of the high-tech stove stood Ray and fried rice.
“Didn’t take you for a cook,” Sand said and crossed his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.
Ray looked over his shoulder and smirked. “Don’t know me as well as you think you did, huh, lover boy?”
It was way too early for this. Sand didn't even try to stifle his smile. “Please. I don’t think I know you.”
It was the truth. Sand might know which parts of Ray were the most sensitive and what kind of noises he made when he came, but other than that they were pretty much strangers. Well. Not counting the sob-stories Ray told him when he was drunk and dressed Sand up as therapist. Sob-stories Sand desperately wanted to find annoying and never managed to. Instead, they had him with his arms around Ray, stroking his hair and placing soft kisses on his shoulder while he wished he could be the person to make Ray forget about all that suffering. It didn't last long, usually only until Ray had gotten his emotions back under control, and it was another thing they never talked about.
“If you want to change that and get to know me more intimately, you only need to ask.” Ray winked and turned back to the sizzling vegetables. A sudden image flashed before Sand’s eyes, of himself slowly walking over and wrapping his arms around Ray, pressing himself against his back and kissing the side of his neck. It was horribly domestic and he blamed modern media for propagating shitty tropes. When he did walk over, it was just to perch on the side of the table.
“Hey, is that my recipe?”
“I’ve seen you make it enough times that I can do it myself by now.”
“I see. Are you subtly telling me you have no need for me anymore?”
Ray scraped the spatula across the wok and didn't reply. Sand shrugged, sat down properly and got comfortable. He had long since stopped trying to disentangle the mess of Ray’s moods.
“So. What got me this honour?” he asked ten minutes later when their plates were half-empty.
“Can’t I want to do something nice for my friend?”
Sand raised an eyebrow. “The benefits extend to cooking now? Hey, can we be friends with laundry next?”
Ray snorted. “That’s why I like spending time with you. You’re funny.”
Sand put down his spoon. “The cooking I can let slide, but a compliment? You definitely want something.”
“Aw. You do know me,” Ray grinned, but there was something in his expression that told Sand he’d hit the nail on the head. Maybe he did know Ray. A little bit.
“Spit it out. It’s creeping me out when even Mr. Shameless over here is having reservations.”
“You’re pretty good at this whole separating sex from feelings thing. I imagine you’re also good at separating business from feelings?” Ray asked his plate of rice, staring intently at the grains.
Sand’s stomach dropped, and the rice didn’t taste bad enough for him to blame it on that. “What?”
“Well.” Ray looked up and Sand had seen many of his fake smiles, but this was bad even for Ray-standards. “I’d like to ask you for another little favour. Only temporarily, and all business. Good pay, good working conditions.” He tried for a laugh and failed.
“Ray. Spit it the fuck out.”
“I need you to be my boyfriend.”
Sand stared at him. Surely he had misheard. "You need me to be your what?"
"Not a real one," Ray said quickly. "Just pretend to be. Temporary. Until my friends get off my back."
The friends again. Of course. "Did you conveniently forget that you were the one who insisted this whole friends with benefits thing worked perfectly well without any feelings involved?" he asked disbelievingly.
"That's why it's only pretend. There aren't any feelings involved. Everything stays as it is, only that..."
"Only that you're calling me your boyfriend in front of your friends." Sand said. "Is there a reason, at least, or are you just bored again?" It came out sharper than intended, an accusation more than a question, but Sand couldn't stop it. Ray was doing it again, messing with his feelings on a whim, and even though Ray couldn't know and there shouldn't be any feelings in the first place, Sand felt wronged.
But then Ray looked up at him. No puppy eyes, no pout, none of the things he usually did when he wanted something especially ridiculous from Sand. There was only an uncomfortable kind of resignation, as if he had already accepted the rejection. "It's stupid. They were annoying me, and I snapped and told them I had a boyfriend. Thought you'd be the most likely one to- but forget it. It was silly in the first place and I-"
"Fine."
"What?"
"I'll do it." Sand didn't know what drove him to it. A very convenient explanation was that this provided a good opportunity to mess with Ray's friends. Sand settled on that one. Everything else was concerning.
"Really?" Ray looked at him as if he expected Sand to call him a naive idiot any moment now.
"Really. But you'll pay for it."
There was a second of confusion, then Ray laughed brightly. "Sure! Name your price and it shall be yours."
Sand rolled his eyes and hid his smile behind a spoonful of rice. There was no price, of course and if there was, Ray wouldn't be able to pay it. Feelings were too costly even for a rich boy like him.