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Arm presses his forehead to Pol's, holding him close by the back of the neck as he tries to give him strength and courage. This is a matter of warriors preparing for battle, bracing for the carnage ahead. This is the matter if a suicide mission that Pol needs to embark on, that he cannot fail.
“You got this,” he says with the fervor of the ancient heroes, of the battle generals that embraced an honourable death. “You will pull through, you hear me?”
Pol nods, never making their foreheads stop contact, but his breathing is still uneven. Arm shakes him. “You will succeed!”
“I will!”
“You will succeed!” He practically screams at his friend.
“I will!”
“Go now!” He pushes Pol away and he's happy to see him keep the momentum, take steps towards his mission.
And then he, clearly, catches sight of Vegas and immediately turns back to Arm.
“But why do I have to do it?” Pol asks with a whine. He’s pouting his lip and hanging his arms like he really thinks the kicked puppy act will work on Arm. Honestly, he kind of does want to look for an alternative solution, seeing how miserable Pol looks.
Damn, to think that Arm had really thought he’d weaseled his way out of this. Nobody would be foolish enough to approach Vegas right then, not if they cherished their lives. But Arm had hoped Pol would be tricked into it.
“Because you're the one that started this!” Tae states with a tone that allows no room for discussion, yet doesn't sound harsh.
He sighs and when Arm turns to look at him, he's crossing his arms. Arm can't help but find him beautiful, even with his make up smudged and his glitter drifting all over his face. He's sitting on the bar floor, confetti gathered all around him. Arm knows his “single to be” sash is somewhere in that pile. He can’t remember if they’d build Tae that “matres” or if he'd simply passed out. Seeing as he was awake and relatively unaffected he’d probably just decided to take a nap, right?
Nobody else was coping with the aftermath of the party half as decently as Tae.
The night before had started like any other outing: Khun Tankhun had decided he wanted to go out and get wasted; the bodyguards accepted it as an extra free afternoon.
They'd actually made a habit out of it: at least once a month they would go out, shoot Pete a message as soon as they were done setting everything up with Porsche's bodyguards.
Between the extra bodyguards and the civilians that had taken a shine to their kind of fun, Khun Tankhun's outings had started to become a bit of an event.
As usual, Pete had completely let loose, knowing that Vegas would come pick him up whenever called upon.
There was nothing out of the ordinary thus far: that’s how things usually went for them.
Pete usually liked it but that night he’d looked a bit sad, a bit distant. He'd said that he was happy to be with his friends, but he missed Vegas since they hadn't gotten much time together that week.
Nobody remembers who'd suggested Pete call Vegas in to join their fun. Everyone remembers that Pol had encouraged him to drink.
“Why don't you ever drink?” He'd shouted over the music. He’d had to lean over the back of the sofa where Pete and Vegas were sitting. Pete had convinced Vegas to share exactly one dance with him and had been trying to convince him to do it again.
“What do you think this is?” Vegas said, lifting his glass. His other arm was wrapped around Pete.
“Mostly water,” Pol had answered, completely missing the rhetorical part in that question. “The ice has melted.”
Vegas shrugged in response. He didn’t seem bothered.
Ever since he'd recovered from… The Incident That Shall Not Be Spoken Of, Vegas had changed a lot. He was less scary, for starters. It wasn’t just due to him having considerably less power now; it was also the way he behaved. This version of Vegas wasn’t always scheming, wasn’t always looking at people as if they were cogs he needed to figure out.
This Vegas mostly minded his own business. For the most part, he was busy looking at Pete with adoration. It was easy to forget the horror stories Vegas had starred in when the guy in front of him was just Pete's boyfriend. So Pol had pushed.
“Come on, live a little!” He'd needed to throw in a few more hooks, had had to remind Vegas that Kinn had gotten drunk with his bodyguards before. He’d had to ask Vegas if he was going to let Kinn be better than him at getting drunk too.
That convinced Vegas to throw down a few shots.
That also made Porsche think about his boyfriend and decide to invite him to the event.
It was downhill from there.
Tae rolls his eyes. “Everybody knows you shouldn't let Vegas drink,” He says, with the tone of someone stating the obvious. Tae could’ve said that summer is hot or that water is wet or that he was breathtakingly beautiful, and all those statements would’ve deserved the same tone.
“Wait, why's that?”
“He's a control freak: you get his inhibitions low and he crumbles with them.”
Pol looks hopeful. “Then it's not really my fault, and I shouldn't be the one to wake him up!”
“How is it not your fault?” Arm tries to slide his glasses back on his face. Why are they crooked now?
“Because the only reason Vegas got drunk is that you didn't stop me. Where were you, Tae, when I was lining up his shots?”
Tae, admittedly, isn’t too certain. His eyes meet Arm's and he has a very strong theory. They barely lock eyes for a few seconds, yet both of them come away from it with a blush.
The press of the brick wall behind his back had been nothing compared to Arm's abs on him. The back alley was dingy and poorly lit and amazing as Arm kissed him. He’d been soft and a bit clumsy but it felt so good, so new. Arm hadn't known how to kiss him just right but not for lack of attention or interest. He kept trying and he was a quick study. Tae had wanted to know how much he could learn in one night, but Porsche had to ruin the moment.
He'd bursted in the alley for a quick vomit, so hasty in his movements he hadn’t noticed what he'd interrupted. Tae couldn't even be angry at him: he was the reason he was even there.
When Porsche had learned that Tae was leaving Time for good, he'd called it reason to celebrate. Tankhun's outing fell at exactly the right time, Porsche had said, because there had to be a party to celebrate the event.
He even got Tae a “Bride to be” sash and crossed the ‘bride’ out with sharpie to write ‘single’ instead. It was a fun touch, it made for a nice night.
When Porsche was done emptying his stomach, he noticed they were there, that Tae had an arm rubbing circles on his back.
“Do you guys want to come get drinks?”
“I don't think you should drink any more…”
“With Vegas in that state? There's not enough alcohol in the world.”
That is how Tae had found out they'd gotten Vegas drunk. Nobody could blame him now for not stopping it.
“Shouldn’t we, at least, get Khun Kinn away first?” Pol asks, clearly still trying to stall.
“How?” Arm says and they all turn their attention to the two men asleep on one of the club’s sofas.
It looks uncomfortable. It’s all leather and angles and it’s definitely not meant for lying down. Yet, there they are: Khun Kinn’s got his head on an arm rest, a puddle of drool is forming. He’s got Vegas lying on top of him, using Khun’s chest as a pillow. At least he 's not drooling.
When they'd returned to the club, the party was in full swing. Music blasting, people dancing, Pete had run up to them so he could steal Porsche from the other three. He'd left with a simple warning: “I do not want to deal with this. If any of you come to me about Vegas I will destroy you.”
They’d immediately made their way to the dance floor and Pete pretended not to hear when his name was being called.
They had thought they were prepared for any and all drama Vegas was causing.
They had thought it couldn't be that bad.
It'd been much worse.
They'd found Vegas towards the deep end of the club, by the couches. He was clumsily holding Khun Kinn by the face and crying. Not his manipulative pretty crying: there was snot involved.
He was talking to Khun Kinn and, apparently, had been doing it for a while.
“-good, and he wanted me to be as good as you but I- you were a bit of a dick, but I think I deserved it. I just wanted to be as good as you! Not at first, no. I wanted to be friends. Like we were when we were small, do you remember?”
Khun Kinn kept nodding, awkwardly patting Vegas’ shoulders. Anyone could tell he was not comfortable, that he was not sober either. But there was no way Vegas was twisting this or trying to come out on top. Khnu Nu was going to have so much blackmail material after this.
At one point they'd decided to hug it out, that all previous antagonism and desire to kill each other could be forgiven. That must've been how they fell asleep.
On a couch, looking messy, and embarrassing. That must've been how normal cousins looked like, right?
But all normalcy was going to leave Vegas along with the alcohol and he would be out for blood the second he woke up. They’re supposed to wake everyone up, because Yok told them she has to clean up already and start getting ready for opening again. They all think that waking Vegas up first and thus keeping others from seeing him in this state is the wisest decision. Pete is passed out on the floor, sandwiched between Khun Nu and Porsche, so he’s not going to be of any help.
They need to find a way out of this.
“What if we pulled the fire alarm? The water’s gonna wake everyone up for sure,” Arm suggests.
“We could stage a kidnapping?” Is Pol’s offer.
“I feel like that would cause serious trouble… they are the head of the Major family and the best enforcer…”
“We wouldn’t go through with it! We can say we saved them, might even get a raise out of it.”
Tae groans as he tries to sit up. Arm’s movement is second nature as he offers a helping hand. WIth the way Tae sways once he is standing on his own two feet, there is a chance he’s not handling the consequences of the alcohol as well as he’d appeared to.
“I have an idea,” he says, in a conspiratorial tone.
He immediately piques the other two’s interest, but he gestures for them to get closer, They obey. They lean in when it looks like Tae is about to whisper something.
Tae pushes Pol as hard as he possibly can, sending him stumbling backwards. He lands directly on Vegas’ back, who groans and instinctively swats his hand back to hit the attacker. Tae grabs Arm’s hand, starts pulling him like a chain behind a truck.
They leave the club under the shine of the midday sun. They leave the club as shouts and curses are thrown around with more and more fervor. But they run away hand in hand and as Tae laughs, Arm has but one thought: Tae is the most incredible person he’s ever met.