Archive of Our Own

It’s been six months since the minor family coup, and things are going… well.

It didn’t start off that way. For two of those months, Kim spent most of his time secluded – not that that’s very different from how he lived before the coup, but before the coup he didn’t spend every waking moment thinking about the best moments of his life and how he managed to fuck them up. He’d done what he thought was right, breaking things off with Chay, making sure he wouldn’t follow when Kim walked away – but he knows that Chay’s involved with his family now anyway, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He threw away the best love he ever had, for nothing.

So – the first two months weren’t great.

Something happened, in the space between month two and three. Kim only entered the compound when absolutely necessary, knowing who he may run into there; knowing who might open all the wounds he has with a single glance and leave him bleeding on the floor, broken again. That was what he envisioned, anyway, when he imagined meeting Chay again: a scornful glare; a distrustful one, burning Kim from the inside out, deserved. What he got instead, was… something else. Kim still isn’t sure what exactly went through Chay’s head when they locked eyes for the first time since Kim left the love of his life broken, on his knees, chest cracking with sobs, but it certainly wasn’t the hate-filled stare he spent countless nights haunted by, made up of all the dark voices that live within his own head. There was sadness there, definitely, that much Kim was sure of – but there was also something inquisitive, and something searching, and something that spoke of longing held back by a careful hand, cautious.

It held Kim there, breathless in some corridor inside a childhood home now so distant under the spotlight of Chay’s gaze.

“P’Kim,” Chay had said, nodding lightly as he passed. Kim hadn’t replied. He’d tried to; felt his lips parting, throat constricting around soundless words, but nothing had come out. That night, after Chay had walked away, he’d spent hours laying awake in bed, replaying the moment over and over, something different every time – what if he’d turned and ran, leaving Chay alone for the second time? What if he’d walked past without a second glance, as if Chay was nothing to him? What if he’d nodded back, given a cold greeting of his own, continued on like his world wasn’t only a few steps behind him?

(What if he’d stopped, curled a cautious hand around Chay’s wrist, let all the soft, vulnerable insides of him spill out and curl at Chay’s feet, love and pain and a longing for forgiveness so strong it brings Kim to his knees?)

A coward, Kim doesn’t return to the compound for days.

Weak, Kim returns to the compound only a week later, eyes searching every corner, breathlessly hopeful and frozen with terror at who may appear from it.

It turns out, Chay is around a lot. It’s not surprising, really, seeing as he lives there, but it’s a large building, and Kim thinks that maybe something within him, something that simply wasn’t prepared to set eyes on him again, didn’t expect to see Chay all that often. But there he is, almost every time Kim visits; Tankhun is overjoyed at the increased frequency of his appearances and the fact that he ends up spending much of his time within his eldest brother’s room, concluding it’s the place that his father would least likely be. He spots Chay almost every time he makes his way there, and Chay always greets him, voice quiet but firm, a polite “P’Kim,” falling like something beautiful from his lips as he passes. It takes until the third time that Kim manages to respond, a hoarse “Chay,” that he swears makes Chay falter, step stuttering for half a second before the corner of his mouth twitches and he continues on his way.

(Kim beats himself up over that, too – why is it so difficult to sound confident in front of him? He managed it when he was deceiving him, playing the part of easy-going, laidback guitar tutor – why is it so hard when he’s only playing himself?)

The fourth time it happens, Kim makes his way, as usual, to Tankhun’s room. They have plans to watch a drama (Tankhun has plans; Kim will just Be There), and something small and a little embarrassed in the back of Kim’s head is looking forward to it: the simplicity of the lives of those on the screen, safe in their fiction, and the way his brother will sit beside him, grabbing his arm at tense moments, loud and excitable and so, so familiar.

They’re halfway through the first episode when there’s a knock at the door.

“Porchay!” Tankhun squeals when Pol turns the handle and Chay’s face appears in the crack. Kim’s stomach drops to his toes, heart thundering against his ribs, and he wills himself not to let it show on his face. “Come in, come in – oh, have you seen this one? Have you? Come and watch, you’ll love it – Pol, restart the episode so Chay can watch from the beginning!”

And then, as Kim watches with his heartbeat pounding in his ears, Tankhun drags Chay bodily through the room and deposits him on the sofa, right next to Kim.

Part of Kim wants to protest. To snap at Tankhun; to tell him don’t you know what happened? Don’t you know I fucked it up? Don’t you know he won’t want to sit here, beside me, after everything I’ve done? – but he doesn’t, because of course, Tankhun doesn’t know. Kim hasn’t told him, and from the looks of things, neither has Chay. So Kim stays quiet, body stiff as Chay’s arm brushes Kim’s; the sofa is big enough for three, but they sit close, and it’s impossible to keep from touching. Kim tries, taking up as little space as possible, and attempts to ignore the pinched look on Chay’s face when he moves. It’s faint, and smoothed out quickly, but Kim moves as little as possible after that. He can’t change the past, but while he’s here, he’ll cause Chay as little discomfort as possible.

The next time Kim enters Tankhun’s room, Chay is already there.

He has half a mind to turn right around and step back out the door, no explanation offered, but Tankhun is dragging him over to the sofa before he can fully form the thought, plopping him next to Chay and flapping at Arm to turn it on already, we’ve been waiting for hours! All Kim can do is mutter a quiet “sorry,” to Chay under his breath as their sides brush – before Kim folds himself into the arm of the sofa just like last time, giving Chay as much room as possible. He can feel eyes on the side of his head, searching, but he doesn’t dare look, too afraid of what he may find if he does.

It's just as the third episode of the season is starting that it happens.

“He kind of reminds me of you,” Chay says, voice quietly amused. It’s so amiable that Kim assumes he’s speaking to Tankhun, or Arm or Pol, so for a few seconds he doesn’t respond. But then he feels those eyes on him again and turns with a small jolt, sure he looks something like a deer in headlights as Chay regards him, eyes carefully neutral for the most part, but something else lingering there, too – something that Kim can’t make out but desperately wants to.

He swallows, clearing his throat. “Me?”

Chay huffs a laugh like Kim did something amusing, and nods at the screen. “Yeah – that guy, he reminds me of you.”

Kim turns. On screen is one of the characters, not the main ones, he doesn’t think, but, honestly, with Chay beside him, he hasn’t been paying the most attention. His brain cycles through all situations: the character is an asshole, and Chay is insulting him; the character is nothing like him at all and Chay is testing to see if he’s paying attention; Chay wasn’t referring to him at all and Kim is making a fool of himself – or, no, Chay already confirmed he’s talking about him – what else, what else –

“He’s kind of an asshole,” Chay says, and Kim feels as if a rock has dropped into his gut. Of course, he thinks, and wonders why something he expected hurts so much. “But it’s like…” Chay continues, and Kim braces himself. “He’s an asshole but it’s, like, on purpose.”

Kim furrows his brow. Chay sees him as someone who’s an asshole on purpose? He supposes that makes sense, but something still confuses him about Chay’s words – the way they’re underlaid with a tone that speaks of something like exasperated affection, not spite or disdain, like a long-time friend shaking their head and fondly declaring you an idiot.

“He goes around acting all – all bitchy to people, even the people he loves, just so that they won’t stop and ask him if he’s alright. Because then he won’t have to tell them that he’s not.”

Kim is frozen. His breath has turned to ice in his throat, frosting his insides its way out. Beside him, Chay huffs another laugh, now looking back at the screen, and mumbles “he cares so much,” under his breath, like it’s just for himself, but Kim hears. Kim hears, and he thinks the words may break him a little, knocking gently at the ice on his skin only for it to break apart willingly beneath their touch like it had only been waiting for someone to come along and treat it with kindness, all this time.

Kim doesn’t answer Chay. In fact, he doesn’t say anything for the rest of the evening, and leaves Tankhun’s room wordlessly.

The next day Kim calls ahead.

“Is Chay going to be there?” He asks Tankhun, a little strained, hoping it isn’t audible through the phone.

Tankhun huffs, like Kim is some great inconvenience: an act Kim has long learnt to see through. “Well, I don’t know, do I? People just come and go as they please through my rooms. No respect anymore…”

He then engages in a rant about the merits of respecting one another’s privacy which ends up lasting close to an hour, while Kim nods and “hmm,”s and tries not to sound as fond as he feels. The purpose of the call was to determine if Chay would be there, and to not show up if affirmative – he’s sure that it’s been an accident these past two times, and Chay is likely sick of Kim interrupting his time with Tankhun; calling ahead will just make it easier to avoid him. But Kim knows there’s no getting information out of Tankhun when he’s like this, so –

He shows up.

Chay is there.

“Kim! Hurry up, come in, quickly, I can’t wait any longer –”

“I think I’ll –” Kim begins, feeling Chay’s careful gaze on him, heavy. He steps backwards, towards the door. “I…”

“Are you leaving because I’m here?” Chay asks, and Kim freezes. He doesn’t look upset, sitting there on the sofa next to Tankhun, but there’s something guarded in his expression. Like he’s holding something back.

Kim remembers how he used to be so open, nothing hidden in his face, ever trusting. Guilt rises like bile in his throat.

“That’s not it,” he manages, hoarse – lie, lie – and then he has no choice but to let himself be ushered into his usual spot, Tankhun squawking at Pol to press play. He curls into himself, subtle as usual, careful not to touch – but today, Chay’s looking at him, glancing down at the way his body rests uncomfortably against the arm of the sofa. Tankhun is already exclaiming loudly at the screen, and Kim is glad for it, because when Chay speaks, Kim is sure he’s the only one who hears.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“What?” Kim asks, unable to meet his eyes. He feels as if he’s always tense when Chay’s attention is on him; teetering at the edge of a cliff, only one wrong move from falling.

Chay gestures to him. “This. Moving away from me like you’ll catch some disease if you get close.”

At this, Kim can’t help but let his eyes flick to Chay’s – and there’s hurt there, this time, unmistakeable, because Kim knows what hurt looks like in Chay’s eyes. He’s cold all over, all at once, stricken with the possibility of hurting Chay again, even as he tries so desperately not to.

He clears his throat. “I thought…” he begins slowly, careful, toes over the cliff edge. “That it would be… more comfortable for you, if I… didn’t touch you.”

Chay looks at him. Kim is too much of a coward to look back.

“Well,” Chay starts, voice controlled, and it’s then that Kim wonders if Chay feels just the same as him, guarded and endlessly careful, terrified of making one wrong move. “Maybe… you should ask me, instead of just… thinking things.”

Shallow breaths, in, out. Fingernails scratching against the material of the sofa, clenching into fists. Throat dry, knees weak at the edge of a precipice.

“Do you… want me to move closer?”

No – no, no, no, that’s not it. He’s supposed to ask if it would be more comfortable for Chay for him to move away – or if Chay wants him to – to sit on the floor, or something – he isn’t supposed to phrase it like that, like a request, like all of Kim’s wants displayed between them, cowering from the light, used to only darkness as they are –

“Yes,” says Chay, and pulls him closer.

It’s only one point of contact. Just Chay’s fingers, curled around Kim’s wrist, tugging lightly. But then it’s not one, but two: it’s Chay’s fingers, lightly brushing Kim’s skin where his sleeve rides up, and their shoulders, pressed together on the small sofa, close.

Chay doesn’t let go.

It’s a strange feeling. He’s no longer on the precipice; he’s falling, surely, he’s falling, but it doesn’t feel like he thought it would – less like an end and more like a beginning, a new one.

After that, things slowly start to repair themselves.

It happens over the next two months. Sometimes Kim spends time with Tankhun in his room, and most of the time Chay is there too. Kim doesn’t curl away from him anymore, becoming used to the feeling of Chay’s warmth seeping through the material of his shirt, remembering when it was all of him, over all of Kim, that day when they fell asleep at Chay’s house –

But Kim tries not to think of those times. It wouldn’t be fair, when Chay is so clearly ready to move on. Because – well, they’re friends now, or something like it, Kim thinks; he hasn’t had all that many friends before so he isn’t exactly sure what it should feel like, but when Chay laughs at one of the characters on the screen and turns to look at Kim, as if to check if he’s laughing too, and Kim feels a shock deep in his gut at the brightness of Chay’s eyes and the curve of his mouth – well, that’s friendship, right?

(He knows he’s still in love with Chay. He knows that he probably will be for a long, long time. But that’s his own fault, not Chay’s, so if Chay wants to be friends, then friends they will be).

“So,” declares Tankhun, on an unassuming Thursday afternoon, when Kim walks through the door and sees two people on the couch – one, he expects, and one, he doesn’t. The latter looks just as confused as Kim feels, which leads him to think this is something orchestrated by his eldest brother. Neither Arm nor Pol are here, too, which only heightens the apprehension rising in Kim’s gut.

“So,” Kim repeats slowly. He can’t help but feel suspicious, still hovering between the door and the sofa.

“…So?” Kinn says uncertainly, after a sharp nudge from Tankhun.

With an excited clap, Tankhun continues. “So! Kim, welcome in, please have a seat – there, yes, go on.” He watches as Kim silently moves over to the armchair, settling right on the edge of it. “Great! So, Kinn and I have called you here today to discuss your recent endeavours and humbly offer our aid in achieving them. I, personally, have been very impressed with your progress over the past weeks – months, even – however, I think we can all agree we’re ready for things to speed up a little teensy bit, because, I, for one, am absolutely sick to death of those adorable puppy eyes every time –”

“Wait,” Kim interrupts, ignoring Tankhun’s offended splutters. “What the hell is this about? What endeavours are you talking about? I’m not – Pa hasn’t given me any –”

“Not that kind,” says Kinn quickly, glancing at Tankhun. He hesitates, then, and Kim wonders what on earth he’s so reluctant to tell him, if it isn’t anything to do with their father. “It’s… about Chay.”

Dread drops into Kim’s gut like a stone, heavy, punching the breath from him with one hit. “What happened to him?” He demands, straining forward, one second from bolting out the door and storming to his father’s study, banging on the door and screaming at him to fix it, whatever he’s done, putting Chay in danger again –

“Nothing,” says Kinn quickly, hands raising in a placating gesture. “It’s just that –”

“He’s sick!” Tankhun declares, and the relief that had tentatively laid itself over Kim dissipates immediately. “He’s so, unbearably sick, and so are you, my dear brother – you’re both lovesick, and I’m here to help!”

Kim feels a little like a pinball, bouncing between so many emotions in such a short time that he’s dizzy with it. He blinks, brain catching up to Tankhun’s words – and then reddens, so quickly he feels a little lightheaded. He knows his mouth is open, eyes wide, unable to form words; Tankhun grins at him, hands clasped together in his lap like he can hardly contain his excitement, and Kinn – Kinn just grimaces, eyes apologetic.

Eventually, Kim finds it within himself to speak. “…What.”

“You’re lovesick, Kim! I see it every day, both of you sitting right next to me, acting like you don’t want to – to hold hands and cuddle and do other things that people who love each other do!” Babbles Tankhun excitedly, and Kim feels himself going redder the more he speaks. “I called you here because, frankly, I’m sick of it, and I just want to see my littlest brother happy, so – here we both are, ready to help you on your romantic journey! I have a list for potential plans of action, so –”

“No,” Kim chokes out around the blockage in his throat. He’s panicking, he can tell, used to the signs as he is, and it’s all he can do to not let it show on his face. “No. This is not going to happen. You’re – you’re wrong.”

“Oh, Kim, you have much to learn about –”

“No,” Kim repeats, louder, and then everything is worse because Tankhun flinches back and now he’s just scared his brother, and he can’t breathe, and he just really, really needs to leave.

“Kim, look, he wasn’t trying to –”

“You’re wrong,” Kim says again, voice shaking even as he tries to ignore it, interrupting Kinn this time. “Chay is not lovesick. He doesn’t want to do any of those things with me. Do not – do not ruin this, just because you think – just because you –”

He cuts himself off. The idea that Tankhun has been watching, secretly knowing Kim’s feelings, subtly plotting some sort of plan to intervene – it makes Kim feel so, horribly seen in a way that sends unpleasant prickles across his skin, because – because what if Chay has realised, too? What if it’s so obvious that Chay knows all about how Kim is hopelessly in love with him still, and he’s pitying him by giving him a chance to be friends, or he feels obligated since he and Tankhun are close now and Kim is Tankhun’s brother – or – or –

“Look, Kim,” Kinn tries. “Maybe it would help if you just talked to him.”

And that’s – well.

Kim knows what happened the last time he tried to talk about his feelings.

“No,” is all he says, low and firm, and then he stands up on panic-weakened legs and leaves the room, Tankhun’s indignant squawks echoing behind him.

Kim avoids the compound for a week after that. He’s weak, he knows, but he can’t bear the thought of seeing Chay – or either of his brothers – after their little meeting. It’s as if he can’t breathe, every time he thinks of it: throat constricting whenever he imagines the way Chay’s face would twist with disgust if he found out how Kim feels, after everything. It’s not something Kim is willing to put himself through; not something he’s willing to put Chay through, because after all he’s done, surely the least he can do is not try to push this further. Just – stay within the boundaries Chay has set, careful and easy, friends, nothing else.

Nothing else.

So, Kim gives himself a week.

After seven days, he finds himself back at the compound. He doesn’t pay attention to where his feet are taking him; only knows that being back here sets his heart pounding with both excitement and dread, the anticipation of seeing Chay close at his heels. But – when he blinks, coming back to himself, it’s not Tankhun’s door that he stands in front of, and it takes him a moment to orient himself.

“Khun Kim,” nods Big, standing guard outside Kinn’s door. “Would you like me to let Khun Kinn know you’re here?”

Kim hesitates.

“I…”

Before Kim can begin to finish the thought, a muffled voice grows louder behind the door.

“No, no, don’t tell them that. Just say what you need to and get out of there. It’s not something we need to –”

The door opens and Kinn stops, hand on the handle, phone pressed to his ear. As the sound of his voice had grown the through the wood, Kim had had time to turn around and walk away – but he stands here, wordless, as Kinn freezes mid-step, clearly in a hurry to sort out whatever he’s on the phone for. Surely, he’ll ignore Kim and carry on; the phone call sounds important, and Kinn doesn’t stop family business for anyone.

Surely.

“Look – something’s come up. Sort it out yourself or speak with one of our other men about it,” says Kinn, and then he hangs up. He doesn’t say anything else, just gestures for Kim to step inside – which Kim does, feeling strangely warm, although that isn’t something he’s prepared to acknowledge. He stands awkwardly as Kinn makes his way over to his desk, perching on the edge of it, and crosses his arms, looking at him expectantly; inquisitively – and Kim realises he has to say something. He’s the one who turned up here out of nowhere. He opens his mouth, knowing even as he does that nothing will come out – why is he here, anyway? He doesn’t talk to Kinn like this; they haven’t been close since they were children, and even then the rift between them of their father’s making was already pushing them apart, becoming bigger with every year they grew. There’s no point to being here – and Kim is about to say so, when Kinn speaks.

“Is this about Chay?”

“No,” Kim says quickly, instinctively. Kinn raises an eyebrow, and Kim looks away, because – obviously it’s about Chay. What else would it be? But Kim isn’t willing to admit that, so he stays quiet, avoiding Kinn’s eyes, avoiding the problem in favour of staying quiet, burying everything he feels deep, deep down inside where it’s safe and dark and silent.

“I reiterate what I said before,” Kinn continues when it becomes clear that Kim will not. “You should just talk to him.”

“You don’t know anything,” Kim spits before he can think better of it, defensive, bars rising before his heart to hide it from view. Kinn is unphased; even laughs quietly, as if Kim’s reaction is to be expected, and it makes anger rise beneath Kim’s skin even as something quieter like relief washes atop it: Kinn isn’t hurt by Kim’s abrasiveness like so many others are, at least.

“You forget,” Kinn says calmly. “Who my fiancé is.”

Kim furrows his brow, lips parting. “You mean…”

“Porsche and Chay tell each other everything, Kim, and Porsche tells me everything. I know more than you think,” Kinn tells him, and – shame washes over Kim like a tidal wave. So, he knows – he knows everything, all that Kim has done, all the ways he broke Chay’s heart. It shouldn’t hurt; shouldn’t feel like shards of glass cracking the bars caging his own heart; he has nothing to prove to Kinn, anyway, and it’s not like he cares what he thinks, so – so –

(He doesn’t care, right?)

“Which is why,” Kinn continues, looking meaningfully at Kim like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. “I really think you should just talk to him. He would… appreciate that, I think.”

Something within Kinn’s voice pulls Kim up short, and he studies his older brother; the way he’s looking back, gaze steady, clearly trying to communicate something – he knows something. He’s been told something, from Chay to Porsche to Kinn; he knows something that is making him insist to Kim that he should just talk to Chay. The idea of it makes Kim breathless – of Chay indicating he wants to be talked to, and of the talking itself – with panic and something else, something lighter; something Kim barely knows, like a friendly face only glimpsed once or twice but never forgotten.

Something like hope.

“What did he tell you?” Kim asks quietly. He doesn’t mean for it to sound pleading, but it comes out that way, so he looks away from Kinn, unwilling to see his reaction. It’s been a long time since his brother has seen him like this: vulnerable.

When Kinn sighs quietly, Kim hears it like a gunshot, echoing around the room. “Just talk to him, Kim,” he answers, a non-answer, but it’s just as quiet, if not just as pleading. And then, after a second of hesitation – “trust me.”

It’s an imperative, but it sounds like a question. It’s one that Kim has never been asked before, not by Kinn, and he finds that he doesn’t know how to answer.

So –

He nods, small, unclear whether the movement is an agreement or an acknowledgement or a dismissal, and turns to leave.

“Oh – and talk to Tankhun too. He’s worried he’s upset you,” Kinn calls after him. Kim doesn’t turn, but manages another nod, unwilling to acknowledge the cocktail of emotions within his gut at the idea of someone – someone he cares about – worrying about him. When he leaves, he heads straight home, for the first time turning over the thought in his head of actually speaking to Chay about everything. Of what it could mean. Every time, the storyline circles back to anger, to Chay leaving him broken on the floor the same way he did to Chay, but sometimes, before the dark things in his mind find him again, there’s a pathway where Chay looks at him with understanding in his eyes, and tells him I know. It’s okay. I forgive you.

(I love you).

When Kim walks through the door to Tankhun’s room the next day, he is not expecting the reception he gets.

It’s Chay who sees him first, facing the doorway, and Kim sees the way his eyes widen; the way he jumps up from the sofa as if electrocuted and storms over to Kim – of course, Kim braces himself, because nobody ever moves towards him this quickly for any reason other than to hit him, but he finds out seconds later that it’s not pain that Chay’s arms intend to inflict.

“Kim,” Chay breathes into his shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around him. “Where the hell were you?”

Kim is frozen again, arms locked at his sides as if chained there, desires locked away for safekeeping or for a prison sentence – and it’s as if he’s pounding on the insides of himself, screaming at him to wake up – but he can’t, he can’t, his body doesn’t know what to do with soft touches and concerned words. If Chay had punched him, he’d have known what to do, that sort of touch familiar, but this – this is uncharted territory. This makes Kim’s brain shudder to a halt, frozen on the last screen he recognises – Chay’s face, surprise bleeding into relief as he moves towards him.

Chay pulls back, and Kim realises he hadn’t stopped talking the whole time. “–and they all just said you were fine and you’d probably be back soon, or – or, maybe you wouldn’t, because you never used to hang around here much anyway, but I know you, Kim, you never pull away like that unless something happened, but since you weren’t answering my calls I couldn’t –”

“You called me?” Kim interrupts, brain sparking back to life at the words. The image of his old phone swims before his eyes – the one with Chay’s number in it, out of charge and locked in a safe beneath his bed. Last he checked, Chay had him blocked, but now, in front of him, Chay stops, shifts, glances away, and something about it reminds Kim so much of how he used to be – fidgeting and nervous, energy thrumming through him constantly – that he’s momentarily overwhelmed by a fondness that takes all his efforts to stop from curling the corners of his mouth upwards.

“Well – yeah,” Chay says, feet shuffling on the floor. “You – you suddenly disappear for a week and you don’t expect me to be worried?”

And Kim realises – no, he didn’t. He didn’t expect Chay to be worried at all, and the fact that he is slows his brain again, cogs jamming against each other, sending sparks into the air as they try to make sense of the situation. He finds himself wishing Chay would do something that makes sense, like – like hit him, because then he’d know what to do. He’d know what to say, and how to act, and he wouldn’t have to deal with this light, bubbling sensation within his throat that makes it difficult to speak; this warmth beneath his skin that reddens his cheeks and makes his hands shake. It’s at this moment that Kim really registers how close they are, and – when did Chay get so tall? He’s unmistakeably bigger than Kim now, and Kim finds himself scrambling for words when suddenly all he can think about is what it might feel like if Chay wrapped his arms around him again, his waist this time, and pulled him close, utterly enveloping him in –

“Kim!” Tankhun screeches, popping up from behind Chay as if he’d just arrived when, Kim now realises, he’d clearly been silent on purpose this whole time, witnessing the interaction. “Where have you been? It’s been a whole year since I last saw you, you can’t just leave like that, Chay and I had to switch dramas since we didn’t want to carry on without you!”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Kim mutters, ignoring the fact that he actually really, really appreciates that they did do that, and the idea of them thinking of him enough to makes him turn his head in an attempt to hide the small, pleased smile that sits on his face.

Tankhun huffs, and Kim knows he’s rolling his eyes without even looking at him. “Well, I was all for carrying on without you, but Chay insisted. Anyway, quick, quick, let’s continue now, come on –”

Both Kim and Chay are dragged to the sofa and deposited there – but not before Kim, on impulse, gives his eldest brother’s wrist a quick squeeze, Kinn’s voice sounding in his head – talk to Tankhun too, he’s worried he’s upset you – and feeling, after a second of hesitation, a gentle squeeze back, around his fingers.

When he sits down, side pressed against Chay’s, he feels warm.

Only five minutes into the episode, there’s a sudden noise – someone onscreen jumps out from behind a wall and scares the protagonist, and both Chay and Tankhun jolt, Tankhun letting out a shriek. Kim feels worry shoot through him for a split second, too used to his brother’s terrified screams in the night back when they were kids, but both Arm and Pol – always situated on Tankhun’s side of the sofa, settled into beanbags on the floor – fuss over him immediately, a soothing hand from both settling him down quickly. Kim internally nods in approval, and – it’s then that he notices, as the worry drains away, that Chay’s hand is on his wrist.

Kim cycles back through the last five seconds – there it is, when Chay had jolted from the scare onscreen, his hand had gripped Kim’s wrist, firm, before lightening its grip. It’s still there, though, and Kim tries to breathe through the frenzy of his heart, pounding against the bars of his ribs, begging to be set free. Sparks zap across his skin as if where Chay touches him, he is an open wire, dangerous, alive – but then the hand that rests over his wrist slides forward – slowly, slowly – and then Chay’s fingers settle into his palm, and instead of bubbling electricity it’s enveloping warmth: something quieter and somehow, inexplicably more familiar, even as Kim is sure this is something he’s only felt before a handful of times in his life.

Chay is holding his hand.

Feeling as if he is teering on a cliff edge once again, Kim moves – a millimetre, then another – and then his stomach is soaring with the fall as Chay moves with him and their fingers are sliding into the spaces between one another’s like they were made to fit there.

Beside him, Chay lets out a quiet, shuddering breath. He sounds exactly like Kim feels – wracked with nerves; so desperate for closeness despite it – and it gives Kim the confidence to squeeze lightly, just once.

He waits.

Chay squeezes back.

“Finally!” Tankhun declares at the screen, gesturing wildly. “They’ve been dancing around each other for so long, I’ve been waiting for them to make a move all season! Now all he has to do is talk about his feelings, and they’ll be right back to where they were before their falling out!”

Arm and Pol nod emphatically. Chay ducks his head, shoulders shaking a little with contained laughter, and Kim feels heat take over his cheeks, exasperation and fondness fighting for first place within him. Fondness narrowly wins, and he finds himself hiding a smile – and then Chay is looking up again, eyes catching his, and he’s smiling too, and Kim, thinks maybe… maybe…

“Chay,” Kim says quietly, when the season is finished and it’s the time of day when Kim usually takes his leave. Their hands had slid apart when Kim stood, and his own feels cold; empty, where he’d become used to the feeling of Chay’s fingers between his.

“Yeah?” Chay asks, standing too, and the anticipation beneath his voice is clear, even as Kim knows he tries to contain it. It’s comforting to know that, even as this Chay, the Chay who is part of a mafia family; who has had his heart broken, is still the same as that Chay: the one who couldn’t hide an emotion to save his life; the one who wore his heart on his sleeve and excitement in his eyes, wide and shining. This Chay is a little more cautious; has learned to hide the things he needs to hide, but he’s still the same one that Kim used to know.

The same one who used to love him.

“Follow me?” Kim requests, and there’s nothing imperative within his tone, only soft almost-pleading, and Kim sees the way it makes Chay soften as he nods.

They make their way out of the room in silence. Kim catches Tankhun’s eye as they go, and his brother’s gaze is gentler than usual, offering a faint smile and a nod that, if Kim didn’t know better, he might say looked proud.

The door closes behind them, and Kim hesitates. “Would you prefer…” He pauses, stomach suddenly roiling, breath unsteady. “If we… if I wanted to… talk to you… about something, would you prefer if we – if it was – if we went to your room, or we can… my apartment is…”

He trails off, swallowing hard. Why the hell is this already so difficult? He closes his eyes for a moment, considering calling the whole thing off – but then there’s warmth around his fingers for the third time today, and he comes rushing back to himself, feet on the floor, grounded.

“Can we go to your place?” Chay asks as he lets his fingers slide between Kim’s, and Kim lets out a slow exhale.

He nods, and Chay smiles.

They don’t speak much in the car to Kim’s apartment. Chay turns on the radio and hums along quietly, and Kim tries not to look like he’s hanging onto every note. After a far too short amount of time, where Kim feels nerves rise within him, gathering into a tidal wave that threatens to crash over him, they arrive, walking past the place where it all ended, all those months ago, in silence. Kim doesn’t dare look at Chay; doesn’t want to see if he’s angry, or sad, or completely broken like he was the last time they were here, only focusses on what’s in front of him as they make their way to the entrance.

When the front door of Kim’s apartment shuts behind them, it’s quiet.

Kim stands still, unsure of where to go from here, and it’s Chay who takes his hand and leads him down the hall, to the couch in the middle of the living room. They sit, and it hits Kim that Chay is practically guiding him through this, coddling him even as he’s the one who needs to apologise, and it makes him pull away, Chay’s hand falling to the sofa as it’s released. Kim only realises what he’s done when he looks up to see the stricken expression on Chay’s face, and – and it might just seem like another rejection to him, one more in a long line of many, and – oh, how is Kim messing this up already?

“Chay, it’s not – I just –”

“It’s fine,” says Chay quietly, pulling his hand back into his lap. “You don’t have to –”

“It’s not that!” Kim interrupts desperately; he needs Chay to know, for once, that he is not the problem here: it’s Kim, always Kim. “I just – you should be angry with me. Why aren’t you angry with me?”

“Who says I’m not?” Chay shoots back, calm, even as a match lights and flickers in his eyes. It pulls Kim short, and he finds a strange mix of relief and dread within him, because, yes, this is good, Chay should be angry with him – but if he’s angry then why is he here, speaking to Kim in his apartment like he wants to hear him out? Kim knows that angry people don’t listen – they hit and they scream and they hurt, and, as he sits here beneath Chay’s steady gaze, Kim finds that he really, really doesn’t want Chay to hurt him.

“Kim,” Chay says, voice low as if soothing a scared animal. “I’m still angry. But I don’t have to be.” He pauses; lets the words settle over Kim’s skin, sinking in. “I just… need you to talk to me. Explain things. Be open with me. Please, Kim.”

The moment seems suspended in air, held by a string, thin and swaying in some non-existent breeze.

“Is that what you want?” Kim asks, and the question is genuine. Is that really all you want? Could it really be that simple?

“Yes,” says Chay over a short, breathless laugh, exasperation light atop his tone. “More than anything.”

Oh.

It takes Kim a moment – or several – to gather his thoughts. The idea that Chay is here, willingly, waiting patiently for him to talk, is verging on unbelievable for him, and it makes it difficult to hastily sweep together all of the things he never thought he’d say; everything that lives on the edges of shadow within his mind, waiting for its turn to step into the light, waiting, waiting. It cowers now, even in the dim light of his living room, so unused to being able to see, and so all Kim can do for a moment is breathe, in, out, in, out, hands clenching where they rest atop his thighs.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Chay tells him, and on the next breath, Kim is ready.

“Chay,” he begins, hoping that it’s okay that he’s looking at a line between the floorboards right now; he doesn’t think he can bear the full weight of Chay’s gaze. “You have to know by now that… this family, my family… it’s bad, all bad. And it’s infectious. Once you get in, you can’t get out.”

“I know,” says Chay, quiet, tone imploring Kim to continue – so he does.

“I’ve never… cared for anyone,” Kim chokes, forcing the words out even as alarm bells ring in his head, screaming at him to cover up, put a stop to this vulnerability before it’s too late and he freezes in the chill from laying himself bare like this for Chay to see. “The way I care for you. The thought of you being involved in all of this, all this shit that – that ruins you, is…”

He allows himself to pause, for a moment, the sentence hanging, unfinished, between them. Chay allows it too, silent beside him, and Kim only prays that the silence is kindness rather than judgement.

“I realised that the only thing worse than the idea of you getting trapped inside this fucking family is you getting trapped here because of me.”

It’s still, then, and quiet. It doesn’t feel right to break it, so Kim doesn’t, sitting within its arms, hoping they can be trusted to hold him and not let him fall. Chay doesn’t break it either – at least, not at first; he sits there beside Kim and doesn’t say anything for five seconds, and then ten, and then –

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“I know,” Kim whispers, so ashamed of how weak it sounds. Chay doesn’t even sound angry; just calm, contained, his words a statement rather than an accusation. He doesn’t need to be angry, Kim realises, when he knows he’s right, but something within Kim’s gut insists that he explain further, even as he accepts Chay’s words; implores Kim to make sure that Chay knows exactly why Kim did what he did, even as he knew it would hurt.

“I know,” Kim repeats, louder this time. “I know it wasn’t. But I didn’t do it for no reason. You have to – Chay, imagine it was you, and you’ve grown up in this environment, and you’ve been trained to kill since you could walk, and – and you know there’s no way out. But you have the chance to make sure that someone you loved could walk away, be free of it, live a normal life and not have to have this shit follow them wherever they go. Wouldn’t you do everything you could to make that happen?”

He looks at Chay, now, for the first time since he started talking, really looks at him, bracing himself for the anger, and the hatred, and the disgust. He looks at him, and instead of all of those things, there is just Chay, sitting beside him on the sofa in Kim’s apartment, eyes wide and open and a little sad, but not angry. Not hateful.

Chay sighs, quiet. “I suppose… I can’t say I wouldn’t. If our roles were reversed.”

Kim’s breath catches.

He’d expected Chay to imagine Porsche, when Kim described the scenario – expected him to think of sending Porsche away to safety, far from this world he’s got himself involved in. It made sense – Chay’s brother is the one he loves the most, right? But here Chay is, telling him that if he, himself, was in Kim’s position, and Kim was in Chay’s, Chay would do all he could to make sure that Kim was safe. The idea that Chay might care for him the same way Kim does, with everything in him and more, with his life and his mind and his heart all at once, is unthinkable, but the unwavering look in Chay’s eye tells him otherwise: tells him no, believe it, believe me, and Kim finds himself unable to look away.

He swallows, steels himself, and says the last of his piece.

“I won’t apologise for trying to keep you safe,” Kim starts, trying to keep the waver from his voice. “But I will apologise for lying to you. Deceiving you. Pretending to be someone I’m not. For not being more open with you. I should’ve told you everything, but… you were always so persistent.”

He stops for a moment, allowing himself a short, breathless laugh, the fondness seeping into his voice clear. The corner of Chay’s mouth twitches upwards, even as that film of sadness lingers in his eyes.

“I thought the only way you wouldn’t come after me when I left was to make you think I didn’t…”

He trails off, the next words caught in his throat. Luckily, Chay knows him well enough by now to continue.

“That you didn’t love me,” he finishes, and for the first time Kim hears his voice shake. It’s all Kim can do to nod, a short, jerky movement, throat closing up completely. Now Chay knows – everything. It’s all laid out between them and Kim has no armour anymore; nothing to shield him from all the ways Chay could hurt him now, none of which include fists. He braces himself, breath held, as Chay opens his mouth.

“And now?” Chay asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you still love me now?”

Months ago, Kim was a coward. Months ago, Kim took one look at all the love offered to him, another at his own, and decided to throw it all away, because throwing it away is safer than letting himself bathe in it; letting it sink into his skin and change him into another, better, version of himself.

Now, Kim stands on a cliff edge, staring into the horizon, and makes a choice.

He jumps.

“Yes,” he says, and it feels like dying. “I do.”

All the breath whooshes from Chay at once, and he deflates, falling back into the sofa. He laughs as he falls, and Kim does too, wind rushing past his face as the precipice fades from view, Chay the only image within his vision now. He’s beautiful, and Kim thinks that if he really was dying, he’d be perfectly happy for this to be the last image he sees, imprinted on the backs of his eyelids when they finally close: Chay, cheeks flushed as he laughs, joyous relief laid across his expression like flowers blooming.

“Me too, Kim,” he says, and it feels like finally waking up after a long, long sleep. “I love you, too.”

“Oh,” Kim manages, and it only makes Chay laugh harder, cheeks flushing with it. He moves towards Kim suddenly, as if he’s just realised that he can, hands on shoulders pushing him flat on the sofa in a way that reminds Kim of an overexcited puppy.

“I wanna kiss you,” he says, the words shocking through Kim and lighting his insides on fire: he’s burning, all at once, unable to do anything but nod enthusiastically, because he’d be a fool to pass up an opportunity like this when he’s spent so long thinking it would never be possible again. His brain is still playing catchup when Chay grins at his response and leans down, and then – and then –

And then they’re kissing, and Kim is lost.

He is lost, and then he is found in Chay’s touch, died and brought to life in his lips, firm and a touch overexcited against Kim’s. Kim hasn’t kissed anyone since Chay, and he’s glad of it, because nothing could possibly compare to this: Chay’s hand holding his chin steady, keeping him right where he wants him while he parts Kim’s lips beneath his own. Kim finds himself sighing, a quiet, contended noise falling out with it, and Chay hums with satisfaction as he presses closer. He’s everywhere, all at once, body pressing Kim’s own into the sofa, and it’s all that Kim has dreamt of for four months and more.

“You can touch me, too, you know,” Chay pulls away to say, and Kim realises with a jolt that his arms are laid uselessly at his sides, rendered immobile with Chay’s touch: he remedies this immediately, reaching up to wrap them around Chay’s back – and once his arms have remembered that they work, it’s like all the other parts of him light up too, whirring into action; his very skin strains towards Chay as his back arches into him and he hooks a leg around his waist, the other holding his thigh close. His enthusiasm seems to spur Chay on too, and Kim feels a hand slide into his hair and tug – he gasps, hips jolting upwards –

“Fuck,” Chay says emphatically, pulling away just enough to pant against Kim’s mouth. Kim blinks, brain slowly coming back online as Chay’s eyes trickle into view, creased with fondness while he watches Kim below him. “We should slow down, right?” Chay whispers – and then presses a quick kiss against Kim’s mouth, come and gone, as if he just can’t help himself. It makes Kim a little fuzzy again, lips tingling, and so it’s at least a few seconds before he’s able to process Chay’s words and answer.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “If you want.”

“I mean – do you want?” Chay asks, and it’s a little awkward, their short back-and-forth, both of them still slightly out of breath. It prompts a laugh from them both, mingling together with the giddiness of kids at a sleepover awake past their bedtime, and it’s Kim this time who leans up to kiss Chay once more, cheeks burning when he settles back down.

Remembering Chay technically asked a question, he shrugs. “I want whatever you want.”

“Kim, that’s not –” Chay starts, then breaks off into another breathless laugh. Kim can’t help but join in. This bubbly feeling inside his chest is utterly foreign, but with Chay, everything feels safe and familiar, so he doesn’t fight it.

“How about…” begins Chay again, laughter petering off as he allows the hand still in Kim’s hair to tighten its grip, just a little – just enough to make Kim’s lips part and tingles of pleasure to shoot through his scalp. “We leave it here tonight. We sleep it off, let the emotions of… everything wear off. Then, after that… we’ll see.”

“We’ll see,” Kim repeats, hanging off Chay’s every word. He likes the way Chay is still on top of him; the way he has a hand in Kim’s hair and one on his chin, holding him in place; the way all Kim has to do is lay here, and listen to Chay, and do as he says. If Chay told him to do something he didn’t want, he’d say something, if only because Kim is sure that’s what Chay would want him to do, but – as it is, Chay is right and perfect as always.

Chay kisses him again, quick and affectionate. “You’re cute,” he says, pulling back enough to roll onto his side next to Kim instead of on top of him. Kim barely has enough time to process the compliment before Chay is curling an arm around him and coaxing his head into Chay’s neck. He’s warm, so warm, and Kim finds that he’s more tired than he thought as he allows himself to be enveloped in Chay’s arms, one beneath his head and one around his waist. The sleepiness softens his inhibitions, bringing to the surface everything he usually tries so hard to keep hidden, and – oh, he’s already spilt so many things today, what’s one more?

“Love you,” he whispers, secret, into the skin of Chay’s neck: plants it there like a flower; like a promise, and vows to let it grow.

Chay holds him closer, lips pressed to his hair. “I –”

His stomach rumbles.

“…I’m hungry,” he says, and then bursts into laughter, the groan Kim lets out barely audible over it. The sound is loud and joyous, soaking Kim’s skin like the first fall of rain after a heatwave, and he drinks it greedily, revelling in the taste.

I’ll never let you go again, he thinks as his eyes slip shut, Chay’s laughter still echoing in his ears.

Never.