Chapter Text
Porchay Kittisawat.
Chay.
Thailand’s new racing golden boy.
The first time Kim had heard that name on the scene was during a press conference. A reporter had inquired about what he had thought about the new face on the scene.
It was always the press conferences.
He wasn’t new to this. He knew how to tilt his eyebrow to look intrigued and avoid any accusations of being rudely bored. He even knew how to turn toward the best lighting when he held the latest energy drink on the market, making sales rise after everyone of his races.
As they would take his pictures, the reporters were like piranhas, waiting to bite on fresh bait.
Fielding inane questions without saying much of anything with substance? That was as easy as climbing his bike.
So, when a reporter, one that he could not fully recognize and he presumed to be a freelancer trying to make a name for himself, pushed through the crowd and asked, “Kim, any thoughts on Chay, Porchay Kittisawat, joining the exhibition tour this year? They say he’s the youngest stock car champion in the region. Pretty impressive at twenty-one, don’t you think?”
However, Kim honestly hadn’t thought much.
Even if they are racing on the same tarmac, they definitely weren’t racing the same vehicles.
Kim only cared about those that raced against him in his own category in actual competitions with his title on the line and making sure he stayed number one.
A new name for another racer on four wheels? They were hardly ever worth Kim’s attention.
Racers, of any type, came and went just as quickly as the laps that they drove around. Hell, names withered just as quickly as the bloomed depending on their performance. One podium finish and fans would quickly be calling them legends. Three bad laps? They were old news that had no business being in this league.
Porchay could be gone as fast as he arrived, forgotten by mid-season with only a whisper of his record left behind.
Kim didn’t need to know him.
And he honestly couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I wish him luck and welcome,” he said simply, keeping his voice calm and polite, if not slightly disinterested. “It’s always great to see new talent out on the track.”
Polite. Unthreatening. A generic response that would ruffle no feathers.
Exactly what his manager Big would want.
The reporter, undeterred, “Do you think he could give you a run for your money and dethrone you as the king of Thailand’s racing scene?”
Kim could only arch an eyebrow, feigning amusement, “We’re not even in the same lane.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the sea of reporters as cameras clicked. He even nodded at the right moments when some other reporter followed up with something insipid about Thailand’s racing scene.
He fielded a few more questions. They always centered around fan expectations and support, whether he would ever race on sand, and other inane topics of his current bike specs.
He kept a faint smile that he perfected in the mirror of too many green rooms. He knew they had hoped for a better sound bite or even a juicy tag line, Luckily, he had enough media sense to keep playing nice. Kim gave them none of it. He was no longer as hot-headed as he used to be when he was younger.
Talent and skill were only one part of being a successful racer. Intrigue and interest could sometimes get one further than their record times on the tarmac.
He knew the game and willingly played his part.
As Kim stepped off the stage and back into the tent, he tugged his race suit off, Porchay’s name a memory already slipping from his mind.
He hadn’t expected to wake up the next morning and find his own face splashed across the racing pages besides that of a stranger. And yet, there he was with the now-identified Porchay Kittisawat. Positioned like co-stars in a drama he had never agreed to be a part of, even if Porchay was annoyingly handsome.
‘Thailand’s Mysterious King of Superbike offers a warm welcome to rising star Porchay Kittisawat.’
He couldn’t help but scoff.
The reporter definitely had a knack for puffing-up a simple quote. For once, he could understand why more and more people lose their faith in journalists.
They never know how to report the simple truth.
He never gave a warm welcome.
It was just a regular welcome for a name that he would likely never hear of again.
But that’s the thing about reporters, where they can make an ember spark, they’ll start a whole forest fire if it can allow them to meet their desired sales quota.
It was laughable. Kim raced on two wheels, where he was trained with precision and control.
Porchay drove a glorified steel box.
They were not the same. They didn’t share a category, and they definitely had no business sharing headlines.
He tossed the magazine onto the nearest table. Annoyingly, this was not the first time that the media tried to entangle him in situations that had nothing to do with him. It wasn’t even a good photo of him – far too blown up with too wide of a crop. And Porchay? With his annoyingly toothy smile, like a baby-faced showman who was proud of winning a few laps in his four-wheeled tin can.
Kim exhaled and closed his eyes, counting down to keep his annoyance in check.
Let them have their headline.
He had far more important things to focus on. The calculations that he had asked his team to run after the last race, for one. He definitely did not have time to think about the annoyingly charismatic face with windblown hair that had been plastered next to his own.
Just as he was finishing getting ready, he heard his front door ring open. Big stepped in balancing a tray of his favorite iced black coffee and a tablet in the crook of his arm. He raised an eyebrow at the discarded magazine that was haphazardly splayed across his coffee table.
“I take it you saw the article?” Big asked, tone dry.
Kim didn’t look up from his phone, before giving a slight shrug. “Article? Barely counts as journalism.”
Big hummed in agreement, “Well, I can’t say it hurt, the sponsors liked it. Said that it revitalized your reputation. You and the kid trending together got us a 32% engagement spike overnight.”
”Ah yes,” Kim muttered, “King of the Tarmac and King of Clickbait. Love that for myself.”
Big took a long sip that of his coffee, unbothered. “Hey, they evene caught you smiling. That’s a win for everyone.”
Kim’s expression flat, “A smirk is hardly a smile.”
“Tell yourself that if it helps you sleep better,” Big teased as he tapped away at his tablet, “Either way, media and fans alike are scrambling for more. We’ve been getting non-stop requests all morning for a joint interview before the upcoming exhibition. You and Porchay, together”
“No.”
Big raised a brow, “Yes.”
Kim blinked and let a long silence fester, the kind Kim liked to use to make grown interviewers sweat.
However, Big knew him for far too long for it to be effective.
Annoying.
“Yes,” Big firmly stated, as if daring Kim to object again.
“Do I really need to play nice with a kid who’s going to be forgotten six to ten months from now?”
“No,” Big replied, typing up something on that tablet of his before looking up to meet Kim’s eyes, “You need to pretend that you like playing nice.”
Kim glared daggers as Big feigned ignorance. He couldn’t help but groan as he dragged a hand through his hair. “He drives a car, Big. It’s not even like we’re even in the same competition.”
“And yet, somehow they find you two to have chemistry. Funny how that works.”
“Chemistry, my ass—”
━━━━━━━━━━━━
As Kim stepped onto the tarmac later that morning, zipping up his race suit as he neared the team, the story of Porchay and him had already started to slip from his mind.
It had been a momentary nuisance, media buzz like any other on any given day.
At least that was what he had tried to convince himself.
Compartmentalize. Ignore. Pretend.
Neatly filing Porchay Kittisawat into a folder in his mind that he had decidedly labeled as ‘irrelevant.’
However, that was easier said than done.
The roar of a stock car engine thundered down the track. Flashy and offensively aggressive to the ears, bordering on illegal decibel levels. His usually focused pit crew all turned toward the track, as they paused mid-conversation.
They were accustomed to hums and purrs of motorcycles, not the abrasive noises that came out of stock cars.
Their garage door had been left open, allowing for the sunlight to warm up and pour through.
In the middle of the racket, just behind the pit lane, stood Porchay in the flesh.
Suit peeled halfway down his torso, sunglasses shoved haphazardly onto his head, tossing a bottle of water between his hands as he spoke to his own team. Seemingly, laughing at something his pit tech had said. Infuriatingly radiant.
As if sensing that someone was watching him, Porchay turned to his general direction.
Their eyes met briefly across the track.
Kim slid on his sunglasses, cutting off their connected line of sight. Dismissive, He turned away without acknowledging what had occurred, listening back into his team.
Porchay, for his part, didn’t seem bothered. If anything, Kim could almost swear that when he glanced back, Porchay’s smile had widened. Like he had found something amusing.
He guessed it probably wasn’t every day that the magazines decided to entangle Porchay’s name with a senior in a different racing sector.
So, sure, he could let him laugh. Let him soak up the attention.
A small part of Kim couldn’t help but sardonically allow it. Of course, Porchay was enjoying himself – this was his opportunity of a lifetime. The kid clearly thought he could smile his way into a legacy,
Fine, Porchay could bask in it.
But Kim had no interest in being dragged down with him. That would imply that they were in the same level to begin with.
Kim forced his attention back to the data tablet one of his team members was holding up, but the numbers blurred slightly behind the image of that damned grin.
He pulled his gloves on with familiarity, his movements precise. He’d spent the last decade learning how to keep distractions at a minimum. Heat, noise, crowds. None of it mattered once he found himself straddling his bike. Not even doe-eyed wannabe—
“You two locking eyes already?” Big questioned as he walked up beside him, reading through the day’s schedule on his tablet. “Don’t fall in love just yet. I just signed your updated solo merch line, let’s sell those first before we go for the duo collection—”
Kim huffed, unamused, “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”
Big didn’t dignify himself to look away from his tablet, “Not sure that Chan would agree with that.”
“Because he’s your fiancé and he has the humor of a wall.”
“Ouch. I’ll let him know you said that.”
“Besides,” Kim tugged his gloves on tighter, more forceful than necessary, “He’s just another media favorite for this season. There’s always one. Fast for the season, loud and good-looking enough to draw attention, and then they’ll disappear the moment that they can’t keep up with the hype. I just don’t know why they want to drag me down with him.”
Big raised an eyebrow, still scrolling. “Mm, this one is only looking to get louder.”
Kim couldn’t dignify his comment with a response.
Opting to ignore the silence, Big went back on tapping the screen once more. “Practice run starts in ten. Press is going to be there to get some shots of you and Chay in your respective vehicles to drum up some excitement in anticipation of the exhibition. Smile for the cameras, please. None of your grimaces, we need to make investors happy with as much good press as possible.”
Kim muttered something that Big would not willingly repeat before shooing him off.
“No fighting in from the Bridgestone rep!” Big reminds him as Kim steps out of their garage, leaving behind their team to finish up the last changes that needed to be made on his bike for the practice run.
By the time Kim had found himself on the tarmac of the pit lane, the sun was high and beating ruthlessly against the gravel, heat sweltering. Big hadn’t been lying when he mentioned the Press would be gathered awaiting Chay and himself. From what he could make out the Press had already started to gather at turn three, around a pop-up canopy where a few of Porchay’s team had been gathered earlier.
As he neared, a familiar mop of hair caught his attention, leaning too casually against the stack of tires that were located at the rear of the canopy. The sleeves of his fireproof undershoot were rolled up, as if to show off his gains, while his jumpsuit remained half unzipped, tied low on his hips.
Porchay.
Up close, he was far worse than the photos.
Far too confident and camera-ready for Kim’s liking.
He could swear that he could feel his blood pressure spiked just at the thought of spending the next hour together.
As if the reporters could smell out fresh blood, they turned in unison, before shouting out his name, “Kim! Over here!” Kim didn’t answer but the slight shift in his face was answer enough, “Yes! Smile like that! Come here and get a quick shot with Porchay before today’s training session.”
As he entered the tent, the clamor and camera shutters intensified. Porchay straightened to his full height and stepped forward, flashing that same annoyingly photogenic smile of his that Kim had last seen splattered next to his own face on the magazine cover.
A small part of Kim almost believed that Porchay genuinely looked glad to see him.
“Hey,” Porchay stated, his tone a little too casual and familiar for someone that Kim had never even met, much less spoken a single word to prior to this, “Guess we finally get to meet for real.”
He held out his hand.
Kim looked down at it for a moment, and he first instinct was to ignore it, but he knew Big would be disappointed, considering they were surrounded by reporters that had their lenses trained on them, waiting for a juicy moment to display as their next breaking news.
He reached out and shook it.
Firm grip, tight but not trying to crush.
It was his turn to flash the other a disarming smile as he met his eyes. Two can play that game.
The shutters only seemed to intensify.
Porchay held his own.
“Chay, right?” Kim said, voice perfectly leveled.
“And here I thought you wouldn’t know my name,” Porchay replied, tone light but his grin only served to tilt into something sharper.
Unknowingly, Kim let go of the other’s hand first.
Camera flashes burst in waves, the moment was only a mere seconds, but Kim knew that it would be circulated and dissected by that evening no doubt. He already knew what his twitter account would likely consist of in a few moments. Screenshot, captioned, edited and endlessly tagged.
Surely, dissected by their fans.
A reporter leaned in, voice raised above the static hum of the crowd, “Km, what do you think of Porchay joining the Apex Bangkok Tour this year? Any advice for a first-year newcomer?”
For a beat, Kim feigns thinking hard as a small smile graced his lips, “He needs to stay in his lane.”
A roar of laughter passed through the crowd.
Porchay, to his credit, didn’t react aside from shooting him a smile back, nudging him slightly.
“Don’t worry,” he laughed as well, “I’ll wave as I pass you by.”
The crowd loved it, reporters were leaning in and muttering to each other, ensuring that they were collecting as much as they could from the momentum this interaction was gaining. Another reporter chimed in, “Do you expect to beat him this year, Chay? Are you gunning for first place already?”
Porchay didn’t miss a beat, his body relaxing as he gave the reporter a wink.
“As much as I love joining tours to collect souvenirs,” he said, “even if it’s not an official race, I’m here to win, and if that means beating Kim Theerapanyakul to be on that podium, so be it.”
Kim could only raise an eyebrow.
Mutters of ‘Bold’ ran though the crowd, flashes of light filling both their eyelines.
“Confidence is good,” Kim said, his voice low and even, nodding as if in approval of the cockiness of the newcomer, “However, the only thing matters who crosses the finish line first, so you better do your worst,” he nudges Porchay back.
Porchay’s grin twitched.
The press eventually thinned, their energy dissipating after they had been able to squeeze the best soundbites out of the two racers. In the middle of the summer heat, Kim couldn’t blame them for preferring toward the hydration tables as they got ahead of drafting the new headlines that would appear the next morning.
For his part, Kim didn’t linger either. Joining Big who had made his way to the tent as well in the middle of their press meeting.
“Bit spicy,” Big murmured as they made their way back to their garage.
Kim could only provide him a noncommittal grunt.
“He’s good,” Big added, “Reminds me a bit like you when you first started. He definitely knows how to work them and get a reaction.”
“He’s reckless.”
“Like you used to be.”
Kim wanted to argue. Every cell in his being wanted to refute the comparison, distance himself from whatever game Porchay’s team thought they could be playing.
However, no words slipped through his lips.
Partly because he knew it was true.
He had been angry and reckless in his youth. Sharp-tongued, impulsive, indifferent, and arrogant. It had cost him a lot of sponsors and had cost Big several sleepless nights. It had taken years for him to build the current version of himself.
One that was controlled, polished, and untouchable.
Reckless wasn’t the right word when it came to Porchay. He wasn’t reckless in the same way that Kim had been.
That much was clear In their shared short interaction. No, Porchay was calculative underneath all that charm.
Deliberate.
As if he was leaving behind a trail of gasoline leading to a final explosion for the media to discover.
The smiles, the offhand compliments.
For some reason, that made Kim more nervous than if Porchay really had been just a cocky newcomer that was scrambling for his five minutes of fame.
Kim knew what to do with desperate boys chasing fame.
He could outrun them, outrace them, without a second glance.
Names attached would only last a few cycles and then they would disappear.
But Porchay wasn’t chasing behind Kim’s own trail. No, he was orchestrating. And Kim had no desire to be a character in his story.
Big clicked his tablet to a close with a quiet snap of his hand and handed Kim a bottle of water, “He definitely knows how to turn a moment into momentum. Almost as if he’s gunning for you.
Kim took the bottle, unscrewing the cap, “Am I supposed to be flattered.”
His manager shrugged, “You don’t have to be flattered, I just don’t necessarily think that he was saying all of that solely for the press.”
Kim’s eyes flicked over, just for a second before the blank stare he had perfected glazed over.
Big had known Kim for way too long to not know when Kim was even the slightest bit intrigued by his competition, even if he liked to feign disinterest.
“I’m just saying the Kid wanted you to notice him. Congrats, I think it’s fair to say that his mission accomplished.”
With that, he turned and walked off toward their meeting room, already pulling up a log of reporters he had to return a call back to.
Kim stayed back, next to his bike, jaw-tight, trying not to dwell on the insinuation that Big had left him with.
He didn’t need any distractions.
Especially not now, days before the tournament was about to begin.
Any distraction could prove to be lethal at their speed.
He was so lost in thought as he was relacing his gloves that he hadn’t even heard the footsteps that neared him until a familiar voice broke through.
“Thought I’d find you back here.”
Kim turned abruptly.
Porchay stood a few feet away from him, his helmet tucked under one arm as his jumpsuit remained half-on, half-off as it had been during their press run.
There was nothing particularly rehearsed about him now as his bangs stuck to his forehead and his cheeks were flushed from the heat. It almost looked like he had jogged the whole way over to Kim’s garage just to speak with him. However, his eyes darted around the area, looking to see if he brought any reporters with him, any desperate ones that would brave being sued just to catch a scandalous shot.
As if reading his mind, Chay raised his free hand and shook his head, “Don’t worry, I didn’t come over to stir the pot or anything, I just wanted to—”
Chay hesitated, extending each word as if unsure how to continue.
Kim waited
“I just wanted to say that was… kind of cool of you…” Porchay said, “How you handled the press. And me.”
“You?”
“Yeah, you didn’t try to humiliate me,” he clarified, “I mean, you really could’ve. You’ve got the experience, the reputation. If you hadn’t playfully bantered with me and instead just walked off, they would’ve sided with you and I would have been buried under mountains of bad press—And honestly, I didn’t know how you were going to take it—And now, I’m rambling but I’m just trying to—”
Kim stared at him for a moment, before cutting in, “So what I’m getting is that you came all the way over here, just to say thank you for not embarrassing you?”
Porchay laughed, his cheeks somehow even redder than before, before sheepishly muttering, “Okay, maybe not just that.”
Kim raised an eyebrow as he finished putting on his gloves.
“I just…” Porchay paused, shifting his helmet into his other hand, “I just wasn’t sure how you’d be with everything that’s happening. I thought you’d be colder—Meaner, maybe. Much more intimidating, with the whole no small talk, ‘probably a silent mafia killer’ vibe that you have going on—”
“I don’t make small talk,” Kim replied flatly.
“Which I’ve noticed—and that’s totally fine—but honestly think that’s your whole charm and everything—like the whole, quiet, mysterious, maybe-he-hates-everyone-and-everything-except-racing really works. It’s intimidating—but not like in a scary way, but like in a cool way—well, maybe a little scary—but in a good way. Like you command respect.”
Kim just stared at him, keeping his expression neutral.
Porchay couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly and run his fingers through his hair, as his cheeks remained flushed, “Wow, okay, that went so much better in my head.”
He shifted his helmet back to his other hand, “I just meant that—thank you. You surprised me today… in a good way. You were very much like a person today.”
Kim couldn’t help but guffaw, “You thought I’d be…what? A ghost in a racing suit?”
“A very stylish ghost,” Porchay laughed, his inexplicably enticing grin of his returning, “It’s just that I’ve watched your races—for years now—and your timing? Your turn-ins? You’re like a beast out there.”
A beat passed as their eyes met.
“There’s a reason why so many of us out here on the track have looked up to you for years.” Porchay exhaled. “Okay, maybe I should shut up now.”
“You should,” Kim agreed, deadpan.
Porchay laughed again, unbothered, “See? Always with the perfect timing. Anyway, I should let you prep. Didn’t mean to corner you, I just wasn’t sure when I’d get to talk to you without everyone around.”
He shot Kim another smile, all restless energy as if he was ready to bolt back into his own garage.
Kim blinked once, returning his gaze back to his gloves, tightening them much more than necessary when they had already been secure.
“Just, yeah…yeah. Thank you,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Porchay’s words filled the silence longer than should of.
Sincere.
Unpolished.
In a way that Kim was far from accustomed to hearing. Especially, not directed at him.
Kim had no idea what came over him, but he couldn’t help but mutter back, “You held your own, nothing to thank me for.”
He looked up at Porchay, and he almost swore that he caught the tail end of something soft in his expression, if not caught off-guard. Honest. Uncalculated. Something he had not shown the press earlier.
Porchay laughed, bright and surprised. The warm sound bouncing off the concrete walls that surrounded them.
“Then, I guess I’ll see you at the finish line, P’Kim”
He turned to go, footsteps retreating toward the exit of Kim’s garage.
Kim exhaled, shifting his focus back to the bike that his team had been working on earlier.
But before fully exiting, Porchay looked over his shoulder.
“No matter how thankful I am, I’m still gonna try to beat you though.”
Kim glanced up, just in time to catch the flash of that grin that he had seen during the press conference. Boyish, cocky, twinkling with unmistakable confidence.
Then he was gone.
Kim stared at the space where the man had stood moments before. Far longer than he should have, if he was being honest.
Kim’s lips curled, slightly. Almost a smile.
If Big had been there to witness, he knew that he would never have lived it down.
Without warning, he let out a quiet laugh. Dry, surprised, one that slipped before he could catch it in his throat
He shook his head, turning back to his bike.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered into the air, undeniably entertained by the newcomer. More than he ever expected to be.
The warmth hadn’t faded from his chest.
He explained to himself that it must have been because of Thailand’s record-breaking heatwave.
But as he swung his leg over the frame of his bike and pulled on his helmet, to Kim’s quiet annoyance, he couldn’t help but look forward to meeting him again.