Chapter Text
The hotel ballroom was a blur of camera flashes and excited chatter. Kong sat perfectly poised on the press conference stage, legs crossed, every angle of his face catching the warm glow of the spotlights. His suit was a custom ivory number that fit like it was made for royalty — which, in this industry, he might as well have been.
Beside him, TeeTee leaned toward the microphone, his easy smile matching the lighthearted banter that had the crowd eating out of his hand.
“Working with Kong is… dangerous. I’ve started expecting perfection every day.”
The audience laughed, cameras clicking in rapid-fire bursts. Kong, ever the diva, gave a languid smile and flicked his gaze toward his co-star.
“You should expect perfection. I’m giving you my best.”
The room roared again, a sea of shipping signs and fan-made banners swaying in approval. Kong knew how to play this game — how to lean just enough into the fantasy without ever promising more than he intended to give.
The moderator moved on to the next question, but in the audience, a ripple of movement caught TeeTee’s attention. One of the reporters had gone still, staring down at their phone. Then another. Then another.
Kong noticed the shift, the whispers spreading like a wave.
The moderator’s voice cracked slightly as they cleared their throat, but the next question was drowned out by the buzz of breaking news on every journalist’s feed.
TeeTee, sitting just close enough to brush his knee against Kong’s, turned his phone discreetly so only Kong could see.
Breaking: Thomas Teetut Chungmanirat Returns to Thailand, Signs Exclusive Contract with Downmundi!
Kong didn’t blink. He didn’t frown, didn’t smile, didn’t so much as shift in his seat. He simply handed the phone back and reached for his water bottle.
“Drink your water before you choke, TeeTee.”
TeeTee arched a brow.
“That’s it? You’re not going to say anything?”
Kong took a slow sip, eyes fixed on the crowd below.
“What’s there to say? People come back all the time.”
But inside, his stomach had tightened, sharp and unsteady.
Four years without so much as a text. Four years of silence, after promises he hadn’t been foolish enough to believe but had been reckless enough to hope for.
Now Thomas was back — the same man who’d left Kong behind at the height of their fame, taking with him a piece of something Kong had never admitted out loud.
Kong crossed his legs the other way, posture as flawless as ever. He would give no one in this room, not even TeeTee, the satisfaction of knowing that name still meant anything to him.
Somewhere in the city, Thomas was stepping back into the world they’d once shared.
And Kong — Thomas’s Kong — had no intention of being the one caught off guard.