Chapter Text
James tugged at the collar of his shirt, trying to calm the nervous tremor in his fingers as Nhong guided him through the boutique with a casual hand on his lower back. The shop smelled faintly of leather and cedar, and every surface gleamed under the soft golden light. The racks of clothes were meticulously arranged, fabrics so rich they seemed to shimmer even in stillness. James couldn’t help but glance at the price tags discreetly—his stomach dropped every time.
“This one,” Nhong said, plucking a shirt off the rack. He held it up against James’s chest, his dark eyes scanning him with an intensity that made James’s skin prickle. “Perfect. Try it on.”
James hesitated, his throat dry. “I don’t think it’s… my style.”
Nhong tilted his head, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Trust me, you’ll look stunning.” His voice was smooth, almost soothing, but it only made James’s nerves coil tighter. He couldn’t tell if the heat creeping up his neck was from embarrassment or something else entirely.
“I’m not sure I can afford—” James started, but Nhong cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“Don’t worry about that,” Nhong said, his tone dismissive but not unkind. “My treat.”
James swallowed hard, his fingers brushing against the silken fabric of the shirt Nhong had chosen for him. It felt foreign, luxurious in a way that made him feel out of place, like he didn’t belong anywhere near it. He glanced at the dressing room Nhong was steering him toward, the mirrors reflecting back his slightly wide-eyed expression.
“Go on,” Nhong urged, his hand lingering for a moment before he stepped back, giving James space that somehow felt more suffocating than his touch. “I’ll wait here.”
James hesitated, his fingers curling nervously. He couldn’t argue without making a scene, and the last thing he wanted was to look ungrateful—or worse, suspicious. So he nodded stiffly and stepped into the dressing room.. The room was small but impeccably clean, the mirror framed in gold and the lighting soft enough to make anyone look flawless.
He hesitated before unbuttoning his own shirt, the wrinkled cotton slipping off his shoulders to pool on the floor. The cool air of the boutique brushed against his skin, raising goosebumps.
He pulled the new shirt on carefully, fingers fumbling with the buttons. The fabric was smooth against his skin, lighter than he’d expected, and it clung in a way that made him feel exposed despite being fully covered. James turned to the side, examining himself. The shirt did look good, better than anything he’d ever owned.
He stared at his reflection, the unfamiliar lines of the fabric making him feel like he was looking at a stranger. The collar was crisp against his throat, the sleeves tailored just enough to hug his arms without restricting them. It was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t him. He wondered if Nhong saw something in him that wasn’t there—something polished, confident, deserving of luxury.
He glanced at his crumpled shirt on the floor, a pang of guilt twisting in his stomach. He was here for Uea, wasn’t he? He was supposed to be playing a part, gathering information, not getting distracted by silk shirts and Nhong’s careful hands. But it was hard to keep his focus when Nhong looked at him like that, like he saw something in him worth admiring. James shook his head, trying to clear the thought. He couldn’t let himself forget why he was here. Not even for a second.
He took one last breath and stepped out of the dressing room, the weight of Nhong’s gaze immediately settling on him like a physical touch. The older man’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he smiled.
“Beautiful,” Nhong said finally, his voice low and approving.
He stepped closer, his hand brushing against the fabric of the shirt as if he couldn’t resist touching it—or maybe touching James. “It suits you. You look… incredible.”
James swallowed, his throat tight. He wanted to say something, to deflect the compliment or make a joke, but the words stuck in his chest. He felt caught between the urge to step back and the strange pull of Nhong’s presence. Instead, he managed a small, awkward nod.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nhong tilted his head, his gaze softening just enough to make James’s pulse quicken. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said, his tone warm but edged with something James couldn’t quite place. “It’s my pleasure.”
James shifted his weight, the smooth soles of his shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor. Nhong’s hand lingered on his arm, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric. It was too much, too close, and James felt like the walls of the boutique were closing in around him. He glanced around for an escape, his gaze catching on the exquisitely dressed mannequins that stood like silent judges in the corner.
“I… I should probably change back,” James stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He stepped away, breaking the contact, and retreated toward the dressing room. The air felt cooler there, a brief reprieve from the intensity of Nhong’s presence. He hurriedly unbuttoned the shirt, his fingers trembling more than before. The silken fabric slipped off his shoulders, and he pulled his own shirt back on, the familiar cotton a small comfort against his skin.
As he folded the new shirt neatly—a habit ingrained in him by years of thrift-store shopping—he hesitated. Should he say something? Refuse the gift? But the thought of Nhong’s disappointed expression made his chest tighten uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure he could handle that, not when the older man’s approval felt so… vital, somehow.
James stared at the folded shirt in his hands, the guilt twisting deeper in his gut. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be letting Nhong buy him things, shouldn’t be feeling… whatever this was. Nhong had hurt Uea. He’d manipulated her, taken advantage of her, and now James was standing in a fancy boutique, letting the same man dress him up like some kind of doll.
The thought made his stomach churn. He was supposed to be helping Uea, not getting tangled up in whatever this thing with Nhong was. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? Every time Nhong looked at him, every time he smiled or touched him—no matter how fleeting—James felt something shift inside him, something he couldn’t—wouldn’t—name but couldn’t ignore either.
He closed his eyes briefly, trying to steady his breathing. He needed to focus. This wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about the way Nhong’s gaze lingered on him or the way his compliments made something warm flutter in his chest. This was about Uea, about Phare. About making sure Nhong didn’t hurt anyone else. James repeated it like a mantra in his head, but the words felt hollow, like they weren’t quite enough to drown out the other thoughts whispering in the back of his mind.
James stepped out of the dressing room, the folded shirt clutched tightly in his hands. Nhong was still there, leaning casually against the counter, his gaze immediately locking onto James’s. The weight of it made James’s stomach twist uncomfortably. He forced a small smile and handed the shirt to the sales assistant, who wrapped it in tissue paper with practised ease.
“Thank you,” James said quietly, glancing at Nhong, who had moved closer again. The older man’s presence was like a magnet, pulling James in despite his unease.
“You’re welcome,” Nhong replied, his voice soft. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes so soft that it made James’s chest tighten. “Let’s find you something else.”
James shook his head quickly, his heart pounding. “No, really, this is… this is more than enough. I should—” He glanced toward the exit, the glass doors gleaming invitingly in the sunlight filtering through. “I should probably get going.”
Nhong’s expression shifted, a faint furrow appearing between his brows. “So soon?” he asked, his tone light but with an edge James couldn’t miss. “I was hoping we could have dinner.”
James swallowed hard, his throat dry. Dinner. The word lingered in the air, heavy with implications. He could feel the guilt twisting in his stomach again, sharp and unrelenting. Uea. He was supposed to be helping Uea, not going on dates with the man who had hurt her. But the thought of saying no to Nhong—of disappointing him—made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain.
James wet his lips, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I—I can’t,” he managed, the words sticking in his throat. “I have… class. Assignments.” The lie tasted bitter, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet Nhong’s eyes.
A beat of silence stretched between them, thick enough to choke on. Then Nhong exhaled, a soft, almost amused sound, and James dared to glance up. The older man’s smile was still there, but it had softened at the edges, something almost wistful in the curve of it. “Another time, then,” he said, his voice impossibly gentle.
James nodded, too quickly, his pulse hammering in his ears. He could still feel the ghost of Nhong’s touch on his arm, the warmth of his gaze like a brand. The sales assistant handed him the bag with the shirt, the tissue paper rustling faintly as he took it, the weight of it absurdly heavy in his hands.
Nhong stepped closer, just enough that James caught the faint scent of his cologne—something rich and woody, expensive. “Let me get you home,” he murmured, and James didn’t trust himself to refuse. James followed Nhong toward the exit, the bag with the shirt swinging lightly in his hand.
As they passed the sales counter, James caught a faint whisper—a murmur of voices trailing behind him. He hesitated, his feet slowing almost imperceptibly. His ear twitched, straining to catch the words. He couldn’t make out the full sentence, but one phrase stood out, sharp and jarring: “Another sugar daddy?”
James froze, the words slicing through him like a knife. His grip tightened on the bag, the paper crinkling under his fingers. He forced himself to keep walking, his face burning. A buzzing sensation spread across his skin, prickling like a thousand tiny needles. Nhong glanced back at him, with concern in his voice. “Everything alright?”
James nodded quickly, his throat tight. “Yeah,” he managed, the word barely escaping his lips. He kept his eyes fixed on the doors ahead, unwilling to meet Nhong’s gaze. The phrase echoed in his mind, taunting him. Sugar daddy. Was that what people thought? Was that what this looked like?
The glass doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and the heat of the afternoon slammed into James like a wall. Nhong walked beside him but James couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He didn’t know if Nhong had heard the comment and right now, he frankly didn’t want to know.