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It starts in public.
Which is how Teetee knows he's finished.
It was a company lunch, tables filled with celebrities, investors, people in the industry, polite smiles, everyone pretending like they aren't measuring status and power with every glance.
The lineup for the next year was in the making, discussions about the drafts, pilots, scripts, even the comebacks of the artists under their music company being held as priority.
And yet.
Yet, all Teetee could think about is how Por is sitting beside him, posture perfect, expression calm.
Too calm.
You see, Por is a calm person. In general. In general he is. But this is too calm for even Por.
He has not spoken to him in the last twenty minutes.
When the server comes by, Teetee reaches for his water out of habit. He passes it to him.
Por moves it away. oh.
“I can get it myself,” Por says pleasantly. The tone is lethal.
Ouch.
Teetee blinks, retreating his hand slowly, “...Okay.”
Next to him, Auau laughs awkwardly.
Strike one.
Across the table, Fifa leans over, a bright smile on his face, “P'Por, your solo stage was so good earlier!!”
Por smiles—bright, charming, devastating, “Thank you, Fifa.”
Then Por turns away from Teetee to continue the conversation, bright and smiley with the younger artist, completely ignoring him like he does not exist.
Teetee dies a little on the inside.
Tutor, who was sitting next to him, pats his back. Yim gives him a tight smile. Teetee lets out a sigh.
Once he sees Por is done talking to Fifa over… whatever they were talking about, he leans closer to Por’s ear, “P'Por… can we talk?”
He doesn't even spare him a glance, “I'm busy.”
Busy.
At dinner.
Sitting right next to him.
Strike two.
He stabs the meat on his plate.
It's a bit later when North comments about the promotion video Teetee did with an actress, says how good it came out, and compliments his chemistry with women.
Teetee mentally curses as he sees Por's hold on his glass tighten and before he could say anything, Por tilts his head, sweet, silky, “Oh yes, he's very good at what he does. People seem to enjoy his company a lot.”
People.
Plural.
Teetee almost almost chokes on air.
“P'Por,” he hisses under his breath, “Please.”
Por pats his arm. A gentle, polite pat. The kind you give a coworker.
“Oh?” He says softly, “Is something wrong, Teetee?”
Teetee.
Not Tee-ah, not even Tee.
Teetee.
Strike three. He's DEAD.
Teetee drove them to Por's apartment. Cautious as they enter the lift, as Por opens the door and careful to check whether Por slams it onto his face.
He doesn't.
Okay he's safe. Maybe.
He walks in, moves beside Por to take his shoes off and change into slippers.
Teetee exhales like he's just made it through a natural disaster.
“Okay,” he says carefully, shoes half off, “We're home,” ignores Por's scoff, “Private space, no audience, can we plea—”
Por walks straight past him.
No eye contact.
No acknowledgement.
No reply.
No mercy.
He takes his jacket off. The tank top underneath not leaving anything for imagination and Teetee internally groans.
Focus. We have a mission right now.
Por sits on the couch in the living room, taking out his phone and scrolling through whatever app he was on, face looking as if he was reviewing the downfall of a nation—maybe he is, maybe the clips of the dinner did go out and their fandom was burning too.
Teetee's eye twitches.
“...P'Por.”
Nothing.
He approaches slowly, as if one wrong move would set off a bomb, “Can we talk now?”
“About what?”
ABOUT WHAT??????????
Teetee runs his hand through his hair, “About the fact that you're clearly mad at me.”
Por hums, “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” He doesn't even look up at him, “That's unfortunate.”
UNFORTUNATE.
Teetee feels like punching a wall or crying or both, “You're doing this on purpose.”
He glances up at him then, eyebrows raised, “Doing what?”
This man.
He goes in front of him, Por looks at him, eyes questioning as if he's waiting for Teetee to do something.
So he does it.
Teetee drops on his knees, head hanging low.
“I am sorry,” He says earnestly, “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or feel bad or anything, I don't even know what I did but I'm sorry—”
Por cuts him off, “Then why did you smile.”
The at who dies on his tongue when he looks up to see Por's lips jutted out into a pout.
Full force.
Weaponized.
Fuck.
Teetee's heart aches.
“Phi, I smile because I'm polite!”
“You're polite with your mouth,” he says coolly, “Not with your eyes.”
Did he smile at anyone with his eyes—
“You had those stars in your eyes when you smiled at those women and men,” Por says as if he's disgusted by it, “They were clearly trying to ask you for things, and you fell right into their hands. And then that girl who was clearly trying to fall into your arms, into your smile, and you just, smile at her.”
Teetee drops his head again, “...That's unfair.”
Por stands up, circling his kneeling figure. His pride is gone. buried.
“I'm being petty,” Por replies calmly, as if that's the most normal thing to ever feel, “We've established that.”
He walks away then and before Teetee even moves an inch to even try getting up, he clears his throat, “I have not allowed you to get up, by the way.”
Teetee stays rooted on the spot as he sees Por walk to their kitchen counter to get a glass of his favorite drink.
His throat makes a strangled sound, “You're killing me, P'Por.”
Por shrugs from the counter, “You're still alive.”
Barely.
He walks towards him again, dropping on the seat he was in, sipping onto his drink and opening his phone again.
Teetee looks at him in disbelief, no way.
No way Por is just going to ignore him more. He mentally curses at the company for even holding a dinner.
“Phi,” He starts, trying another tactic, “Can I at least hug you?”
“No.”
“Sit next to you?”
“No.”
“Hold your hand?”
He finally, finally looks at him. Hope flares in his heart.
Por looks at him like he's contemplating what fate he should sentence Teetee with.
The hope dies just as fast as it bloomed.
“...You may sit on the floor,” he says, “if you want.”
THE FLOOR.
Teetee stares at him. stares, trying to find out if Por was playing some sick trick on him.
Then, without hesitation, he sits down. Drops right next to his feet.
Por doesn't even react.
Minutes pass.
Two.
Five.
Ten.
He's sitting there like a loyal dog who's been told to wait.
Teetee watches Por chuckle at something he sees on his phone, watches as he frowns at something as well, watches as his lips twitch and jut out—pink, full, shining with the unremoved gloss that their makeup artists put on him.
He's right there, he could just lean up and take his lips in his. He could just–
No. Not right now.
He sighs, “I miss you, even though you're right here, P'Por.”
It gets Por, he thinks as he sees his shoulders soften a bit. The lips he has been staring at twitches into a small smile, soft—not from the visuals on the phone, if then, Teetee's words.
He still doesn't look at him though, but the smile is at least something.
“It's so stupid,” Por mumbles almost to himself, “I just don't like feeling replaceable,” Por admits quietly, “Even if I know I'm not.”
Por bites his lips as he says this. As if he's thinking how it sounds falling out of his mouth. Teetee knows he's scolding himself in his head, overthinking about whatever he is feeling.
Teetee smiles, looks up at him as if he just cracked his heart chest open for him—knows how hard it is for Por to speak out his feelings at times.
“You're not replaceable,” he says, holding onto his leg, “You're not even comparable.”
Por looks at him, there's still a pout on his lips. Still sulky. Still so stubborn.
Teetee presses his forehead against Por's knees, “Please forgive me, I'll do better and be better for you, P'Por, I'll be more careful. I'll—”
Por sighs, long and dramatic.
“You're lucky I like you,” Relief floods him when he hears it and he shoots his head up to look at him.
Por opens his arms, just a little and Teetee scrambles up immediately and collapses into his embrace like a man saved from execution.
He was.
Por holds him for three seconds.
Teetee feels it because he hears his heartbeat in his ears.
Then—
“I'm still mad,” Por adds, “I just don't want my bed cold tonight with no puppy to hog it.”
He laughs weakly into Por's shoulder, tightening his hold around Por, “I'll take it.”
And honestly?
Teetee would sit on that floor forever if it meant he'd eventually pull him back into his arms again.
The mission starts the next morning.
Teetee wakes up early. Too early.
Por is still asleep, his cheeks planted onto the pillow that was between them, blanket tugged up to his chin, lips forming a pout as he hugged the pillow that was between them.
The sight nearly kills Teetee.
He's deprived. There was no good night kiss, not even a good night, last night. Por had come in the room with extra pillows he took from the storage and put them in the middle of their bed.
No words, but a slap on his hand when Teetee tried to move at least one.
No cuddles.
Nothing.
Teetee sighs.
He tiptoes out of the bed, making sure the curtains are drawn tight, walks out of the room making no noise as if he's in a heist movie.
Phase one was acts of service. Desperation edition.
When Por pads into the kitchen, Teetee pulls out his chair and holds it open for him to sit down.
There's breakfast in front of him, fresh, warm, cooked with whatever was available.
Por looks surprised seeing it laid out in front of him.
Sticky rice. Egg. Fried neatly. Fresh fruit peeled and cut. Tea brewed to the perfect strength.
Teetee stands as Por sits down, hands clasped behind his back, smiling nervously, “I made breakfast.”
Por looks at it. Then looks at him.
“...Okay.”
Okay.
No thank you.
No smile.
He nods rapidly, imaginary tail wagging, “Okay is good. Okay is great.”
Por eats in silence.
Teetee watches him like a man awaiting a verdict.
Nothing.
Phase two is Teetee losing it— no. Phase two is gifts.
By afternoon, Por finds his favorite snacks and drinks mysteriously restocked.
Teetee doesn't let him see the bills or how he looked running in while holding twelve different shopping bags.
Por then finds that his phone and ipad is fully charged.
The laundry is also done, neatly folded and kept into their respective places in his wardrobe.
Por's favorite hoodie (Teetee's) is folded neatly on the bed, on top of it is a handwritten note that says ‘I love you, I'm sorry, I'll do better.’
Por reads it.
Then places it face down.
Teetee watches this happen as he looms by the door and feels his soul leave his body.
Phase three is verbal reassurance. Which comes with a lot of voice cracking.
Teetee groans thinking about the things he has been doing. What in the chatgpt prompt am I doing.
By evening, he finally breaks.
It happens when Por comes to sit on the couch, ready for the episode of a series that they have been watching together.
Teetee almost thinks he will not come to watch it together.
Por does come. He sits on the opposite end of the couch. The space between them feels violent.
“Phi,” he says softly.
Por doesn't look at him.
“I know you're still mad, you have every right to be,” His voice wobbles just a little, desperate, he hasn't felt desperate in a while, “But I need you to know something.”
Por sighs, “Make it quick.”
He scoots closer anyway. Por doesn't move away this time.
“I don't like when anyone looks at me the way you think they do,” he says quietly, “Because it feels wrong. Like they're seeing something that only belongs to you.”
Por's fingers still on the remote.
He continues, words spilling now, “When you pulled away yesterday, I felt like I messed up something precious. I don't ever want you to feel second. Or uncertain. Or like you have to compete for me,” he smiles, jokes, “If anything I am the one who has to fight the world to have you as mine, P'Por.”
He swallows hard when Por looks at him.
“You're it for me, P'Por. From the moment I laid my eyes on you, way back when you didn't even know me, I was yours, always. I don't need anyone else's attention. I don't want it.”
He moves closer, fingers itching to hold his beloved.
“But yours, I need it. I crave for it. If I don't have your attention on me, I feel like a wilting flower. It's so dramatic, but it's real, Phi. It's like an addiction, you know, without your eyes on me, without your smile for me, I can't function normally.”
He doesn't fight the urge this time as he takes Por's face in his hand, tilts his head to meet his eyes. Por's gaze grounds him then.
“What would I do without you P'Por? I'm completely at your mercy, yours, only yours.”
Silence.
Then—
“...You made me sticky rice,” Por says flatly.
His heart sinks, “Yes.”
“The egg was cooked right.”
“Yes.”
Por tries to turn his face away from his hold, but Teetee holds, searches his eyes, sees the glimmer of softness and then the pout.
“I hate you,” Por mutters but it doesn't have the bite he probably wanted it to have, “I hate how you know exactly what to say.”
Teetee lets out a shaky laugh, “Do I?”
Por huffs, “You fix things too fast.”
“Was that fast, P'Por I felt like dying, that was not fast,” He caresses his face, ignoring the pointed gaze Por was giving him, “But I'll keep fixing, as long as P'Por doesn't get tired of me and leaves.”
At those words, Por stares at him for a long second.
“Would Tee survive if I leave?” There's almost a smile in the question but what follows is a yelp as Teetee wraps his arm around Por's waist to pull him closer.
Por crashes into his chest, eyes blowing wide as he looks up. Teetee hugs him tight, head falling onto his shoulder, “Don't joke about it like that,” he mumbles, “I don't even want to think about it.”
He hears Por chuckle as he peels him off, “You're still not forgiven and you hug me?”
“Phi…” Teetee gives the best kicked puppy face—there was nothing to give, that was already his neutral face for the last one day, “I might explode if I don't hold you anymore.”
“I'd like to see that,” Por grins as he moves to get out of Teetee's hold.
Teetee holds tight, “You're so cruel, P'Por.”
Por smiles, “I know,” he pokes the tip of his nose with his finger, “I like to see my puppy be obedient.”
“Have I not been good enough today?” Teetee plays along, gulping down the thoughts his brain makes as his eyes flicker to see Por licking his lips.
“If I say no, will you sleep with pillows stuck between us again?” Por teases, but his stay on Teetee's neck and he doesn't miss how his gaze dropped onto his lips as well.
His breath almost stops when he notices the gaze.
Teetee leans in, resting his forehead on Por's, their breath mingling, sudden charge electrifying around them, “I don't think I could do that again, phi.”
Por doesn't reply, his fingers play around his neck and Teetee feels the strands of hair on his nape being pulled and played with.
“Phi,” he says, almost breathless, “Can I?”
“You've done all this, and you still need permission?” Por says, soft, “You'll back off if I say no?”
Teetee doesn't think he could.
“Phi…” Teetee's voice is desperate, “Please.”
A gasp leaves his mouth as Por pulls him by his neck, tilting his head as he joins their mouths together.
It's soft, careful, sweet from all the glasses of Por's favorite drink he had stocked up earlier.
Teetee deepens it, licking into his mouth, arms tightening around his waist, pressing harder into his mouth to take in everything he couldn't the night before. He cups Por’s face, tilting his head.
Por's free hand climbs up his shirt, fists curling at the collar as he kisses him back just as harshly—his lips press harder, like he's mad and relieved and still trying to punish him for making him feel all this.
He feels the sudden desperation in Por's kisses and smiles into the feeling.
Teetee sighs into his mouth, thumb stroking his cheek, “I'm here,” he murmurs between kisses, “I'm not going anywhere.”
Por pulls back just enough to whisper, “You better not,” his voice wavers, “Or I'll haunt you.”
He smiles, breathless, “I'd let you,” he presses a soft kiss, “So you forgive me?”
Por looks at him, eyes half lidded, “Mn. I do,” there’s a small smile on his face that always makes Teetee feel all warm and bubbly on the inside.
Heavens, Por is so beautiful. He is his.
He leans in, and this time when Teetee kisses him, it’s different. It is all the emotions he has been keeping inside him for the last day, like it’s something overdue. The sound that breaks off of Por’s mouth when he snakes his arms inside his shirt, around his waist, makes Teetee smirk.
His fingers trace higher up his back, skin almost flaming under his touch. Por leans closer, pushing Teetee back until he’s settling onto his lap, thighs straddling Teetee on the couch. He stares at the older male, the smile never leaving his face as he sees how affected Por looks.
He looks all soft, red on the ears, pink blossoming onto his cheeks, matching the glistening dark pink of his lips. “P’Por,” he takes a hold of Por’s hand on his shoulders, pulls him in, chest to chest, “I missed you.”
They have been under the same roof, in the same rooms, together, and yet, he missed him so much.
Teetee basks in the way Por melts under his whisper, “I missed you too,” he says against his lips, “Don’t make me feel like that ever again.”
“Never,” Teetee promises, sealing it by taking Por’s lips again, smiles into it when Por shivers as he trails his spine under his fingers. He deepens the kiss then, once again sucking in the noises Por made as he nibbles and bites onto the pink plush between his lips.
Teetee’s mind feels static. Just Por.
His mouth.
His breath.
His skin under his hands.
He groans softly, low and helpless, by his own thoughts. His thumbs brush Por’s waist, memorising the curve as if he already doesn’t know it by heart. Por shivers, moving under his hold, and the movement snaps through him like a fuse catching flame.
God, he loves him.
And God, Por is going to kill him like this.
He breaks the kiss and looks at him, “Don’t move too much, P’Por,” and Por looks at him like an innocent kitten, batting his eyes slowly, before he moves his hips to settle better onto Teetee’s lap.
Teetee groans, holding him down by his waist. This time, Por leans in, lips light on his cheeks, trailing down onto his jaw, gentle nibbles, gentle teasing nibbles. Por smiles up at him when his mouth drops onto his neck, sweet, cruel, “Why? I’m just trying to be comfortable,” he’s kissing his neck then.
Still so soft, still so slow.
Teasing.
He’s smug—Teetee feels the smile on Por’s lips when he lays a kiss on Teetee’s adam’s apple, bobbing under his lips. Por’s hands move back into the strands of hair he was playing with earlier and Teetee feels like he’s burning, all of a sudden.
Then in the next moment, his lips are dancing above Teetee’s, a sweet curl to it, eyes glimmering under the light as if he knows the effect he has on Teetee—he does, Teetee knows he does.
Por’s voice whisper above his all silk and trouble, “Careful, Tee. You’re shaking.”
He is. His breath catches, chest rising too quickly, hands under Por’s shirt frozen like he’s one second away from losing his mind. The teasing tone, the tilt of his head, the way his half-lidded eyes track every reaction that Teetee has, it’s deliberate, cruel, beautiful.
Por leans in, his lips brushing the corner of his jaw, “You get flustered so easily,” he murmurs, “I barely touched you.”
Like he just doesn’t have to exist for Teetee’s whole world to be pinned onto him.
As if his existence doesn’t bring Teetee towards his doom.
Oh, he’s going to die because of this man in his arms.
“You’re too easy, Tee-ah.”
Teetee’s restraint snaps like a thread pulled too tight.
It’s instinctive, a single moment where the hands on his waist tightens and Por barely has time to register the shift before Teetee moves to the side, just enough to force him backward, guiding, not rough but decisive enough for his back to hit onto the couch’s surface.
He pushes Por down onto the couch.
Not harsh.
Not aggressive.
Just enough to show that something in him gave up on pretending.
Teetee has him land beneath him, breath catching, his hair splaying across the cushions below his head. Por looks up at him, his eyes blown out, surprised, but then, then his lips curl into a grin like he was planning this all along.
He braces one arm beside Por’s head, the other—leaving his body, catches his wrist and pins it lightly to the cusion. He’s not holding him down, just reminding that he could.
“Don’t tease me,” his voice is low, uneven, affected.
Por still grins at him, then makes an innocent face, arches an eyebrow, “Why not?”
“Because I’m trying—” he breathes hard, nose brushing his cheeks, “—to stay in control.”
“You’re losing it.”
He hums, letting his wrist go. His fingers then brush against Por’s ears, which makes him smile, the way Por’s eyes flutter close at the sensation. His fingers play with the red shell of his ears, “Because you’re being like this.”
Por’s eyes open then, stares at him, “And if that’s exactly what I want?”
Teetee’s restraint dissolves. He’s kissing him again, deeper, swallows the smirk on Por’s lips, his weight braced over Por’s like he’s caging himself in and not Por. His hand slides up to Por’s throat, lies there, not forcing, but asking. Por lets him.
He tilts his head, pulls him by his neck to turn his head, and dips his mouth into the curve of his throat, pressing his lips against the beating pulse on Por’s neck.
Por shifts underneath him, chest rising against his, a soft sound slipping from his throat when Teetee sucks on his neck, biting until there’s a blooming mark.
He puts just enough pressure on Por’s neck with the palm curled around it, his thumb caressing one of the rings on the pale of his neck, “Tell me to stop, phi,” he manages to say, but almost falls into the abyss again as Por looks at him, pupils blown, breathing hard.
“Why would I do that,” Por says, laying his hand on top of Teetee’s, “when I like you like this?"
That last strand of control breaks just like that.
Teetee sinks back down, catching his mouth with his again, kissing him like he’s the first drop of water after hours of thirst, desire, love all tangled together in the same breath.
Por kisses him back like he wants ownership and Teetee kisses him back like he wants to prove that Por already has it.
When he breaks the kiss, he’s already pulling Por closer to him, ready to take him to a more comfortable space. He looks down at Por, and the sight hits him like a punch.
Swollen lips, pupils blown, cheeks all pink, this time it’s a lot more worse than the first time he saw the same image this evening. It hurts to see it and do nothing.
He lays a kiss on his lips, soft, a peck, lets Por breathe, nuzzling his nose onto the pink cheeks. Por makes a noise, and Teetee sighs.
“P’Por, you’re going to be the death of me.”