Chapter Text
He wasn't supposed to feel like this anymore.
Qin's hand trembles as he reaches for yet another cigarette. He hasn't smoked for a few months now, since around the time Duang and him became official. His boyfriend dislikes the smell, said he prefers the taste of his lips without the bitter note of tobacco.
Besides, with Duang, he hasn't had much reason to use the substance anyway.
Well, at least until tonight.
Falling asleep wrapped in the gentle arms of his lover, Qin didn't expect the nightmares to return, shattering the sense of safety and recovery he's spent so long nurturing. In moments like these, it's easy to question whether progress was ever real, whether healing was just an illusion preferable over the ache.
Qin stands on the balcony now, letting the pungent smoke fill his lungs and willing it to take the thoughts away as he exhales. He wishes he could go back in time, if only a few hours, to when his childhood seemed a distant memory, a closed chapter.
It's more comfortable to believe that the damaged parts of him had been mended permanently the day he let go of his younger self's hand. The thought of this not being true terrifies him. That even after all he's forced himself to do in the name of healing, the cracks in his soul could at any moment start oozing with this ugly mess of uncertainty again, gnawing at him and pushing him away from the people he finally managed to open up to.
Despite his quiet pleas for some peace to process these thoughts, Qin's mind rushes to replay the dream-induced memory, as if to rub salt in the old, reopened wound. Judging by the feeling of dried tears all over his face, Qin assumes the nightmare must have lasted hours, spanning over several years of his childhood, bringing forth the days he tried to forget the most, which also happened to be the ones he best remembered. Thrown inside the hellish circle of memories, he swears he could almost feel the sharp nails and calloused fingers of his nanny digging into his delicate skin.
The bruises were always easy to hide. A long-sleeved shirt was only slightly suspicious in the scorching Bangkok weather. It wasn't as if his parents would have asked about his choice of clothes anyway. Like that, he persevered, pretended he wasn't bothered by the weather, fanning himself with his notebook in secret. And if any one of his classmates or teachers noticed the way his face crunched in a wince with every movement of his arm, none of them dared to say a word.
Young Qin came home exhausted and desperate to talk to someone who could understand. His parents, the ones he was supposed confide in, were nowhere to be found. The house felt cold and abandoned, despite the babysitter's constant presence. After months, maybe even years of being shut down and hurt for any attempt at a conversation, he'd learned it was more beneficial to stay hidden, turning almost invisible as he avoided any and all interactions with the woman.
The fear was torturously unrelenting. Every second in that house shoved him further into the hole the nanny had dug. A naturally inquisitive child, fascinated by the ways of the world and eager to learn them, now gone, as he focused on taking up as little space as possible.
It wasn't that Qin didn't have feelings anymore, just that they were all crammed up in a small, secondary compartment in his mind labelled 'not right now', while the rest of him was left feeling empty. Without a way to express himself, the hollow in his chest just kept expanding.
On the rare occasion where the memories of who he'd been before seemed a little clearer, he tried to find relief of this emptiness. He searched for the feeling of fascination that had once filled his every step. He started to read educational books again, but found that the pressure to learn every word didn't stem from curiosity anymore, but from the fear of being punished if he appeared stupid again.
Making friends at school didn't seem to ease his anxiety, either. On the contrary; every interaction, easy and straightforward before, now flooded his mind with flashbacks of his nanny's words.
"You're insufferable, it's no wonder no one ever wants to talk to you"
"Such a crybaby, who would put up with you?"
With the words echoing in the back of his thoughts, he acted carefully. To reveal himself was to show weakness. To express what he thinks or feels was to receive only disinterest and rejection. Because of how closed off he'd become, friends never stuck around for long, which only reinforced his fears. It seemed as if friendship was simply not for him. The spiral of effort and disappointment only dug deeper into the hole in his heart.
But, as they say, good things come around when you least expect them.
Some days, the babysitter failed to even show up to care for the kid. But that, despite being a sign of huge disrespect to his trusting parents, brought relief to Qin. On a particular one of those days, he wandered around the empty house, eventually finding his way to his father's old study. The room was rarely used, but it did store some hidden treasures.
As Qin looked around, he spotted something that immediately caught his eye and spiked the exact kind of curiosity he'd missed. As he later found out, it was a bass guitar, specifically a '70s fender jazz bass. Though he didn't quite understand it yet, the instrument called out to him in a way.
At school, he secretly read up on books about the art of bass, even learned a few chords. Without noticing, the boy slowly started feeling more alive, if only on his own. With the unrelenting unease he still felt around other people, his excitement about the day he would finally play the instrument only grew more intense.
Eventually, another day came around where the woman didn't bother coming over to do her work. Qin had been waiting for it. Right as he noticed the nanny's absence, the kid sprinted upstairs and snatched the bass off the wall. But when he reached his father's chair and prepared to play, doubt appeared again. What if this was yet another thing he would fail at? If the words he'd heard had all been true and he was really a talentless child?
As if it had a mind of its own, his hand reached out and gently began stroking the strings, quieting all thoughts. The sound wasn't clear at all, all flat and buzzy. Regardless, the feeling of making noise in this way, expressing feelings, without any need for words, was all-encompassing. He didn't have to worry about being perfect, he could pluck the strings as he pleased, no judgement around it. Qin could feel the cracks in his soul mending slowly, as the loneliness stepped aside for these few moments. These precious, valuable minutes where he could feel understood. The bass guitar, though not usually noticed or heard much in songs, still has a strong, extensive identity, even despite its gentleness often causing it to be overshadowed by louder instruments with more self-certainty. If heard in the right way, it could be appreciated exactly as it is.
The boy was not entirely naive, though. Despite the joy that momentarily returned to him, he knew it wouldn't last for long. And he was right. In his life, there was no place for enjoyment. Enjoying himself meant he took up space and he should have known that wasn't allowed.
As his passion progressed, so did his carelessness. Throughout the years of his abuse, he'd learned to drill his emotions into obedience. And yet, that control was overcome by his love for music. Although the previous months had been relatively calm, or at least as calm as they could be with the constant need to walk on his tiptoes to avoid being hurt again, that period would inevitably come to an end.
And it did, in a house Qin could have sworn was empty. The music rushing through him, every sense overflowing with it, made him completely oblivious to the hurried, furious footsteps approaching the study. When he realised the weight of the situation, it was already too late to hide. The boy had barely managed to put down the bass when the nanny's bony hands clasped around his wrists and tugged harshly. His body, languid and yielding to the violent drag across the floor, shut down almost entirely from the shock, returning to its trained, emotionless state.
Qin didn't remember much of what happened later, apart from the haunting memories of the cold consuming his small, exhausted body, as he miserably wiped mud off his face and hands. To this day, he's never quite understood why it was particularly his passion in music that set the woman off so much more than anything before. Was it the noise? The disturbance? Or maybe just the idea that despite all the terror she caused this child, making him essentially unable to speak to anyone, he still managed to find a way to express himself, beautifully at that? It was the uncertainty of what his fault was that hurt the most, as did the brutal act of taking away the one thing that made him happy.
After replaying that particular scene of his life, Qin's nightmare came to an abrupt end. He now leans his body against the balcony railing, looking out into the city skyline. He shuts his eyes, takes deep breaths and attempts to focus on anything but the thoughts that yearn to pull him back to the self-destructive circle of rumination. A cool gust of wind ruffles his hair and Qin realises he's been shivering. He's not convinced the chill air is to blame for that, though.
Suddenly, he feels the coldness ease as gentle, warm hands snake around his waist.
'Terrr~ what's going on?"
As soon as the words leave Duang's mouth, Qin finally remembers. He isn't in his house in Bangkok, not anymore. The condo he's in belongs to the man who is the exact antithesis of everything Qin's past made him fear. The one who swore to protect him with his life. There is nothing for Qin to be scared of in his life anymore.
So why does he still feel like this?