Work Text:
Rain poured down outside the company building, as the water streamed down the walls in large clumps of liquid. Inside the wall-high windows was a man who sat at a little corner table with a tray of food, a leather journal, and a fountain pen. A bowl of barely touched noodles sat pathetically on the corner of the tray. The journal was open, the words scribbled with harsh strokes or light faded penmanship on intricately themed lines. The man who sat there was attractive, with a strong jaw many movie stars were jealous of and dark eyes which kept thousands of fans captive in his gaze.
Despite his notoriety, Kinn Theerapanyakul resonated with the environment outside.
Ever since his world blew up, the remnants buried beneath rubble of copyright lawsuits and debris of tabloid scandals, Kinn couldn’t re-balance himself. Only half a year ago he had been planning his wedding with the man he believed was the love of his life. Except, his fiance cheated on Kinn with his producer, and when they were discovered they leaked his next album, absconded with songs he poured his heart into, and sold them to the highest bidder. Vegas–Kinn’s infuriating cousin and long suffering boss-sent the legal team swarming them and other musicians like hornets, but it did little to ease the heartbreak.
Tawan was his fiance, his muse, but no words came when he needed them the most.
Kinn boldly proclaimed he would write the “break-up album to end all break-up albums”, but no words came even when he channeled the shards of his heart into the music. He was too wrapped up in memories, now tainted by another man, to look at his relationship through an honest lens. As loath as Kinn was to admit it, this could have all been avoided if he believed-
“Wow,” an unexpected voice said. “You look like shit.”
“Excuse me?” Kinn questioned as he spun around in his chair.
A stranger sat a few tables away with a tray of his own long devoured food. Kinn didn’t recognize him, which bothered the musician as who knew what vermin crawled through the company late at night. Kinn figured he might be one of the many new talents Vegas spouted about hiring. If you asked Kinn, he could be a model with his golden skin and warm eyes. There was an air about him, a charming one, with his impish grin pulled apart by plush lips.
“I said,” the stranger repeated with greater enunciation, “You. Look. Like. Shit.”
“Who are you to speak to me in such a way?” Kinn blustered with a puffed out chest.
“Porsche,” the man introduced. He abandoned his tray of food so he could plop down across from Kinn with an outstretched hand. “Porsche Kittisawad if you want my full name to look up in an unofficial background check. Don’t bother, I’ll give you my full resume now. I am a former mixologist–that is fancy for a bartender–a former sex worker, current mixed martial arts fighter, and–the latest addition–a model for the one and only Tankhun Theerapanyakul whenever he summons me.”
Kinn was incredulous as he responded, “I am Kinn-”
“Kinn Theerapanyakul,” Porsche interrupted. “Your face is plastered all over the building on posters for concerts I’ve never attended nor heard of.” Porsche paused for a moment as he tilted his head, “You are smiling in those.”
“That's none of your business,” Kinn snapped.
“It isn’t,” Porsche agreed. “However, I am bored, very nosy, and have watched you stare out a window for the past hour.”
“You’ve been what-”
“I’ve been here before you arrived,” Porsche informed him. “Pete–my friend–and I got done with a photoshoot, but I wanted food before I drove us home. Pete didn’t, said he would grab a cab so he’s probably back at his apartment wrapped up in the blankets I bought him as an apartment-warming present, the ass. As you can see by the mini monsoon outside, I got stuck in here waiting out the storm when you walked in with your journal. I’ve watched you huff and puff, and I want to know what the huffing and puffing is about.”
At Kinn’s silence, Porsche stretched himself further out across the table. “Come on, entertain me.”
“What are you a cat?” Kinn asked.
“Nope.”
“Dog?” Kinn offered.
“Pete is the dog between us,” Porsche said. “It is in his fighter name and everything. The same fans call me a bird.”
“I see it,” Kinn said. “You screech like one.”
“It is called small talk,” Porsche teased. “Seriously, what is a hotshot like you moping around your own entertainment agency’s cafeteria for? At least, I assume it is yours in some capacity. Your last name is written across the side of the building.”
Kinn blinked back surprise, “Have you not seen a tabloid in the last six months?”
“Nope,” Porsche answered. “I am way too busy for tabloids. No offense, but as a fighter my idea of unwinding after a fight isn’t gossiping about other celebrities who think they are above us.”
Kinn might as well tell Porsche now before he heard it from a second-hand source. He took a deep breath before he started his tale of woe. “I have an ex-fiance named Tawan who cheated on me with my producer Ken.” Kinn ignored Porsche’s wince as he powered through. “It gets worse. They leaked my next album early, stole entire albums worth of songs in development, and sold them to other artists under the notion I was selling them. Vegas buried them in lawsuits, and a lot of the artists who bought my songs are willing to figure something out but the likelihood of regaining total creative control looks slim.”
“Shit man,” Porsche started. “That is… wow. I have no words. Sorry? No one should have to go through that.”
“Thanks,” Kinn groaned.
“Is that what the journal is for?” Porsche asked. “Your clean slate for new songs?”
“I journal all my rough drafts,” Kinn said. “It is the only reason we could sue in the first place.”
Porsche chuckled, “I can’t believe Kinn Theerapanyakul, the Dragon of Song, is the reason our music scene is imploding.”
“Dragon of Song?” Kinn commented with a chuckle. “You make me sound so intimidating.”
“My younger brother is in the music scene,” Porsche said. “He says terms around me, and I pretend I know what they mean. According to him you have several titles, though he thinks WiK should have them over you.”
Kinn let out a weak smile, “Kim has always been the better singer between us. It seems the better judge of character too.”
“Hey,” Porsche softly said. “You had a particularly nasty break-up. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. Besides, everyone knows break-up albums are money makers. All you have to do is scream your feelings onto paper, and you’ll have a brand new songs before you know it.”
“The problem is my feelings are so jumbled I can’t put any of them on paper.”
“He was your ex-fiance,” Porsche muttered. He snorted, “Luckily you weren’t married when you found out. I would hate to see what he could rob you of if you didn’t sign a prenup.”
Kinn was thankful they weren’t married too. Despite the cheating, Tawan was enthusiastic about their wedding preparations. Looking back on it, perhaps that was the money making scheme he envisioned and the song stealing was the last resort.
“If your feelings are so jumbled, perhaps there is more than the break-up on your mind,” Porsche suggested. “I don’t doubt you feel heartbreak, especially with cheating involved, but there might be something else blocking you.”
Kinn gazed at Porsche with amazement. He could discern that from just talking to him?
“Come on,” Porsche prodded, mistaking Kinn’s pause for hesitance. “You’ve told me this much. What is a little more?”
“Nothing I say gets back to Vegas or Kim.”
Porsche shrugged, “I don’t see them anyways.”
“Years ago, I brought Tawan to meet the family. It was the first family gathering since my uncle died in a car crash, so my father went all out to ensure everyone would be in attendance. Back then, Vegas and I didn’t get along. We’ve put most of those differences aside now in the name of the business, but I was suspicious of him. Kim and I weren’t better. I rarely saw him, and when I did he would talk about his music career independent of the family business. Both times it was nothing but jealousy.”
“It is hard being jealous of your younger family members,” Porsche said. “I was jealous of my younger brother for getting the childhood I never got. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I wasn’t too busy to let the resentment settle.”
“You would have looked like my family,” Kinn said. “At some point during the night, Kim pulled me aside. He said he caught Tawan making moves on Vegas, and he thought I would want to know. I dismissed it. Vegas had a habit of chasing my lovers, to the point I warned Tawan about it. I figured Kim misconstrued Tawan as the flirter. Later, Vegas approached me with the same story, that Tawan approached him with seductive intentions. I didn’t believe him, and accused him of doing what he always did. Tawan backed me up, and Vegas was blamed for ruining family dinner. We haven’t had another one since.”
“And I thought I had family issues,” Porsche said.
Kinn huffed, “These months, all I can think about is how different things would be if I listened.”
“Older brothers,” Porsche said with an amused smile. “We think we know everything. If I had listened to my younger brother, maybe I could have gone to college instead of selling my body for more tips at the bar. But, if I had, I might not have been scouted by my boss, met my best friend Pete, nor caught the eye of Thailand’s most batshit fashion designer.”
“Are you saying it was beneficial that I had my heart ripped out?” Kinn demanded.
“No. I don’t know the first thing about heartbreak myself. I’ve never been in a relationship.”
Kinn didn’t believe him. Someone as gorgeous and intelligent as Porsche would have exes.
“I'm saying it isn’t the end,” Porsche explained. “I don’t know music, not like you do, but the break-up albums I’ve heard are all the same. They are explorations of the high and lows of a relationship, perhaps with some partying thrown here and there with a hoe phase. The common thread is it is all about the singer’s feelings on the matter. No one sings about the harm a relationship can cause their other loved ones. You chose ignorance when you ignored red flags your family raised all for your own romantic bliss. From what you say, it sounds like this ignorance affects your family to this day. Why not apologize?”
Kinn blinked, “I'm not good at-”
Porsche rolled his eyes, “All you musician types are the same. You’re no good with words, but can sing like a bird. So, take your little harmonies and apologize through song to all you bulldozed over for your ex-fiance.”
“I could do that,” Kinn mused.
Porsche snorted, before he turned his head towards the windows.
“Thank fuck, the rain has stopped,” Porsche cursed as he bathed in the sun’s light. “If I don’t get home soon that younger brother of mine will leave my corpse out for the strays.”
Kinn’s heart panged, “Will I see you around?”
“Maybe,” Porsche said. “We do work in the same building after all.”
In different towers, Kinn thought with a twitch of his eyebrow.
“Have you ever thought about acting?” Kinn asked.
“Heh, want to add a fifth job to my resume?” Porsche questioned with amusement. “No, I can’t say I have; however, if you add enough zeroes at the end of my paycheck I will agree to just about anything. Why? Need a love interest for a music video?”
Kinn was disappointed he was called out so soon. “Eventually.”
Porsche smirked as he gathered his things, “I’d finish a song before I worried about a music video.” Porsche was almost out of the cafeteria, before he turned his head over his shoulder. “Kinn?”
“Yes?” Kinn inquired as he staggered to his feet.
“I hope you win those lawsuits,” Porsche said with a wide grin.
Kinn scrolled through his phone as he spun around in his chair.
Ever since he got back to his studio, he became glued to Porsche’s Instagram profile. After a quick follow, something the marketing department would bother him about in the morning, he devoured the posts Porsche put out for public consumption. Several were him drinking with his buddies or eating with a young man Kinn assumed was his younger brother. Kinn even caught sight of Pete, the other new model, a couple of times although his face was always obscured in some comical way. The other posts displayed Porsche’s naked torso whenever possible. To be fair, most of those were when Porsche was in the ring in his martial arts gear or hanging out backstage with the other fighters. Although, there were thirst-traps. There were so many thirst-traps of Porsche on vacation practically naked on a boat or at some bar with his top shirt unbuttoned. Unfortunately, there were no grey sweat pants no matter how far back Kinn looked in hopes of glimpses of Porsche’s sex worker days.
Kinn paused on a photo of Porsche in the ring, before he zoomed in on Porsche’s exposed back. It took a moment for him to realize what he looked at as his finger traced the tattoo on display. The bird was majestic, gorgeously inked onto golden skin, but the flames gave way to its phoenix identity. Kinn’s eyes glanced down at the caption, amused to discover Phoenix was Porsche’s fighter name.
The same fans call me a bird.
Phoenix, Kinn mused as he continued to gaze at Porsche’s back.
A creative thought sparked in his mind as he considered the legendary creature. Kinn knew plenty of people sung with phoenixes in mind, but they focused on their fire. The raw power they held was impressive, but Kinn wanted to focus on their resurrection. The idea of a past self dying and being reborn into someone new untainted by previous memories sounded similar to someone coming out of a break-up to him. There was something romantic about someone who wanted to move forward towards a new relationship with a fresh beginning, untainted by the ashes of the last one.
Kinn smiled to himself.
He had an idea on how to close out this album, and, perhaps, a muse for his next one.