Chapter Text
(GAWIN)
I’ve always said that I love my fans. I mean it, too. When you’re an actor, their energy is the fuel that keeps you going through twenty hour shoot days and endless press torture. I trust them. Or, at least, I always thought I did.
But as the glass doors of the Shanghai airport terminal slid open, that trust ran into a wall of pure, unadulterated chaos.
The fansign earlier that afternoon had been beautiful. It was filled with sweet smiles, polite letters, and a warmth that made the bitter cold outside manageable. But the airport? The airport was a completely different beast.
"Gawin! Gawin!"
They weren't behind the security barriers. Somehow, they had breached the security, or perhaps there simply hadn't been enough security to hold back a crowd that size. Within seconds, a sea of smartphone screens, flashing cameras, and desperate, reaching hands swallowed us whole.
"Stay close, Gawin," Palm, my manager, barked, her voice already strained as she threw her arm out in front of me, trying to create a shield.
I tried to keep my usual smile plastered on my face. I wanted to show them I was grateful they came to see me off. The concept of personal space evaporated. Waves of people pressed in from all sides, shoving each other and us just to get an inch closer.
"Please, step back," Palm pleaded. "Let us through, please!"
Nobody listened. A girl to my left lunged forward, her fingers clawing at the fabric of my jacket. I stumbled back, only to collide with another one pushing from behind.
Then came the flashpoint.
In the melee, someone violently yanked my left arm, trying to pull me toward them for a photo. A sharp, burning pain flared through my shoulder down to my elbow as my arm was twisted at an angle. I heard gasp of genuine agony escaped my throat. My vision blurred for a second.
I looked at the face of the person who had pulled me. There was no malice in her eyes only a terrifying, blank obsession. She didn't even realize she was hurting me; she just wanted a piece of me to carry home on her phone.
"Back up! Back the hell up!" Palm screamed, her face pale as she clutched her side, still trying to use her own small body as a shield despite being visibly injured.
We were drowning in a human wave. I couldn't breathe. The heat, the screaming, the flashes, the throbbing pain in my arm it was all too much. For the first time in my career, looking at the people who loved me inspired nothing but raw, paralyzing fear.
We’re not going to make it to the gate, I realized with a sinking dread. We’re going to get trampled.
Just as the crowd threatened to completely overwhelm us, a sharp whistle pierced through the cacophony.
"Rang yi rang! Rang kai!" (Move aside! Clear out!)
A group of airport security guards in neon vests finally cut through the mob.
A guard grabbed my good arm, while another hoisted a limping Palm, and they practically dragged us through the newly formed corridor. Even as we retreated, hands kept darting through the guards' gaps, grazing my clothes, scraping my neck.
We burst through the international departures passport control gate, the automated glass barriers sliding shut behind us with a definitive, heavenly click. The security officers immediately stood guard, blocking the view of the screaming crowd outside.
It was suddenly, jarringly quiet.
I collapsed into a airport chair, trembling violently. My left arm hung uselessly at my side, throbbing with a fierce, pain. Next to me, Palm sank to the floor, leaning her head against the wall, her hand pressed tightly against her bruised muscles , chest heaving.
"You okay?" Palm wheezed, looking up at me through pain laced eyes.
I looked down at my shaking hands, then back toward the glass doors where the screams of my names could still be heard. I loved them. I really did. But looking down at my swelling arm and my bruised manager, a cold, bitter truth settled in my chest.
Sometimes, their love was enough to kill you.
"I don't know, Palm," I whispered, cradling my injured arm as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving only the ache. "I don't know."
~
(JOSS)
Six figures.
That was the only reason I was sitting in the back of a sleek, black sedan.
When you voluntarily retire as a military commander, your options generally step down to two things: corporate consulting or high end private security. I usually preferred the former dealing with logistics didn't talk back though I had guarded quite elite people . The absolute last thing I wanted to do was babysit some pampered, high maintenance celebrity. I’ve met people in the entertainment industry before; they live in an chamber of their own making, fueled by fragile egos and an insatiable need for validation. I had zero patience for it.
But then the agency tossed a contract across my desk with a starting salary that made me double check the number of zeros. For that kind of money, I could tolerate a few months of a spoiled brat's tantrums.
The sedan pulled through a set of massive, iron gates,until it stopped in front of a architectural masterpiece of a house. This was the Caskey estate.
"Mr. Way-ar," the older man said, his voice deep and authoritative as he stood up to shake my hand. "I've read your file. Impressive."
"Thank you, sir," I replied, keeping my posture rigid, a habit from my commander days that I couldn't shake if I tried. " I'm an Ex military commander. I specialize in high risk threat assessment and close protection. If I am handling your son’s security, things will be done my way. No exceptions."
"Good. That’s exactly what he needs right now. After what happened at the airport in Shanghai last week. He’s shaken up, and his manager is out commission with severe cramps. Gawin needs someone who can actually control a crowd, not just plead with them."
He reached over and asked someone. "Bring Gawin down to the study, please."
I braced myself. I mentally prepared for the arrival of the "famous prodigy." I expected the type I had built up in my head a haughty, dramatic actor who would look at my uniform like suit with disdain, complain about having his freedom restricted, and demand to know why he needed a babysitter.
Then, the heavy oak door to the study swung open.
"You called, Dad?"
I turned my head to look at him, and the rehearsed speech about boundaries and protocols completely vanished from my mind.
Gawin Caskey didn't walk into the room like a superstar demanding an audience. He practically drifted in, wearing an oversized, soft knit sweater that swallowed his frame, his left arm wrapped in a medical sling. But it wasn't the injury that caught me off guard.
It was his eyes.
When his gaze shifted from his father and landed on me, I genuinely forgot how to inhale. They were massive clear, deep, doe eyes that looked entirely too innocent for a world as brutal as the one he worked in. There wasn't a single trace of an ego behind them. Instead, they held a quiet, vulnerable curiosity.
Before I could recover my senses, his lips curved upward into a gentle, breathtakingly genuine smile. He raised his right hand slightly, pressing his palm against his chest in a respectful gesture.
"Sawasdee khrub," he greeted me softly.
The air left my lungs completely.
"Gawin," his father's voice echoed, snapping me back to reality. "This is Commander Joss Wayar. He’ll be taking over your personal security immediately."
Gawin’s doe eyes widened just a fraction, looking up at me really looking at me as if trying to gauge if I was someone he could trust. The vulnerability in that look did something dangerous to my professional resolve.
I had taken this job strictly for the money. But looking at the faint bruising near his collarbone and the soft smile he gave a complete stranger despite the trauma he'd just survived, the six figure salary suddenly became an afterthought.
Gawin’s father stepped around the mahogany desk, looking at me with absolute seriousness. "I am entrusting Gawin’s safety entirely upon you. I hope you won't disappoint me."
"I won't, sir,"
His father nodded once, a brief expression of relief crossing his face before he checked his watch. "I have a board meeting to attend. I’ll leave the two of you to talk through."
With a final, look, he excused himself and stepped out of the study, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Without his father in the room, Gawin seemed to relax just a fraction, though he shifted his weight uncomfortably against his injury. He took a step closer to me, those massive doe eyes fixed entirely on my face. Up close, I could see the slight paleness in his cheeks.
"Hi, I'm Gawin Caskey," he said, offering a soft, tentative smile. He extended his right hand toward me, his movements careful so as not to jostle his broken left arm. "Nice to meet you, Mr Wayar."
I looked down at his hand. It was smooth, uncalloused the hand of an artist, an actor, someone completely insulated from the real world. Every instinct I had as a soldier screamed at me to maintain the wall I always built between myself and my principals. If I softened now, if I let that gentle smile throw me off my game again, I wouldn't be able to do my job effectively.
Instead of shaking his hand, I kept my arms locked firmly behind my back.
Gawin blinked, his smile fading slightly, and he slowly let his hand drop back to his side.
"Sir," I began, my tone deliberate, dropping into the cold, authoritative register I used with new recruits. "Before we begin, there are a few things that I want my clients to understand clearly."
He nodded softly, watching me intently. "Okay."
"First, while you are under my protection, you have to abide by my rules. No matter what," I said, stepping slightly closer so he had to look up to meet my eyes. "If we are in public and I tell you to move, you move. If I tell you an event is compromised, we leave immediately. No arguments, no 'just five more minutes for the fans.' My word is absolute."
I paused to let that sink in, watching for any sign of the famous industry prodigy's ego to flare up. There was none. He just listened, his large eyes never wavering from mine.
"Second," I continued, hardening my gaze, "I need to establish boundaries. I am here to secure your physical safety. I am not here to be your companion, your friend, or your confidant. We will not indulge in each other's personal lives. This is a strictly professional arrangement."
I expected a nod of compliance, or at least a submissive agreement to the boundaries I had just laid out. Instead, Gawin’s head tilted slightly to the side.
The tired, compliant expression vanished, replaced by a subtle shift in his features that I hadn't anticipated. His soft lips pulled forward into a distinct, unmistakable pout, and his brow furrowed just enough to show his irritation. Then, he let out a tiny, huff and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
It was a lightning fast reaction the kind of subtle eye roll he probably thought a guy like me would completely miss. But a commander is trained to notice the slightest shift in an adversary’s posture. I noticed. And it caught me completely off guard.
"Is there a problem with the terms, Sir?" I asked
Gawin didn't look intimidated. He finally looked me dead in the eye, that breathtakingly innocent doe eyed gaze now carrying a distinct spark of mischief
"No problem, Mr Wayar," he said, his voice entirely too innocent. He took a step back toward the study door, his right hand resting on the door handle. "It’s just... I'll probably still sneak out sometimes."
Before the weight of his words could even register in my brain, Gawin turned on his heel and went out of the room. He moved surprisingly fast for someone wearing a medical sling, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him before I could even open my mouth to call him back.
I stood frozen in the center of the grand study, completely dumbfounded.
He's going to what?
A slow, exasperated breath escaped my lips as I stared at the closed door.
Six figures suddenly didn't feel like enough money for this job.