All the Talk and All The Lies

Style is a horrible liar. Ask anyone. He's especially bad at lying to anyone he cares about. And, after that brief moment of hesitation, Style had decided Fadel, now officially his faen, was someone he cared for. Someone he cared for a lot, actually. So he couldn't lie to Fadel even if it was by omission.

So he confessed that Kant was talking to cops.

He hadn't really thought about the aftermath, other the fact that Fadel was his faen and would continue to be.

The aftermath, however, is complicated. (or He just had to remind Fadel of that fact.)

Notes:

For bentnotbroken1.

When I first got this assignment I was thrilled and excited to get to write Style and Fadel again. Of course, once I started writing this story took on a life of its own. I hope this fulfills your wants. Enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

All the Talk and All the Lies (Were All the Empty Things Disguised as Me)

In the dimly lit garage, Style leaned into the kiss as Fadel pushed the button-up off his shoulders, glad to be free of it. When Fadel moved to kissing Style’s neck, Style quickly shifted to give him better access, ignoring the way the jut of the shelving bit into his hip.

“Excuse me,” Fadel said moments later, “my car broke down.”

Style couldn’t help but smile. God, he had an amazing boyfriend. Hot, definitely, but also just fun. Garage sex. Style was actually getting garage sex with his hot-as-hell boyfriend, the wall of tires and shelving of spare parts behind him standing as silent witnesses.

“Need it fixed?” Style questioned, staring at Fadel. Style couldn’t help it, not really. Fadel was just – He was perfect. How did Style get so lucky?

“I don’t have any money,” Fadel murmured, continuing the tease.

“You can pay with something else.” A beat, and then Style leaned forward, pulling Fadel into a deep (and necessary) kiss. They kissed and kissed until Fadel pulled back - to breathe, probably, which suddenly seemed terribly overrated. Then Fadel began to move down Style's neck and, suddenly, Style froze.

“Wait.” Style hated having Fadel stop, but he also knew that if they continued, he’d hate himself more. “Fadel,” Style began as he moved his hands from Fadel’s hair to his shoulders, “wait. Just – I need to tell you something.”

Fadel immediately pulled back to look at Style, although he kept his arms braced on the glass, caging him in.

Not that Style minded.

“Really?” Fadel questioned with a sigh. “You have to tell me something right now?”

“Yes,” Style nodded, “because I need you to trust me on this.”

Fadel sighed and shot Style a look of pure judgement. “I don’t start out trusting someone at a hundred percent.”

“Not even your boyfriend?” Style ran his hand over his face, unable to stay still.

“Nah, I’d say you’re eighty at the moment,” Fadel shrugged. “That’s still higher than everyone I know minus my brother.” A smile from Fadel and Style let himself be pulled into another distracting kiss.

“It’s Kant –“

“Are you seriously thinking about your friend right now?” Fadel interrupted, exasperation lacing his tone.

“He’s talking to the cops,” Style quickly replied, the words bursting out of him. “About your other job. The one I’m not supposed to know about. Kant told me after you agreed to be my boyfriend, which was the absolute worst timing on his part, especially after he lied right to my face. He really needs to learn how to share things honestly – “

Slowly, Fadel lowered his arms and then took a cautious, half step back. “You know?” Fadel questioned, a breath of sound. “So this was –“

“No,” Style snapped, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Fadel. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.”

Fadel tried to pull back, but Style refused to let go. “You can’t know –”

“I can,” Style cut in, “because I had to convince you to date me. I know you’re repeating all the excuses you had then. That I’m just here to ‘mess up your life’ or ruin all your well-developed plans. So be upset, be just as angry at Kant as I am; hell, be whatever emotion you want. But you’ll feel it as my faen. You agreed. You don’t get to end this because of him. You’re stuck with me: I’m not going anywhere, and you can’t either.”

Briefly, Fadel froze as the shadow of every negative emotion Style had just named fought for dominance. But then a blink, and Fadel’s face became startlingly, terrifyingly blank. Style could not help but swallow around a fissure of apprehension as Kant’s damning words played out in his head.

A hitman. They don’t just use guns. They’re dangerous, Style.

Still, they remained nothing more than a passing thought, one Style refused to let grow. Style may not have known Fadel for that long, but between conversations at the gym, in the park, shopping at the market, and Style annoying Fadel at Heart Burger, Style believed that he knew Fadel.

And Style was not about to let Fadel go.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Exasperation and annoyance cut through each word, enough that others would hear a warning. “Wait, I don’t know why I asked. Of course you aren’t.” Fadel paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was cold and flat. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again.”

“You can’t!” Style tightened his hold on Fadel, “You can’t agree to date me, make me feel like this, and then just vanish. I won’t let you.”

“You won’t let me?” Fadel laughed, “You think you have a choice? You know what I do, Style! This isn’t a game, and I don’t even know why you’re fighting so hard. We’ve only known each other for two months,” Fadel sighed. “I only agreed to date you two weeks ago. You think that’s long enough to develop something real? Please,” Fadel scoffed, “it’s not like we love each other.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Style snapped. “Maybe my feelings are stronger. But I know that you feel something. Otherwise you wouldn’t have looked for me at the gym, or missed me when you went running. You wouldn’t have even considered being my faen. But you are. I’m telling you that I know, at least some of it, and I’m still saying you’re my faen. I’m still going to introduce you to my dad and we’re going to go back to the arcade so we can have a racing rematch.” Style was breathing heavily by the end of his rant, and he knew his eyes held the frantic energy that had lost him friends in the past.

And yet, Fadel didn’t pull away.

Didn’t respond.

He just stared.

For forty-seven seconds, Fadel was a statue.

At forty-eight seconds, he pulled back sharply enough to break Style’s hold. Panic rushed through Style, but was tempered when Fadel stopped only two steps away. He let out an audible breath as his right hand briefly covered his face before pushing back his hair.

He looked at Style, and Style grinned.

“I’m going to regret this.” Fadel muttered, audible only due to the emptiness of the garage.

“That’s too bad,” Style closed the scant distance separating them and wrapped his arms around Fadel’s neck, “but I don’t think you will. You’re stuck with me and your feelings. Come on,” Style continued as he slowly leaned back and began guiding Fadel to sit side by side on the floor, “let’s talk it out.”

For a moment, therage is silent. Then, with a sigh, Fadel turned to face him. “My life isn’t easy. You know that. And I don’t want to drag anyone else down with me.” Fadel dropped his gaze, briefly, pausing again before steadily looking at Style. “I doubt you want to risk your life with me. Style –”

“Look,” Style began, overriding Fadel and reaching for his hand, “I lost my mom to cancer. And I do mean lost. It’s not just that she’s not here anymore, it’s that I can’t even talk to Pa about her because he’s stressed enough with the garage and I don’t want to make him sad.” Style glanced down when Fadel briefly squeezed his hand, and offered a ghost of a smile in thanks before he continued. “So I’ve lost my memories: I can’t remember her voice, not really. I don’t know what her favorite meal was, even if I do remember her enjoying fried chicken. So I promised myself that in the future, when someone was special to me, I would make sure to spend time with them so I wouldn’t get the chance to forget – I want to know your favorite food, and what song you listen to when you’re sad. I want to know what happened there,” Style pointed to the scar on Fadel’s chest, “and how you’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Style,” Fadel sighed, dismissive. “This was just an occupational hazard. Part of the job, okay?”

“Something that leaves a scar is more than that,” Style murmured, leaning forward to trace the thin line. “What happened?”

“What do you think happened? A job went sideways and Bison had to patch me up.” Fadel reached up with one hand, adjusting the unbuttoned front of the shirt so it covered the thin scar on his chest. “It’s nothing, really.” Fadel’s voice dropped with the last sentence, no longer dismissive. The quiet reassurance had the opposite effect on Style, however, as indignation burned in his chest.

“Don’t,” Style argued as he pushed aside Fadel’s shirt, “don’t act like something that made you bleed was nothing. I don’t need your life story tonight, but you’ll tell me eventually. When you actually want to.”

Style quickly pulled Fadel into a kiss, cutting off any chance of a response. Style made sure to pour every ounce of his emotions into the kiss, keeping his hands threaded through Fadel’s hair as one kiss slid into a tangling of tongues lasting long enough to steal Style’s breath.

As they gave in to the need for air, Fadel dropped his head to Style’s shoulder. “Show me your room,” Fadel murmured between panted breaths.

Style, for all his faults, was not actually stupid. He dropped his arms from Fadel’s neck immediately, only to grasp Fadel’s left hand, twining their fingers. He led the way through the garage toward the stairs, too impatient to bother with any lights and laughing as they stumbled in the dark.

“You don’t even know your own house?” Fadel teased when Style tripped over a chair leg. Any bite was lost, however, in the way Fadel gently steadied Style with a hand on his waist.

“That chair is out to get me,” Style muttered as they ascended the stairs.

“Sure,” Fadel replied as they hit the landing, “blame the chair.”

“Absolutely,” Style murmured before pulling Fadel into a kiss. Or an attempt of one, they were both smiling too much for it to really count as a kiss. Still, an attempt was made.

“Your room?” Fadel asked as he pulled back, still smiling.

Right.

Fadel had asked to see Style’s room. Shaking his head, Style stepped back and pulled Fadel with him. “C’mon.”

Moments later, he tugged Fadel into his room, only letting go to shut the door behind them. Then, with the door locked, he turned eagerly back to his boyfriend –

Only to freeze.

Fadel was sitting on his bed (which was a win, definitely) but Fadel didn’t have the look of someone about to have sex in his faen’s bedroom.

Fadel looks serious.

“Fadel?” Style’s voice betrayed his confusion.

“We can’t talk about what to do next in the–” Fadel paused and released a sigh when he saw Style’s lecherous, expectant, expression. “Not sex. I didn’t tell you to bring me up here for us to sleep together,” he refuted. “Kant. I am not discussing how I will deal with that police informant in an open garage.”

“Deal with?”

“Yes, Style,” Fadel calmly stated. “After I find out exactly how much he knows, and how much the cops now know, I will deal with that problem exactly how you think I will.”

“You can’t,” Style countered without real thought, closing the distance between them quickly. “Look, he shouldn’t have started dating –” seeing Fadel’s thunderous expression Style quickly pivoted, “ – hanging out with your brother when he was planning to talk to the cops. That was a fucking shitty thing to do. But we’ll fix it without you having to do…that, okay?”

“We’ll fix it?” Fadel asked with a shake of his head. “Style, you may not be some naïve bystander, but my world isn’t yours. What exactly do you even think we’ll do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out, too loud in the quiet of Stye’s room. “I don’t know how we’ll fix it, okay? I don’t have the answer, but I do know that you won’t do that. We’ll come up with a plan I might never talk to Kant again. We might run away to another province, or another country! Or – or we’ll get married so I never have to talk to the police about you –”

“That’s not a thing,” Fadel interrupted.

“What?”

“You watch too many dramas,” Fadel answered with a small smile and shake of his head. “Getting married wouldn’t actually stop them from having you testify against me. Not in Thailand, at least.”

Style’s breath caught as his mind began to race. Fadel knew enough about Style’s habits to recognize his reference to spousal privilege. Yes, they’d spent more evenings than Style felt comfortable admitting aloud lounging on Fadel’s bed or sofa watching shows, but Fadel’s words meant that he’d been paying attention – that he’d thought about it later.

Fadel, the same man who had loudly argued against them having any label, had thought about marriage.

“But you’ve thought about it.” Style grinned, stepping closer to the bed. “You’ve thought about us getting married,” Style stated in response to Fadel’s questioning glance.

“What?” Fadel balked, “I was just responding to you. I didn’t say–”

“Shut up,” Style smiled as he straddled Fadel’s lap. “You’ve thought about us getting married. You have to kiss me now.”

Not that Style gave Fadel any other option as he leaned forward to bring their lips together. Still, Fadel gave in to the kiss, and when Style felt Fadel’s hands clutching the back of his shirt, he mentally cheered. When the kiss grew, and Fadel’s hand slipped under Style’s shirt, he leaned into the touch even as his breath hitched.

Seconds later, Style jerked involuntarily as his phone burst to life, the sound jarring him enough that his shoulders raised and his hands left Fadel’s hair. Quickly, Style lowered his right hand, fumbling over his jeans to press the button to silence the noise by feel – and sheer desperation – alone.

Blessed silence.

For three kisses. Then his phone loudly interrupted their fourth, and Style let out a groan of annoyance around a curse. “I’m ignoring it,” he mumbled even as he reached down, managing to quiet it for the second time.

A kiss later – a long, lingering kiss, but still just one – his phone rang for the third time.

“Seems important –” Fadel began as he leaned away from Style.

“Inconvenient –”

“Regardless, whoever it is,” Fadel continued, ignoring Style’s interjection, “really wants to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to them,” Style sighed, trying to lean in again, but Fadel tilted his face to avoid another kiss.

“Answer the phone,” Fadel ordered, “or I will.”

“Ugh,” Style grumbled as he reluctantly pulled away, “fine.”

Style leaned back enough to awkwardly pull his somehow still-ringing phone out of his pocket.

It was Kant. Of-fucking-course it was.

Style allowed himself a moment of silent, internal panic before he looked to Fadel and slid to accept the call, putting it on speaker.

“Kant,” Style began, a touch too loud as he awkwardly slid off of Fadel’s lap and stood. Fadel’s expression went dark with a scowl. “Please say you’re calling to bring me my car.”

“Not today,” Kant answered without pause. “I actually was hoping you could help me with something.”

“Uh, Kant? I’m still waiting for my winnings from the last time I helped you.”

“Smartass,” Kant replied without heat.

“Always have been; it’s how I show affection.” In front of him, Fadel finally stopped scowling and shook his head with an inaudible laugh at Style’s words.

On the phone, the silence lasted a few seconds too long, causing Style to glance at the phone and check to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. The call time was still ongoing, however, causing Style to shrug when Fadel raised his eyebrows in question.

Finally, just as Style was taking a breath to question Kant, the silence broke.

“Look,” Kant started, no longer teasing, “I’m worried about Bison. I think he might do something stupid.”

At that, Fadel clenched his jaw (and his fists) and Style quite valiantly swallowed the frustrated scream building in his chest.

“How does this involve me?” Style looked away from Fadel, focusing instead on the pile of laundry he’d been ignoring all week.

“I need you to talk to Fadel. Explain the situation and see if he can talk Bison out of this.”

“Out of what?” Style questioned, each word curt. “You haven’t actually told me anything.”

“Okay,” Kant began, blowing out a breath. “So you remember James?” Style found the name familiar but couldn’t place it. Not that it mattered as Kant barreled on. “Bison found out that we used to…you know. But now Bison’s gone and I think he’s gonna to take out James! I can’t find him. He’s not answering his phone. So yeah, I’m worried. You know he’s hot-headed. What would we do if he ends up hurting James?” Style held out his arms in ‘I-don’t-know’ gesture to Fadel, widening his eyes. “Look,” Kant continued, bringing Style’s focus back to the phone, “you’re with Fadel, right? Just ask him to get in touch with Bison and remind him not do anything stupid, okay?”

In front of him, Fadel was slowly shaking his head.

“Dammit,” Style sighed, his whole plan for the evening ruined. “And how would I know that your boyfriend is hot-headed? But seriously, maybe you should worry about yourself before your bookie ex? I mean, have you even considered what’s going on? How do you think your hot-headed, jealous boyfriend is going to react to seeing you?” Style thought back to Fadel’s words from earlier—about how he would ‘handle’ Kant now that he knew Kant was an informant, “You could be minutes away from dying, dude!”

“He’s not really an ex! It was just –“ Kant’s frustrated sigh echoes across the phone line. “That’s not the point, and not what I’m worried about right now,” Kant muttered. “James is the one in danger.”

“That has nothing to do me,” Style snapped. “And since when do you care so much about a sorta-ex? Besides, you’re the one to dragged me into all of this – pulled me into this world before you told me about Fadel and Bison’s side job! You had me get to know Fadel, got me to flirt with him and see his deeply hidden sweet side.”

A glance showed Fadel’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, but his ears were red. Style smiled at him and quickly blew him a kiss.

“I cannot begin to tell you how much I didn’t need to know that.” Kant pulled Style’s focus back to his phone, and he reveled in the discomfort evident in Kant’s tone. “Look,” Kant continued, voice now tight even through the speaker, “I’ll keep looking, see if I can find Bison. In the meantime, just talk to Fadel, okay?”

“Sure, but I’m not with Fadel right now,” Style lied while looking directly at his boyfriend (and ignoring the narrow-eyed glare shot his way). “But I’ll call him, okay? I’ll call you back after.”

Style didn’t give Kant a chance to reply before ending the call. In the silence that followed, he stared at Fadel like it was a contest. At first, Fadel stared back, but he eventually glanced away with a huff.

“If Bison is set on something, it won’t matter what I say,” Fadel murmured, running a hand through his hair as he stood. “He’s stubborn.”

“Must run in the family,” Style quipped, earning an eyeroll from Fadel. “But seriously, there’s nothing you can do? Stupid things are the last thing Bison needs to be doing right now.”

“He’s already done the stupidest thing,” Fadel muttered with a pointed glance at Style’s phone, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

Fadel pulled out his phone and Style resolutely ignored just how hot Fadel looked, standing rumpled with kiss-swollen by the foot of Style’s bed.

Later, Style reminded himself. They’d have time later.

Moments slipped by, and then Fadel was lowering his phone with a pinched expression. “He’s not answering.”

“Text him?”

“Sure,” Fadel replied, derision dripping from every word. “I’m sure Bison will take the time to answer a text while in the middle of dealing with James.”

“I thought you were the competent older brother,” Style teased, raising his eyebrows.

Fadel huffed a breath of a laugh. “That is precisely why Bison won’t answer the phone when doing something outrageously stupid.”

“So there’s nothing we can do?” Style closed the scant space between them, resting his forehead on Fadel’s chest. “Bison will just…do this stupid thing and we have to deal with the fallout?”

“What fallout?” Fadel shook his head. “I may be the older, competent brother, but Bison is also better at some parts of the job than I am. So,” Fadel continued with a rueful tone, “we won’t have anything, ‘fallout’ or otherwise, to deal with. Not unless you count Bison’s mood.”

“He may be good at that,” Style said as he shifted so he was listening to Fadel’s heartbeat, “but the police are looking, now. They must not have much if they’re asking Kant of all people to be an informant, but they’re still a concern. What if they’re following your brother? What if Bison isn’t quite as competent tonight because he’s on edge?”

“Then we’re fucked,” Fadel’s words were clear, factual.

“So what do we do?” Style asked, leaning back to look up at Fadel. “What’s next?”

“I try again,” Fadel said after a moment, holding up his phone and resting his free hand on Style’s shoulder.

When the call connected seconds later, Style promised to make so much merit.

“Fadel? Why are you calling me on our night off?” Bison questioned, but even Style could tell his focus was elsewhere.

“Where are you?” Fadel asked instead, ignoring the question.

“I’m at a larb place.” The casual reply had Style looking to his boyfriend, confused.

“You’re such a liar,” Fadel responded. “Did you forget that I know you can’t handle spicy food? No way are you at a larb place. Seriously,” Fadel’s voice dropped, “tell me where you are.”

“I’m just running errands,” Bison answered quickly, and Style winced as Fadel’s hold on his shoulder briefly tightened, going from grounding to slightly panful. “You don’t have to worry,” Bison continued, “I won’t be long.”

“Of course I worry,” Fadel answered, “I’m your brother. I know you. And I also know that you’re not running errands.”

“Look,” Bison replied, voice carrying a touch of annoyance, “I’m out with friends, okay? So everything is fine.”

Style winced at the sound of yelling in the background of the call, cheers and shouts of a team name echoing down the line. Fadel reached up and ran a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “Bison –”

“I gotta go,” Bison hurriedly interrupted. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bison!” But Fadel’s admonishment came seconds too late.

“Bye.” The farewell came quickly, overlapping with Fadel’s repetition of Bison’s name. Then the call ended.

“Fuck!” Fadel cursed as his hand moved to form a fist. Style just stared at the phone until the screen went dark.

His mind raced with hundreds of scenarios, some realistic, some – like Bison sharing a drink with James while casually watching a game – definitely not.

“Fadel?” Style began, not moving away. “What happens now?”

“Now?” Fadel repeated, voice hard. “Now I deal with your friend. Not only is Kant talking to the police, but now Bison is off, probably without a plan, to deal with Kant’s ex.”

“There has to be something –”

“This isn’t one of your shows, Style!” Style flinched slightly at Fadel’s outburst, but refused to move away. Fadel stayed before him, arms crossed over his chest. “Even if I did know exactly where Bison was, who’s to say that I’d get there in time to stop anything? More than likely I’d show up after Bison finishes whatever he’s decided to do. But it doesn’t matter,” defeat and annoyance clung to the words with equal fervor, “since we don’t know where he is.”

“Okay,” Style muttered, briefly shaken, but then perked up and stepped back into Fadel’s space, pulling on Fadel’s arms until they wrapped around Style. “Okay, okay. We don’t know where he is. But we do know that it’s somewhere playing football.”

“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” Fadel muttered even as he briefly tightened his hold on Style’s waist. “So,” Fadel continued as began to lean away, “I’m going to deal with the one who started this disaster.” Fadel’s arms dropped from Style’s waist as he began to turn.

“Wait. Just – just wait!” Style clung to Fadel, his arms a vice masquerading as a hug. “You’re upset, yeah? Understandable because Kant is being a dumbass, okay? But if you leave now, when you know the police are watching, when they’re probably watching Kant, that’s just poor planning, and I know how much you love sticking to plans. So just…just don’t run off to –” Style paused midsentence, swallowed, but gazed steadily at Fadel. “Don’t run off to do the thing I’m not supposed to know about when I know it’s extra dangerous, okay?

“And it’s not even because I’ve known Kant for years,” Style continued, hands twisting in Fadel’s shirt. His fear for Fadel’s safety had him rambling, words tumbling over each other in their haste to be heard, to stop Fadel from leaving. “It’s not, and maybe that makes me a bad friend. But I don’t care about that. I care about you, and so you’re not allowed to go and do something without a plan! So let’s make a plan – let’s just plan out what I’m going to tell Kant when I call him back because I’m actually an awful liar to people who know me so I don’t know that I can do it again. Not enough to fool him anyway. But we can’t have him come here because you’re here and he’s talking to the police –”

“Style,” Fadel interrupted, cutting off the flow of words as his hands gripped Style’s shoulder and waist. “Alright. You’ve made your point. Just – just breathe for a minute, okay? Just breathe with me while I think of our plan.”

A fissure of anger built at the apparent dismissal – at Fadel telling Style to ‘just breathe’ like he was overreacting or something – but it dispersed moments later once Style gave in to Fadel’s request and took a slow, steady breath, his thoughts became less frenzied. Fadel was still in Style’s room, still had a hand on Style’s waist and didn’t appear to be clocking the exit.

Style reluctantly pulled back after four more measured breaths, looking up and meeting Fadel’s gaze.

“So what’s our plan?” When Fadel quirked a half smile in answer, Style felt a bit more of his own tension evaporate. When Fadel remained silent, however, Style narrowed his eyes. “Fadel,” Style tightened his hold on Fadel’s shirt, “tell me.”

“You have no patience at all,” Fadel remarked offhandedly.

“That’s not news,” Style quickly replied. “So just tell me already.”

“I was right, earlier. We can’t stop Bison because there’s too much unknown. But as someone who knows where his ex liked to spend his time, you’re going to fill Kant in on what you heard.” Fadel

“The plan is to hope Kant remembers where James watches football games?” Style knew his voice was a touch too loud, but he had expected something more detailed.

“I think your friend is desperate enough for it to work. And,” Fadel paused, waiting until Style met his gaze before continuing, “that will give us time to finalize what we do next.”

Style felt the last small hope leave as he realized the chances of resuming their activities from before the call were now nonexistent. Fadel looked serious, in control, as he cooly watched Style.

“Fine,” Style said after a moment, reluctantly pulling out his phone. It barely rang before Kant answered, demanding to know what they were going to do. Style reigned in his sigh and pointedly ignored Fadel’s increasingly annoyed expression as Kant spoke. Still, Style felt a drop of hope when Kant abruptly hung up the phone after hearing about the game in the background. Style took the lack of a goodbye to mean Kant had an epiphany of where to go. “Guess he decided to handle that alone,” Style joked.

“So Bison isn’t alone in his stupidity,” Fadel sighed. “That’s just great. But since we’ve been kept in the dark,” Fadel looked to Style, “it looks like we’re making a plan for the snitch, rather than handling my brother.”

“Okay,” Style moved to sit on his bed, patting the space beside him. “Time to plan.”

“Good,” Fadel agreed with a sharp smile. “I’m not letting your friend’s dealings with the police ruin my life.”

Planning was long. Three days since Style had chosen truth over his loyalty to Kant, and Fadel was still picking apart Kant’s life. Style rubbed his eyes, blinking slowly as Fadel added something to the notebook Style had managed to unearth from his desk. “Do you do this all the time?”

“No,” Fadel sat on the floor in the middle a logistical minefield, papers, his phone, Style’s laptop, and even a picture of Kant spread out before him. “Not all the time, usually I have more to start with. But,” Fadel offered a quirk of a smile and continued, “this is the first time I’ve had the friend of a mark giving intel.”

“Can we not call it that? How about instead it’s ‘help from my gorgeous faen’ or ‘help from the top mechanic in Bangkok’?” Style quipped, offering Fadel a smile.

“You’re delusional,” Fadel muttered even as he continued writing in the notebook. A moment later, Fadel sighed, dropping the pen and pushing the notebook away. “I don’t even know why I’m doing this.”

“Uh,” Style looked from Fadel to the notes and let out a nervous laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You didn’t suddenly develop amnesia and forget the past few days? You remember that Bison actually told you he just scared Kant’s ex, but Kant’s worried since no one’s seen the guy? Which doesn’t even matter , because even though Kant says he’s worried, he’s still latched on to your brother.” Even as he spoke, Style slowly crossed the distance between them, stopping behind Fadel. He slid to his knees and rested his head against Fadel’s shoulder blade as he wrapped his arms around Fadel’s waist.

“Thanks for that completely unnecessary recap,” Fadel muttered before he shook his head. “I was so close, you know? One more job and then I could finally be out. Be done with all of this and just focus on the restaurant. But now,” Fadel sighed rested his hands on top of Style’s. “Now as helpful as it is to know that Kant has had run ins with the police for years, and that his brother somehow attends a pricey private school, we still don’t know what he’s told the police now.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Style murmured against Fadel’s back. “But –” Style stopped abruptly, leaning back and pulling on Fadel’s shoulders until the man turned, leaving them facing each other.

“Style, what –“ Fadel began, confusion – and a touch of irritation – evident in his tone.

“What did you mean one more job?” Style interrupted, words rushing together in his haste. Before him, Fadel froze, but Style more than made up for Fadel’s lack of movement by running his hands up and down Fadel’s arms.

“Oh.” Fadel let out a breath and caught Style’s hands before looking back up, meeting Style’s anxious gaze. “Our next job,” Fadel began in a forcibly flat voice, “we found out – that man, he’s the one who killed our parents, mine and Bison’s. But once it’s done, we’re free. I can finally leave that job. Completely.”

Style knew his mouth had fallen open, overwhelmed by the amount of information he had just received. “Okay,” Style managed after a moment – or three – briefly tightening his hold on Fadel’s hands. “How do you even know this person is responsible? Who decides what jobs you’re given? Why is this one your last job? How –”

“Style,” Fadel interrupted with a sigh, “breathe.”

Style resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead leaning forward until his head rested on Fadel’s shoulder. “I still have questions,” Style muttered.

“No shit,” Fadel quietly answered, the tone at odds with the words. “Maybe try asking them one at a time?”

“You’re hilarious,” Style said around a sigh, voice flat. “But I see your point.”

Fadel’s shoulder shook with a soft laugh. “I’m glad.” Fadel ran a hand up and down Style’s back in a gesture of affection. “So, what’s your first question?”

Style straightened, keeping his eyes on Fadel as he weighed his options. “How did you even get into,” Style paused, searching for words and feeling Thai fail him. “How did you get your other job anyway? It’s not something offered at school.”

“After our parents were killed,” Fadel began, looking at point over Style’s shoulder, “Lily, Mother, took us in and gave us a home. She trained us, and now that we’re of age she gives us our targets. We owe her, Style.” At Style’s incredulous look Fadel continued, “They’re all bad people, though: money launderers, slum lords, drug traffickers. Murderers.” Fadel rested his forehead against Style’s. “We deal with them; that’s the job.”

“But,” Style leaned back, taking a moment to mentally sort through the questions running in his mind. Taking in Fadel’s posture, Style decided ignore the glaring question about Lily, focusing instead on what Fadel had mentioned moments earlier. “You said you were almost out?”

“Yeah,” Fadel let out a sigh. “Dealing with Rue –“ Fadel stopped with a wince, and Style recognized that Fadel had started to share something he hadn’t intended. Still, not wanting to call attention, Style just waited while Fadel took a breath. Seconds later, Fadel continued, “Dealing with our next target is going to be tricky, given his status. Since it’s more high profile she told us that we could get a break or leave, afterwards.”

Style caught Fadel’s gaze, “And you want to –“

“Of course I want to leave!” Fadel snapped, leaning back and dropping Style’s hands. “I don’t enjoy it, Style. I’ve wanted to leave so many times and just focus on the restaurant. And now, she finally said it. She’s said we can leave. So of course this is when your friend hits on my brother and talks to the cops.” By the end of the sentence Fadel’s voice has gone flat, cynical in a way that grates on Style’s nerves.

“Look, Kant is an idiot, okay? But for what it’s worth, I think he genuinely likes your brother, so I don’t know that he’d give too much to the police. But regardless, you’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.” Style smiled and offered Fadel a thumb’s up, jubilant in his decision.

“Oh?” Fadel questioned, leaning into Style’s space. “What’s a mechanic going to do?”

“Whatever is necessary,” Style calmly answered. “I have secret talents.”

“I don’t know that being annoying is a talent,” Fadel teased, his smile removing any bite from the words.

“I said secret talents,” Style repeated. “Anyone who’s met me can say I’ve annoyed them.”

“Right,” Fadel agreed, “you can tell me all about your talents later. For now,” Fadel paused, visibly swallowing before he continued, “let’s finish your questions.”

“Or,” Style moved to straddle Fadel’s lap, “I show you some of my talents now, since I think we’ve had some great breakthroughs and deserve a reward.”

“Style –” Style cut Fadel off with a kiss, letting all of his desire and affection pour into the kiss. Luckily, for once, Fadel didn’t fight back. He gave a token protest before seeming to settle, becoming an equal participant in the kiss. Countless kisses later, they stumbled to their feet, but Style only had a moment before Fadel reached down and lifted him, Style’s legs instinctively wrapping around Fadel’s waist.

Style really had the hottest faen in all of Thailand – probably in the whole world.

As Fadel set Style on the bed, Style mustered a small smile before he was once again caught up in a kiss.

They could plan later. Style had his hot, more-than-willing faen kissing him incessantly in his bedroom. Style gave in to the sensations, letting all other thoughts be pushed aside.

“We’re going on a double date?” Style did not even try to hide the confusion in his voice. A week after Kant gone searching for Bison and apparently now they’re doing double dates? Style narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t some trick just for you to get Kant alone, is it?”

“No,” Fadel commented after a moment, “since it wasn’t even my idea. Bison mentioned it earlier, after Kant apparently suggested it. But he’s suspicious of everyone right now since we’re getting ready for a big job.” At Style’s startled look, Fadel continued, “Plus the snitch asks a lot of questions. Bison’s hoping to keep him distracted. So,” Fadel smiled and stepped forward, resting his arms on Style’s shoulders, “be ready for your doting faen to keep you company at the bowling alley.”

Style’s smile widened as he wrapped his arms around Fadel and leaned closer. “Oh? Do I have another faen I’m not aware of? You certainly can’t be talking about yourself.” Style smirked. “I had to chase you all over Bangkok and even then it took you taking me on a wannabe horror trip before you admitted you missed me. My faen is hot, but he’s not romantic in public.”

“You think so?” Fadel dropped his head for a moment, letting out a breath before looking up at Style. At Style’s nod, Fadel leaned down even further and quickly kissed his cheek. “You should know better by now,” Fadel murmured. “Be prepared to be swept off your feet, teerak.”

Fadel was stepping away, moving back toward the kitchen of Heart Burger with a distracted wave before Style realized what had happened. “Hey!” Style laughed and took frenzied steps after Fadel, “You don’t get to walk away after saying that. It’s against the rules of dating!”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” Fadel commented as he slid open the kitchen door.

“Shut up,” Style replied as he followed Fadel into the kitchen. “You owe me.”

“Sure, sure,” Fadel laughed. “But wait a minute. I need to talk to you about something.” Fadel turned as he finished speaking, and Style slowed his steps as he stopped in front of him.

“We already had the ‘you cannot break up with me’ discussion,” Style said as he wrapped his arms around Fadel’s waist. “So this conversation better not be anywhere close to the ‘we need to talk’ lines in movies.”

“No,” Fadel shook his head. “I know I’m stuck with you – like some kind of growth.”

“Don’t lie,” Style murmured. “I know you like me.”

“Whatever,” Fadel half-heartedly shrugged. “Look, tonight isn’t just for fun, okay? Kant can’t suspect that you’ve told me. And Bison can’t suspect anything at all.”

“You’re worried about me,” delight colored every one of Style’s words. “I knew you cared.”

“Style,” Fadel bit out, “I’m serious. They can’t suspect anything. As far as either of them know, we’re just joining them at the bowling alley, spending time together.”

“Of course,” Style agreed. “I’ve got this. Oh!” Style stepped back with a teasing grin. “I know just the thing. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Blowing a kiss even as he turned around, Style headed out of the restaurant. He had a surprise to order—and boba to buy himself as a prize for being so damn clever.

Half an hour later, the unopened tea sloshed in its container as Style raced back to Heart Burger, bursting through the doors and grateful (for once) that the mid-afternoon hour meant there were only a handful of customers scattered around the booths.

Style categorically ignored their stares, instead hurrying to the kitchen. “Fadel,” Style called as he practically slid through the door. “Fadel!” Style called again between harsh breaths, mentally regretting his repeated decision to not keep jogging as a hobby.

Suddenly hands were on his shoulders, grounding. “Style. What’s wrong? What happened?”

Style shamelessly lent his head against Fadel’s chest, breathing in the scent of grease and fried meat, letting it calm him. Fadel’s arms went around him in a loose hug, his left hand drawing soothing patterns on Style’s back. When Style finally managed to slow his breathing and pull away enough to look at more than Fadel’s uniform, he saw an empty kitchen. “Kant called,” Style started, watching Fadel’s eyes narrow. “After giving me a hard time for being so busy with the garage, he asked me to keep you and Bison occupied tonight while he checks something.” Style shook his head and took a step back. His hands gesticulated wildly while his words raced ahead. “He’s going to do something for the police – there’s no other reason for him to need me to make sure you both stay at the bowling alley. But if he’s looking, you could be in trouble –”

“Hey,” Fadel pulled Style back into a hug, one hand carefully carding through Style’s hair. “Okay. You did good.”

Style shook his head, nerves still on edge. “But I don’t even know what he’s planning. He could –”

A brief, soft pressure and Style blinked back the stinging in his eyes when he registered the kiss to his temple. “If he wants you to keep us occupied then I do,” Fadel said, still calm. “I’ll handle it now, alright?”

“You can’t kill him,” Style muttered.

“I’m not going to kill him,” Fadel huffed. “Although I’m starting to worry that you think that’s my first response –“

“Only for him,” Style interrupted, needing Fadel to know the truth.

“Ridiculous,” Fadel muttered. Then, with a shake of his head, he said, “Don’t worry, Style. I have a plan for tonight.”

Of course Fadel had come up with a plan in the few minutes since Style’s hurried entrance.

With one hand, Fadel pulled his phone from his pocket, raising the other to his lips to signal Style to stay quiet.

“I’m not coming to help at the restaurant,” Bison complained as soon as the call connected. “I barely got any sleep last night and deserve this nap.”

“Bison,” Fadel began without looking away from Style, “I really don’t want to know about your night life. But look, the cops were just here –“

“Fuck! I can –” Style winced in sympathy when it sounded like Bison hit something.

“Not for us,” Fadel cut Bison off midsentence. “They wanted to warn me about a rise of break-ins in the area, mostly homes, but some businesses, too. Can you make sure all our equipment is dismantled or double locked? I don’t trust our usual security, especially since there’s things we wouldn’t want strangers noticing.”

Damn. Style’s faen was hot and a genius. Style leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Fadel’s waist, offering a hug as best he could.

“I’ll take care of it,” Bison assured. “By the time I’m done even you won’t be able to find your favorite strategy board; or, if you do, you won’t recognize what you’re seeing.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Fadel answered. “And when I find it, you’re on Heart Burger duty for a month.”

“When you don’t,” Bison countered, “I get the month kitchen-free. Have fun slicing those tomatoes and making those burgers all on your own. Bye!” Bison has hung up before Fadel could respond, but to Style, Fadel doesn’t look that upset about it.

“There,” Fadel nodded and set down the now-dark phone on the counter, “all taken care of. Plus, Bison’s a bigger hazard in the kitchen than you, so it’s a win-win. Either he stays away from my kitchen or I get a free waiter for a month.”

Style did not even attempt to keep his smile hidden, letting it spread as he tightened his hold on the back of Fadel’s shirt. Fadel looked pleased, and Style, never one to miss an opportunity, reached up and pulled Fadel into a kiss.

For several moments, Style enjoyed the kiss. To his surprise, Fadel even lifted Style onto the counter, smiling. And yet, seconds later Fadel was stepping back, leaving Style bereft and with kiss-swollen lips.

Fadel, the fucker, began to laugh just outside of Style’s reach.

“Come on,” Style whined, “what are you doing?”

“I said Bison was worse in the kitchen than you,” Fadel said through laughter. “That doesn’t mean we’re having sex in the kitchen when there’s customers outside.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Style [retorted??] as he hopped off the counter. “Fine. Laugh now,” he started as Fadel washed his hands. “We’ll see who’s still laughing after bowling.”

“Whatever you say, Style,” Fadel said, his focus clearly on the uncut vegetables by the fridge. Style was almost to the door before Fadel continued, “Style?” He turned at the sound of his name and saw Fadel looking unfairly gorgeous with a soft, warm look on his face. “Thank you, for telling me.”

Caught off guard by Fadel’s honesty, Style quickly turned toward the door so he couldn’t jump the man, kitchen cleanliness be damned. “I meant it,” Style began even as he stepped away, needing the increased distance. “I’ll help you whenever I can.”

“I know Style,” Fadel murmured from across the room. “Now go get ready for our date.”

Style smiled the entire way to the t-shirt shop.

The drive back to the garage after bowling was surprisingly enjoyable for Style. Yes, it had been stressful keeping Bison from searching for Kant, but Fadel had been perfect, calling Bison clingy and teasing him as long as possible.

When Bison had finally seen fit to leave, Style knew they had done their best to delay him. The rest was up to Kant. Once they were alone, however, Fadel had pulled Style over to the claw machines, cheerfully winning him a delightfully tacky bear.

Style loved it and promptly named it “Burger Bear” to Fadel’s horror. Style even made sure to buckle Burger Bear in once they got to the car, and referred to it as his and Fadel’s child three times. During the third, when Style was idly wondering if would take after Fadel’s planning or Style’s spontaneous approach, Fadel threatened to throw the bear out the window. To which Style had, obviously, reminded Fadel that Burger Bear was strapped in, and Fadel couldn’t just throw away their child. Mutinous, Fadel had threatened to crash the car instead if Style didn’t stop.

“I can’t believe you made us matching shirts,” Fadel muttered as Style led them up the stairs to his room.

“For the record, I had the idea first.” Style punctuated his point with a kiss. “Kant stole it from me when he called this afternoon.”

“Of course he did,” Fadel’s answer was barely words, given their proximity.

Once they managed to get into Style’s room, Fadel kicked the door shut while Style tossed Burger Bear toward his bed. Eager to resume their kisses, Style leaned forward and wrapped both arms around Fadel’s shoulders, only lowering them once the back of his legs hit the bed, and pulled Fadel down with him. had them both on the bed.

“Wait!” Style quickly pushed against Fadel’s chest.

“What?” Fadel leaned back, hands raised in confusion. “Style?”

“Burger Bear!” Style caught the bear with his right hand, “He’s too young for this.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Fadel muttered. “He’s a stuffed animal, Style.”

“He’s our son, and the first thing you’ve given me,” Style countered, quickly turning and setting Burger Bear on the floor facing the wall.

“You’re ridiculous,” Fadel laughed. When Style turned around it was to Fadel laying on his back, hands behind his head.

“You like it,” Style smiled as he caged Fadel against the mattress.

“Besides,” Fadel ignored Style’s comment and continued in a low murmur that left Style frozen, “we both know that I’ve given you other things. Multiple times even.”

Style’s brain misfired. “Shut up and lose the shirt,” Style muttered once his brain caught back up with the situation, his own shirt already halfway off.

“Sure,” Fadel casually responded, slowly lifting his shirt.

“Wait,” Style stopped Fadel again, ignoring the eye roll. “I just – I need you to know that I’ve felt safe. Today, I mean. Lately, whenever I’ve been around you, you make it safer.”

“You’re one of the few people who think that.” Fadel muttered after a moment, looking to the side. “And the real me, the pieces you don’t know yet, might be scarier than you think.”

“Nope,” Style smiled even as he disagreed. “I already told you: you’re stuck with me. I promise that no matter what I see, I’ll still like you.”

“You know,” Fadel casually reached up to push back Style’s hair, “after today, I believe you. You helped us,” Fadel subtly shook his head. “You proved to be more than just words.”

“Hey,” Style teased, “I may talk a lot but I’m more than just what I say.”

“I know,” Fadel offered a small smile. “So you can judge as you learn me, then.”

“I’ll be your hundred percent,” Style promised. “I swear.”

Style ignored the complicated look that crossed Fadel’s face, and instead pulled him into a kiss. Today was not the day Style would get to prove everything to Fadel. But, as Fadel reciprocated the kiss, Style knew he was one step closer to reaching his goal.

Style let himself get swept up in the emotions, in their embrace in the dark.

Hours later, as sunlight slipped through Style’s faded curtains, he relished the fact that Fadel was still in his bed, casually caressing Style’s thigh. Style smiled in response, leaning further against Fadel’s chest.

On his end table, Style’s phone vibrated loudly, disturbing the quiet. Style ignored it, instead tilting his head up for a kiss. Above him, Fadel gave a theatrical sigh but kissed him regardless, seemingly content.

Until the phone vibrated again. When Fadel pulled back, Style sighed, already turning and reaching for the phone. He quickly scanned the text message before turning back to Fadel with a slight smile. “Kant didn’t find anything; Bison did a good job.”

Fadel hummed but still looked troubled. “Too bad I have to ruin his success by informing him that his boyfriend’s the informant.”

Fadel dropped back into the pillows as Style struggled to filter through his panicked thoughts and come up with a response. Style breathed, stared at Fadel laying among Style’s aged sheets.

“Fadel,” Style began after a moment, “I don’t want to come between you and your brother. And I know that this is – that us as a couple is still new – and maybe you’re not as deep into this relationship as me, but,” he paused, waiting until Fadel stared back, serious, before continuing, “don’t tell Bison yet? Please, for me. I’m not asking you to not tell him ever. Just let us try to think of what we can do first.”

Silence stretched long enough for Style to fidget, twisting the sheets and absently looking at his dark phone. And yet finally, after three minutes, Fadel spoke.

“Okay,” Fadel murmured. “One week. If we haven’t come up with a solid plan in a week I tell Bison.”

“Thank you,” Stile gushed as he leaned over to pepper Fadel’s face with kisses. “I know how much this must have –”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Fadel muttered, obviously not wanting to discuss it.

And Style, happy to focus on something other than his circling thoughts, gave himself over to pleasure.

“I don’t have to be at the garage until this afternoon,” Style said some time later as he lounged against his headboard next to Fadel. “So I vote we just stay in bed.”

“Not all of us can afford to laze around until after lunch,” Fadel teased. “But,” he continued after a moment, resting his head against Style’s shoulder, “yesterday was long, so I think we can relax for a little longer.”

“It’s still weird sometimes,” Style murmured after a moment, “you being nice.”

“Damn,” Fadel teased even as he turned his head and kissed Style’s cheek. “I can’t win. You complain that I’m cold, now you complain that I’m nice.”

“I’m not complaining,” Style countered, “just pointing out a fact.”

“Right,” Fadel breathed out. “But,” he continued, “did you ever think that maybe I’m like this because of you?”

Style reached up and kissed Fadel’s cheek in silent thanks before adding his own arm on top of the one Fadel had around his waist. Silence stretched for minutes, but then the thoughts that always competed for space in Style’s head refused to be silenced. Since meeting him, Fadel had taken up most of Style’s thoughts, but since finding out the truth – since he placed Fadel above Kant when considering his next actions, Fadel’s words had only taken up more space.

Which was why Style was torn, not wanting to break the peace. But, as always, his mouth opened regardless. “Fadel?” Style questioned, “Can I ask you something?”

Fadel hummed a yes, and Style swallowed his nerves as Fadel continued, “When has anything I’ve said stopped you before?”

“It’s just, you know about my mom. And how it’s just been me and Pa since then, doing our best. And so, I’m trying to make it make sense.”

“That’s not a question, Style,” Fadel murmured around a sigh. “What is it you want to ask me?”

“Your own parents were murdered – that’s what you said. And even though you didn’t tell me I know you had to be young, right? So then why would she do that? Why would your adoptive mom make you do something that reminds you of that? Why does she get to determine when you’re done, when you didn’t have a choice to begin with?”

Beside him, Fadel turned into a breathing statue.

Fuck, Style mentally cursed himself – cursed his brain twice – as the silence stretched. He had ruined it. Fuck! His daydream of relaxing until brunch vanished behind eyes that had already begun to sting.

“Forget it,” Style turned to face Fadel. “That’s hardly something you’ll want to talk about. Just forget I said anything. We can just lay here and pretend we hallucinated the last thirty seconds. It never happened –” Style’s torrent of words only stopped when Fadel brought his hand up to gently cover his mouth. Enough to prevent clear speech, but not to affect Style’s breathing.

“No,” Fadel met Style’s eyes and lowered his hand so both were wrapped around Style. “You’re not wrong, Style. Lily...She’s not like most parents. She cares for us in her own way, but she’s never going to be someone who makes homemade Pad Thai. Growing up she was fair, but she could also be cold.

“As for her choosing that profession,” Fadel paused, releasing a deep sigh and pulling Style more snugly against his chest. “I don’t know what started it. The closest I can determine is that she got tired of seeing the worst of the worst get away with their actions because the law couldn’t, or wouldn’t, touch them.” Fadel opened his mouth as if to continue, but quickly closed it, glancing away.

“What else?” Style questioned, still looking at Fadel. “What’s bothering you?”

Fadel let out a breath and just stared at Style. “You see too much,” Fadel murmured, but then continued. “Ever since we found out about the mark, I’ve been wondering. Think about it: What are the chances that his office has an envelope with not only a picture of my parents, but a picture of Bison’s too? And now, after finding out, suddenly this job with Ruerat is enough for us to leave? When I wanted to leave before, she kept prolonging the list until –“ Fadel stopped so suddenly his teeth clicked, making Style wince.

“Okay,” Style said once it became clear Fadel was done talking. “I know she’s the one who gives you information, but is there any way for you find out more about her?”

“She’s too careful,” Fadel answered, thoughtful even as he shook his head.

“Is there anyone else who could help you and Bison? Any other –” Style paused, struggling to put his thoughts to words. “Did she adopt anyone else who could help?”

“Definitely not. And,” Fadel continued, “Bison can’t help. Not yet, at least. You heard what happened last week, and that was just because he got jealous over someone he’s known a couple months. I love my brother, but he’s too hot headed to handle my doubts about Mother right now. He’d need at least a week to reconcile the idea before he could see her without drawing suspicion.”

“We’ll get there eventually.” Style smiled before giving Fadel a quick kiss.

Afterwards, Fadel dropped his head onto Style’s shoulder. “Optimism is not allowed before coffee.”

“Be nice to my optimism,” Style said around a chuckle, “it got you to date me.”

“I think I need to get you a dictionary,” Fadel muttered, “since you’re confusing optimism for stubbornness.”

“Shut up,” Style sighed and pushed back the blanket, reaching for his pajama pants. “Teasing me isn’t the way to get coffee.”

“It’s not?” Behind him, Fadel was reaching for his own clothes. “I wasn’t aware that the vendors on the way to the restaurant concerned themselves with if I teased you.”

“Smartass,” Style said as he finished pulling on a shirt. “You’re lucky you’re hot, and that I know you don’t actually mean half of what you say when you’re teasing. Besides, unlike those street vendors, I won’t charge you a single baht for coffee.”

“I’m sure you’ll have me pay in other ways.”

Style forced himself to ignore the heat in Fadel’s comment (and the redness he knew was obvious on his ears) focusing instead on finding the deodorant he’d somehow lost in the mess that had accumulated on the shelf behind his bed. As he headed for the door Fadel caught Style’s arm, stopping him. Turning back, Style raised a curious eyebrow.

“Thank you,” Fadel murmured. “For trusting me, and for listening.”

Then, Fadel dropped a gentle kiss to Style’s forehead, and Style’s breath caught. He still remembered Fadel’s words, and he knew with absolute certainty that while he might not have reached Fadel’s hundred percent yet, he was definitely inching closer.

“Always,” Style managed to respond moments later, his mind still full of too many emotions.

Without looking away, Style reached for Fadel’s hand and led him, walking backwards, to the stairs. He didn’t turn around before starting down, and they laughed as they struggled to navigate the narrow steps.

They’ve almost made it to the ground floor when Style stopped with a curse. “Shit.”

“What,” Fadel asked as he slowed, “did you hit the wall?”

Style shook his head. “My phone’s still upstairs,” he paused before carefully turning. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Style hurried back up the stairs to his room, only to pause once he realized his phone was not on the shelf behind his pillow.

It also wasn’t on his desk, tangled in his sheets, or on the floor by Burger Bear (who he took the time to carefully sit on the bed). Finally, he found it by tripping over yesterday’s jeans, the rectangle buried on the floor hard enough to leave his toe stinging. He must have knocked it to the floor when he was distracted by Fadel earlier, his current chaotic search had taken care of the rest. As he stumbled his way down the stairs a moment later, Style froze two steps from the bottom when he heard two very familiar voices coming from the kitchen.

Oh no.

After he’d taken a breath, Style hurried down the last two steps and slid into the kitchen as he caught his breath. “Pa. you’re back!” He greeted. Then, as he took in Fadel’s anxious expression, he continued, “When did you get back?”

“Just in time to see this handsome guy come into the kitchen. So,” his father paused and Style prepared to die a silent death, “since I’m guessing he came from your room I take it you two had a rough night?”

Style took half a step back in mortification. Then, recovering quickly, he asked, “What are you even talking about? Actually, anything that may have happened last night isn’t any of your business,” Style hurriedly stated, glancing to Fadel. And yet, even as he spoke the words, Style hated them. Fadel wasn’t someone Style wanted to hide. He wasn’t someone Style’s father should see as a stranger.

Fuck it.

“This is Fadel,” Style introduced, carefully taking Fadel’s hand, “my faen.”

Fadel startled slightly at Style’s words, briefly jerking Style’s hand forward. Fadel’s cheeks and ears were red, and Stye’s own face felt hot. Still, he kept ahold of Fadel’s hand and looked his father in the eye; no embarrassment would override his sincerity in this moment.

“Oh!” Style’s father’s smile grew.

“Pa –“ Style began, but it was useless. His father continued on as if Style hadn’t spoken.

“Your faen?” His father’s voice held too much mischief for Style to feel comfortable. “He must be something special for you to bring him home, even if you weren’t expecting me.” His father paused again, offering a short hum of consideration as he eyed Fadel. “Make sure you’re not a bad influence on him,” he commented with a nod toward Style. “He doesn’t need any help there.”

Style watched as Fadel’s expression fell at the words, his hand going lax in Style’s grip even as Fadel looked away, not meeting Style’s gaze.

Frowning, Style said, “Pa, can you just stop already? Isn’t it enough that you’ve embarrassed me?

“It’s my right to embarrass you,” his father quickly answered. “But fine. C’mon, I’ll make us some breakfast and get to know your faen.”

Fuck no.

“Fadel has to get to work,” Style quickly stated. “He has to prep the restaurant and –“

“Restaurant?” His father repeated, and Style dropped his head at his own carelessness. “Fadel, right? As a restaurant owner, you wouldn’t mind making us poor mechanics some food, surely?”

A beat of silence, and then Fadel briefly tightened his grip on Style’s hand. “No sir,” he answered. “Anything in particular you’d like?”

“Whatever you can scrounge from what we have, since I’m sure That One,” his father pinned Style with a knowing look, “didn’t do any shopping while I was gone.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Fadel answered with a nod, squeezing Style’s hand one more before letting go and heading for the fridge.

Style watched Fadel step away for a moment. When his eyes trailed back to his dad, he froze, seeing his father’s knowing grin and raised eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Style hissed as he stepped closer, “I don’t need you scaring him off.”

“So that’s your type,” Style’s father murmured, ignoring Style’s comment. “He doesn’t look that different from the mechanics at the garage. There’s loads of them. If he ends up not working out, why don’t you let me set you up?”

“Please stop talking,” Style begged, “and stop trying to set me up with someone.”

Style crossed his arms, even as his eyes treacherously looked across the kitchen. As Fadel pulled ingredients out of the fridge, he turned and gave Style a tense, barely there nod.

“It’s not like I need to right now,” Style’s father remarked with an easy smile. “You have a faen.”

“I hate you,” Style murmured. When his father just chuckled, Style took the opportunity to walk away, crossing to stand next to Fadel.

“I’m making omelettes and rice,” Fadel murmured when Style stopped beside him. “Think that’s okay for your dad?”

“Sure,” Style shrugged before frowning. “Not going to ask me if I want omelettes and rice for breakfast?”

“No,” Fadel smirked. “You used up your requests last night.”

Style grabbed Fadel’s elbow and hoped the distance was enough to hide his burning ears from his father. “Fadel!” Style hissed in admonishment, “You –”

“I,” Fadel began in a measured tone, “need to focus on cooking. Shouldn’t you be a dutiful son and ask your dad about his trip?”

“I’d rather watch you,” Style slyly murmured. “It’s different,” he continued as he attempted to articulate his thoughts, “seeing you in my kitchen.”

“Because I can’t kick you out?” Fadel questioned as he turned to face him, raising his eyebrows. “Or –”

“Shut up,” Style interrupted, uncaring of whatever Fadel had been about to say. Style loosened his grip on Fadel’s arm and let his voice soften, “You know what I mean, and I won’t let you ruin this for me.”

“Style,” Fadel began, reaching up to run a hand through his hair with a slightly pained look. Silence pressed for a moment, but then Fadel sighed. “Make yourself useful. I found the ingredients, but I need a bowl and pan.”

Style gave a salute and released Fadel’s arm before turning away, grateful for the task. His mind still had too many thoughts, but at least now he had a time-sensitive distraction.

“Bison knows Kant is the mole.”

The words still circled in Style’s head a day after Fadel had said them, leaving him struggling to focus as he entered the bowling alley for the second time in as many weeks. They stayed at the forefront of his thoughts, eclipsing even the memory of Fadel helping his father around the garage, and Fadel being so sweet, clingy, and romantic afterwards.

“Bison has a plan,” Fadel had continued. “He’s going to demand a do-over for the bowling alley date, since Kant had to leave. Since it’s Bison’s birthday, I doubt Kant will say no.”

“What’s his plan?” Style had asked in a fearful and determined whisper.

Style still didn’t know that bit, actually, because Fadel had gone quiet and dropped a kiss to Style’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” Fadel had eventually murmured, “because we’re going to get Kant first to find out what he knows.” Fadel’s voice had then gone hard, cold in a way that Style remembered from their first meeting. “And after we know what he’s told the cops, we’ll handle it.”

Paintball had been fun, a chance to see Fadel’s “skills” and just watch, grinning at how hot it had been when Fadel turned into a fucking James Bond level spy, sneaking around corners with a paintball gun. It was an image burned in Style’s brain, something he knew would make it’s way into his ‘fuck, my boyfriend’s hot’ section of his brain. At the time, Style may have cursed before pulling Fadel to him during a moment of compressed calm.

“Damn. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

Fadel had leaned into the kiss before jolting away, vanishing around a barricade.

“Bison knows Kant is the mole.”

As Kant waved from a table, Style forced a smile and promised to make merit (when he found time) as long as Kant didn’t notice Style’s distraction. Moments later, Style slid onto the sofa with a sigh. Beside him, Kant rambled about Bison’s sweetness, how much he liked his boyfriend, how he hoped Bison liked his present.

Style couldn’t even manage to tease him for his words.

Luckily, Fadel entered them, Bison beside him. They looked slightly on edge, though, despite their casual clothes and effortless style.

At Style’s questioning look, Fadel said, “Just some asshole in the parking lot.” He offered a quick smile. “Nothing serious.”

Style both trusted they they’d dealt with the person and doubted it was “nothing.” And yet, that still wasn’t Style’s focus.

“Bison knows Kant is the mole.”

Style quickly took a sip of his beer while passing Fadel his own glass. The celebration started then, cheers and time draining their glasses. Still nervous, Style went to get another round while Kant and Bison took their turn bowling. When he returned, Fadel pulled him into a deep kiss.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get sexier,” Style murmured against Fadel’s lips, “you do this.”

“Focus on me,” Fadel whispered against Style’s lips, barely making a sound. “Relax.” Fadel dropped a sniff-kiss to his cheek, and Style blinked, dazed as his brain focused only on his faen.

“Hey Fadel,” Style teased, still floating from Fadel’s kiss, “how long until you ask Pa for my hand?” Fadel froze and Style couldn’t help but grin and laugh. “Usually you’re too smart; I love it when I can fool you like this.”

“I’m not too smart,” Fadel muttered. “You just make me a damn fool.”

Style grinned and pulled Fadel in for another totally necessary kiss.

Afterwards, the game went on, frames were completed and glasses were emptied. Kant gave Bison his gift while Style marveled at the brothers’ acting skills. They appeared as the devastatingly hot, charming boyfriends people dream of, no hint that Bison was suspicious or angry at all. Still, as Style watched Kant and Bison hugging by the alley, bile rose in his throat.

Style drained his glass.

“I gotta take a leak,” Style said to Fadel as he quirked a half smile. “A bit too much beer, you know?”

“I told you to take it easy,” Fadel commented, only a bit smug as he took Style’s hand to help him up.

Style gave him the middle finger as he turned away and headed for the restroom. Behind him, Fadel chuckled and Style forced himself to continue walking. It was that or turn around give in to his impulse and jump Fadel, bystanders be damned.

In the bathroom, the weird guy next to him at the urinals started talking, making Style wonder if the bartender recognized the signs of when to cut someone off. Because seriously, who did that? Who started up a conversation with a stranger while dicks were out? But still, even as the nameless man walked away Style couldn’t help but fixate on his words: “We gotta keep these good things, don’t you think?”

Fadel pushed the door open just as Style finished zipping up and Style took it as a sign.

Regardless of Fadel’s “other” job, he was definitely a good thing. Style would fight anyone who even hinted otherwise.

“Who were you talking to?” Fadel grumbled as he stopped in front of Style.

“What,” Style smiled, “you missed me so much you had to follow me in here?”

“Style.” Fadel stared.

“What,” Style began again, closing the scant space between them, “you’re jealous now?”

“Something like that,” Fadel shrugged, expression flat.

“It was just some dude who I’ve decided is my friend.” Style nodded.

“You made a friend with a man at the urinal,” when Fadel said it, it wasn’t a question.

“Sure,” Style shrugged as he moved to wash his hands. “He gave good advice.”

“…keep these good things.”

Fadel moved, frowning as he pushed open the stall doors, one after the other, like he was on the hunt for the guy.

“Wait,” Style gently pushed Fadel against the metal divider between the stalls. “It was nothing. Look,” Style slapped his left hand above Fadel’s head, elbow partly resting on Fadel’s shoulder, and let a touch of sincerity enter his tone. “I know I’m cute and all that. It’s normal for people to strike up a conversation, even in a bathroom. But,” Style leaned forward so he was an inch closer, “you’re the only one for me.” Style let his arm naturally fall and wrap around Fadel’s neck. “Fadel. You’re important to my life and,” Style nervously swallowed, “I love you.”

Under his arm, Fadel froze.

“I’m not expecting you to say it back,” Style quickly added. “I just needed to tell you since I don’t know what’s going to happen after tonight. And you deserve to be told.” When Fadel still made no move to speak Style desperately filled the silence. “And Pa likes you, too. I could tell. And not just because you made us breakfast that wasn’t leftovers. He –” Style was forced to stop his rambling when Fadel put a hand over his mouth.

“Did you seriously just tell me you love me in a bathroom?” Fadel leaned back slightly, eyebrows raised.

“Yes?” Style frowned at the meager distance Fadel had put between them, a flash of annoyance rising in him. “What of it? There’s no rule book for this,” Style waved between them, “and I already said you don’t have to say it back. You can’t be judging me, either. I wanted to say it, so I did.”

“Don’t you always?” Fadel said with a quick quirk of his lips.

Style knew better than to answer that question, focused instead on Fadel’s lingering presence, on the fact he hadn’t bolted at Style’s words.

“Wait,” Style tightened his grip on Fadel’s shoulder, desperate to break the tension,“is that what this is? You’re a little turned on by this space?”

Fadel didn’t deny it, and Style smirked, letting the thread of vindication offset the anxiety from his earlier words.

“I’m not kissing you in a public bathroom, Style,” Fadel muttered as he stepped out from Style’s arm. “Let’s go; they’re waiting for us.”

Fadel walked away, and Style simply stared for a moment. He truly didn’t mind that Fadel hadn’t said he loved Style back. Just because Style had fallen devastatingly quickly did not mean Fadel had, too. It would certainly have been nice, but Fadel trusted him, and that was enough. With a shake of his head, Style exited the bathroom.

He attempted to get Fadel’s attention, wanting to discuss what would happen after the game was over, but it was like the universe made the man focused only on what was in front of him, on Bison and Kant and what Bison might do to Kant. Style sighed because he knew no amount pouting or flirting would bring back Fadel’s attention.

Turning his own attention back to the lanes, Style blinked with confusion. Kant was by the lanes – with a child?

When he and Fadel asked about this kid, Bison’s explanation was less than informative. Something about a parent just...dropping her kid with them and leaving? And while Kant was fine with Babe, Style had no clue how Kant was around actual, breathing children. The boy next to Kant couldn’t be older than ten.

With one last look to Fadel – and a quick, barely there kiss to his cheek – Style crossed the distance to join Kant and the kid. After introducing himself he offered the kid, Billy, a fist bump. Honestly, Style was grateful for the distraction, for the simple conversation that forced him to think of what to say next, rather than what would happen once everyone left the bowling alley.

A gunshot shattered the background noise and Style jumped. As he ducked down and wrapped an arm around Billy, Style hoped the kid couldn’t hear his harsh, uneven breathing.

Who the fuck would shoot a gun in a bowling alley?

Crouched down, he, Kant, and Billy hurriedly made their way back toward the ball return, toward Fadel (and Bison) and, hopefully, safety.

“What is going on?” Style asked, not even trying to hide the bite in his voice,

He didn’t expect an answer, but of course Kant attempted one, calling the guy a lunatic. No duh. Style clocked that all on his own, thanks. Still, Style attempted to help comfort Billy while also trying to catch Fadel’s eye. Unfortunately, he was facing the wrong direction to easily see his boyfriend, so Style leaned back toward Billy and continued to run his fingers through the boy’s hair.

The guy with the gun shouted, threatening to shoot people if his girlfriend didn’t show herself, if she didn’t tell him who she was cheating on him with, yadda yadda. He waved the gun around while he spoke, people shouting any time the weapon pointed in their direction.

Seriously, fuck this guy for scaring a kid.

Style was only pulled from his thoughts when Fadel’s voice broke the tense silence.

“I’m her boyfriend.”

Of course. Of-fucking-course Fadel would draw attention to himself. Style knew Fadel had to have some plan, but anger and worry battled for dominance in Style’s mind as he stood up because Fadel, who Style loved, just got the attention of a madman with a gun.

“Fadel!” Style called out instinctively as his boyfriend walked by. “Take it back,” he demanded, “you’re my boyfriend!”

Remember me! Style thought futilely, even as Kant tugged him back to the ground. He ignored Kant’s scolding, staring fiercely at the back of Fadel’s head instead. Fadel did look back, but his face was back to the blank, cold expression from months ago.

Style clenched his fists and hated everything.

As he listened to the tense conversation between Fadel and the gunman, Style became aware of two things: one, that the lunatic with a gun was an abuser as well and two, Fadel had seriously downplayed whatever had happened with the “asshole in the parking lot” earlier. Once this was over, Fadel would have hell to pay. Style would make Fadel –

Chaos.

Screams and cries filled the air while other patrons ran for places to hide or toward the exit. The harsh, high-pitched squeak of shoes on the lacquered floor cut through the din, adding to the cacophony of noise.

The lunatic asshole had fired the gun again, and Fadel was no longer standing. Style expected to panic, but instead an icy calm froze his racing thoughts.

He had to get to Fadel. With only a brief flash of guilt as he left Billy, Style rushed toward Fadel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Billy’s mother rush toward him while Kant moved in the opposite direction, heading for Bison. Style continued toward Fadel, but diverted his path when he saw the fucking-asshole-with-the-gun attempting to go around Kant, gaze locked on Fadel.

Nope. Not an option.

Reaching Kant and the asshole, Style gave in to the panic-induced rage underlying his thoughts and punched the man, knocking him back. He kept punching until pressure on his shoulders pulled him back. It was Kant, with a steely expression on his face.

“I got this.” Kant nodded. “Go see Fadel.”

Style’s thoughts immediately fractured, only to reform solely as his boyfriend’s name.

Fadel.

Style finally let go of the asshole’s shirt and turned, running toward Fadel and dropping to his knees beside him. There was already a smear of red on the floor, and Fadel’s brown shirt had an irregular dark stain that was only growing.

“Fadel!” Style didn’t yell, but it was close, his boyfriend’s name a frenzied combination of worry, concern, and terror.

“I’m fine,” Fadel murmured, wincing as he attempted to sit up. “Go check –”

“Shut the hell up,” Style snapped. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” Fadel argued. “Gunshots just bleed a lot.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Style questioned as he ripped open Fadel’s shirt, buttons scattering across the laminate as he pulled the sleeves of Fadel’s arms. He ignored Fadel’s look of outrage and focused on balling up the shirt once it was completely off, pressing it against the back of Fadel’s shoulder before pushing him to lay back.

Style took advantage of Fadel being stunned to quickly remove his own outer shirt and press it against Fadel’s shoulder, putting pressure on both sides of the wound and forcing himself to ignore Fadel’s wince.

“You don’t have to do this,” Fadel grumbled. “You should check on Bison.”

A glance showed Kant and several bystanders around Bison. “Bison’s got plenty of attention. I’m focused on you.” The red was creeping up the cotton of the shirt, inching closer to Style’s finger tips. Style pushed down harder.

Fadel groaned. “You’re a mechanic, not a doctor. You –“

“I,” Style cut in before Fadel could say more stupid, unnecessary words, “watched you say you were someone else’s boyfriend and then get shot. And now you’re bleeding all over our shirts. You’re bleeding, Fadel. Do you get that?” By the end, Style’s terse words were frenzied, almost slurring together in a mix of panic and anger.

“Look at me,” Fadel demanded after a second, shifting just enough to catch Style’s eye. “The bullet went through, and it didn’t hit anything vital. I’m fine, Style. I’m still here.”

“You’re bleeding through our shirts,” Style angrily repeated, looking at the growing stain on his blue crop top. “So stop saying you’re fine.”

Fadel’s mouth snapped shut.

Time shifted after that. It seemed like Style blinked and suddenly he was in a brightly lit sterile room, sitting next to Fadel in a horribly uncomfortable chair, his gaze bouncing between Fadel’s lax face, the IV, and the monitor showing Fadel’s heartbeat. Fadel had to be fine. Style wouldn’t accept any other outcome. He needed more time to fully win over his faen; Fadel hadn’t said he loved Style – yet.

Then his thoughts scattered again because a doctor was explaining the surgery Fadel needed, handing Style a clipboard of papers to fill out, and suddenly Style realized how little he knew about Fadel’s history.

He didn’t even know Fadel’s fucking birthday.

“Stuck?” Style jerked in surprise at Fadel’s voice, the pen leaving an irregular slash of black across the page.

“Shit!” Style cursed before looking at Fadel, the clipboard and papers hastily cast aside and clattering onto the floor. “You’re awake!”

“Have been for a bit,” Fadel quipped. He then attempted to sit up, wincing.

“Are you serious?” Style questioned as he stepped up to the bed’s railing. “Your bed moves. Use it, asshole.”

Fadel’s eyebrows rose, but he did lean back against the bed, so Style took the win and pressed the up button on the remote. Fadel just watched, a small, barely there smile on his face.

Once the bed was upright, Style didn’t know what to do with his hands, wanting to touch Fadel in reassurance, but trapped in the memory of Fadel’s blood staining his fingers.

“Style,” Fadel’s steady voice cut through the cyclone of Style’s thoughts. “Just ask me what you don’t know.”

What? Oh. The forms.

“Right,” Style mumbled, awkwardly taking a step back and almost tripping over the discarded clipboard and its questions.

Fadel did answer Style’s questions, with Style dutifully transcribing the answers. He paused when he got the Emergency Contact section, though, the pen tap, tap, tapping against Style’s knee. With a fortifying breath, Style wrote Bison’s name and then looked up to Fadel and asked for Bison’s contact information.

“Kant said they took Bison for surgery a while ago.” Style said before Fadel could reply. “But,” Style glanced at his watch, “if what they told Kant was accurate he should be out soon.” Style shifted slightly, leaning forward. “Did you two make some secret deal, where both of you can’t have surgery at the same time? Is that why your surgeon is taking their time getting here?”

“Stop talking nonsense,” Fadel muttered before rattling off a string of numbers. “Bison’s number,” Fadel explained when Style only looked at him in confusion. “Oh,” Style nodded. “Can you say it again? Slowly.”

Phone number dutifully given for the second time (and written down) Style started to move on, only for Fadel stop him when he began to speak.

“Put yourself down too,” Fadel quietly muttered.

“What?” The clipboard and pen fell to the floor, the clatter making Style jump despite the fact that he’d watched the items fall. They didn’t matter. Style was running on adrenalin and spite. He couldn’t trust what he heard.

“You heard me.” Fadel looked down at the mattress. “I won’t say it again.”

A nurse pulled back the curtain before Style could think of a response, leaving him clumsily groping for the chair and scrambling to pick up the clipboard.

Suddenly more people in scrubs entered the room, crowding around Fadel’s bed and looking through their own papers and checking the band on Fadel’s wrist.

Numb, Style quickly and clumsily filled in his name, number, and relationship to Fadel. When he next looked up, Fadel’s whole bed had been lifted and the head of the bed was once again flat. Instinctively, Style grabbed Fadel’s hand and moved to stand next to the bed’s railing, absently handing the clipboard to the nurse.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Style murmured, squeezing Fadel’s hand.

“Hm,” Fadel hummed in agreement. “See you. Check on Bison,” Fadel added with a nod.

Style nodded in agreement – he’d agree to anything Fadel wanted right now – and leaned down near Fadel’s ear. “Love you,” Style whispered. And then Fadel was gone, and Style was left in an empty curtained room.

A quick trip found Bison asleep, with Kant clutching his hand. Style got an update from Kant about Bison’s surgery and his expected recovery and then went in search of coffee, more for something to do than for an actual need for caffeine.

Then, they all settled in for a long wait.

Two hours later, a nurse approached Style to give an update on Fadel’s condition. Fadel was in a Recovery room after a ‘textbook’ surgery. Relieved, Style offered to grab everyone coffee. Bison, who had woken up an hour earlier, turned it down. Kant gave a preemptive thank you, though, so minutes later Style returned to the alcove where he’d found the dated, but functional carafe earlier.

When he returned with two paper cups filled with doctored coffee, Bison and Kant were gone.

Style got Fadel seated on the sofa after shooting down Fadel’s suggestion of going up to Style’s room, not wanting Fadel to have to navigate the stairs. Then he slipped away to the kitchen, getting them each a glass of water. Setting the glasses on the end table, Style then carefully moved to sit next to Fadel, more cautious than he ever remembered being in his life.

“Honestly,” Style reached out and rested his hand on Fadel’s knee, “do you think we’ll find Bison and Kant before Bison does something stupid?”

Fadel sighed and leaned back slightly, using his good hand to keep his balance. “We’ll find them,” Fadel eventually answered, “and while Bison can be stupid, he has a soft spot for your friend. He’ll threaten, but I doubt he’ll go further.”

“Okay,” Style sighed with a glance around his room, “you know Bison best. But now…the plan we had before the bowling alley –”

“The biggest thing at the moment is making sure Lily doesn’t know Bison has gone dark,” Fadel interrupted. “I’ll have to cover for him somehow.”

“You can’t!”

Every small piece of information Fadel has mentioned about his ‘adoptive mother’ circles in Stye’s mind. This woman took in orphans and guilted them into becoming killers. She’s a cold, manipulative bitch, as far as Style is concerned.

“I mean, you can’t yet. Let Tong look into her first. Or just call and don’t go in person. You’re still injured,” Style pointed to Fadel’s arm resting in the sling. “And you’re suspicious of her. Let Tong see what he can find out.”

“Style,” Fadel shook his head slightly. “She wouldn’t do anything in the office. It’s too open – too much exposure. Plus,” Fadel continued, rising with a wince and moving to stand in front of Style, “there’s no proof that she’s even done anything. It could just be,” Fadel paused, and Style watched as he debated what to say, searching for words. “For all I know, the… industry is just making me paranoid.”

“So let me go with you.” Style reached out and held on to the side of Fadel’s waist. “I know everything, so say I’m an assistant or whatever you want, but don’t go alone. Don’t leave me here wondering if you’re alive or dead.”

“No.” The word was spoken quietly, but the rejection still stung as if Fadel had yelled. “I don’t want to risk you getting caught in the crossfire,” Fadel murmured.

“You think that’ll make me happy? That hurts more than when I saw you get shot.” Style took half a step back and ignored the sting in his eyes, hoped Fadel didn’t notice.

“You’re being dramatic.” Fadel even looked concerned, but Style didn’t care. He dropped his hand from Fadel’s waist and hastily wiped away the tear that had escaped.

“You love to say that,” Style replied, his voice shaking with pain and fear. “You say I’m dramatic for worrying about you. And I can be dramatic, but that’s not what this is. I love you, Fadel, and you’re acting like it’s not a big deal to go alone to see a woman who is the definition of dangerous! I refuse to be like those characters in lakorns who just wait, not knowing if their loved one is alive or dead. You said we would have a plan. Us together. You going alone is not a plan! It’s not!”

As Style ran out of words, Fadel stepped forward, worry obvious. “Come here.” Fadel pulled Style against his chest, and Style let himself fall. Fadel wrapped his left arm around Style, and Style breathed in the faint smell of Fadel’s cologne. “I don’t want to lose you,” Fadel whispered against the top of Style’s head.

“Me either,” Style wrapped his arms around Fadel, a tight, inescapable hug. “So if you really do trust me, let me help.”

Style hated each second that passed. Each one allowed his thoughts free reign, increasing both his anxiety and fear.

…keep these good things.

I love you.

I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again.

I don’t want to lose you.

Let him stay with me, please.

“Okay,” Fadel finally said. “Okay. I’ll trust you, Style. I won’t go see Lily. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

Style remained frozen for a moment, uncomprehending. As much as he loved Fadel, as much as he wanted him to stay, the terror of Fadel walking away had taken root and fed on every worry and negative thought within Style.

“What?” Style managed to look up, uncomprehending.

“I’ll stay,” Fadel confirmed, his arm tightening around Style’s waist. “Lily won’t be happy that I’m not coming in, but I think I can make it work.” Style sighed when he felt Fadel rest his cheek on Style’s hair. “I’ll say that, with the police in the area because of the break-ins, we need to stay low.”

“Thank you,” Style breathed against Fadel’s shirt. “Thank you.”

“You’re certain we can trust him?” Fadel questioned, making Style pause before hitting the call button.

Style set his phone on the desk and turned to face Fadel. “I’ve known Tong for years,” he smiled, “longer than Kant, even. Tong’s great with tech. He usually makes fake IDs, but he also knows computers.”

“That didn’t answer my question,” Fadel muttered. “And how did you meet a hacker anyway?”

“Jealous?” Style smirked and wrapped his arms around Fadel’s neck. “I told you,” Style murmured as he dropped a kiss to Fadel’s cheek, “I have talents. One of them just happens to be upgrading cars for street races.” Style shrugged, “I met people.”

“You want me to trust someone you met at an illegal street race.” Fadel replied, voice flat. “You –”

“I don’t judge people,” Style pointedly interrupted as he took a half-step back, looking up to meet Fadel’s gaze. “Not hackers or forgers who make IDs for kids who have been kicked out, and not you.”

“He makes IDs for kids?”

Style ducked down to hide his smile, shook his head before looking back up to Fadel. Of course his boyfriend would notice that detail.

“Yeah,” Style rested his head on Fadel’s shoulder. “not everyone gets a dad who accepts them and offers to set them up with mechanics.” Style shrugged. “Some kids need a new name to start over.”

With a full body sigh, Fadel tightened the arm he had around Style’s waist. “Call your friend.”

“He’s really more of an acquaintance.”

“Style,” Fadel groaned. “Make the phone call.”

Forty minutes later Style finally ended the phone call, after he and Fadel had given Tong the basics of Lily and Ruerat’s information. Tong, likely due to the nature of his extracurriculars, had not asked why he was digging into these people’s lives. Instead, he’d only said to give him three days.

“Three days?” Fadel asked while Style set his phone on the desk, “That’s pretty short.”

“Tong has a love/hate relationship with sleep,” Style shrugged. “Right now, I’m guessing it’s more hate.”

“And he’s going to be able to look into Ruerat and Lily when he’s not sleeping?” Fadel sounded dubious, the tone matching his judgmental expression.

“It’s never stopped him before. Just give him a chance, yeah? I bet he’ll surprise you.” Style laughed when Fadel rolled his eyes and turned to wake up his computer. “For now, let’s see about searching for anything that might help us find your brother.”

Despite Fadel’s repeated phone calls, Bison never answered nor called back. Fadel and Style’s frustration – and worry – grew the longer Bison and Kant remained out of their reach. Fadel claimed the need for a clear head on his second day in Style’s house following his discharge and only took a painkiller every other time Style asked. He had an argument to counter every one of Style’s comments, which left Style irritable and “prickly” according to his dad.

Style thought his dad was just full of shit.

He was annoyed that his boyfriend was putting his recovery second to finding Bison, seeming to not care how the constant pain could affect him. Style grit his teeth and squeezed Burger Bear against his chest

Fuck it, he’d make Fadel take the medicine.

(He succeeded).

Day three, and Fadel refused to take anything before they met Tong. For once, Style didn’t fight him, understanding Fadel’s need for control when faced with a stranger in a new location. As they exited the car, Fadel caught Style’s wrist before he even made it to the sidewalk. “You’re certain we can trust him?”

“Oh my – yes, we can trust him. Just like I told you yesterday, and the day before that.” Style breathed out an exasperated sigh before he reached up, running a hand through Fadel’s hair and adjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder. “Stop worrying. He ruins people through a computer screen with the power of the internet and some scary coding skills. He’s not going to attack us in his own apartment.”

Fadel stood still another moment before he leaned down, his forehead pressed against Style’s own. “I trust you,” Fadel mumbled against Style’s lips, “but I still don’t like this.”

Style kissed Fadel. He had to. He wrapped his arms around Fadel’s neck and smiled into the kiss, even as Fadel huffed the ghost of a laugh. “Shut up,” Style murmured without heat, smiling wider when Fadel pulled him closer. The kiss ended up taking longer than Style originally intended, but it stayed light, the passion banked. Style certainly was not about to complain as Fadel leaned into him, his good arm wrapped around the right side of Style’s waist.

Eventually Fadel pulled back and looked over Style’s shoulder to the high rise behind him. “Come on,” Fadel moved and clasped Style’s hand, “let’s not keep him waiting.”

“Tong wouldn’t mind,” Style casually responded, pouting and slightly annoyed now that the kiss had ended.

“How’s he even afford a place like this?” Fadel questioned, looking between the private entrance and modern features.

“Does it matter?” Style asked with a slight shrug as they walked. “He bought a unit about five years ago. I helped him get all his shit moved in, and then he paid me in Pad Thai and beer.” Style snorted slightly and shook his head, “Had I known how much computer shit he owned I would have charged him more. He had boxes,” Style flippantly complained, “so many he filled up my car. It took forever to get them all inside, and he kept reminding me to be careful since it was fragile.”

Fadel nodded, but Style knew his focus was elsewhere. His boyfriend was looking around the lobby, but Style knew he was looking for exits (and probably anyone he thought was even remotely suspicious) instead of appreciating the décor.

By the time they reached the sixth floor and stopped in front of Tong’s door, Fadel was tense beside him, still scanning the hallway and other doors.

Tong opened the door after Style’s second knock, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Come in, come in,” Tong waved them in with his right hand, his left clutched around a can of some energy drink. “And don’t worry about the security cameras; I’ve already set it to loop. How’s it feel being ghosts?”

Style joined in Tong’s laugh, but Fadel just offered a tense smile after he closed the door. “Tong, this is Fadel, my faen.” Style knew his voice went soft at the last word, so he quickly turned to Fadel. “Fadel, meet Tong, who’s a genius with computers but has a questionable sense of humor.” Fadel nodded at Tong, as Style continued, “Just ignore his bad jokes, please.”

“Hey,” Tong started, mock offense in his voice, “there’s nothing wrong with my jokes. The tourists love them.”

“The tourists have questionable taste,” Style countered, “and –”

“Why’d you loop the feed?” Fadel interrupted, and Style winced. Of course Fadel’s first words since entering the condo would be a question layered with suspicion and judgement.

“Habit mostly,” Tong shrugged, “but I also figured it couldn’t hurt after who you had me look into. Also,” he went to a bureau and opened one of the drawers before tossing a brown packet to Fadel. “It just needs your picture. Consider it a thank you.”

“What?” Style glanced to where Fadel was flipping through the forged passport before looking back at Tong. “We asked you to do something. Why are you giving Fadel a thank you present?”

“That businessman, Ruerat? I looked into him first. He’s as dirty as they come, but I’d never heard of him until you gave me his name. His shit was buried, but I found it. Apparently,” Tong continued, voice taking on a flair of eagerness, “he used to deal in hits. He got a lot of people killed.”

“Damn,” Style drew out the word. “That’s insane!” He winced at his own over-the-top response and squeezed Fadel’s hand hard enough he felt Fadel’s bones move under the pressure.

Fadel was frozen, a breathing statue in Tong’s living room.

“Here,” Tong walked away, setting the open can on his desk and plopping down into a ridiculous looking desk chair, unlocking his computer and showing Style and Fadel a folder. “That’s everything I found. I wasn’t sure if you wanted the police to get an anonymous tip yet, so I copied it all onto a flash drive.”

“Thanks,” Style managed to answer without thinking, focused on Fadel who now had a laser-like focus on Tong’s monitor.

“That was nothing,” Tong waved his left hand, his voice taking on a slightly manic edge. “Then I looked into Lily. I ended up digging into her background a bit more.”

“Why?” Style leaned over Tong’s shoulder, starting at the screen. The windows and commands made no sense to him, but he stared regardless.

Tong laughed and spun around in his chair, causing Style to nearly topple over. Only Fadel’s steady grip on his hand kept him standing. “I saw the digital security system she has in place and,” Tong paused dramatically, cracking his knuckles, “I took it as a personal challenge.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t get caught since you’re still breathing.” Fadel’s deadpan statement left Style wincing until Tong laughed, a sharp, almost harsh sound.

“I don’t get caught,” Tong boasted. “With that level of security I was careful, don’t worry.”

Somehow, Style was certain Fadel wasn’t worrying for Tong. But Style said nothing, just kept hold of Fadel’s hand. “What did you find?” Style questioned, terrified of the answer given what Lily had Fadel and Bison do.

“Did you know,” Tong began, nearly vibrating, “that she used to work for Ruerat? She was his go-to helper, based on the files.”

“What?” Fadel breathed, shock leaving him stunned. “What do you mean?”

Tong grinned, his face reminding Style of a child who was pleased and eager to share. “Exactly what I said. After I cracked her system I found it all. There’s even video of her shooting someone from back then.” Tong shook his head before meeting Style’s expectant gaze. “There’s no recent videos, though. Just files with numbers. ‘Employees four and five dispatched’ or ‘Completed by one and two.’” Tong lowered his hands since he longer needed the air quotes, and gave a grim smile. “I’m not sure why she kept them,” Tong continued, “but those files are a damn gold mine.”

Style looked to Fadel and clenched his hands in his lap. It was one thing for Fadel to have suspicions, it was another to have them confirmed. Style didn’t think he would ever hate anyone as much as he hated Lily, for hurting and manipulating Fadel for years.

And also, fuck her for keeping her name Lily, as if a pretty, floral name that symbolized love and innocence would make up for the evil underneath.

“There’s no identifying information about the employees?” Fadel asked, and Style heard the quiver in his boyfriend’s voice. “You’re certain?” Tong nodded. “Yeah, but here,” Tong held out a flash drive, “feel free to check for yourself.”

A glance and Style pulled his bag into his lap, unzipping it to pull out his own laptop and handing it to Fadel. While Fadel took the laptop with a slight nod and went to sit on the sofa, Style stayed next to Tong.

“Wow,” Tong began, gesturing to Style’s face. “You’re certainly fond of him.” Tong paused for a moment before a slow, teasing smile grew on his face. “Don’t think I’ve heard you use that term before. How long have you had a faen anyway?”

Style ducked his head, despite knowing Tong could still his burning cheeks. “Officially? Not that long, a couple weeks. But,” Style continued when Tong looked dubious, “we’ve been talking for a few months.”

Tong laughed and Style gave himself over to the distraction, catching up with his friend. Style knew Tong recognized when Style avoided a direct answer, but, like any good friend, he didn’t push it. When Fadel walked back over, he was still tense but no longer looking murderous.

“Earlier,” Fadel started, looking at Tong while he handed Style the laptop, “you mentioned an anonymous email to the police?”

“That’s nothing,” Tong stated, already opening a new window. “Who am I sending it to at the station?”

Style froze. He didn’t know the name of the officer Kant was speaking to – not that they should involve whoever it was, probably – and Style hadn’t spoken to his two contacts at the station in years, not since he stepped back from the racing scene. Looking to Fadel, Style saw the same flabbergasted look before it was hidden behind the placid mask Style was beginning to hate. Style took a breath, ready to suggest waiting 24 hours, or at least long enough for him to ask around and find out who he should talk to when Fadel spoke.

“Send it to all of them.” Fadel calmly answered, dropping his good hand on Style’s shoulder.

“All of them as in –”

“Everyone who works at the department,” Fadel confirmed. “You can do that, right?”

“Of course I can,” Tong replied, a slight bite in his tone. “But are you sure you want it that widespread?”

“Yes,” Fadel answered definitively . “And copy the media too. They can’t hide or bury it if everyone in Bangkok knows.”

“Fadel, can I talk to you for a sec?” Style stood up and dragged Fadel against the wall separating the dining area from the kitchen. “You want that,” Style wave his arms vaguely in the direction of Tong’s computer, “sent to everyone? Are you –”

“I love you, Style.” Fadel quietly states, like he’s describing the fucking weather and not shifting Style’s entire world. “I love you.” Fadel’s good arm raised, his hand softly brushing Style’s cheek. “As long as she’s free, she’s a threat. More than anyone else I know, and I refuse to put you in danger or make you hide from her for the rest of your life. I don’t want you to end up resenting me because of what you can and can’t do because of her. I don't want you to wake up one day and realize being with me is too much, that you'd rather walk away and disappear from my life. I don't want to lose you.”

Style lurched forward and tightly wrapped his arms around Fadel, burying his face (and hiding his stinging, watery eyes) in his boyfriend’s chest, in the space next to the sling. “You idiot,” Style muttered. “I already told you, you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah,” Fadel agreed, dropping a kiss to Style’s head, “but you deserve to be happy too, not hidden away because of her.”

A glance up and Style lost the words that had been waiting on his tongue. It should be illegal for Fadel to look so soft and vulnerable.

Helpless, Style gave Fadel one last hug before moving his arms over Fadel’s shoulders and pulling him into a kiss.

I love you, Style. This moment was going to live rent-free in Style’s head forever. Style lost himself in the kiss, relishing in Fadel until a pointed cough caused Fadel to pull away.

“Wha?” Style couldn’t be bothered to form the full word, pouting and clumsily attempting to pull Fadel back down.

“Style,” Fadel pointed and a glance showed Tong looking far too amused in his desk chair.

“Feel free to continue your…conversation...in a moment, but I’m hoping you’ve come to a decision about what I’m doing with all this evidence.”

“Send it,” Fadel answered, looking at Style. “Let the media and police bury them in questions.”

“This is going to be great,” Tong laughed as he turned back to his computer. “Anything you need in the future just let me know. This has cured my boredom for the month.”

Shaking his head, Style looked back to Fadel. “Well,” he smiled, “that’s one problem taken care of, but,” Style paused and let his smile drop. “What about Bison and Kant?”

“Once the arrests are in the media they’ll come back,” Fadel assured even as he stepped away, blatently ignoring Style's resulting pout. “But also, your friend gave me an idea.”

“Huh?” Style followed Fadel’s gaze and saw a generic painting of a beach on Tong’s wall. His eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Fadel," Style continued when Fadel stayed quiet, "you gonna explain?"

"Hm, I don't know," Fadel casually stated, "I'm thinking of keeping this to myself." The tease was not something Style was in the mood to appreciate and he swatted Fadel's arm. Fadel, the fucker, had no reaction.

"Fadel," Style moved until he was standing in front of the picture. "Tell me? Please?"

"Impatient," Fadel said, the word too fond to carry any sting. "Bison's always loved the beach," Fadel stated.

"That's great," Style didn't attempt to hide his rolled eyes. "It's not like Thailand has a shortage of beaches."

Moments later, Fadel's head dropped to Style's shoulder. "Bison's parents owned a house on the beach," he whispered into Style's ear. "I just have to find the location."

Forty-eight hours later, as every channel showed Ruerat and Lily being walked into the police station in handcuffs, Fadel’s phone rang.

Glancing at the caller ID, and finally seeing Bison’s name, Style grinned as Fadel answered the call with a, "You absolute asshole -"

Moments later, Style jumped when his own phone rang. The picture Kant absolutely hated, one Style had taken years ago when Kant was hungover (complete with limp hair and a sour expression) filled the screen.

Style felt the weight that had buried him for the past two days finally lift and laughed.

Notes:

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