Chapter Text
He stared at the vacant armchair next to him, then lolled back in his own seat. If it were taken, he wouldn't have been sitting at the dinner table in the most notorious mafia family's mansion, and being applauded as one of them.
A week ago Tankhun insisted, "Sweetheart, you have to come! God knows if Kim is going to show up. Little shit's gone AWOL again. I want a full table to celebrate the reunion of the main and the minor family, the more, the merrier. Of course, I called him. Multiple times, damn it! You know what he is like..." Then the guy with bushy eyebrows standing next to his big brother cleared his throat a bit, sending a not-so-quiet signal.
"Oh, my bad. You don't really know the youngest Theerapanyakul. He's probably holding more grudges now since you're taking his place as the youngest in our loving family, and the brightest. Haha, it serves him right, that ungrateful bastard. Chay, I heard you play the guitar as well, right? From now on, I'll make sure you have every guitar in the world you desire. Do you like Elvis? Let's go to the next auction and get you some Elvis memorabilia. You're my dear baby cousin, who else am I gonna spoil?" The oldest heir of the mafia family flashed a wide grin.
Porchay should've felt welcomed. Except someone else already gave him the best guitar, a piece that generated the warmest sound but froze his heart every time he picked it up. His brother might sniff out something among the pictures on the wall in front of his desk, a pricey new guitar and an unexpected appearance of the youngest Theerapanyakul in the warehouse where he was abducted. Porsche was yet to bring it up because—from what he heard afterward, the warehouse was a bloodbath that day and one of the best bodyguards of the mafia family was shot dead right in front of his brother. Too many things happened since then and both Kittisawat brothers' lives were turned upside down. Someone saved Porsche's life with their own, then who saved his?
Tankhun casually told him it was Kim, which was probably just a slip of the tongue. Kim helped him in the warehouse, how? With his pop star-ish slender figure? No way. Kim's body was so soft that when Porchay was overjoyed and held him tight he almost couldn't breathe. And those delicate fingers? He could hardly imagine them on some hardware other than a piano keyboard or guitar strings, or his curly hair. But why would Tankhun lie to him about his youngest brother? No one knew their history. Heck, no one was even aware that they actually knew each other before. Or he thought he knew Wik, his guitar tutor, a.k.a. the coolest singer-songwriter from his dream university.
(Un)fortunately, Kim serenading him in an acoustic version of "Why Don't You Stay" wasn't the only video message Porchay kept on his phone. There's another one from the surveillance cameras at Yok's bar while he's playing video games with his headphones on, totally oblivious of his surroundings. The clip sent more contradicting shock waves all over the teen's broken heart. He wouldn't admit that he watched them every night alone in his room, yet he couldn't bring himself to delete any of them either.
The sequence in that clip looked straight out of some retro action movie, in which Kim "played" the ass-kicking protagonist. He just perched on a bar stool, guarding him from behind in complete silence like a crunching lion, patient, precise and lethal. At one moment, the slim man was operating only a few feet away from Porchay with terrifying stealth. His concerned eyes were on the innocent boy while fending off the attackers. When he finished the business, if not for a spatter of blood on the hem of his white T-shirt and dead bodies on the greasy floor, it'd seem like nothing happened at that dimly lit bar. After making sure there's no more threat to the boy's security, he eventually left the fire escape outside of the bar with a cigarette in his hand, as if he's a character from some John Woo movie. He must be told they were running out of lines in the movie script. Otherwise why the hell didn't he talk to him the entire time?
A word, any word, from P'Kim. That's what Porchay had been chasing all along. When he sang him the first love song he wrote in front of his apartment building, not a word. He's so embarrassed that he had to pivot to a ramble about looking forward to Kim's feedback on the so-called songwriting assignment. When he thanked him after passing the practice exam of the music faculty, all he got was a slight nod. And when he finally stopped fidgeting, and plucked up the courage to voice his love for him, still not getting a word from the coolest guy in the room. Though a soft peck on his cheek was loud enough to send thousands of butterflies to his stomach. The awkward situation repeated when he later questioned the older guy if he loved him back. He must sound like an insecure, needy fool. Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat, get a grip!
This time there's more proof that the estranged heir of the Theerapanyakul mafia empire preferred actions to words. Porchay watched Kim take down half a dozen sicarios sent by the minor family for him with his own eyes. So this was another side of Wik he'd been hiding, less preferred by Kim. How could this man live a double life effortlessly like that? He's wordless when the young boy poured his heart out, and remained wordless when he went on a killing spree. Porchay's gripped by an overwhelming sense of shock, horror, gratification and...more affection? How was he supposed to react to it?
The first thing that came to his mind was a surprise to himself. Porchay replied to Yok's message by asking her to delete the footage and send it to no one else, not even his big brother. If this were the last thing that connected him to the guy who took his heart by storm, he wanted to keep it to himself. Even though his heart already shattered into pieces, and the thing between them was a lie from the very beginning. He was addicted to the way he felt when he's in love with Kim, which started long before any mysterious mafia related conspiracy messed up his mundane everyday life. He'd been played, more than willingly.
Anyway, he's relieved to find the seat was empty throughout the evening. He's not ready to let his wound be torn open again when everybody else was busy drinking a toast to some sort of happy ending, or beginning according to Tankhun. The way the adults spoke about the future, their future, still felt like an alternate universe to the teenager. He's not sure if he would ever be ready for the world they promised.
"Phi, I have a test this coming week. May I leave now?" He asked tentatively. The disapproving look on Porsche's face was no good news. Much to his surprise, Kinn who sat scandalously close to his brother caught their conversation, "You're sure you are good? If you don't like the food, I'll ask the catering team to send you something else." His brother's boyfriend slash step-cousin was being kind, maybe too kind. Porchay politely turned down the offer and excused himself, quickly rising from the giant marble table.
"Wait," Kinn stopped him, "It's pretty late. Pol will drive you home." His voice was not very loud, but firm, making it more of a command than a request. What home? He meant the brand new apartment Porchay was sent to with 24x7 airtight security on the premises after the chaotic incident? He couldn't fight Kinn for his brother's sleeping arrangement but this guy didn't get to decide where their home was, being kind or not. Plus, he'd never trust the family who kept his mother in a five-star hotel like prison for decades despite their slick narrative.
"No need. I'll take the Skytrain." He declined, defiantly turning his back on the mafia head and also avoiding any eye contact with his brother. He's not his usual "good boy" self, and this wasn't a usual family dinner either. "Chay," He brother warned. He understood the concern—he was abducted and almost assassinated twice last month. However, the boy's decision was already made.
"I said NO. I don't need a bodyguard." He stormed out of the room, leaving the Theerapanyakul brothers continuing the argument. Porsche probably eased the situation by telling everyone he needed a bit more time while discreetly sending security personnel to escort him. Shortly two bodyguards exchanging some words in the lounge caught his attention.
"Why are you here? I don't see Kun Kim around tonight."
"Dude, I wish I were off duty, too. Don't ask, it's a special operation. Shoot, Angel Baby is on the move. Gotta go!"
The second guy was apparently with Kim. So his code name was Angel Baby, really? Porchay sighed. It seemed the security detail for him just got larger.
The young man had a dream that night which confused him in almost every way. His subconscious sneaked out, rushing to meet the last man standing at Yok's closed bar. "Are you hurt?" He grabbed the man, desperately trying to make sure he's safe. The man in his dream shook his head, waving a gun like a lollipop and smiling. His beautiful hair was a bit loose after the intense fight. He's still warm and familiar. As Porchay rolled up the man's sleeves and tightened his grip, the bare brawny arms shocked him. He never saw Kim's body like this, let alone being taken into those arms. While staying silent, the muscular body radiating heat was hitting him hard. And the sheer strength beneath the thin fabric was undeniable. This wasn't a dream, was it? Because it felt so real as he touched him like he always wanted.
He smelled different as well—contrary to what he used to adore, a chic musician wearing one of his impeccable leather jacket collections, neatly-groomed with some woody-scented aftershave, in the dream Kim's loose white T-shirt was soaked with sweat and blood stains. And there's also gunpowder. The man was in very close proximity to him. If Porchay was bold enough, he'd lick the man's long, sweaty neck. It's just a dream, a voice echoed in his head. So the boy went for it. Kim let out a small chuckle, rubbing the younger man's lips with his thumb. He had those hitmen's blood on his hands so Porchay consumed more than some salty liquid.
The filthy taste lingered as he wetted his lips. This man just killed half a dozen people, for him. It was so wrong, yet he's hopelessly turned on.
"Do you like it?" Kim whispered, "Baby boy." The older man languidly pressed their lower bodies together while the hot air he blew made Porchay shiver with unknown fear, and desire.
He's pathetic. Porchay had to do the laundry the next morning while he recalled the dream over and over again.
*
He could've had one of his guys drop the documents at Porchay's new residence. It's easier, for both of them, he assumed. But those were very important documents, likely career-defining if the young talent resumed his pursuit of a career in music. Once he learned the kid bailed on the day of the music faculty's interview exam, he pulled all the strings in the hope of getting the boy a second chance. That's how Kim ended up standing outside the youngest Kittisawat's apartment with a new application form for another music school and several letters of recommendation from professors of his own faculty. And this time he wouldn't let him throw them away again despite being dismissed as a nosy adult and eventually blocked by the kid. His interference didn't work well last time when he stopped Chay from taking illicit drugs and stared down a bunch of street thugs with him at a nightclub. "Don't mess with my business." The soft-spoken boy who never raised his voice before yelled.
But he had to try again. He just couldn't watch the sweetest thing give up on life, for whatever reason he summoned to justify his own out-of-character action.
"Phi, I told you I don't want to study music any more! I won't apply to Anantrameka University. I'm eighteen already, stop pushing me..." The boy's rant could be heard before the door cracked open, then he paused abruptly once seeing his face. "You..." The pale-looking young man swallowed, one hand nervously ruffling his own hair, now pitch black again. Kim had to fight the urge to smooth it for him like he used to. He seemed less agitated than the last encounter when they actually talked (and both overreacted in the worst possible way.) Kim wasn't sure if it's a good thing. The past few months had been nothing but troublesome and the boy should be mad at him as long as he pleased.
"I'm sorry. I thought it's my brother again."
It's reassuring to know someone else also learned the boy's uncharacteristically rebellious move and took action. Although he doubted people with unfaltering candor like Porsche would be able to talk the young man into taking another shot at college entrance exams. And obviously Chay didn't tell the truth about why he walked away from his dream university.
"I didn't know you talk to your older brother like that." He half-joked, and immediately knew it was a bad one judging from the boy's tense body language. He's never a good icebreaker, let alone a ray of sunshine like the teenager used to be. These questionable teenage manners must be a new thing. And the recent reckless behaviors were...not his fault, to say the least. It hurt to see the innocent boy had changed over such a short period of time. He recollected the first time he made Chay blush simply with a signature on the senior's high school uniform, then found the pastel blue shirt still unwashed in the boy's bedroom weeks later. He's so pure before Kim orchestrated a covert mission that got the boy swept along. The mafia heir had been self-serving since day one, until his master plan backfired.
"Forget it. I just need a minute. Take this." He handed over the file folder, which the boy took a peek at then quickly pushed back. "Did my brother send you?" The young man got very defensive, stood tall with arms crossed.
Chay used to wear his heart on his sleeve when he's around him, Kim remembered vividly. His eager face would literally light up whenever the musician gave him a slight nod. He would keep babbling awkwardly and excitedly when Kim didn't respond to his burning question. He had the cutest smile in the world that made the cold-blooded mafia son hesitate to carry on the mission, on more occasions than he'd ever admit. Then it's all gone.
"No. Porsche doesn't know anything about...us."
The teen was visibly shaken up by the last word. Kim took a deep sigh, "Look, I'm not here to give you a TED talk about life choices and whatnot. I simply believe this is a better alternative to Anantrameka. The professors that oversaw the practice exams also think very highly of you, and they are all willing to write you letters of recommendation. It'd purely be a professional decision whether you're admitted to the new school or not. I'm not involved in any process, I promise." He'd stay out of his way if that's what the kid wanted.
The boy was about to ask him how on earth he pulled it off. The application deadline for the new music school was due weeks ago. "It's nothing," Kim stopped him, "I heard you didn't really enjoy the family dinner with them the other night. You know what? I probably wouldn't have either. I've been the black sheep of the family nearly my entire life, hence Wik. Music could very much be your way out as well. If you stay true to it."
Chay stared at him, puzzled.
"Because music don't lie." He only wished the future musician would understand what he meant, both figuratively and literally. He didn't expect Chay to accept any of his apologies, which would be useless anyway. Fortunately, this time Chay accepted the documents. He'd take it as a win. Baby steps.
He's not good at saying goodbye. Then the elevator dinged and the timing was perfect.
"Wait," The boy cried, and took his right hand from behind, sending electric waves through his whole body. "I saw something," He paused again, trying to get himself together, "I saw you, at Yok's bar. The surveillance footage. I was scared." He's trembling while holding both of Kim's hands tightly as if he's about to lose him the next moment.
"Your hands..." Chay didn't finish the sentence because he's almost sobbing. He started to stroke his then tutor's palms and fingers. Those hands played love songs. Those hands also killed.
Chay had finally seen it all, the violence, the bloodshed and the real Kim. What could he possibly say to make it up for his angel baby? Kim was at a loss for words, "I'm sorry, Chay. I'm so sorry."
Before the poor boy made any response, he hastily left the apartment building through the fire exits. After all, he's never the brave one between them.
*
Sawadee! Welcome to Be On Cloud Music Express podcast, the latest and hottest pop music scoop from the heart of Bangkok. Last weekend Wik debuted his long anticipated new single Why Don't You Stay during an intimate live session and the melancholy ballad was an instant hit. But according to the indie heartthrob, the song won't be released anytime soon. Quote, unquote, "It's the first tune I co-wrote with somebody else. I can't tell you who but he's the bravest person I've known. This is for him." Fans are fascinated by it and rumors about the mysterious co-author are already circulating on social media. You can watch Wik sing his heart out in an exclusive video clip on our YouTube channel. Music don't lie, right? Who is this lucky guy that stole Wik's heart? Let us know what you think in the comment section.