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Style met Kant and Babe right after their parents died. Their uncle had been friends with Pa since they were kids. Pa even went on a few dates with Kant’s ma when they were teenagers. Despite Style meeting Kant when he was nine, it is honestly surprising they hadn't met sooner in life. But once they did, they hung out all the time. Other than Boonterm, Kant and Babe are the closest thing Style has had to siblings. 

But still, he has never been under the assumption that Kant or Babe share the same sentiment. They have both faced a lot of loss, but they have each other. Style understands that he does not compare in the scheme of things. He's a close friend to them, maybe a cousin metaphorically. While the trip down here this morning had been oddly beautiful, meaningful, and peaceful, Style knew he might have to tear every single bit of the trust he built with Fadel down if he found out Bison went through with killing Kant. If Bison killed Kant, Style would never be able to let that go. 

Relief washes over him when he sees Kant sleeping on the couch. He looks exhausted, and his eyes look slightly puffy, as if he has been crying. That throws Style off enough. He's only seen Kant cry a few times, and he remembers the circumstances of every time he witnessed.

• Kant cried over missing his parents on his first birthday without them.
• He cried when his uncle died.
• He cried when Ma died. She was very present and kind to Kant and Babe. It probably felt like losing a mother all over again. 
• Style didn't see it in person, but Kant called him while Style was visiting his father’s cousins up north. Kant was embarrassed and ashamed over a panic attack he had at Babe’s family swimming event. Style tried his best to be comforting, but he inevitably ended up trying even harder to lighten the mood. Although, that is the good thing about Kant. He is one of the few who seems to appreciate that. 
• Kant also cried when Boonterm died. Kant and Babe loved him too. They helped Style with the funeral. 

The last four circumstances happened all within the same year, with Boonterm’s death being at the tail end of a horrible one for all of them. Although, Kant didn't realize just how horrible it really was for Style. Kant never liked Gun and would say as much. He was pretty critical over Gun dating a seventeen year old. But Style just dismissed it as Kant deciding to be oddly protective. When Kant’s instincts about Gun and whatever less than noble ulterior motives he had ended up being right, Style felt embarrassed and played. That's why he didn't tell Kant about what happened at the party until four years later. They both drank on Style’s twenty-first birthday and it wasn't a planned confession, but drunken, twenty-one Style must have deemed it as the perfect time to finally tell someone besides Boonterm what had happened to him. 

Kant had tears in his eyes as Style managed to keep the story to-the-point and nonchalant. He didn't cry, or else that instance would have made the list. Kant did, however, punch a wall, pace the room with anger, and demand that Style tell him where Gun was. 

Gun moved to Phuket a month after Style broke up with him. He got a job in maintenance at one of the resorts. He never planned on staying with Style. Occasionally, Style checks where he is in life. When he checked six months ago, Gun had a wife and son and was recently promoted to general manager at one of the nicer resorts in the area. He and Fadel almost passed it. When Style saw a road sign for it, he decided to take Fadel on a detour and show him the overlook instead.

Of course, he didn't tell Fadel the full reason for the detour, just like he never told Kant about Gun’s whereabouts. All he has told either of them is that Gun is no longer a problem. Kant has seemed to let it go, although he did bug him for a while about getting the names of the other people who participated. Kant stopped when Style started shutting down whenever it was brought up, and then just tried to be more present and caring for a while. 

So despite Kant likely not seeing him as a brother, Style knows he cares about him. Style would go as far as to say that Kant loves him. He assumes Kant will be happy to see him, considering their circumstances. 

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” Style says, gently tapping Kant’s shoulder. When Kant’s eyes pop open and he turns his head to look at him, Style gives him a smile. 

“Hey!” Style says, “Fadel and I thought we would come visit. We’re about to make lunch-” 

Style is cut off by a gut wrenching sound, followed by Kant sitting up, throwing his arms around Style’s waist, and sobbing into his shirt. 

It's a new bullet point for the list. But unlike the rest of the bullet points, Style is sort of lost when it comes to the reason. 

“Did you miss me that much?” Style asks, awkwardly patting Kant’s back, “What’s the matter? You don't cry over me! You cry over death and occasionally when you feel needlessly inadequate. That's it! I keep track.” 

But Kant doesn't answer. If anything his cries get worse as his hold around Style tightens. 

Okay. Now he's concerned.

“Hey,” Style says, abandoning the awkward patting and becoming more soothing with the physical comfort, “Kant. What's wrong? Are you worried about Babe? If you are, don't be. I called Pa. He picked Babe up, so he's staying over at my house with him. Babe is fine, Pa is fine, even the cat is fine! Babe took him too! Pa sent Fadel a picture of him cuddled up on his lap if you want to see-” 

“You were dead!” 

Style glances down at Kant incredulously, “Nuh-uh. I never died once. I would remember something like that! You know my memory, Kant. It's impeccable. On the way down here, I was showing Fadel how good it is-” 

“Fadel killed you!” Kant sobs, before lifting his head to look up at him. When Style meets his eyes, Kant immediately becomes inconsolable again and presses his face into Style’s stomach.

“Kant,” Style says, trying to get him to sit back up, “Hey. Hey, look at me! I'm fine. Maybe you had a really bad dream-” 

Kant shakes his head, keeping himself firmly in place, “B-Bison said Fadel…It's my fault. It's all my fault. I dragged you into this. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It’s my fault it's my fault it's my-” 

“Kant,” Style says again, becoming slightly more forceful as he puts just enough space between them so that he can sit on the couch next to him, “Snap out of it. Don't make me do something stereotypical and cruel, like slap you across the face. Neither of us want that, just like neither of us are dead! I'm so happy you're okay.” 

Even though Kant seems the opposite of okay right now. 

“We’re both fine. Understand?” Style asks. 

Kant shakes his head, “No.” 

Well, Style understands. Their boyfriends love them too much to ever kill them. If Kant wasn't still finding a way to produce a fresh round of tears, Style would gush about how he is madly in love with Fadel. He would talk about how much closer they got last night, despite sex not even being a factor. He may also tell him that he feels inspired by the wedding he officiated, and that it made him want to propose. Not just as a joke where he coughs up his own ring. He wants to do it for real. He loves him he loves him he loves him he loves him-

“B-Bison said Fadel killed you,” Kant gets out, snapping Style from his obsessive thoughts, “He said that Fadel made it painless, but that you died. I pulled you into this. It's my fault-” 

“How is something that didn't even happen your fault?” Style says, then lightly shoves Kant’s shoulder before gesturing at himself, “Look at me, man. How could Fadel stop this body’s heartbeat? It would be impractical of him. It's too easy on the eyes, and he gets too much enjoyment out of it! Not in his best interest. Style is here to stay.”

Style thinks that will lighten the mood. For a moment, it works. Kant’s face goes lax as he processes what Style is telling him. However, that only lasts for a few seconds before Kant’s expression screws up again. 

What happened to him? Kant has never cried over him, and that is something Style knows for a fact due to his list. Maybe some of Kant’s grief for Ma was also for him since he knew Style was going through a loss he already experienced pretty intimately himself. And Style does remember Kant getting teary after he finally told him about Gun, but he was never sure if that was because he was that upset over it happening, Style keeping it from him for as long as he did, or because he cracked a bone in his hand when he punched the wall. 

This is very different. It's starting to make Style uncomfortable and worried. He isn't worth all this angst. But Kant doesn't seem capable of just moving past it, so Style supposes they’ll need to talk through it.

“Give me a second,” Style says, standing back up, “I'm going to tell Fadel to get started on the food and that I will come in to help once you're calmer-” 

“Don't,” Kant chokes out, grabbing onto his arm, “I don't want you around him.” 

Style tsks at that, “Don't deprive me of my man!” 

“Style, please.” 

“He's NOT going to kill me,” Style says, “He thought he had to because of the snitch stuff-” 

“You aren't the snitch. I am,” Kant says hoarsely, “Tell him to kill me.” 

Style groans at that, “Fadel isn't killing anyone. I promise. He believed me when I explained our situations. He tried to let me go last night, so I had to handcuff myself to the bed. And then we bore our hearts to each other. Not even our bodies, despite how tempting that was! I have never loved someone like I love him and I will never love anyone else ever again.”

“Huh?” Kant asks eloquently.

“I miss him!” Style wails, trying to pull out of Kant’s grasp, “I need to see him! It’s been ten minutes!” 

“Style, stop!”

Style drops the act that actually isn't an act at all and turns to face him, “I'll be back. Fadel is expecting me to cook with him. I need to tell him that you need my support.” 

With that, Style successfully twists out of Kant’s grasp and jumps out of range before running to the kitchen. 

“I had him dig up crabs,” Bison says, gesturing towards the crabs crawling around in the bucket, “Just cook those.” 

Fadel stares at them for a moment before shaking his head, “I told you that I'm done killing.” 

Bison sputters at that, “They're crabs.” 

Fadel doesn't seem to feel the need to explain himself. Good. He shouldn't have to. Style greatly prefers Fadel redirecting his attention and focusing on Style instead. His eyes go soft in a way that is still so foreign to him, even though Style saw hints of that softness during the few mornings they woke up together and at the concert they went to.

…As well as when Fadel was going over the top with the sweetness while he was planning on killing Style.

But now, the sweetness isn't filtered or an alleged act. He's a beautiful, sincere, and sexy teddy bear. Beautiful, sincere, and sexy teddy bears don't belong in prison at all. Style wishes that the cop who was forcing Kant to work for him could be here now. He'd drop all the charges immediately because of how cute and sweet Fadel is. 

Style knows that won't happen. They’ll need to get crafty to free Fadel and Bison from this mess. Luckily, Style now knows he is willing to do anything. He’ll pack Pa, Babe, and Kant up so they can go on the run. He’ll kill Lilly with his bare hands. He’ll plant evidence on someone innocent of Fadel’s and Bison’s crimes, but still someone who is a total dick and deserves it. He’ll even discredit that stupid, annoying cop by doing the same thing, or maybe seduce him, film the encounter, and blackmail him. 

Fadel hated that last idea. He wouldn't talk to him for close to half an hour once Style mentioned it as a possibility. It's not like Style would enjoy it. He would hate sleeping with him, actually, especially knowing how this cop has been using Kant. But Style just focused on the drive, gave him time to cool off, and Fadel was completely over it by the time they helped set up the wedding.

Doesn't Fadel realize that Style would only seduce an asshole detective to ensure they can get married one day too? 

“What's up?” Fadel asks, bringing Style’s planning to a halt. He puts it to the side for now, walks right behind where Fadel is sitting, and bends over to put his arms around him. 

“I love you,” Style mumbles, nuzzling his cheek against Fadel’s. 

Fadel leans into the touch before turning his head to kiss Style’s cheek, “I love you.” 

“What did you do to my brother?” Bison asks, his voice hard. 

Style doesn't compute the question at first. He and Fadel are too busy rubbing their noses together and trying not to give into making out in front of Bison. It's only when Bison slams his fist on the table that Style stands up straight.

“That isn't the question that needs to be asked,” Style says before pointing a finger at him, “I have a better question: What did you do to my best friend?” 

Going by the way Bison can't quite meet his eyes, Style knows he isn't going to like the answer.

“Bison,” Fadel says quietly, squeezing Style’s hand reassuringly, “Just tell him what you told me. He needs to know if…if Kant went through that-” 

“Went through what?” Style interrupts, then narrows his eyes at Bison, “What did you do?” 

Bison shifts in his seat, but his expression remains stubborn, “He betrayed me. I obviously had to kill him.” 

“Yeah, and you didn't,” Style says with a scoff, “Because you love him like Fadel loves me. I understand that Kant broke your heart, but he really does love you! He has been manipulated and controlled by that cop for years, apparently. I can't believe he didn't tell me. Please, just…hear him out. He was in a tough position. Don't try to kill him-” 

“He's in the living room, isn't he?” Bison mutters, “He's breathing and conscious. I heard him in there.”

“And I’ve never seen him like that!” Style says, “He was barely consolable! I sort of succeeded because I just have that charm about me, but it was hard! Why did you tell him that Fadel killed me when that clearly isn't the case?” 

“Because it was supposed to be the case,” Bison says, glaring at Fadel, “You TOLD me you wanted a week to make him fall in love with you, and then you wanted to betray him like he betrayed you before killing him.” 

Fadel looks away and plays with Style’s hand, “...I said that, but I didn't want that. It was the last thing I wanted.” 

“Then why did you veto my plan to kill them immediately?!” Bison snaps, “I would have killed him for you if it was too hard!” 

“I'm standing right here,” Style says.

I would have understood if it was too hard!” Bison continues before his voice cracks, “It would have been the least I could have done, considering this was my fault. I never wanted you in this kind of situation again. Not after…” 

As Bison trails off, Style clears his throat. 

“Not after Van?” Style asks gently, causing Bison to look at him in shock. That goes on for a silent, fifteen second stretch before Bison looks back at Fadel. 

“You told him about Van?” Bison asks incredulously, “I have tried to get you to talk about him for years and you have only done it twice, but one of the people who betrayed us knows his name? Please tell me he learned it from spying on us or being a creep.” 

Style scoffs at that, “I'm not a creep!” 

Bison doesn't take his eyes off his brother, “A stalker, then.” 

…That accusation is harder to deflect. 

“Okay, fine,” Style says, rolling his eyes as he sits down, “I had a short stint as Fadel’s stalker, but it wasn't in a creepy or invasive way! I just popped up everywhere he went and was persistent until he got fed up and agreed to date me. I didn’t even know he was a hit man, let alone of any past trauma or love interests! I just knew that he was mysterious, hot, and sort of mean and I wanted him.” 

“And a car,” Fadel reminds him, raising his eyebrows. 

Style pouts and immediately goes to sit on Fadel’s lap instead of the chair. 

“I said I would give it back,” Style says, running his fingers through Fadel’s hair, “It's for the best that Kant has it, anyway. It's one of the only things he has from his parents after they drowned.”

Fadel tenses slightly at the words. Style doesn't think that much of it until he sees Bison looking all shifty again too. 

“What?” Style asks him, looking at Bison curiously, “Kant has had a tragic, traumatizing life! Just like the two of you, except slightly less fucked up. He deserves empathy and grace. Not condemnation and death. Don't tell me you didn't know.”

Bison clears his throat, “I found out…recently. He told me about that today.” 

“Oh," Style says, then glances at Fadel, “That's good. They bonded. Like us. Maybe that's partly why Kant is so emotional. Outside of thinking I was dead, of course. He was recently vulnerable with Bison about his parents. He doesn't talk about them much.” 

But Fadel doesn't seem to find relief in Style’s assumption.

“Bison,” Fadel says, “Tell him. He won't blame you-” 

“Bullshit,” Bison says with a sneer, “I blame me, and I had valid reasons to do it.” 

“Do what?” Style says, looking between the two of them, “What happened? Don't make me keep asking.” 

Bison taps on the table before meeting Style’s eyes.

“He broke my heart. Not only that, but he was the reason my brother was put in a situation where he would need to kill the person he loves. Again. I wanted to make him suffer,” Bison says, then lets out a harsh breath, “So I made sure he would wake up from the drugs on the boat, pointed a gun at him, and ripped the necklace off and threw it into the ocean. If he wanted to prove that he loved me and it wasn’t all fake, then he could jump in and get it.” 

Style feels his body go numb, “You didn't.” 

Bison’s eyes get teary as he sniffles and shrugs his shoulders, “I didn't expect him to jump in, but he did. When he didn't come back up, I jumped in after him because…I don't know why. I found him, got him onto the boat, and performed CPR until he spit up all the water he breathed in and ingested before bringing him back here.” 

Style isn't sure what ends up being the trigger. Maybe it's seeing Bison close to tears when Kant is the one who was forced into his worst nightmare and almost killed because of it. Maybe it's because Style losing his best friend almost became a reality. Maybe it's the fact he left his severely re-traumatized friend on the couch who had been under the impression that Style was dead on top of what he went through. 

Or maybe - just maybe - it's the fact that Bison’s necklace is back around his neck, and that means Kant almost died just to prove to someone who wanted him to die in the worst way possible that he loved him. 

Regardless of the trigger, Style is leaping over the table to get to Bison. Right now, Style doesn't care that he's a wanted hitman. In fact, Bison should be more worried about Style than some cops who apparently won't even think to look here due to the property being listed under a company name. If they do ever find Bison, Style will have taken care of him first-

“Stop,” Fadel grunts out as soon as Style’s fingers are twisted in the collar of Bison’s shirt. He probably shouldn't have started this while still in Fadel’s lap. Style can't help but glare down at Fadel’s arm gripping him around his waist, restricting him from going farther. The thing is, he probably could fight off Fadel, at least in this position. Fadel is using his good arm to hold him in place. His other arm is in his sling. In theory, Style could just force the good arm off before beating the shit out of Bison. Bison isn't even resisting. He's just sitting there. Fadel is the one putting up more of a fuss about it. Fucking rude, whose side is he on?

“Style, please,” Fadel says, trying to pull him back on his lap, “He's my brother.” 

“And he tried to kill my best friend!” Style snaps, “With a major source of trauma that he knew about!” 

“I only knew he was afraid of the water due to having an incident with it,” Bison says quietly, “I didn't know the extent of it until after-” 

“THAT DOESN’T MATTER!” Style screams. When he lunges again, Fadel lets out a sound of pain. Style pauses his mission and looks back at Fadel in concern.

“Please stop getting involved,” Style tells him, “I don't want you to make your injury worse.” 

Fadel moves past his wince and looks up at him, “I can't stay out of it. If Bison were attacking you, I would be trying to hold him back too.” 

Style lets out a huff, “Just let us fight!” 

“Style?” 

Style turns his head towards the direction of the living room, “Coming!” 

“...Are you okay?” 

“I'm wonderful!” Style calls out, keeping his tone chipper, “I’ll be back in just a minute. I'm just making sure Fadel is good to make lunch on his own!”

With that, Style lowers his voice and stares into Bison’s soul. 

“This conversation isn't finished,” Style says, “I am not above setting up and time and place for a fight-” 

“That isn't happening, Style,” Fadel says. Style twists his neck to try and get a better look behind him. When this isn't good enough, he stands up, turns around, and straddles his lap instead. 

“Seriously?” he hears Bison mutter. Personally, Style thinks that Bison should be watching his mouth.

“Whose side are you on, Fadel?” Style asks. 

Fadel runs his right hand down Style’s side, “I'm not taking sides. I'm just asking you both to keep the peace.” 

“Hm,” Style says, then smiles a little as he traces Fadel’s lips with the tip of his finger, “I came here with that goal in mind. But now that I learned what Bison ended up doing, it is going to take a while for true peace. So you keep him in check. If he harms a hair on Kant’s head, I will fight him. As long as he starts working on making it up to Kant, I will forgive your brother and be friends with him again…in time. Understood?”

“...Understood,” Fadel says. 

Good boy. The words luckily enter Style’s mind before they come out of his mouth. He can't even explain that intrusive thought to himself, let alone Fadel.

…Or Bison, since he's sitting right there. 

“Make us lunch, like the good chef you are. You should work on your one-armed independence anyway,” Style says, standing up fully before glaring at Bison, “I need to make sure trauma and LACK OF OXYGEN haven't permanently altered my best friend’s brain.” 

Going by the way Bison diverts his gaze back to the table, he knows the words are for him more than anyone else. 

Lunch ends up being closer to dinner time. It was a late start to begin with, plus a lengthy conversation and almost brawl delayed Fadel’s cooking process. When Style sees the still crawling crabs in the bucket, he is both amused and slightly bummed. He likes crab and never gets to have it. Regardless, the red curry he makes looks and smells delicious. 

He just wishes Kant would come into the kitchen and eat it. 

“Hey,” Style whispers as soon as Kant hesitates in the doorway, “Don't worry! You've got me! Bison is terrified of me now.” 

Kant doesn't seem like he believes that. It's rude of him. 

“And even if he tries something, I’ve got Fadel wrapped around my finger,” Style says, which is definitely a true statement. Style knows it. The way Fadel gives him the biggest plate of food and pulls out a chair for him proves it. Style would gladly sit in that chair and eat every bite if Kant would just sit down too. 

“Come on,” Style says, rushing over to lead him to the table, “Bison doesn't bite-” 

Bison lets out a hysterical snort at that, and it immediately has Style staring daggers at him. However, those daggers turn into butter knives when he hears Kant let out a huff of laughter too. 

…Style doesn't want to know. He is just going to be grateful that Kant is cracking the tiniest bit of a smile and sitting down. His mission of getting Kant to sit down and eat is complete. 

Except for one thing. 

“Switch,” Style says suddenly, swapping Kant’s and Bison’s plates after Bison has taken his second bite and Kant has yet to take his first. While Kant and Bison both pause at the movement but ultimately accept it, Fadel gives Style a look. 

“I didn't poison the food,” Fadel says, narrowing his eyes, “I wouldn't do that to you or Bison.” 

“Or?” Style challenges. 

Fadel eyes Kant for a moment before letting out a sigh, “Or Kant. I wouldn’t do that to your best friend. Eat your food.” 

“Gladly,” Style says, then shovels a huge spoonful into his mouth. Fadel looks disturbed, but also impressed. It probably reminds him of what his mouth is truly capable of. 

While Style being the talkative one at the table is unsurprising, it's strange that Fadel is the next talkative. Bison and Kant are both silent, so it isn't hard for Fadel to beat them in ranking, but he has ranked dead last in chattiness during their group hang-outs until now.

Then again, Kant survived almost drowning. Again. He's traumatized, and he's coming to terms with the relief over Style not actually being dead. As for Bison, he almost forced the man he loves to drown and was under the impression Style had to be dead, hence why he delivered such news. He is likely wracked with guilt.

He still feels a lot less sympathy for Bison. 

“What are we doing with the crabs?” Kant asks quietly. 

“Ah, he speaks!” Style says triumphantly. In hindsight, he shouldn't have pointed it out at all. But if Kant is bothered by the verbal note, he doesn't say as much. 

Fadel puts his spoon down, “I'm not killing them. I'm done with that.” 

Style can't help but snort at the claim. Fadel really commits once he comes to a resolution. It's cute. 

“They're crabs, Fadel,” Bison says, “I don't know why you're getting like this over them. It's not like they're pets.” 

“You cook them if you want them,” Fadel says stubbornly.

“Why would I cook when you're the best cook here?” 

“I'm not killing them.” 

Bison rolls his eyes, “Are you vegan now? Are you quitting meat and animal products altogether?” 

Fadel glares across the table, “Maybe I will.”

Even Style isn't sure how Fadel’s oath to never kill anyone again unless it is absolutely necessary transformed into potential veganism. He also isn't sure how it would work if Fadel is ever able to return to Bangkok and continues running his burger restaurant. They may have to rebrand. 

Sounds stressful. Maybe Fadel is just going through a phase. 

“So are we putting the crabs back in the ocean?” Style asks, “If we aren’t eating them and there are no nearby neighbors who might want them, we should let them go where you guys caught them.” 

Style feels Kant flinch at his side. When he turns to look at him, Kant’s hands are trembling.

“Hey,” Style says quietly, putting his hand over his to steady it, “You don't have to go. I’ll do it-” 

“You aren’t going by yourself,” Bison cuts in. 

“Bison,” Fadel warns. 

“He doesn't know where they came from,” Bison says, crossing his arms, “They should be reunited with their family if they aren't going to be cooked. Surely, that's what you want, now that you are enlightened or brainwashed or whatever is happening with you.” 

While Fadel clearly doesn't appreciate the dig, Style ignores it completely.

“Ah. So you’ll be taking me to their home? That's sweet of you. And preferable. I don't think Kant should be alone with you just yet,” Style says as he gets to his feet and puts his napkin on his empty plate, “Ready?” 

Bison’s gaze is a bit too dark and resolved as he gets to his feet. Style isn't sure if he likes it, but he's also willing to see where this goes. 

Fadel apparently isn't, since he steps in front the back kitchen door and blocks their path. 

“Seriously?” Bison asks, but then holds his arms out and lets his brother pat him down, “You realize this is a risk, right? I am accompanying your traitor boyfriend unarmed.”

“He isn't the traitor. I am. So don't touch him. If you need to kill someone, kill me.” 

The words come from Kant and have Style turning with his head with surprise. It was one thing for Kant to say Fadel should kill him over Style when they were alone. It's another to say it in front of them. But the offer doesn't seem to tempt Fadel. If anything, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the proposition. Style did ignite some empathy in Fadel when it came to Kant, so that isn't surprising. As for Bison, he looks pretty guilt-ridden.

Good. He deserves it. 

“No one is killing anyone,” Style says reassuringly, then turns to Fadel, “I promise. Your brother and I are going to make it a very quick trip, but bond along the way.”

While Fadel seems doubtful of that, he accepts Style’s quick kiss before Style and Bison leave with a bucket of pardoned crabs. 

Kant is fidgety around Fadel. Nervous. You would think with a break from Bison, he might relax a little. Fadel isn't the one who caused Kant to almost drown. 

Although, he did drop a live tattoo gun centimeters away from his dick. Bison also told Kant that Fadel killed Style, and Kant clearly took that hard. Fadel can't believe Bison told him that, especially when he hadn’t turned on his phone once to check. 

Especially when Fadel knows he can never, ever kill Style. 

And not only can he not kill him personally, he can never let Style die. It's something that he now knows is completely unacceptable to him, just like killing anyone else is.

Except for the man who murdered their parents. And that cop. And Style’s rapist ex-boyfriend who Fadel has yet to get a name for. Style may think he has let that go, but he hasn't. Although Style may have told him willingly about what happened, he glossed over the details. He didn't get a name for the ex, or names of the other participants. While Fadel would be more than willing to add those people to his exception list, he is focusing on the ex if he can only pick one. Not only would he be the easiest to identify, he was also the one responsible for keeping Style safe and did the absolute opposite. 

Style should have told his father. He was still legally a minor at the time. They lived a life where his father could have pressed charges on his behalf and not found themselves in a terrible situation while dealing with the law. Although, Style may have a different take on that. He was clearly ashamed, considering he didn't tell his father at all. The only living being he talked to about it was his dog. He didn't tell Kant until years later. 

But he did talk to Kant. He talked to Kant and Kant is sitting right here. 

“What do you know about Style’s exes?” Fadel asks, rejoining Style at the table as he tries to keep his tone casual.

Kant says nothing at first. He just looks at Fadel warily.

“...Not much. He's never been super serious with anyone. He loves you more than he ever loved any of them. So you can't kill him.” 

Fadel breathes in, “I was never planning on killing Style.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kant says dubiously.

“Okay,” Fadel says, “I… planned on it. Sort of. I just hated the thought of doing it. When Bison found out about what you did, he wanted to get it over with. I wanted to spend another week with Style…to make him fall more in love with me as a punishment.” 

“Yeah, I caught onto how attentive you were both being to us.” 

“But I couldn't do it,” Fadel says, “I think Style knew that before I did. He wasn't…do you know how long it has been since I have met someone who isn't intimidated by me? Even people who have no idea what I really do for a living can be intimidated…or what I did for a living. I'm done killing.”

Kant stares at him, seeming slightly surprised and possibly disbelieving of the claim. But it's true. Fadel is done. 

“I have a few exceptions. A list, I guess,” Fadel continues, “Despite what you did, you don't make the cut.” 

Kant looks away, “I have a hard time believing that, considering how I cooperated.” 

“You were in a situation that was hard to get out of,” Fadel says, “Style made that clear. He told me everything you’ve gone through.” 

“...Great.” 

Fadel scoffs, “It saved you, so you shouldn't hold it against him. Even though I knew I was never going to be able to kill Style, I figured I would come down and kill you for Bison. I knew he wasn’t going to be able to do it either. He got farther than I ever did with Style, but I think he's now wracked with guilt over it. If that makes you feel better.” 

It doesn't seem to make Kant feel better. Not really. Maybe Fadel should change the subject. He needs to get back to his point anyway. 

“So I mean it when I say you don't make this list of exceptions,” Fadel says, “You're too important to Bison, and you're too important to Style. It doesn't particularly deal with any affectionate feelings for you on my end. It's because the two people I love the most love you.” 

“...Okay, but-” 

“The cop is on the list,” Fadel interrupts, “Style thinks he's probably dirty and can be blackmailed. He expressed some interest in creating dirt in order to do it. I didn't like what he came up with.” 

Kant lets out a snort, “Do I want to know?” 

Fadel shakes his head, “There is no need for you to. I'm not letting Style’s idea happen. You won't be bothered if we end up incriminating and killing the cop you were working with?” 

Kant meets his eyes at that point. 

“Fuck no. He has been holding jail time and taking Babe out of my custody over my head for years. He can rot.”

Good. 

Fadel gives Kant a smile. Going by Kant’s taken back expression, he isn't used to seeing it. 

To be honest, Fadel isn't used to smiling. He thought he had forgotten how. 

Until Style. 

“My parents' murderer is also on the list,” Fadel continues, “But he has been on there for a long time. There is only one more person, one who I don't know much about but Style mentioned him last night. He told me what he did.” 

It's vague, but he wants to see what Kant’s conclusion is. As soon as Kant’s gaze becomes dark and somewhat agitated, he figures Kant’s accuracy is on point.

“He told you about Gun?” 

And he has a name. It isn’t a legal name, but it's a nickname he can work with. 

He just hates how common it is. 

“If you have any information, I would appreciate it,” Fadel says. 

Kant opens his mouth, only for the sounds of someone unlocking the door to interrupt, “...I assume we’re staying here for a while.” 

“You assume right.” 

“I’ll get up early and find a way to talk with you then,” Kant says. Then, he acts as if the conversation never happened at all. 

Bison has no idea what is happening. Fadel has smiled more tonight than he has seen him smile in years. Style acts as though this is just some fun couples’ vacation. Bison isn’t sure if Style is the greatest actor on earth and is just biding his time until he can escape with Kant or if he is truly in love with Fadel. For some confusing reason, Bison’s gut is telling him it's genuine love. Maybe he is projecting his own wants onto the situation since he has wanted Fadel to find love for years. Mother may have demanded the opposite and they played by her rules for a while. Bison may have survived on long strings of one night stands because of his libido and acceptance of sleeping with strangers. Fadel may have survived on structure, routine, and trying to find healthy coping mechanisms. Unlike Bison, Fadel has never been someone who has one night stands. The few times he tried prior to Van, those “one night stands" always turned into something more since Fadel dragged them along long enough for at least some feelings to develop by the time they slept together. Fadel always needed connection before having sex with someone. Love. As much as Bison has joked with him about that, he always respected Fadel’s standard and how he never deviated from it. He doesn't know if it comes from needing some level of trust due to their lives, or maybe Fadel is demisexual or something. Bison read the description for it once and truly thought it fit his brother, even though he never asked him as much. 

Although, Bison gets it, now that he has let himself fall in love. Sex is better when love is a factor. But it also makes the betrayal so much worse. A one-night-stand would be dead by now. Bison wouldn't even hesitate. It's at the point where Bison feels Kant isn't going to die at all. Fadel is apparently done killing people, so he isn't going to do it for him. He also told Bison not to do it because Kant has had a hard life and he's Style’s best friend. Why would they kill Style’s best friend when Fadel and Style are completely in love?

“We’re crushing them!” Style says happily, giving Fadel another kiss as they win another token in the trivia game. While Fadel knows the answers to a lot of the music and culture questions, Style knows a lot of facts about the Ayutthaya Empire. 

It makes Bison more suspicious. 

“They were always going to win,” Kant says to him quietly, all while Style celebrates once he and Fadel get the last token, “Style has this version of the game. We played it enough growing up that he probably remembers the answers to most of the questions.” 

Despite being on a team for the last hour, he and Kant have barely spoken outside of asking each other game questions. Bison has to process that Kant is talking to him before answering him. 

“His memory can't be that good.” 

“It is,” Fadel says as wrapping his arms around Style’s waist as he jumps back on his lap, “He remembers the lyrics to every song he hears.” 

Bison studies Style suspiciously, “Is that why he was singing mariachi music in Yugoslavian while we freed the crabs?” 

Style sits up, “One: Those songs were in Croatian. They were originally recorded when Yugoslavia was still a country, but Yugoslavia was made up of six federal republics, giving them six major regional languages-” 

“How long has this been an interest for you?” Kant interrupts. 

“Since today,” Style says, putting his arms around Fadel’s shoulders, “Fadel introduced me to them. They're his new favorite band, even though they are old and have been retired for years. They actually may be dead by this point.” 

“Good thing they aren't actually my favorite band,” Fadel says to him, only for his eyes to soften when Style bends down to kiss Fadel’s forehead. 

“It's okay,” Style says, “You don't have to be embarrassed that you like them. I have a soft spot for them now too.” 

“I don't like them. I feel nothing for them,” Fadel says, reaching up to stroke Style’s cheek. 

“Liar,” Style murmurs, kissing Fadel’s palm, “They're our band.” 

Bison is actually grateful when Kant clears his throat. 

“Did we want to eat some of the cake?” Kant asks, standing up, “It's getting late.” 

“Sure!” Style says, staying put with Fadel, “We need candles. When we finish, I will be gracious and play Pictionary. I'm sure the two of you will beat us at that game. Bison, I will let you accompany Kant to show him the candles - if he is comfortable with that. If he isn’t, I’ll go with Kant.” 

All heads turn to Kant to wait for his answer, including Bison’s. He hates that he wants to know. He shouldn't care if Kant is afraid of him or not. In fact, he should prefer it. 

So why does he feel sick at the thought of that being the case? He's pretty sure it is, with the way Kant seems afraid to look him in the eye. 

“Bison probably knows where they are. He can come.” 

However, Kant’s fear apparently isn't an obstacle when it comes to allowing Bison to be around him without any supervision. Despite that feeling like both a blessing and an allowance that shouldn't even be in place, Bison stands up to follow Kant out of the room.

When he glances back at Style - to thank him and to maybe warn him to not try pulling one over on Fadel - he knows he isn’t going to bother. There is no point, considering they are already entering a full-fledged make-out session. Even with Van, Fadel was more reserved and subtle. Style definitely brainwashed him. 

He freed him. 

Bison shakes that unwanted, intrusive thought out of his brain and follows Kant into the kitchen without overanalyzing it. 

“Um…” Kant starts, still seeming uncomfortable in his skin and unsure of how to move or what to say, “Do you have candles?” 

Bison doesn't know. He hasn't celebrated a birthday in this house since he turned seven. Seventeen years ago. Shit. 

He remembers Pa baking a cake in the morning and letting it cool while they went fishing. They caught their meals, and Ma would go across the island and pay an old gardener money to have some of his produce to last them for their stays. She would pay him more to take some back. He grew enough for the few residents the island had, and she had known him since she was a child. While he and Pa were out on the boat, she would prepare the vegetables in a way that would appeal to Bison’s stubborn palate and decorate the cake beautifully. Pa always said that he got his artistic abilities from her. Pa was always so proud of her art. He was proud of her, just like she was proud of him. They were in love in a way Bison saw in movies. He knew he wanted to grow up and have something similar. They wanted that for him too. 

They probably didn't want him to become a hit man. They also probably didn't want him drugging and almost drowning the only person he has ever loved, regardless of what that person did. Something like that might make Mother proud, but Ma and Pa would probably be horrified.

“Bison? Are you okay?” 

Bison quickly wipes his eyes and walks over to the drawer in the pantry, only to find a box of multi-colored birthday candles still there. Seeing how dusty the box is makes a lump get lodged in his throat. 

“Here,” he manages to say, tossing Kant the box, “Uh…Can you just use one of those?” 

He doesn't know why that's his request. Ma always put more than one on the cake. Maybe having more in the box means he will be able to celebrate more birthdays here. Maybe it means he won't be dead by his next one, or in prison. 

Maybe it means he will be around to feel a lot better about himself. Maybe he can be a better person by then. 

Kant doesn't ask questions when he only pulls out one candle. He just sticks it in the cake and pulls out his lighter. Bison feels his heart inexplicably sink when it doesn't light. Kant glances at him apologetically, but then keeps staring at Bison before clearing his throat. 

“Do you have a pair of scissors?” 

Bison should be more hesitant before handing Kant a weapon, but he does it without question. Kant cuts just the tip of the wick, tries again, and the candle lights up without any further issue. 

“Happy Birthday,” Kant says softly.

Bison tries to answer, he does. But all that comes out is a shuddering noise as moisture springs to his eyes. 

Kant takes a step closer, “Bison?” 

“Let's go back,” Bison says quickly. He goes back to the living room before Kant can say another word. 

Bison pulls it together by the time Kant sets the cake down. He sits through Style singing Happy Birthday to You.

…In Haitian Creole, because apparently he heard it that way once as a kid and has never sung it any other way since. 

“What…” Fadel starts, staring at Style in bewilderment. 

Maybe now, Fadel will question just how strange Style truly is and will be pulled out of whatever spell he has been under. 

“It's the best way to sing it,” Style says insistently, “Kant knows it too, since I sing it for him and Babe every year. Again! And you join this time, Kant. I mean it. Bison deserves that much. He was stabbed on his birthday. This is an encore celebration, so he deserves an encore performance with all able vocalists participating.” 

“The candle is melting, Style,” Kant says. 

Style seems to take that as a challenge and leans over the cake slightly, “Better get to singing then.” 

And that is how Bison finds himself being sung Happy Birthday to You in Haitian Creole two times in a row by his brother's boyfriend and his own boyfriend (or his ex? Bison doesn't know).

Or maybe the ones singing are the two people who betrayed them. 

The two people he and Fadel love the most. 

Bison doesn't know how to categorize either of them. All he can do is put all of his efforts into Pictionary, making it so he and Kant finally beat Style and Fadel at a game. It is a big enough loss to make Style give up games for the rest of the evening and go look at the DVD shelf instead. He pops in a horror movie, and he and Fadel take over the couch. Style seems a little too excited when someone dies in an over-the-top way, Fadel seems too comfortable using Style’s lap as a pillow, and Bison barely pays attention to the movie at all. All he can focus on is Kant. He can't even hide it. 

But to be fair, Kant is focused on him too. They watch each other more than they watch the movie. It isn't until it is over that they snap out of it. 

“Sleeping arrangements?” Style asks, “You have two bedrooms and an office. While Fadel trusts me not to flee in the middle of the night, I doubt you feel the same. So I am guessing Kant and I sharing a room is out of the question in your eyes.” 

“It is,” Bison says simply. 

“And while I would love to share a room with Fadel, I don't know how I feel about leaving my best friend with you when you tried to drown him.” 

Kant clears his throat, “Style, it's okay-” 

Style sends his friend a sharp look, “So it's Fadel and Kant, and it's you and me. We’re going to have fun tonight, roomie.” 

Bison blinks at being assigned the least likely roommate and glances at Fadel, “I changed my mind-” 

“It's fine. We can do it that way tonight and re-evaluate tomorrow,” Fadel says. 

“...Huh,” Style says, “I didn't expect you to accept it-” 

“I talked to Kant while you and Bison walked down the shore,” Fadel cuts in, then looks at Kant, “We’re fine. We should probably talk more anyway.” 

Style looks at Fadel suspiciously, “About?” 

Fadel shrugs his shoulders, “Nothing in particular. You. Bison. Boy talk.” 

“Boy talk,” Style repeats slowly, then seems to accept this, “Boy talk, yeah. Of course. Bison and I should do that too. Right, Bison?”

Bison doesn't know how to answer that. But luckily, Style doesn't seem to care if he gets one. He kisses Fadel goodnight, takes Bison’s arm, and pulls him towards the hallway.

“Show me to our room,” Style says dramatically, “Our platonic marital bed.” 

“I don't remember this decision equaling marriage,” Bison says. He actually doesn't remember agreeing to this at all. Literally any other possibility made more sense. He should have just let Style and Kant share a room. 

“It's a platonic marriage,” Style says as they enter the master bedroom, “Kant and I are a package deal, just like you and Fadel are! You and I are going to get to know each other, braid each other’s hair-” 

“And talk about what you really want from my brother?” Bison asks, turning around to face him.

Style sighs and gives him a look, “I want him. All I want is him. He's all I can think about. It's obsessive. I mean, I do want to marry him one day-” 

“What?” Bison scoffs. 

“I’m not saying I’m going to ask him now or even super soon,” Style says, then groans and throws himself on the bed face down, “But I love him. So fucking much. He's literally it for me. That's why it's important to get the two of you out of all this trouble and out of the hitman life completely. Because if that doesn't work out, then I am framing myself for a crime so I can end up in prison with Fadel.” 

He's talking crazy. Bison has to wonder if Style is trying to take him off his guard. In some ways, he is definitely successful at it. In other ways, his execution could be better. Throwing himself face down on the bed and being unaware of his surroundings isn’t exactly the makings of a flawless execution. 

But as Bison creeps closer, he realizes it would make executing Style easier…

“I would rather it be the first thing though. Wouldn't you?” 

Style turns onto his back and stares up at Bison, who immediately takes on a less threatening posture. 

“I was thinking…” Style starts, pushing himself into a sitting position before holding up his hands, “Okay, Fadel hates this idea. But I was thinking of…compromising the cop in some way. He knows what you, Fadel, and Kant look like. But I don't think he really knows who I am. He didn't seem to recognize me at the hospital. So I'm just wondering…maybe I can do something to take him down. Seduce him and plant evidence on him, maybe.” 

Bison can see why Fadel hated that idea. It isn't a bad one though…assuming Style is being genuine about this suggestion. 

“We shouldn't do anything now, of course,” Style continues, “The heat should die down, and maybe some crimes can be contributed to someone else along the way so the evidence towards you and Fadel is inconclusive. But this cop was definitely using Kant. He manipulated him and put him in a tough position. That kind of behavior deserves to be exposed and blown out of proportion. I don't think he is a good guy. So we should look into him, find dirt, and ruin him. If what we find isn't enough, I am more than willing to create some.”

Bison mulls the proposition over, then sits down on the edge of the bed, “You aren't fucking with me? He isn't putting you up to this?” 

“How is this asshole putting me up to anything when he barely knows I exist?” Style asks, “I want him gone. He fucked with my friend’s life and he is trying to imprison the man I will marry one day-” 

“You're strange, Style.” 

“Yes, but I am also in love,” Style counters, “So that cop is my enemy. If anyone is going down for your crimes, it’s him.” 

While Bison isn't sure how to trigger something like that, he is willing to discuss ways to make it happen with someone who is dead set on it.