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Porsche steps out into the alley behind Hum Bar and lights a cigarette. The cool night air is a welcome reprieve from the stuffy kitchen. It's a surprisingly busy night and he's doing double duty washing dishes and bussing tables. Their newest hire called in sick and Porsche can feel his life melt away with each batch of steaming glasses he pulls out of the dishwasher. He's counting down the time until he can officially start working as a bartender. Yok refuses to let him stand behind the bar until he's mastered how to mix and pour every drink they serve.
He can't wait until he can stop washing dishes and start pulling in more tips.
He takes a long drag of the cigarette and tilts his head back. He exhales. Porsche wants to follow the smoke as it dances up towards the dark, twinkling sky.
The sound of scraping gravel and a small cacophony of metal and glass snaps Porsche back to earth. He squints down the dimly lit alley and waits—tense and quiet—but only the muffled sounds of the bar and the city beyond can be heard. He stubs his cigarette out against the wall behind him, tucks it behind his ear, and inches cautiously down the alley.
Next to a garbage can and a messy stack of crates lies an open, overturned cardboard box. Pieces of junk are strewn across the paved street.
Porsche doesn't see anyone else in the alley.
"Must have been a stray," he mumbles. He doesn't want to leave the trash in the middle of the street in case someone has a small accident. With a sigh, Porsche walks over to clean up the mess.
"Fuck!" Porsche jumps back, startled. Half-hidden behind the crates is a hand. Attached to the hand is a very bloody man.
Porsche drops to his knees and leans down to check for any signs of life. "Hey. Can you hear me?" The answering groan is small and pained. "Don't move. I'll call an ambulance. Can you tell me what happened? Where are you hurt?"
Porsche fumbles for his phone but a hissed "no" stops him.
"No hospital." Despite the layer of pain, the voice sounds young. He can't be older than Porsche. He braces an elbow on the ground as he struggles to sit up, and Porsche wraps his hands around the sleeves of the bloody jean jacket, tugging gently in an effort to help. "It looks worse than it is," he says.
The grunt that follows does nothing to convince Porsche.
"I'm fine," he insists and then gestures to his bloody front. "Most of this isn't mine."
Well. That's… concerning. "You know what? It's not my business. Come on, let's go. There's a first aid kit inside."
Porsche hoists his new friend up and manhandles him through the back entrance of the bar. He catches Yok's startled expression as soon as he enters and he jerks his head towards the breakroom. The room is blessedly empty, and Porsche ushers the injured man to sit on a stack of plastic crates next to the sink. He doesn't think Yok would appreciate any bloodstains on the furniture.
"What's your name, anyway?" Porsche asks as he pulls a beat up-looking metal case out of a small cabinet. "I'm Porsche." Porsche grabs the back of a chair and drags it over, the sound of the legs scraping against the floor screech around them.
Porsche sits down, opens the first aid kit, and raises an eyebrow.
"…Kim."
Now that Porsche sees him under the fluorescent lights, and despite the blood and dirt caked in his hair and across his face, Porsche is positive they must be close in age.
Kim shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a muffled thud. He swings his leg around and turns until his back is facing Porsche. He leans forward and moves to pull up his shirt, but he freezes, body tense. "I can't—" he inhales sharply. "Can you... I think I fractured a rib."
Porsche bites his lip at the amount of dried blood decorating Kim's white t-shirt. Slowly, Porsche pulls the shirt up to reveal Kim's back, and Porsche does his best not to lose his shit.
"What the fuck happened to you?"
"Nothing."
"You look like you were tortured!"
"Didn't you say it's none of your business?"
Porsche snorts in frustration and abandons Kim to fetch a clean towel. He runs it under the tap and lathers it with soap. "I still think you'd be better off at a hospital."
"No," grunts Kim.
"Then what about the police? You should—"
"Absolutely not."
"Don't be stupid—"
"It's none of your business. I'm fine." Kim pants as he struggles to his feet. "I'll just go. Forget I was here."
"Whoa! Hey. Stop." Porsche rushes to Kim's side and gently pushes him back down onto the crates. "Look, dude. At least let me clean your wounds first."
After carefully cleaning and bandaging Kim's back, Porsche leaves Kim to deal with the mess on his face and in his hair while he tracks down Yok. She takes one look at his worried face and tells him to clock out.
Porsche grabs his things and makes a beeline for Kim. Before Kim can protest, Porsche shoves his helmet on Kim's head and drags Kim out of Hum Bar and towards his motorbike. "Where to? And if you try to take that helmet off, I'll bring you straight to the hospital." Porsche pauses. "Or the police station."
Kim grunts, rattles off an address, and off they go.
They pull up to a large gate where Kim has to lift the visor of his helmet and identify himself. There's a relieved cry of "Khun Kim" and Porsche starts to suspect that Kim might be a rich kid. A really rich kid.
His suspicions are proven true by the sizeable swarm of men in suits that descend upon them as soon as Porsche parks his motorbike next to a set of large glass doors.
There's an impressive chorus of "Khun Kim," but Kim doesn't respond. He leans further into Porsche and Porsche can feel the press of the helmet against his back. Porsche pats the tense fist at his waist until it uncurls around the fabric of his shirt.
Porsche slides off the motorbike, careful not to jostle Kim more than necessary. Then he slides under Kim's arm, using one hand to pull it across his shoulders and wraps his other arm around Kim's waist. Together they slowly ease Kim off Porsche's motorbike, and it's not until Porsche has removed the helmet from Kim's head that he registers the silence around them.
The small crowd now stands at attention in two long lines, each man standing shoulder to shoulder. In front of them, two older gentlemen stare at Porsche intently. One curious, the other calculating.
"Um, hello, sir," says Porsche. "Are you Kim's father?"
The elder of the two—the only one not dressed in a black suit, but brown slacks and a white knit sweater—nods with a polite smile. "Yes. Thank you for bringing Kim to us." Kim's father nods to the man at his side.
The man reaches Kim in three confident strides and ushers him towards the entrance where Porsche can see something resembling an empty hospital bed.
"Uh, he—I don't know what happened, I think he was attacked by someone—maybe more than one person. He… his back is covered in cuts and his ribs might be broken. He refused to go to a hospital. I did my best to help but…" Porsche trailed off, uncertain.
"Hmm, yes. We'll make sure to properly compensate you."
"No, no, that's not what I—"
"Nonsense. I insist. Now, what's your name, young man?"
"Oh, uh, Porsche. Porsche Kittisawasd."
The man's expression seems to crack for a second. "Porsche Kittisawasd" he repeats, slowly. The polite smile on his face widens into something warmer. "Please, follow me." Not waiting for a reply, he turns and enters the stately building.
Porsche nods and grins awkwardly at the line of silent men as he shuffles past.
They walk through several rooms and hallways, and Porsche tries not to gawk at the glass elevator they take up to the top floor.
Rich people really do live completely different lives.
Porsche follows Kim's father into a study, and at his insistence, sits on a squeaky leather chair in front of a large desk.
Porsche waits in silence as the other man wanders to the side of the room and pulls out two short glasses.
"You're old enough to drink, yes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hmm," he pours them each a finger of whiskey. "Twenty? Twenty-one?"
"Oh, um, twenty-one."
"I see. Yes. You're a little older than Kim."
Porsche makes a noise that he hopes sounds interested. He's saved from answering when Kim's father settles behind the desk and pushes one of the glasses towards Porsche.
Porsche wais in thanks and picks up the glass and cradles it to give his hands something to do.
"Oh, where are my manners? I should introduce myself. My name is Korn Theerapanyakul." His gaze feels heavy on Porsche. "The TK Group? Hotels, department stores, luxury cars… I see the Theerapanyakul name doesn't mean much to you. "
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't pay attention to that stuff."
"Yes. That's why I believe you helped Kim because of your character, and not because you're fishing for a debt owed." Korn takes a slow sip of his whiskey. "I have a proposition for you. Come work for me."
Porsche squeezes the glass in his hands. "What?"
"Kim has been insisting on moving out, to finish his university days living on his own. But as you can see from today, his safety is a concern."
So all those men in suits are definitely bodyguards. Unless they're just security guards? It wouldn't be that weird for rich people to make their security guards wear suits instead of the usual security uniforms right? For the aesthetic as Chay and the younger kids like to say. It seems like overkill, but Porsche had seen how badly Kim had been hurt. "And… you want me to keep him safe?"
"I'd like you to help keep an eye on Kim. Protect him. Stop him from doing something… inadvisable. We will of course train you and make sure you are properly compensated."
"Not that I don't appreciate the offer, but why me? Don't you have lots of security or bodyguards or whatever who can protect him?"
Korn sighs with a shake of his head. "Kim has made it apparent that he will not accept any of our current men. He's perfectly capable of shaking them off his tail, which is what lead to his current situation."
"If your small army of men can't keep an eye on him, what makes you think I can?"
"He seems to have taken a liking to you, and that makes all the difference."
Porsche has his doubts. "No. I was just at the right place at the right time. I don't think he accepted my help because he likes me."
"In any case, why don't you take some time to think it over? Come back in two days. Whether or not you accept, that should give me enough time to prepare a gift for you."
"That's really not necessary, sir."
Korn leans back in his chair with another smile. "I will see you in two days."
Porsche spends the next afternoon sorting through the week's alcohol delivery at Hum Bar, stocking the shelves and counting inventory before they open for the evening. He tries to focus on the bottles in front of him, to memorize the types and brands Yok likes to keep in stock. But his thoughts keep drifting back to Kim and to Korn's offer.
He hopes Kim is okay.
Porsche isn't sure about working for him, though. He has enough on his plate trying to make sure Chay—and his uncle, he thinks ruefully—will be able to make it through the next few years. The thought of protecting Kim feels daunting. He's not entirely sure how he feels about Kim's father either. Korn hadn't shown much concern over Kim's well-being. He'd simply had Kim ushered away with one of the guards. As if Kim's injuries are par for the course of being a Theerapanyakul.
Properly compensated. That's what Korn had said.
Fuck.
"Porsche, hon. What's the matter? You've been standing there staring into space for the past five minutes."
Porsche whips around and braces himself against the shelf of booze. "Jie, I thought today was your day off."
Yok frowns and crosses her arms. "That was the plan, but after last night I thought I should check on you. Was that your friend? Is he okay? Are you okay?"
Yok's concern makes his eyes sting—just a little. Porsche doesn't have many people in his life he can go to for comfort and advice, but he cherishes the few that he can. He tells Yok about the previous night. Tells her about Korn's offer.
"That does sound dangerous, but only you can decide if the benefits outweigh the risks. Is it that much riskier than that fighting ring you joined?" One elegant eyebrow slides up in an accusing arc.
"You, uh, know about that?" Porsche stutters.
"You and your friend Jom weren't exactly quiet about it when you won your first fight. I worry about you, you know."
Porsche ducks his head sheepishly.
Yok's hand lands on his upper arm, and she gives it a comforting squeeze. "When you go back to see Khun Theerapanyakul, make sure you know exactly what you're getting into and what you'll get out of it. I know you're doing your best to take care of Porchay, but you also need to take care of yourself."
Porsche hopes his response doesn't sound as hollow as he feels. "Of course."
It's well past midnight when Porsche makes it home. From outside he notices the only light on inside the house is coming from his room, which is strange. He knows he didn't leave it on.
Porsche does a quick scan of the main floor. Foyer, office, washroom, kitchen, living room—in slight disarray but otherwise empty. He tip toes up the stairs and pauses at the landing in front of Chay's room.
Just one quick peek. Just in case.
Porsche intends to open the door just a tiny crack, but the still neatly made bed has Porsche's heart thundering. He flies into the dark room to check the alcove tucked behind Chay's shelf. Finding nothing, he runs up the next flight of stairs and barrels into his own room.
Chay's there.
It's fine. Chay's fine.
Chay is in the middle of Porsche's bed, propped up against the headboard and wrapped around in Porsche's duvet with his arms clutching Porsche's favourite pillow.
No. Porsche's chest constricts.
Chay is not fine.
Porsche spots the beginnings of a bruise on the side of Chay's face.
Porsche wants to scream. To find out what happened to Chay. To return the favour to whoever did this to Chay.
But he can't bring himself to wake Chay up.
Instead, he leaves the lights on and curls around Chay.
Korn hadn't specified a time for their meeting today, so he heads over as soon as he sees with his own eyes that Chay has taken a step inside his school. Porsche's unannounced arrival doesn't seem to surprise their security. Despite Kim having to identify himself at the gate the other night, this morning the doors of the gate slide open like magic as he drives up the path towards the compound.
Because that's what it is. A compound. It had been too dark—and he too distracted—to notice just how large the Theerapanyakul property was. Now, in the light of day, he whistles with admiration at the sight.
Damn. Rich people.
A rather young looking guard waves him down near the entrance, signalling for him to park his motorbike just off to the side. He greets Porsche politely and escorts him inside. It takes less than a minute for Porsche to realize they aren't going to Korn's office.
They cut through the building and exit through a side door that leads them outside to a closed off garden. Porsche glances curiously at the neatly trimmed plants and the large pond with two large koi fish, swimming peacefully in the water. They follow another path from the garden to a considerably more private area of the compound. They enter a rather charming red-bricked mansion, and Porsche is led through a series of rooms and hallways until they find Korn seated outside on an equally charming veranda.
Korn nods at the stoic man standing off to his side and invites Porsche to join him for tea as a second chair is placed across from Korn.
Porsche presses his palms together respectfully before sitting down gingerly, feeling awkward and underdressed in his thrifted t-shirt and jeans. Taking in Porsche's demeanour, Korn opens with idle small talk and chatters about the garden until Porsche is on his second cup of tea.
"Have you considered my offer?"
Porsche swallows and nods. "I've thought about it."
Korn smiles, urging Porsche to continue.
"What exactly do I get out of this job? Kim, he—it looks like the chance of injury is pretty high. And death—that's a possibility too; right? I…" Under the table Porsche digs his nails into the meat of his thighs. "I have to take care of my younger brother. I can't—"
The corners of Korn's smile stretch wider. "We'll make sure you're both properly taken care of."
Korn's surly shadow—Chan—is ordered to give Porsche his official onboarding. It's when he's left alone to take a nap during a boring video presentation on the history of the Theerapanyakul Group that he finally sees Kim again.
"Wow, they're still playing this video?"
Porsche jerks awake at Kim's voice, having missed his entrance into the room. Porsche wipes at his mouth and looks at Kim curiously.
Kim looks okay. He's walking around on his own, standing straight, breathing normal, face clean and unblemished—the perfect picture of a handsome, wealthy heir and not like some unlucky kid who was attacked and left for dead.
Porsche squints between the unzipped zipper of Kim's brown leather jacket. He can almost see the faint outline of bandages beneath Kim's shirt. "How are your ribs?" he asks.
"It's just a small crack. It'll heal. It's more annoying than anything." Kim continues on, ignoring Porsche's incredulous stare. "I'm on the doctor's order not to sing for at least two weeks, which is stupid. I wasn't even in danger of dying. That beating was only meant to be a message."
"What the fuck," says Porsche.
Kim grins. "Regret joining us already?"
"Yes—no." Porsche feels a twitch in his jaw and unclenches his teeth. "Ask me again later."
The unexpected laugh that explodes out of Kim morphs into a pained wince.
Shit. Porsche jumps up from his seat and latches onto Kim's arm with a firm but gentle grip. "Is it really just a small crack?"
Kim rolls his eyes and wriggles out of Porsche's grasp. Instead of answering the question, Kim changes the subject. "So… you're a taekwondo champion, so I know you can fight. But—"
"How did you know that?"
Kim waves a dismissive hand. "Father ran a background check. Obviously. Do you have any firearms experience?"
"Um, no." Porsche bites his lip. "Am I expected to carry a gun?"
"If you can handle it. Come on, let's go." Kim gestures for Porsche to follow, but Porsche freezes in place and points to the video that is still playing.
"What about this? And Chan?"
Kim snorts. "My father may have hired you, but you'll be working for me."
As Kim leads him through a large training facility, Porsche wonders about Kim's reputation among the guards. There's a good mix of admiration and fear on the faces of the men who stop to greet Kim as they pass. Kim ignores them all, walking coolly towards their destination.
They end up at an indoor shooting range—seriously, what the fuck is up with this place?—that is blessedly empty except for a single attendant. Porsche's leaves Kim to chat with him as his eyes and feet wander across the room.
There are a row of small tables separated by what Porsche assumes are soundproofing panels. Against the far wall at the other end of the lanes hang a row of shooting targets depicting the outline of a human body.
Porsche hopes he doesn't actually have to shoot anyone.
Kim calls Porsche over to the middle lane and proceeds to rattle on about gun safety. He demonstrates the proper way to hold the gun before gesturing for Porsche to don a pair of protective earmuffs. Kim eye's Porsche's posture critically before nodding at him to shoot.
Porsche's first shot isn't… terrible.
Kim taps Porsche lightly on his shoulder and hip and gives him tips on how to brace for the recoil.
The second shot is better.
The lesson continues until they're interrupted by the arrival of three men. One of them, a guard, stands at attention a few feet back while the other two crowd into their space. Porsche eyes them curiously as he removes his earmuffs. The one in a bold, barely buttoned, burgundy dress shirt greets Kim with a warm but slightly worried look.
"You should be resting, nong."
"It's fine. I'm just supervising."
He lets out a doubtful hum before turning towards Porsche. "We haven't met yet. I'm Kinn Theerapanyakul. Thank you for helping Kim the other night. I heard you made such an impression, you've been hired to be Kim's guard." He glances at Porsche's target sheet and shoots a confused, but ultimately amused look at Kim.
"An interesting choice, Kim," says the man hovering next to Kinn. "I see he has other assets, at least." His eyes flick down Porsche's body before snapping towards Kim.
Kim glares as Kinn chuckles.
"Stop teasing them, Tawan." Kinn shakes his head with a smitten smile before turning his attention back to Kim. "I came to ask you to join us for lunch. A new restaurant opened up near that music you store you like."
Kim glances quickly at Tawan before declining. "Sorry. Maybe next time."
"Sure. Next time," repeats Kinn.
Kim and Porsche silently watch as Tawan drags Kinn out of the room by the hand.
The next three weeks blur together as Porsche is put through the wringer learning skills he would have never thought he'd need to know. He manages to build a friendly rapport with a handful of guards—the ones primarily assigned to Kim's eldest brother, Tankhun. He officially quits his job at Hum Bar. He has a long talk with his uncle about Chay's safety. He replaces the door knob to Chay's room with one with an interior and exterior lock. And, of course, he helps Kim move into a fancy suite in a fancy apartment.
"You're really putting that portrait up?" Porsche asks, as he and Kim install a discreet metal track in front of a large corkboard. The portrait in question is a large blue blown-up painting of Kim's face.
"It was a gift" is all Kim says.
Porsche sweats as he rearranges the furniture and decor to Kim's liking. Porsche huffs in annoyance as Kim asks him to reposition a large bookshelf two feet to the left. Yet again.
He wants to complain, but he doesn't. He knows Kim is just getting back at him for making Kim sit out after catching Kim wince in pain when they hoisted the giant portrait up onto the sliding frame. And he doesn't want to give Kim the satisfaction of reacting to his petty revenge. He knows how little brothers work.
Porsche takes it upon himself to break-in Kim's kitchen while Kim mutters over a pile of documents. From the look on Kim's face the other day when Porsche had asked about stocking Kim's fridge and pantry, he suspects that Kim might have been planning to live on take-out and delivery.
He makes a simple curry, and when it's ready to serve, he turns down the stove and covers the pot to keep it warm. Porsche sets the table before making his way to Kim's side. Kim's been productive. There's a few dozen photos pinned up in neat rows, a list of dates and names, and a few newspaper clippings peppered around the board.
"Great job. All you need is some red thread."
"Yeah. I forgot to buy some. Pick some up the next time you get groceries."
Porsche smacks Kim lightly on the head and shoves him gently towards the dining table.
"Now that we're away from any prying ears, are you finally going to tell me about your secret project?" asks Porsche as he shoves one last spoonful of rice into his mouth.
"Someone's been leaking information about my family to one of our… competitors."
Porsche leans back in his chair. "You can say it's one of your enemies. After the training I went through, I'd have to be an idiot if I still thought everything happening here has been aboveboard."
Kim relaxes a little at Porsche's blasé tone. "Right. So. One of our enemies. The Italian mafia."
"The mafia," Porsche sighs. "Of course."
Kim clears his throat with a small cough which he immediately follows with an eye roll when Porsche glares at Kim's chest.
"What makes you so certain it's the Italian mafia?"
"Because I let them catch me." He gestures to his torso. "You can thank them for this."
What the fuck?
"Kim," hisses Porsche. "What the fuck?"
Kim shrugs, "And also thanks to that, now I know the leak is in or has access to Kinn's circle."
Porsche rakes a hand through his hair in exasperation. No wonder Korn wanted to hire someone to stop Kim from doing something stupid. "And this leak—is this why your father said you wouldn't accept any of the current guards? You can't trust them?"
"Not all of them," says Kim. "I have my suspicions, and there are a few I know would never betray my brothers—which is why I'd prefer it if they stay with my brothers instead of coming with me." Kim offers Porsche a small smile. "Besides, it worked out in the end. I have you."
Porsche hears the "I trust you" and offers Kim a soft warm smile in return.
If Kim doesn't draw any attention to the heat in Porsche's face, he'll pretend not to see the light dusting of pink in Kim's cheeks either.
Kim clears his throat for the second time and scowls. "Anyway, I don't want Kinn to get hurt, but I kind of hope Tawan turns out to be the mole."
"Kinn's… boyfriend?"
"Yeah. I hate that fucking guy. Unfortunately the timing seems a little too obvious and Tawan is kind of stupid, so I don't know if he could pull it off."
Porsche huffs with amusement. "But is he stupid enough to get entangled with the Italian mafia? He could be putting on an act."
"You're right," Kim grins. "He's going back under Suspect Number Two."
"Who's number one?"
"You haven't met yet, but my cousin Vegas. Never tell him that, though. He doesn't deserve to know he's number one on any of my lists."
Despite Kim's own investigations and speculations, he still doesn't have enough information for them to make a formal move on either the Italians or the mole hidden within their ranks, so Kim sends Porsche off to play with the main family guards while he finally deigns to attend his university classes.
Porsche doesn't expect much to happen during his first foray into espionage, but Chan takes one look at Porsche when he arrives and all but shoves him into the back seat of a black car with Big and Ken. Pete's uncertain smile greets Porsche from the front passenger seat.
"Excellent timing," says Chan. "Porsche, It's time for you to get some experience out on the field."
"On the field?"
"It's a figure of speech, dumbass."
Chan shoots Ken a reproachful look before slamming the passenger door shut and climbing into the driver's seat.
No one bothers to tell Porsche where they are going, so Porsche leans closer to the window next to him and discreetly watches Ken and Big's reflections. He hasn't had very many interactions with either of them directly, but the few they did have had been rather unpleasant. Especially with Ken. Porsche wonders with disdain if Ken is unpleasant enough to be a turncoat too.
As for Big, Porsche doesn't have a good read on him yet. He's always glaring at Kinn and Tawan, though, so he might just be a homophobic jerk.
Porsche mutters under his breath. He's surprised Kinn still keeps Big around if that's the case.
They pull up to a fairly secluded estate on the outskirts of the city. Chan tells Porsche to stay out of trouble and observe. Porsche is glad for it, especially when he realizes what they're here for.
There's a man groveling at Kinn's feet, screaming and crying with a desperation Porsche can feel echoing in his bones.
They're here to collect a debt.
A debt the man can't pay.
Porsche watches the scene unfold with a hollow numbness. Watches one of their men bring in a scared child. Watches the man turn pale and hopeless. Watches a gun get aimed at the child. Watches the man crumple and give in.
Ken sees something on Porsche's face, because he scoffs and rolls his eyes. "You should quit if you can't stomach a little threat like this. If it's a good enough threat, you won't even need to carry through with it."
That's not how the world works, though.
Porsche stays rooted in the same spot as their group slowly begins to clear off the property, so he's the first to notice when things go to shit.
The man reaches into an inside pocket as he sprints towards them, eyes focused on Kinn's retreating figure.
The shock of it forces Porsche back into his body and he lunges at the man as he tries to run past. Porsche tackles the man to the ground and curses when he sees a small, compact gun pointed at his face. Porsche wraps his hand around the man's and pushes with all his might to aim the gun towards the sky, a tree, the flower garden filled with lilies—anything other than another living person.
He yells at the man to stop. Screams that shooting someone isn't going to help.
Their scuffle has drawn the attention of the others, and he sees from the corner of his eye men fanning out in a semi-circle with their own guns drawn. But the struggle between the two make it impossible for any of them to get a clean shot at the man without possibly shooting Porsche in the process.
The man's eyes widen as he catches sight of something past Porsche's shoulder. The fight in him leaves and the momentum of Porsche's push sends them both crashing to the ground followed closely by a loud pop.
Porsche stares, wide-eyed, at the growing mess of red below the man's collarbone. The thudding of footsteps running towards them almost drown out the man's choking gasps, "I did what was asked. Not the kid. Not—"
Someone—Pete, Porsche thinks—takes Porsche by the arm and marches him back to the car.
The ride back is a blur.
Pete gently guides Porsche to his dorm room and pushes Porsche inside the private bathroom. "Take a shower. I'll get you some clean clothes. There should be extra tracksuits in the gym."
Pete leaves the bathroom door ajar, but Porsche doesn't bother to close it all the way. He avoids the mirror and robotically undresses as he inches closer to the bathtub. Pulls off his tie. Removes his vest. Unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt. Unbuttons his shirt—tries to unbutton his shirt. Gives up on it when he gets halfway. Pulls the shirt and his tank top off over his head. Unbuckles his belt. Kicks off his shoes. Pushes off his pants, his underwear. Climbs into the tub. Turns on the water.
Oh. He forgot to take off his socks. Porsche sits in the tub as water rains down on him. He struggles to pull off his wet socks and laughs until he cries.
Hours later Kim finds Porsche curled up in a chair on his balcony. Porsche doesn't react when Kim crouches next to him.
Kim sighs and states softly, "Chan told me he sent you home."
"Don't want Chay to see me like this," Porsche mumbles.
There's another sigh.
Gentle fingers comb through his hair.
"You get used to it."
Porsche whispers, "I don't want to get used to it."
Porsche closes his eyes as Kim retreats back into the apartment. He opens them a moment later when a warm weight drapes across his shoulders. He pulls the blanket from Kim's bed tighter around him and stares at Kim as he settles cross-legged on the floor beside him, guitar in hand.
Porsche falls asleep to the sound of Kim's quiet humming.
Kim spends the next few days demanding Porsche listen to endless renditions of his songs.
"Listen carefully," he says. "I need to decide which lyrics and phrases sound the best—and in which order."
When Porsche's thoughts begin to stray too far, Kim jabs him in the side and demands a cooking lesson instead.
The next time Kim and Porsche visit the main compound, Kinn and Tawan ambush them at the entrance.
"I didn't get to thank you for saving my life, Porsche. Will you and Kim join us for dinner?" Kinn asks.
Porsche glances at Kim in acquiescence and accepts Kinn's offer at Kim's discreet nod. Kinn gestures to Big, who Porsche hadn't seen skulking behind them, and moments later a black limousine pulls up to the curb.
They end up at a fancy French restaurant with dishes Porsche can't pronounce and prices nowhere in sight. The taste of the food is soured by an uneasy feeling in Porsche's gut, but he continues to politely eat a bit of everything he's served. He listens as Kinn and Kim brainstorm gift ideas for Tankhun's upcoming birthday. He offers his own half-hearted suggestions at Kinn's cajoling to join the conversation, and tries to ignore Tawan's stony stare.
His stomach heaves, and Porsche excuses himself.
Half of his meal ends up in a toilet, and then Porsche doesn't remember much after that.
Porsche wakes up with a gag in his mouth and his hands tied around his back. His hands move on autopilot, going through the trained motions to slip his hands out of the knots of rope around his wrists; but when he finally registers the chains wrapped around his torso, he slumps back against a pillar behind him in defeat.
"You're finally awake." Tawan's grating voice emerges across the grimy warehouse. He saunters up to Porsche, a dozen unfamiliar men behind him. Tawan sighs dramatically and looks down his nose at Porsche. "I wanted to teach Kim a proper lesson, but it wasn't time yet. Lucky you, Porsche. You seem like a passable substitute, and you don't matter in the grand scheme of things." Tawan pauses, then leans down to grab Porsche's chin. "Well, you shouldn't matter. I don't get why Korn is so interested in you. You couldn't even handle the death of that nobody."
"Fuck's sake," Porsche spits out. "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with."
Tawan smiles a smile that Porsche thinks is the most genuine he's seen from him. "With pleasure."
Shots ring in the air and Porsche gets an elbow to the face as Tawan scrambles for cover. A small group of Kinn's men storm into the room, led by a stormy Kim and a grief-stricken Kinn close on his heels.
They make quick work of Tawan's men, and Big rushes over to free Porsche. Big picks the lock on the chains and helps Porsche up onto his feet.
"Please, Kinn, this isn't what it looks like. I was forced to do this," Tawan pleads.
"How long?" screams Kinn. He gestures between himself and Tawan. "Was any of this real?"
"Of course it was—is real! Kinn, darling, I'm doing this for us."
"Shut up!" Kinn pulls out his gun, his hands shaking as he sobs. "Kim was hurt because of you—"
"Ai'Kinn," Kim places a steadying hand on Kinn's arm. "Let me do it. You shouldn't have to do this."
"No, I do." Kinn squares his shoulders but doesn't shrug off Kim's hand. "Tawan," he says, with a crack in his voice. "I wish I never met you."
And Kinn pulls the trigger.
Kim switches places with Big and scans Porsche's body for injuries while Big guides Kinn out of the building. After seeing with his own eyes Porsche has suffered no grievous injuries, he stalks over to Tawan. Kim narrows his eyes at Tawan's body, the way he's sprawled on his side, curled slightly with his face to the ground. He glares at the small splatter of red and the knife on the ground, half-hidden by Tawan's torso.
"He shot you in the chest, Asshole. You'd have lost more blood than that." Kim kicks the body over and Tawan wheezes as he scrambles to put more distance between Kim and himself.
Porsche forces himself to keep watching.
You get used to it. Kim had said.
So Porsche keeps watching.
Porsche is once again in Kim's apartment, wrapped up in Kim's blanket.
"You saw," Kim says conversationally.
Porsche nods.
"Do you think I'm a terrible person?"
Porsche swallows. "No—no. You killed him for your brother. I… I'd kill for mine, too, if I had to."
Kim hums in acknowledgement and leans over to pull out a bottle of ointment from the first aid kit at his feet. He pulls Porsche's hands into his lap and in small, slow circles rubs the balm onto the abrasions around Porsche's wrists.
Kim presses his thumb against the inside of Porsche's wrist. "Are you okay—fuck—no." He laughs dryly. "Nothing about this is okay, but, are you going to be okay?" Kim asks.
Porsche stares at their joined hands and wonders if Kim can feel his heartbeat.
He nods.
Kim's other hand drifts up to cradle Porsche's jaw, and Porsche looks up, brushing his nose against Kim's in the process.
"Do you regret it? Being here?" Kim asks.
In answer, Porsche tilts his head and presses his lips against Kim's.
Kim's thumb trembles against Porsche's dancing pulse.