Archive of Our Own

At half-past five in the morning, Bangkok is mostly still asleep. The sun has barely just risen above the horizon, and the streets are still deathly quiet. Even the stray animals have not yet woken up to face the coming day. There are only a handful of people awake; a man in a grey pinstripe suit rushing towards the train station, a briefcase in one hand, a spilling cup of coffee in another, his tie askew and his hair wild — a woman in a nurse’s scrubs shuffling down the street, each footfall heavier than the last, dark bags under eyes that are barely open— two young boys standing in a shadowed alley, a joint passing between them, fingers ghosting fearfully along exposed skin, eyes hungry and yearning— a girl with mouse brown hair pulled over one bony shoulder, sitting with her back against the door of a tea shop, her short skirt riding up her bruised thighs, head in her trembling hands— three young boys and two girls, passed out in the back of a limousine, their clothes expensive, the alcohol and drugs in their system even more pricey— and Porsche.

Out of all the people Porsche has jogged past in the last half hour, he thinks that he’s faring far better — even though the olive green muscle tee stretched over his torso is two years old, has five holes in very artistic places and is loose on him, the black shorts riding up his legs with every powerful footfall are a size too small for him and feel like second skin on his ass, and the white trainers taking him deeper into the city are worn and less white than they were when he bought them three years ago — e ven the music he’s currently listening to is floating in through the wired headphones in his ears, because he simply cannot afford to buy those bluetooth headphones that everybody else in the world seemingly owns.

And yet despite all that, Porsche thinks he’s doing much better than everyone he’s just ran past, simply because he’s the one in control — he still wears the shirt because he likes how the material feels on his skin, the shorts are his favourite because Porchay bought them for him with his pocket money, his shoes are comfortable and shaped to his feet after years of use and they don’t give him blisters. He could change any of these things, but he chooses not to, because they’re familiar and comfortable. And if there’s one thing Porsche desperately clings to, it would be a sense of familiarity.

If he’s totally honest, the only reason why he isn’t still dreaming of a black Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale and his mother’s Khao Neow Mamuang , is because he wants to get to the Judo studio at a reasonable hour so he can get a decent hour of exercise in before he has to open the studio, and then eventually leave at a good enough time so he isn’t late for his first day of university.

University . The word feels foreign in Porsche’s mouth even though he’s dreamed of it for as long as he possibly could. Since getting accepted, he’s rolled the word over on his tongue again and again and again, and yet the foreignness of it has not faded, Porsche doesn’t think it ever will. Chulalongkorn University in the heart of Bangkok is a University for the elite; you get accepted if you’re either richer than god himself, or you’re just good enough. While with each passing day, Porsche finds himself more broke than he was the day before, he’s proud to say that he’s good enough — but that’s him being modest. If good enough is getting a merit-based admission to the best University in Thailand, then Porsche is better than that because he ended up with the highest entrance exam score in the whole city.

There aren’t many things in life that make Porsche Pachara proud, but his intelligence and his agility sure do — h e's survived on his own in the dog-eat-dog society of Bangkok for the last eight years solely because of how quick and smart he is. And of course, he’s proud of Porchay. 

He only wishes that Porchay was as proud of himself. His baby brother’s an academic genius, a computer whiz, and an artist. But then again, a love and penchant for art runs in their blood; their mother was as skilled with a paintbrush as she was with a spatula, and while Porsche is yet to inherit her cooking skills, he knows he’s nothing less than a maestro with a charcoal pencil and a paintbrush — Porchay as well, but he’s more inclined to figuring out the technicalities of all things than he is to finding the beauty within the mundane.

Porsche, on the other hand, loves to find the beauty within the mundane. He finds beauty in everything — especially the things others would consider ‘ugly’, kind of like those hairless cats that everyone seems to dislike; even though they look like they’ve been turned inside out, Porsche loves them. He finds beauty within the ordinary too; whether they’re grainy pictures of haphazard buildings or wilting flowers on the sidewalk, Porsche finds beauty in the things most people would overlook. The gallery in his phone is filled with such pictures; of Porchay, of his friends, of alley cats in the dark, of girls with tattoos and boys with crooked smiles, of rocks and cracked pavements, of the sun and of the moon, of puddles of rainwater on the road and sunlight streaming in through stained glass. There aren’t many pictures of himself in his gallery, because it’s not often that he finds himself the subject of his many impromptu photography hysterics — because while he finds beauty in everything else, his own self is an entirely different thing.

He’s never thought of himself as beautiful or anything of the sort, and he’s well aware that there’s many who would disagree heartily — but at the end of the day, Porsche doesn’t actually care about what others say about him; both good and bad. He’s deeply unaffected by what the girl he hooked up with two weeks ago said about the colour of his skin, or that the guy who blew him in the back of his truck thought that his eyes looked like stars in the milky way — they mean nothing to him; the compliments and the insults. Porsche is yet to meet a person who’s observation about Porsche’s own self meant anything more than a fleeting pass. That’s what they’ve always been to him, ever since he was a child.

He remembers receiving lots of compliments when he was younger— his teachers called him a star pupil and a ‘joy to have in class’, the parents of his friends and classmates deemed him a good influence and an incredible young man, his own mother often called him the brightest star in her galaxy — that was until Porchay came along, and Porsche became just one of the bright stars. But none of these compliments have ever meant anything to Porsche, they’re just people’s perception of him after all. 

To Porsche, all that matters is what he thinks of himself. And he doesn’t think highly of himself at all. He knows he’s good at a lot of things, exceptional even— but there’s just so much that he hasn’t accomplished yet, and so much that he’s still lacking in. There’s so many empty spaces in his person, that often he cannot recognize the man looking back at him in the mirror.

Most days he feels like an imitation of a person, like an impostor, like he doesn’t belong in his body or in this city, like he doesn’t belong anywhere at all. He sometimes wonders what it would be like if he could just pack a bag and leave— go everywhere and nowhere at the same time, have a home but nothing holding him to the place, to leave everything behind and not have any guilt or regret weighing him down. Would the world still turn the same? Would the sun rise a little earlier? Would the birds not sing in the morning? Would he be missed? But these thoughts are nothing more than his musings, because he would never do that to Porchay.

His little brother is everything to him; his best friend, his family, his confidant, his home, his responsibility, and he’d even go so far as to call Porchay his kid— he’s raised him alone for the last eight years, since Porchay was eight years old, and Porsche wasn’t even in his teenage years yet. Porchay is as much his kid as he is his brother, and that’s reason enough for Porsche to know he would never leave, no matter how bad it got for him. He could also never let Porchay experience abandonment or loneliness, the kid had gone through enough of it already, he didn’t deserve it from Porsche. He looked up to Porsche far more than he could handle, and Porsche would rather die before he betrayed that trust.

Porsche is a bit of an idiot in that sense. He isolated himself and his brother, and put himself in an impossible situation, where he and his brother were everything to each other. They had no family to speak of; ever since their parents’ passing, all the uncles and the aunties had stopped reaching out— they had all tried and tried and tried, but Porsche had always sat there, on the doorstep of the house he no longer called home, ready to bite their heads off. Eventually, they all gave up on him, they stopped trying to reach out and Porsche convinced himself that he was better for it— Uncle Athee was the only one who recognized Porsche for who he was; a traumatised child who had been abandoned by everyone he knew, the realisation made him stick around. Now, it's just Porsche and Porchay— and Uncle Athee when he’s not running from his debtors. And it just makes Porsche sad.

But then again, Porsche is often sad. In fact, he can’t actually recall the last time he wasn’t sad. To Porsche, it feels like he’s been living the last few years of his life on autopilot; he wakes up everyday, he cooks, he cleans, he goes to work, he buys groceries, he hangs out with his friends, he hooks up with random people, he drinks and he works out, but everything he does feels monotonous— everything he does has an underlying sense of sadness. When he wakes up in the mornings, he isn’t excited about the day to come, he’s just making lists in his head of all the things he has to do, of all the budget cuts he has to make to be able to put food on the table that evening. Porsche works on autopilot.

On days that he’s honest with himself, Porsche lets himself admit that he doesn’t even feel alive anymore. And on days that he’s vulnerable with himself, Porsche admits that he would’ve been better off dead.

The only times that he does feel a semblance of life in himself is when he’s with his idiot friends, or when he’s cruising down the busy streets at night on his bike with wind in his hair, trailing kisses on his skin, and the ball of emotions that has been stuck in his throat for the last eight years of his life bringing tears to his eyes— he feels like a person for just a little while. Most of the time, though, he feels like a cheap imitation of who he was, and who he could have been. If his father hadn’t died in an accident, and his mother had just sought the psychiatric help that she needed, maybe he wouldn’t feel like an impostor in his own skin.

Porsche is shaken from his thoughts and inner monologue when he rounds the corner and the Judo Studio comes in his line of vision. And Porsche compartmentalises as well as he always does; his responsibilities come first, and his feelings come never . So he fishes the keys from the pockets of his shorts, and slows down until he’s power walking towards the studio. It’s quiet as it always is when Porsche unlocks the door and pushes it open, and it smells like sandalwood and chlorine, as it always does.

The only sound in the studio is the dull hum of the electric mosquito killer in the far back, but Porsche still instinctively listens for any foreign sounds as he makes his way blindly into the dark— he’s so familiar with the layout of the studio by now that he thinks he could walk around in his sleep. He’s worked at the studio ever since he was fifteen and Jom’s oldest brother, Bright, recognized how talented he was with his fist and his feet. Bright was a trained martial artist who had to retire early in his career due to a knee injury, so he fancied himself some kind of sensei by training younger men and women in the same field that he’d been forced to bid farewell to. But Porsche was an angry teenager and when Bright offered him a punching bag to take all his rage out on instead of whatever poor unfortunate soul crossed his path, Porsche jumped on the opportunity. For the next three years, he trained dutifully under Bright, he honed his skills to the point that he won the National Judo championship three years in a row. He was now training in Muay Thai, but to reach the levels that he wanted to reach, Porsche knew he’d need a teacher far more talented than Bright. But that hadn’t deterred Porsche’s desire to be the best in every field, especially one he’d mastered already— so when Bright offered him a job as a trainer in the very studio he’d learned at, Porsche heartily accepted. So now, for the last two years, Porsche was the sensei who spent three days a week training a group of teenagers, all of whom looked at him with literal stars in their eyes.

Porsche was almost as proud of his little mixed martial artists as he was of Porchay.

He reaches the far wall of the studio and flips all the switches on the board, and all the lights flicker on in the studio with a dull buzzing sound. Porsche makes note of that as he heads towards the staff area at the back to grab a mop.

By the time Ren, another part-time trainer, strolls in with a cup of coffee in one hand and a biscoff donut in the other, Porsche has mopped up the entire place, gotten a good hour of exercise in, and is hanging upside down on the cross bars.

“Training to be Batman, are we?”

Porsche opens his eyes to fix Ren with a glare, “You’re late. I’ve been here for a whole hour.”

“Jesus, it’s only seven minutes. And it’s not my fault that you never sleep and are always working,” he scoffs, making his way towards the staff area to put down his gym bag, “don’t you also work until dawn at your other job? Seriously, you’ve got to be on ‘roids.”

It’s Porsche’s turn to scoff, and he does so when he pulls himself up and grabs the bar with both hands and rights himself. He takes a few seconds to collect his bearings and to allow the blood to rush back down into his body, then rolls his eyes at Ren’s retreating back, “I do sleep, I wouldn’t be able to function if I didn’t sleep. But I also have responsibilities and I carry them out like an adult. You’re about a million years old, you should take some responsibility for yourself too.”

Ren’s laugh sounds from the locker room, “First of all, I’m twenty-eight, and I do have responsibilities. I just know how to prioritise them better. I don’t spend day and night working odd jobs, I have a stable nine-to-five career.”

“You sell drugs .”

“I do not sell— I am a pharmaceutical salesman!”

“So, a glorified drug dealer, got it!” Porsche says, while glancing up at the wall clock which tells him that he only has one hour to get to his first class. Cursing softly under his breath, he quickly turns to look for his shoes, which he finds near the cross bars and makes a grab for them, “alright, I’m headed out.”

“Wait, what? Already? I only just got here, I was hoping we could spar for ten minutes or so.”

“I can’t today, man, I don’t have the time.”

“Oh, yeah! Shit, it’s your first day at university today!” Ren’s head peaks from around the corner, and he regards Porsche with a somewhat nervous smile. 

“Mm, exactly.” Porsche nods, kneeling down to tie his laces.

“Wait, then today’s also your last day here until the summer.” His face falls a little and Porsche tries not to notice.

“It is.”

“Ah, but you’ll still come around to the studio when you’re home, though, right?”

Porsche shrugs, “Probably, yeah.”

“Oh! And what about the Junior District Cup in December? You’re going to be there for that, right?”

“Oh, dude, definitely!” Porsche says, getting to his feet, “I worked my ass off with the kids, there’s no way I’m leaving them right before the district games. I’m going to be here, I’ll help them train too. I just need to work my schedule around it. But I’ll definitely be there.”

“Alright, that’s good! Hey, good luck today, dude— you’re gonna crush it!”

“Thanks, man, I’ll see you ‘round.”

Ren makes his way towards Porsche to give him a quick pat on the back which he follows by gently ruffling his hair, and it makes Porsche smile as he raises a hand in silent goodbye and makes his way out of the studio. Porsche had known Ren for a very long time, and he was almost like a brother to him— almost . 

Porsche would call Ren his brother if it wasn’t for the fact that they had slept together— more than once. The first time was right before Porsche’s nineteenth birthday, when Porsche was drunk on the night and too-much tequila, and Ren was knocking back whisky like nobody’s business, which had tasted so sweet and sinful as Porsche had chased the taste of it down his tongue. And it was the first time Porsche had kissed a boy, but it hadn’t felt wrong, it hadn’t felt any different than when Porsche kissed girls, it had just felt… natural. Then Ren’s hands were in Porsche’s hair, and his own were lost somewhere inside the satin of Ren’s shirt. The rest of the night was a blur of hot breath against cold skin, fumbling hands struggling with way too many buttons, pain dancing with pleasure in an intoxicating mix, and too many whispers of ‘ are you sure? ’ and ‘ does it hurt? ’ and ‘ tell me to stop and I will. ’ The next morning, Porsche woke up in Ren’s apartment, head on his chest, arms wrapped around his waist, back hurting and legs lifeless— and Ren woke up immediately after that, full of concern, spouting off apologies that weren’t necessary. He’d drawn Porsche a bath afterwards, and by the time Porsche had stepped out of the bathroom feeling marginally better, Ren had made breakfast and laid it out on the table. From that day on, Ren and Porsche occasionally hooked up—of course, after Ren got over himself and the gap between their ages—and Ren always took care of Porsche afterwards. With Ren, Porsche felt like he was something delicate, and he hated that vulnerability, but Ren was kind and he was safe, and Porsche kind of adored him for it.

But that very first time, when the pleasure hadn’t quite settled in, when the pain was too much, and Ren was pressing kisses down Porsche’s face, telling him to breathe and relax , holding his hands in a gentle grip, voice soft and sweet— it was the only time Porsche had ever felt like a human being that somebody could break, instead of being titanium and iron that forged itself. 

Porsche doesn’t remember every single detail of that night, because he was shit-faced and exhausted, but he remembers one thing with crystal clarity; Ren pushing inside of him with the gentlest, slowest movement, one hand braced on the bed under Porsche, and the other running down his side in a soothing movement, eyes sharp and focused on Porsche— and then he went completely still, face white and eyes wide, because there were tears in Porsche’s eyes, dripping down the sides of his face, and in a voice that was too quiet to be as scared as it was, Ren had whispered, “ Shit, does it hurt that much? I’m so sorry, teerak, I’m pulling out. ” and it was that concern for Porsche’s wellbeing, for his pain, that had made him laugh a little, more tears spilling from his eyes— from an altogether different kind of pain, he’d tightened the halo of his legs around Ren’s waist and reached a hand up to brush his fingers down his cheek and said, “ No, don’t pull out. Keep going, but just… give me a second. ” and Ren had waited patiently, pressing gentle kisses to Porsche’s face, whispering soothing words of encouragement, and he hadn’t moved until Porsche had asked him to.

For all that it was worth, Porsche was so fucking grateful that the first man he’d ever slept with had been Ren. For the tenderness and the kindness that Ren had shown him, for the way he’d allowed Porsche to feel as vulnerable as humanly possible, and for the way he’d cared whether or not Porsche was hurting— Porsche almost loved him. Almost . Porsche was certain he would love Ren if only he could.

Lost in his thoughts as he often is, Porsche falls into a steady jog as he subconsciously makes his way towards Uncle Athee’s apartment.

When Porsche got accepted into university, Uncle Athee had sat him down and asked him to terminate the lease on the shitty one-bedroom apartment that Porsche lived in with Porchay. He had suggested that Porsche should lease a nicer apartment, preferably a condo in the heart of Bangkok, one that was much closer to the university. He gave two reasons for it— he brought up how the time it would take to commute between Porsche’s old residence in Phra Khanong and the university would be insane— even the tram took thirty minutes, and the night bus was a whole other nightmare. His second reason was Porsche’s age. Uncle Athee believed that since Porsche was an adult now, he needed his own place— a space where he could live in freedom, do the things he wanted to do without fear of negatively influencing his younger brother. His final argument had been that Porsche needed to save time on commute and instead spend it all on studying.

Normally, Porsche would’ve argued that he would study just fine on the bus or on the tram, but then he thought of all the places in the heart of the city where he could get a part-time job— he actually thought of all the money he would save on commuting and by working at a different place. And a little selfishly, he thought that moving into a different apartment would make life easy for him, and he felt like it was high time for him to have something easy. But when they went house-hunting for a cheap place, Porsche lost the battle of wills to a beautiful two-bedroom condo on the thirty-second floor of the Life One Wireless building, which wasn’t as cheap as he had hoped— it cost three-thousand bahts a month to rent it and it was well within what Porsche made in a month working at the bar, but it was still much higher than his previous apartment. And although the down payment for the new condo alone kind of broke his wallet—because he insisted on paying for half of it and the first month’s rent—he knew in his heart of hearts that it was the right decision, especially when he was moving himself in and he was setting up his things around the condo and Jom, his best friend, walked around the empty place, and said, “ This feels right for you, Po. ”

Once more Porsche is drawn away from his thoughts, but this time it is by the sight of Uncle Athee’s face. “Oh, thank God you’re here!”

And that was worrying for Porsche. “Why? Is something wrong? Is Porchay okay? Are you?”

“Calm down, son,” says Uncle Athee, laughing a little, “everything’s just fine, I was starting to think you forgot about today.”

Porsche exhales sharply, “No, of course not, I was at the studio.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

Porsche makes a face, “No, but it’s fine, I’ll sleep after my classes.”

“Porsche…” Uncle Athee begins in a tone that Porsche remembers his mother using right before he got an earful, so he raises his hands in defeat and takes a step backwards.

“Alright, alright… I won’t stay up all night anymore. I’ve reduced my hours at the bar too, don’t worry, all my focus will be on studying.”

“Good,” Uncle Athee smiles, a hand darting out to clasp his shoulder firmly, “I trust you, Porsche, and I know you’re a responsible man, even if you’re a little rascal!” This is followed immediately by Uncle Athee messing up Porsche’s already-messy hair— thanks to Ren. Then he cringes and withdraws his hand, “you’re… you will shower before heading out, right?”

Porsche stares at him for a few seconds, and then graces him a glare before he steps past him and into the building. He jogs past the elevator that is always out of order, and takes the stairs three at a time, and it’s only a few minutes later that he finds himself on the fourth floor— where Uncle Athee’s apartment is. He’s quiet as he enters it, he knows that Porchay is probably still asleep.

When Porsche had terminated his lease on the old apartment, he had effectively made both himself and his little brother homeless, and he never would’ve done it if Uncle Athee hadn’t asked Porchay to move into his modest studio apartment. He had thankfully been debt-free for the last eight months and had gotten a stable job as an accountant at a firm, and had expressed his desire to have Porchay live with him now that the old apartment was no longer theirs. And Porsche knew that it was just as much for Uncle Athee as it was for the brothers— being around Porchay grounded the both of them. His little brother was like a magnet that kept them from flying off the handle; when the world got too loud and everything got too much to deal with, Porchay was the quiet voice of serenity restoring order to all wrong things. And Porsche knew he would miss him when he was away, Porsche always missed his little brother when he didn’t see him for a while— but he knew that being at Uncle Athee’s was good for Porchay; the apartment was in a relatively safe neighbourhood, and the inhabitants were mostly families, most of whom had kids around Porchay’s age, and it was much closer to his school as well. So Porsche knew that he would be miserable without his brother, but he knew that Porchay would be safe and happy and lead a good life, so he’d done what he always had; he chose Porchay.

But he did take the night off from the bar, and he spent the entirety of it with Porchay; the brothers had stayed up into the wee hours, they talked and laughed and watched movies and played board games until Porchay promptly passed out on the carpet, and Porsche sat there for another twenty minutes stroking his hair, then he finished packing the last of his things before changing into his workout clothes and heading out.

Porsche stands in the middle of the apartment, and gazes around, feeling melancholy climb up his spine— he’d spent a great part of his childhood within these four walls, back when his parents were still alive. His mother would bring him and Porchay over to her brother’s house all the time, and Uncle Athee, much younger and more in control of his life, would coo over his beloved nephews and hug them and take part in all their silly pretend games. There was so much laughter and joy etched into these very walls; crayon drawings that Porchay had made as a toddler still lived on the very bottom of the East wall, a little faded now but still there— Porsche can almost hear Uncle Athee’s laughter upon finding Porchay’s masterpiece, and his brother’s mischievous laugh as he ran out of their Uncle’s reach and hid behind their mother’s skirt. And if he’s being completely honest, he can also hear the screaming and the crying; his mother’s wailing when they called to tell her that his father was pronounced dead at the hospital— his uncle screaming for his sister to wake up and yelling for Porsche to bring towels, sheets, anything to stop the bleeding— his baby brother sobbing because he had a fever of a hundred and three and he just wanted his mother, but how was Porsche supposed to tell him that their mother was six feet under the Earth, and that she wouldn’t be coming to comfort him.

He takes a shower at top-speed, and his shoulders are stiff and his legs throb with a dull ache, and he thinks that he went overboard with the exercise, but he powers through anyway because he has to. At six forty-five, Porsche steps out of the shower that did nothing for his sore muscles, and walks over to the small mirror mounted above the sink, he wipes a hand down it to clear some of the fog from it, and stares at his reflection— he looks the same as he always does; wet hair pushed back from his forehead, hazel eyes wide open and laser-focused, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, and mouth already tipping into half a smile. But Porsche knows he needs to do better; he’s starting the most important phase of his life, he’s going to meet people who will contribute greatly to his future— teachers and classmates alike. So while he’s always smiling and joyful, and generally approachable and friendly, he knows he needs to do better today by being the first one to approach others.

As he gets dressed, he makes it a mission to approach at least three people throughout the day. He also thinks of all the groceries he still needs to buy; the fridge at his condo was completely empty save for a few bottles of water.

When he steps out of the bathroom, he’s greeted by the heavenly scent of kanom krok and Porsche all but dies on the spot as he quickly ventures towards the kitchen and finds his uncle dishing out the sweet pancakes on a plate.

“No way!” He exclaims, and makes a grab for one of the pancakes, which turns out to be a bad idea, since they’re about as hot as coals out of a fire, and Porsche gasps loudly as he bounces it from one hand to another, going, “Hot, hot, hot!”

“Ai, Porsche!” Uncle Athee exclaims at him, taking the pancake from his hand and plopping it onto the plate, “You’re an idiot.”

Porsche grins as he blows air onto his fingers before rubbing them together, “That was hot.”

“You’re an idiot.” Uncle Athee repeats, and Porsche just laughs in response, because there’s a smile on his uncle’s face, and he knows that he is loved not in spite of his antics, but because of them.

It's tens of minutes later, and there’s at least four small pancakes in Porsche’s content stomach, and he’s pulling his new trainers on his feet— Porchay got them as a going away present for him, when Uncle Athee gently taps Porsche on the shoulder. 

Porsche looks up questioningly and a small box is thrust into his line of vision. Uncle Athee is smiling very softly at him as he says, “I know what you’re going to say, and I just want to tell you that I didn’t spend a fortune on it, the firm gave it to me. I didn’t get you anything even though you’re going away, Po.”

There’s a new phone in the box, sleek and black, and Porsche’s breathing falters— he wants to cry over this gesture; he knows Uncle Athee needs this phone far more than he does, he knows that his uncle always wanted to own a phone that was just like everybody else’s, and he also knows that this gift came from Uncle Athee’s heart and that he’s just as happy for Porsche to have it.

So he gets to his feet, arms going around his uncle’s shoulders in a tight embrace, “Thank you, uncle, for everything you’ve ever done for us— for me .”

Uncle Athee laughs and it comes out shaky, and he pats Porsche’s back and gently caresses the back of his head. “Hey, don’t be like that— you’re like a son to me, Porsche, both of you are. What kind of parent accepts thanks from their children? Rascal.”

Porsche smiles as he parts from his uncle, and takes the box from his hands. “But I want to thank you anyway, I don’t know where I’d be without you— I’m guessing, dead in a ditch some—”

He’s cut off by a slap to the head, and Uncle Athee scowls at him, “Shut up, will you? And hurry up with the shoes, you’re only wearing one. You don’t want to be late for the very first day, do you?”

“Absolutely not,” Porsche mutters as he sits back down and pulls his other shoe on, then he looks up at his uncle with a soft smile, “and thank you for the phone as well, I promise to use it well.”

“I know you will, son.”

As Porsche gets back to his feet, he gently puts the box in his backpack and scans the contents one more time; he has two notebooks, a pencil pouch filled with ballpoint pens, a pack of cigarettes, the keys to his condo, his iPad that Jom and Tem gifted to him on his last birthday, a packet of pocket tissues, and a pack of cinnamon flavoured chewing gum. He looks around the small room for his bike keys, his wallet, his helmet and his old phone, and he finds them all sitting on the drawer— bless Uncle Athee. Quickly, Porsche makes a grab for his things; he shoves his wallet into the back pocket of his denim jeans, and holds his keys by the ring, and his helmet by the jaw section. 

Uncle Athee’s standing on the balcony when Porsche steps out of the room, and he looks around for Porchay. He finds his little brother asleep on the sofa in front of the television and he quietly walks over to him. He kneels on the floor near the sofa, and leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead, “I’ll see you in a few weeks, Chay.”

Porchay mumbles something in his sleep and turns over so Porsche smiles, presses another kiss to his head and gets back to his feet, then he quickly makes his way over to where Uncle Athee is smoking a cigarette out on the balcony. He gently pushes the sliding door open and steps out into the fresh morning air, “I’m all set to go, Uncle.”

Uncle Athee turns, a small smile on his face, and eyes glassy, “You’re all grown up, Porsche.”

“Thanks to you,” says Porsche, mirroring the expression on his face, then he steps forward and wraps his arms around the small man in a tight hug, “please take care of yourself when I’m gone, don’t get into too much trouble, but call me if you do.”

“I’m going to miss the shit out of you,” says Uncle Athee, his voice soft and wobbly.

Porsche chuckles, “Well, don’t miss me too much, otherwise I’ll probably come back next weekend.”

Uncle Athee is smiling when they part, and he gently pats Porsche’s cheek, “You grew up so well, my boy, if only Namphueng could see you now, she’d be so proud.”

“Are you proud?” Porsche asks as he gently rests his hand above his uncle’s.

“Of course, I am!”

“Then I’m all good. As long as I make you proud, Uncle, I know I’d make mom proud too.” Uncle Athee smiles at him and nods, and a tear falls from his eyes. Porsche doesn’t wipe it away, but he gently squeezes his uncle’s hands. “Please take care of yourself, and of Porchay.”

“You know I will.”

Porsche nods. “I know. I’ll call you both after class tonight.”

In the next five minutes, Porsche is out of the house, down the stairs and has already pulled his motorbike out of the parking space. He’s parked on the street in front of the apartment when he takes out his phone and sends a text message to Tem, that reads; ‘ heading out now. c u in class. ’

He pockets his phone and swings his leg over the seat of the bike, and pulls his helmet on his head. He looks back up at the apartment before closing the visor, and finds Uncle Athee standing right there, watching him. He raises a hand in goodbye before he slaps the visor shut and kickstarts the bike.

Porsche turns away, and looks ahead, at the open road in front of him… and finds Khun Danupol in his line of vision. He is a seventy-something years old sweet man who runs the bodega a few places down from Uncle Athee’s building, and Porsche finds himself extremely fond of him since he often gives Porsche sweet buns to eat. And in this very moment, Khun Danupol is struggling with a crate carrying two one-gallon jugs of water, and Porsche’s eyes widen with concern. He’s quick to turn the engine off, and dismount his bike, taking his helmet off just as quickly, he jogs towards the elderly man.

“Good morning, Khun!” says Porsche as he approaches him.

Khun Danupol turns, momentarily confused by the voice, but his expression melts into a soft smile when he sees Porsche, “Oh, good morning, Porsche! What’re you doing up so early?”

“Ah, first day at university,” Porsche says, scratching the side of his neck, then he points towards the crate, “more importantly, Khun, what are you doing with those?”

“Oh, don’t mind me, you’re going to be late.”

“Ah, come on, why are you struggling with these by yourself? Where’s Non?”

Non was Khun Danupol’s useless son, who was well into his forties, but still lived in his elderly father’s basement and depended on him for everything. He was a loser and a terrible son, and more often than not, Porsche wanted to beat him unconscious. 

Khun Danupol waves a dismissive hand, “He’s asleep. I told him to bring the bottles in last night, but I think he forgot. And when I woke up, there was no water to drink, so I thought I’d bring them in myself.”

A muscle jumps in Porsche’s jaw as he clenches his teeth, then exhales sharply, “Alright, please step aside, I’ll carry them in.”

“No, no, no, Porsche,” says Khun Danupol, patting Porsche’s chest gently, “I can do it! You’ll be late and you’ll wrinkle your shirt— it’s so nice and white!”

“Ah, never mind that, it’s fine, my classes don’t start until nine!” Porsche lies right through his teeth, before he gently takes hold of Khun Danupol’s arm and guides him to the sidewalk, then he bends and lifts the crate with one hand— and it surprises him a little how easy it actually is for him. 

He quickly makes his way over to Khun Danupol’s house next to the store— it’s a modest little place, which somehow always smells like coconut and cinnamon, and it reminds him of his paternal grandparents’ house in Hua Hin. The thought of his grandparents reminds him that he should really call his grandmother, she wasn’t feeling that well the last time he spoke to her. Porsche makes a mental note to call her later at night as he sets the crate down near the water dispenser in Khun Danupol’s kitchen. Then he lifts one bottle out of the crate and installs it onto the small appliance.

He turns to face Khun Danupol then, and says, “Khun, is there anything else that you’re waiting for Non to do? Tell me, I’ll do it.”

“No, no, son, you’ve already done so much.”

“Khun, not at all, and you know Non won’t do it, and then eventually you’ll have to, and you’ll probably hurt yourself and that’s not good— so please just tell me if there is.”

The sweet old man rubs his hands together dejectedly, then sighs, “The light in the bathroom has been out for a week. Non says he’ll change it, but he forgets.”

“He doesn’t forget, Khun, he’s just an asshole and he doesn’t care.” Porsche huffs in annoyance before he ventures off into the tiny house. Changing a lightbulb isn’t really that big of a task, but it’s high up on the wall, and Porsche knows the old man can’t reach it, and he can’t climb a ladder either because he has a bad back. 

The soft white light flickers on as Porsche twists the new bulb into the socket, then he turns to give Khun Danupol a thumbs-up, to which the man smiles delightedly and pats his lower back, “Oh, thank you, thank you!”

“Nah, no worries! What else did Non forget ?”

It turns out that Non didn’t forget that many things after all, only a few; to turn the hot water on from the rooftop, to properly close up one of the switchboards because the switches keep shocking Khun Danupol, and to tighten the drain bolt back into place on his father’s pickup truck. Doing these tasks takes Porsche roughly seven minutes, and then he finds himself back on the street, with Khun Danupol standing near him, almost bowing with gratitude.

“I told you, Khun, it’s totally okay! Please stop thanking me, you’re making me feel bad!” Porsche says, gently holding the man’s hands, then he leans in conspiratorially, “How about you give me some chocolate pocky when I come back from uni?”

“Oh, yes! I’ll give you a whole carton!” Khun Danupol says eagerly.

Porsche laughs as he raises his hands, “No, no! One or two would be more than enough.”

“Thank you, son.” he says, and Porsche just shakes his head with a smile.

“It’s all good, now please go back home, I’ve got to take off.”

“Yes, of course! I wish you the best of luck ahead, Porsche!”

Porsche grins at the old man, “Thank you, Khun, I’m going to need it.”

He returns to his motorbike, and when he looks back up towards the apartment, he finds Uncle Athee still standing in the same place— this time wearing an expression that drips with pride and love. So he smiles brightly at his uncle and waves his goodbye, before he mounts his bike again, and grabs his helmet. In the next thirty seconds, he’s pulled off the side and is riding down the street at a steady pace. 

The early morning sun casts a warm glow over the quiet street as Porsche revs his motorbike, his heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement. As he weaves through the morning traffic, the powerful thrum of the engine beneath his thighs seems to drown out his worries, replacing them with a sense of freedom and empowerment.

The rumble of the motorbike reverberates throughout his body, echoing the confidence that surges within him— he wasn’t born with this confidence, he honed it with precision over the years, and moments such as these; where he was one with the open road, the roar of the engine under him, he felt untouchable. With each twist of the throttle, he feels the weight of apprehension slowly but steadily lifting off his shoulders, replaced by a surge of adrenaline that fuels his journey ahead. The world blurs around him as he accelerates, leaving behind doubts and uncertainties in the dust.

Despite the uncertainty of what lay ahead at the university, in this moment, all that matters to Porsche is the open road ahead of him and the comforting roar of his beloved motorbike. With each passing mile, Porsche's confidence grows, and by the time he arrives on campus, he is ready to face whatever challenges come his way.

It feels like only a handful of minutes, but sooner than he can blink, he begins to see the outskirts of Chulalongkorn in the distance, and his heart rate speeds up. As Porsche pulls into the campus, it doesn’t take him more than a few minutes to find the campus map, and it’s another few seconds of quickly scanning the map to find his faculty’s building, and then he is revving his engine once more as he rides off in that direction. 

Luck appears to be on his side as he finds a parking spot relatively close to the entrance. He parks his motorbike and takes a deep breath as he kills the engine, feeling a newfound sense of courage and determination. He waits a beat before he takes his helmet off, and then steps off the bike— immediately he notices the interest he’s garnered; more than a few students are staring at him and his motorbike, some are even whispering. Porsche inhales deeply as he places the helmet down on the tank, strapping it in place. The ride seems to have awakened something within him, a spirit of adventure and resilience that he thought he had lost.

With a smile on his face and the echoes of the engine still humming in his ears, Porsche begins to stride towards the counsellor’s office, to pick up his schedule. He’s already running several minutes late, and he’s vaguely aware that his first class has already started. He finds the counsellor’s office situated at the front of the building, and he knocks softly on the glass pane.

“Yes, come on in!” a voice calls out to him, and he turns the handle before pushing the door open.

The counsellor is… not what Porsche was expecting. Instead of a middle-aged woman in glasses and a cardigan, it’s a young man of about thirty, with skin the shade of porcelain and light hazel eyes fixed on Porsche. He’s wearing a white shirt and black dress pants, which he’s paired with a Piaget timepiece and Porsche just knows that this man comes from money.

“Good morning, sir. I’m Porsche Kittisawat, a Freshman at the Faculty of Commerce and Accounting.”

“Good morning, Mr. Kittisawat,” the counsellor regards him with a warm smile, “how may I help you?”

“I’m here to pick up my schedule. On orientation day, the seniors told us to grab our schedules from the counsellor’s office, but I was unable to get mine that day. I was wondering if I could take it now, if it’s not too much trouble.” Porsche asks as he steps into the unusually comfortable office; instead of the usual minimalist furniture, this office has pops of colour everywhere— there’s a zinc blue carpet covering the entirety of the hardwood floor, and the furniture is all leather and in accents of beige and tan, there’s little succulents artfully scattered throughout the space, and the cushions on the chairs are all different shades of pastel colours.

The counsellor, whose name is Kang Tae-Ju as per his name plate, watches Porsche’s gaze jumping around the office, and nods, “I do have your schedule right here, the head of your department told me to keep an eye out for you— you seem to be a popular character already. I heard you got a perfect score on the entrance exam.”

“I didn’t, sir, I scored 598 out of 600.” Porsche replies, his mouth tipping into a smile.

“Impressive,” Mr. Kang says, as he reaches into his drawer and takes out a white paper envelope, “well, here you go. Come see me whenever you have the time, I’d like to discuss some things with you.”

Porsche steps forward to take the envelope, then frowns lightly, “Am I in trouble?”

“What? No, of course not. You’ve a brilliant mind, Mr. Kittisawat, and we’d like to help you achieve success in every way that we can. We’ve got programs for students as gifted as you— programs that could help you kickstart your professional life.”

“We?”

“The management, the sponsors, and the board of trustees of the University, of course. You do know that this university is funded by some of the world’s most prestigious corporations, right?”

Porsche nods with a tight smile, “Ah, I see. Well, thank you, Mr. Kang, I’ll drop by as soon as I can.”

Mr. Kang nods, and leans back in his chair, “I look forward to speaking with you, Mr. Kittisawat.”

“Mmh, so do I. I’ll head out now,” says Porsche as he takes a few steps, then his eyes land on the pile of campus map brochures on Mr. Kang’s desk, and he pauses, “sir, may I take a brochure? It’ll be easy to navigate the campus with it.”

“Oh, sure! They’re for students anyway. Go ahead!”

Quietly, Porsche picks up two brochures; one for him and one for Tem, then he nods at Mr. Kang and he begins walking backwards until he bumps into the door, and turns the handle. He exits the room without turning his back to his counsellor, and knows in his heart that he’s made a much better impression than he’d intended. 

Porsche is quick to rip open the envelope and peruse his schedule, and he finds that he is, in fact, a minute late to his very first class— Introduction to Business with Professor Suwam, and he curses under his breath a little as he quickly peruses the campus map and finds that the classroom is in the next building over, and Porsche makes a run for it.

He arrives, panting, in front of the double doors in less than two minutes, and folds over to catch his breath. He can’t walk into the classroom late, huffing and puffing like he’s about to blow the house down. Porsche steadies his breathing first, and then rights himself; he fixes his shirt, pulls his bag tighter over his shoulder, and pushes one hand through his hair. He counts backwards from ten and fixes an easy smile onto his office, before he all but bursts into the classroom.

Porsche has always been a confident individual, but bursting into his very first class at university, he can’t help but feel a wave of nervousness wash over him. He feels it in his stomach, like a ball of fire turning over, and swallows thickly as he enters the lecture hall— and all eyes turn immediately towards him, the latecomer. Instead of allowing embarrassment to consume him, Porsche decides to take a different approach.

With a charming smile and a suave confidence, he walks right down the aisle, halfway towards the first row. The professor seems to have paused mid-sentence, interrupted by Porsche’s arrival, and he’s eyeing Porsche curiously, but before any reprimand can be issued, Porsche speaks up.

“I apologise for being late, Professor, some guy bumped an elite brat’s car, so a fight broke out in the main hall, and I couldn’t get to the map because it was really hard to get past them — look, they even ripped the buttons of my shirt.”

The other students in the class exchange glances, impressed by his effortless charm. Despite being late, Porsche managed to captivate the attention of everyone present, and the thought makes his smile turn a little genuine. 

Professor Suwam lets out a surprised sound, and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Are you serious?”

“Afraid so, Professor.”

“Good lord, the Dean will have a field day with this one…” the Professor murmurs, earning delighted whispers around the classroom, then he looks back up at Porsche, “well then, I suppose that isn’t entirely your fault. Please find yourself a seat, Mister…”

“Kittisawat,” he replies, grinning brightly, “Porsche Kittisawat.”

“Right then, Mr. Kittisawat, please find an empty seat and sit down.”

Porsche nods quickly, and turns to face the classroom. And automatically, he feels his eyes narrow slightly and his grin slips from warm to sly as he scans the crowd, and his attention is snagged by pink hair; the guy sporting the awesome colour is currently looking at him with an expression that is both curious and disinterested— Porsche makes a mental note of it. The guy next to him is smiling at Porsche in a way that feels like he’s also undressing him with his eyes, but he looks harmless, no more than a flirt. And the guy sitting next to him is— and it’s like time suddenly stops.

For a moment, Porsche feels like the world has come to a screeching halt, and the colours around the classroom seem to blur into a kaleidoscope of light around the guy, making him appear as if he has just stepped out of a dream— Porsche’s dream. He feels a sudden rush of emotion that he can't quite comprehend; a mix of awe, fascination, and a touch of fear at the intensity of his feelings. Or maybe it’s just blood rushing to his head, because his vision swims a little.

His gaze travels over the guy’s face, and he practically feels an itch in his hands for a charcoal pencil or a paintbrush, so he can draw the beautiful stranger, immortalising him on canvas forever. The boy seems to have been carved from moonlight. His skin is pale as alabaster, contrasting starkly against his thick, raven-black hair that is pushed away from his forehead, exposing sharp, brooding eyes that look like pools of obsidian, and Porsche thinks vaguely that they probably hold the secrets of the universe within them— and he’s watching Porsche in a way that sends a shiver up his spine. 

It could have been hours, or mere moments, but Porsche stands there, and he feels like he’s being pulled towards the boy, as if by an invisible string. He has this inkling feeling in his head now; as though he has known this perfect stranger for an eternity, as though this man holds the key to unlocking the deepest parts of Porsche’s being, and it scares him a little. So Porsche does what he always does when he feels threatened, he compartmentalises; he feels his expression going blank as he stares up at the boy, and winks at him.

And the boy startles visibly, a sound escapes past his parted lips that Porsche is too far away to hear, but then his face melts into a tiny smile, and Porsche’s heart sways in a manner that makes him immediately rip his gaze away from him. He begins looking for a seat instead, and as he locates one and sits down in between two girls, he shakes their hands and winks at one of them, he has absolutely no idea what just happened. He’s seen beautiful people before — hell, he’s slept with more beautiful people than he can see in this classroom, but there was something about that boy; it was enchanting. And Porsche practically feels like he’s been put under some sort of spell, because even as he takes his iPad out of his bag and turns his attention towards the professor, his mind is still stuck on the beautiful stranger and the lingering feeling in his stomach.

For Porsche, this is a feeling like no other, a sensation of euphoria and wonder that he knows he will remember for the rest of his life.

~*~

Anakinn Theerapanyakun. Kinn.

It is such a perfect name, for such a perfect person— it rolls off the tongue right away, much like a prayer to a god who actually listens. Porsche thinks it fits Kinn in a way that is divine; it’s as if his creator chose this name for him before he was even born. And Kinn carries it perfectly; his name very obviously holds power, and there’s this tension in his shoulders, this strain in the muscles on his back, and this straightness of his spine whenever his name is called, and these little tells all serve as living proofs of the power Kinn’s name holds and how flawlessly he carries that weight.

It’s so fucking beautiful.

Porsche is so fucked.

Two and a half weeks of knowing Kinn have wrecked Porsche’s mental stability in a way that he now spends his free time likening Kinn’s name to a prayer to a god. He is genuinely, utterly, completely fucked. 

And it’s not even the fact that Porsche is nursing a high-school level crush on Kinn, his friend — it’s that Kinn has a boyfriend of several years… and his boyfriend’s a complete sociopath. Although the way Porsche feels like shit about how he reacts to Kinn would not have changed even if his boyfriend had been a sweetheart, he can’t possibly feel worse about this than he already does.

Kinn’s boyfriend, Tawan, is the son of a social magnate… or something. Porsche actually has no idea what his family does or how they’re important, but he knows that they just are,  and he knows that Tawan has influence and wealth and more power than Porsche can ever imagine. Another thing Tawan has that Porsche doesn’t is a history with Kinn— as far as Porsche knows, Kinn and Tawan have grown up together like intertwined ivy. Tawan is painted into every picture of Kinn’s life, he makes up the mosaic that Porsche can’t even look at.

In the two and a half weeks since the start of their classes, Tawan has reminded everyone at least two hundred and forty-seven times that Anakinn Theerapanyakun is Tawan Rattanakosin’s boyfriend— Kinn is his and no one else’s. Normally Porsche wouldn’t have a problem with it because it is absolutely none of his business, but the way Tawan acts towards him tells him that Tawan is the one with the problem, and it’s with Porsche. He makes it painfully obvious at the expense of everyone else’s discomfort— Kinn’s included.

 Porsche never intends to to notice all the little things, he really doesn’t, but he cannot help that does notice them anyway — he notices the way Tawan grabs onto Kinn whenever Porsche enters their general vicinity; the way he kisses him no matter how much Kinn tries to pull away or put some distance between them; the way he demands Kinn’s attention when the occasion doesn’t call for it — Porsche notices it all, and he hates that he does. He notices that Kinn doesn’t like unwarranted touches from anyone except for Time, he especially doesn’t like public displays of affection — and he noticed that within two and a half weeks of knowing him, so he often wonders why Tawan, who has known Kinn his whole life, doesn’t notice?

But regardless of Porsche’s complicated feelings about Kinn, and Tawan, he knows that Kinn is Tawan’s boyfriend, and he genuinely respects that. Porsche has always been a decent human being; he has never been the kind of person someone can cheat with, and he prides himself on it. So it's a given that he does not, that he can not, and that he absolutely will not even think of doing anything with Kinn when he’s with someone — but God, does Kinn make it hard for him.

Kinn is always just there . Wherever Porsche goes, Kinn has to follow; whether it’s in class, or in the cafeteria, out on the balconies for a smoke, or on the basketball court shooting hoops — Kinn is always there. Truthfully, it isn’t as though Porsche is any better because he follows Kinn too; whether it's to ridiculously overpriced cafes, or the steps of the Jaiyossompati building, or to the off-limits rooftops of campus buildings — Porsche follows Kinn wherever he strays.

And Porsche often asks for forgiveness and lenience from whatever deity it was that cursed him with all that he’s feeling, because following Kinn around and letting Kinn tag along to wherever he’s going just feels… right . It feels right in the way sleeping with Ren felt right — as though this is what was always meant to be, as though he and Kinn were born to follow each other. And Porsche knows how bad it is, for him, for Kinn and for his relationship with Tawan, but there’s fuck all he can do about it.

When Kinn sits down next to him, bumps his shoulder a little and says things like, “ An arcade just opened up in midtown Bangkok, I think you’ll love it. Let’s go on the weekend! ” and when he brings him coffee on a Monday morning and says, “ Here, drink this. You have to be fully awake for our next two classes, ‘cause they’re important, and since an Americano is the only thing that wakes you up, I got you some. ” and when he silently gives Porsche his power-bank right before his new phone dies, and when he brings Porsche the greasiest burgers but never forgets to bring a salad along, and when he calls Porsche up in the evening to remind him to call his grandparents since Porsche was talking about them throughout the day — Porsche feels like Icarus , and Kinn feels like the sun, and more often than not, Porsche feels his wings melting, and he knows he’s flying too close to him… but then Kinn smiles at him, and it hurts somewhere in the centre of Porsche’s being, but it makes his heart feel soft too. And Porsche just knows; Kinn is Porsche’s vice, and he will be for the rest of his life, no matter where they end up.

“I want to go to Hua Hin.” Kinn says.

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, and they’re all gathered at Porsche’s condo; Kinn, Tae, Time, and Tem — who arrived much later than the rest because he stayed over at Jom’s house on Friday and didn’t make it back until early Sunday morning. But Porsche is glad he’s here now, because no one quite serves as good of a moral compass as Tem does when it comes to navigating Porsche’s mess of feelings. 

But lately, Tem’s been distracted by the devil they all know and adore; Time. Even now, Time is sprawled out on the floor on his side, head in the palm of his hand which is supported by a propped elbow, and seemingly he’s listening to Tae’s explanation of the project due on Monday, but from Porsche’s vantage point, he can see the way his free hand is gently caressing Tem’s back under his shirt — and Porsche wants to kick him in the head for it, because it’s so obvious that he’s just messing around with Tem, because he messes around with Tae too. But Porsche knows that making a fuss about this won’t do anyone any good, because Tem already knows that he’s not Time’s only one… and he seems to be okay with it — he always says that they’re not really together, he says that they’re just friends, but Porsche has seen the way Tem looks at Time, as if he hung the moon and the stars. Tem is the perfect voice of reason when it comes to Porsche’s mess, but he’s an entirely different story when it comes to his own mess.

“Huh?” Tae asks, visibly confused by the sudden interruption.

“I said I want to go to Hua Hin, I haven’t been there since I was a kid, and I saw a video on YouTube the other day, and it’s changed a lot… but it still looks breathtaking. I want to go there.” says Kinn, mindlessly spinning a pen between his fingers. From the look on his face, he already seems to have left Bangkok and reached Hua Hin.

“Well, Porsche’s grandparents live in Hua Hin,” says Tem, “and they have an adorable beach villa that they rent out. You can go whenever, they’d be cool with it. Right, Po?”

Forget Time, Porsche experiences an overwhelming urge to kick Tem in the head instead. But then he looks up at Kinn, who is apparently back in Bangkok now, and finds him looking back at him with nothing short of hope in his eyes.

“Is that right, Porsche? Would that be okay?”

“Sure,” Porsche says, because he cannot and will not disappoint Kinn like this, “you can go whenever, but it’d be good to let them know at least a week or so beforehand so they don’t rent out to anyone else.”

Kinn smiles so brightly at that, that Porsche vaguely thinks that he’d gladly kick all his grandparents’ renters out if it meant seeing that smile of Kinn’s again.

Good God, Porsche is thoroughly fucked.

~*~

They’re sitting in class, Kinn to Porsche’s right, and Tem to his left. Time is sitting next to Tem, and Tae is at home, nursing a fever. It’s a particularly boring class with the Professor droning on and on about the ethics of conducting business, and Porsche actually couldn’t care less if he tried, but the class is mandatory, and he knows that he only needs to meet the required hours before he can stop showing up to this tedious class. 

Kinn is sifting through his backpack, as if looking for something, and from where’s leaning down, Porsche can see the purpling bite marks on the back of Kinn’s neck, they look rather painful. He knows who put them there, and it sucks that he does, because if things had been different, if Tawan wasn’t who he was to Kinn, then maybe it would be Porsche’s bite marks decorating Kinn’s body — but Porsche knows that’s a stretch too, because Kinn doesn’t like him like that, and he would know if Kinn did, but as far as he can tell, Kinn thinks of Porsche as a friend. And maybe one day, Porsche will learn how to make his peace with that simple fact.

“Porsche?” his elbow is bumped and he snaps out of his reverie. He turns to his right, and finds Kinn staring expectantly at him. “You alright?”

“What? Sorry, what’d you say?”

“I asked if you needed something — you were staring intently at my backpack.” Kinn says, his words ending in a light chuckle.

“Oh, my bad, I guess I got lost in thought.” Porsche replies sheepishly, reaching a hand up to rub the side of his neck.

“Mm, must’ve been some interesting thoughts.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Kinn chuckles again, and shrugs his shoulders. “Hey, you never know, maybe I do want to know whatever goes on in that head of yours.”

Porsche smiles at Kinn before he turns back to the lecture, and he thinks about what Kinn said, and he wonders what would happen if Kinn knew all the thoughts that went through Porsche’s head every time their eyes met. 

If Kinn knew that Porsche wanted to take him away from Bangkok, away from all the stresses of their university and life general, away from Tawan, away from everything that bothered Kinn, and to start afresh in a place where Kinn knew nothing but peace and joy, safety and happiness, kindness and gentleness, where Kinn was happy and didn’t have to worry about who’s feelings he hurt to attain that happiness — would Kinn run away from Porsche? Would he hate him? Would he be scared of Porsche in the way he’s scared of being happy? Or would he perhaps love him for it?

“Do you want to go away this weekend?”

Kinn turns to him with a confused look. “What?”

“We have a big test on Friday, and we’ve been studying our asses off for it since last week, and I think we deserve a break,” says Porsche, turning to Kinn with a gentle expression, “and I was thinking I’d go away for a weekend, drive out to Hua Hin and see my grandparents. And you said that you wanted to go, so how about this weekend?”

“Are you serious?” Kinn smiles in a way that makes Porsche’s toes curl inside his sneakers. “It won’t be a problem for your grandparents?”

“I don’t think so, it’s off-season, so they probably aren’t renting out the beach villa. But I will call and ask just in case you want to go.”

“Hypothetically speaking, if I don’t go with you this weekend, will I be ruining your plans for a trip?”

Porsche blinks at Kinn, “Well, I’d have to go either way, ‘cause I haven’t seen them in ages and I do miss them. But I’d be super bummed out.”

Kinn laughs, “Alright, then I’ll tell my father I’m not coming home this weekend. I’d much rather enjoy Hua Hin with you, than Khun Satorn’s Kaeng Lueang with my brothers.” he takes his phone out of his pocket and Porsche turns back to face the professor, his mind racing a mile a minute.

He fucked up. He just invited Kinn on a weekend getaway to his grandparents’ place, where it’s just going to be the two of them on the off chance that his grandparents aren’t renting out the villa. Porsche turns to Tem, his mind already fixed on damage control, “What about you, Tem? Time? You guys up for a trip this weekend?”

Tem, who has already listened to more than half of Porsche’s conversation with Kinn, and has noticed the silent plea in his best friend’s eyes, nods and says, “Well, I was going to help Bright out at the studio, but I’d much rather be chillin’ at the beach. So yeah, I’m in.”

Time nods as well, “I don’t have any plans, I was going to play Call of Duty all weekend, but a trip sounds much better. Where are we going?”

“Porsche’s grandparents’ villa in Hua Hin,” Kinn replies, eyes gleaming with excitement, “but only if they aren’t renting the place out. Otherwise, Porsche is going by himself.”

“Where are you going to stay if the villa is rented out?” Time asks, frowning a little.

“At his grandparents’ house, obviously.” Tem replies.

“How? Is he just going to bunk with the renters?”

Porsche laughs, “You’re an actual idiot, Time — my grandparents own a villa and an adorable villa in Hua Hin. They do rent out the villa, but not the house because they live in it.”

“Oh!” Time says, his mouth shaped like an ‘o’. Then he shrugs his shoulders, “Yeah, that makes so much sense. Well, I hope the villa isn’t rented out, you’ve got me all excited about the trip now.”

Porsche shrugs, “I’ll call them after class, but I’m positive the villa isn’t rented.”

“How much do they charge for two nights anyway?” Time asks.

Tem scoffs, “Yeah, good luck trying to pay them, you’d be lucky if Porsche’s grandmother doesn’t beat you up with a spatula. God, that woman has a strong right arm.”

Porsche laughs, but Kinn looks concerned, “Wait, we can’t just stay at their villa for free, that’s unethical.”

Time laughs, “Unethical, Kinn? Are you sure you , a Theerapanyakun , want to talk about something being unethical?”

Kinn makes a face at Time and says, “Hey, whatever my father does is none of my fucking business, I’m an ethical person and that’s what matters. Right, Porsche?”

“Right.” Porsche replies as if on autopilot, and he doesn’t even clock it until Tem coughs awkwardly, and pointedly doesn’t look his way. He turns to Kinn then, and says, “Don’t forget to ask Tawan if he’s free on the weekend, okay?”

“Tawan?” Time asks from the back, “You’re going to invite him too?”

“Of course!” Porsche replies as he turns towards him, and ignores the look Tem shoots at him, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, ‘cause he kind of sucks the joy out of every room he’s in?”

“Hey, that’s not true, stop talking shit about him.” Kinn says, his tone flat, as though he doesn’t want to argue with Time, as though he’s just saying it because he has to .

“Okay, so he sucks the joy out of me every time we’re in the same room. Is that better?”

“Can you stop being a dick? Just stop.” Kinn asks, and he sounds irritated now. He turns to Porsche with a raised brow, “Are you sure you want to invite Tawan with Time there? Time is very likely to say something to him that might end up ruining the trip.”

“Oh, shut up, you insufferable asshat,” says Time, punctuating his sentence with an eyeroll, “you and I both know that Tawan is basically a Dementor , as in he sucks the life and joy out of everyone around him. He’s always miserable and he always has to make everyone else miserable too. For once in your life, will you please just acknowledge that? God!”

“Time, just stop talking, okay?” Porsche cuts in before Kinn can say anything, “Feel however you want about Tawan, but don’t take it out on Kinn. He’s not the reason why you’re mad right now.”

“I’m not mad, Porsche, I’m tired of Tawan ruining every single thing he’s ever been a part of. Kinn,” he turns his eyes towards his best friend who's watching him with an irritated expression, “do you remember our trip to Bali — Will’s going-away party? Do you remember how you left the trip three days early because someone got into a petty argument with Will’s girlfriend, and demanded to leave? Do you remember what the argument was about, Kinn? Do you?”

“Time—” Porsche begins to interject, but Time holds up his hand, effectively silencing him.

“I remember the argument, Kinn, I remember the way Tawan stormed off, I remember him telling Will, in front of like thirty people, that he was better off without someone like her trying to climb him like a social ladder — I’m quoting him verbatim!” Time snaps in a low voice. Porsche can see that he’s struggling to keep his voice down since they’re still in class, and he secretly commends the effort. But Time isn’t done yet, “He humiliated her in front of strangers just because she wasn’t interested in whether or not the watch he was wearing was a vintage Tudor , because she wasn’t being a bootlicker and trying to satiate his insanity.”

Kinn sighs loudly, and turns around to face the professor, “That’s not what it was and you know it. Eliza was going on about capitalism and the dangers of consumerism right after Tawan talked about his watch, and he took it personally.”

“That’s the problem, Kinn — Tawan always takes it personally.”

There is relative silence after that, Kinn doesn’t seem like he has anything more to say, and Time looks like he’s barely holding back from another angry outburst. Porsche’s eyes are nervously darting from the professor to the way Kinn’s hand is clenched into a fist on his desk. 

Tem is staring straight at the board, so it’s a little surprising when he speaks up, “It sounds like the two of you have a lot of issues you guys need to sort through before we can go on this trip. Whether or not Tawan is invited is entirely up to Porsche, so whatever he decides, both of you have to respect it, you know?”

Time’s clenched jaw relaxes instantly, and he rubs his face with both of his hands. When he turns to Porsche, his expression is apologetic, “He’s right, Porsche, I’m sorry. I got a little out of hand, but Tawan’s ruined a number of our trips for petty reasons, and I guess I’m just sick of it. But if you want to invite Tawan, you definitely should. For my part, I promise to steer clear of him and I won’t start anything.”

Porsche nods, just as Kinn bumps his shoulder, “Hey, and if you end up not extending an invite to Tawan, that’s okay, I won’t hold it against you. The trip was your idea, and you should have complete control over who tags along.”

“Kinn, will you still go if Tawan isn’t invited?” Tem asks the question that Porsche really wanted to ask, and he thinks that he can just kiss Tem’s stupid head for it.

But Kinn’s expression falters, “I… I don’t know. He won’t like me going on a weekend trip without him, and it won’t feel right either, you know? I probably won’t go either.”

“No, you know what? Fuck this. You’re not missing out on this trip,” says Time, sounding exhausted, “you’ve wanted to go on a boys’ trip for ages, and I know this because you won’t shut up about it — we were waiting for Will to come, but since he isn’t coming any time soon, this is your new boys’ club, and this will be our trip. You’re coming, dude, even if I have to invite your demon boyfriend myself.”

“Time,” Porsche says exasperatedly, “why do you always have to say the nicest thing and then follow it up with the worst possible thing? You’re an ass.”

Time chuckles as Tem elbows him, then he turns to Porsche with the softest expression, “Porsche, you can trust that I won’t be causing any messes on this trip, I promise you.”

“What about Tae? Are you going to invite him?” asks Kinn, and Porsche has the displeasure of watching his best friend’s face fall.

Tem takes a second to school his expression back into one of nonchalance, and says, “Obviously, he will. How can we go on a boys’ trip without one of the boys?”

“But he said he was going to go home on the weekend since he’s feeling sick.” Time replies as he stretches his arms above his head.

“I’ll ask him, just in case.” Porsche says, his voice soft, and it’s directed solely towards Tem, who’s eyes soften as he nods.

His best friend leans in, and whispers, “Just in case.”

There’s many secrets that Tem and Porsche have kept for each other over their lifelong friendship, ranging from the tiniest of things to the most outrageous — Tem and Porsche have guarded one another’s secrets like their lives depended on it. This is no different; Tem is the only person in the world who knows that Porsche is feeling things he shouldn’t be feeling for Kinn — and Porsche happens to be the person who knows that while Tem claims to be unaffected by Time’s indifference, his penchant for flirting with anything with a pulse, and the fact that he smiles at Tae and kisses him the exact same way that he kisses Tem— he isn’t really unaffected, it kills him a little every time he sees Time with Tae, and yet he is powerless to stop it.

A little forlornly, Porsche thinks it’s laughable that both he and best friend had to suffer this miserably together, as they cannot even lift one another up without their hearts cracking under the pressure. Porsche can only hope that Jom, their other best friend, is faring much better than them.

“Hey, Porsche,” Kinn gently taps his elbow, and Porsche turns to him, “whether or not Tawan comes along, I want you to know that I’m incredibly grateful.”

“For inviting him? No problem.”

“No, not that.” Kinn says, and he smiles at Porsche in a way that Porsche has to dig his nails into the palm of his own hand to stop himself from doing something that he can never take back. Kinn continues in the same soft tone, “For this trip. Even if it doesn’t happen, I’m grateful that you tried, for me. Thank you, Porsche, you don’t know how lucky I am to have someone who cares this much.”

And while Porsche doesn’t say anything to Kinn, he thinks about the million little things that hurt him but he’s willing to accept over and over again to provide this very sense of comfort and safety to Kinn. Spending a weekend at his grandparents’ place with Tawan is just another one of those things, and he knows he’s okay with it.

So they end up in Hua Hin at five in the evening on the following Friday. Porsche climbs out of the back of Time’s Jeep CJ-7 and stretches his arms above his head, and lets out a loud groan. “I’m sitting in the front on the drive back, or I’m not going.”

Tem laughs as he climbs down from the passenger seat, “Hey, you lost rock-paper-scissors fair and square, quit bitching.”

Time clears his throat from the driver’s seat, “Are you both quite finished? I need you to tell me where to park, Porsche.”

“Right. Uh, so the villa has a garage, big enough for two cars. But you can just reverse into my grandparents’ driveway and park there.” Porsche says, pointing towards the door of his grandparents’ house.

“And where’s Kinn going to park when he gets here?” Tem asks.

Porsche shrugs, “In the garage. We’ll move Time’s car there as well.”

“Porsche!” a woman calls out loudly and Time’s first reaction is to duck down onto the empty passenger seat so he’s hidden from view, and Porsche whirls around.

“Grandma!” he exclaims, grinning widely as he rushes towards the small elderly woman who has just stepped out of the house behind them.

Tem turns to Time, “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know, somebody yells and my first instinct is to hide.”

Tem watches him, unblinking, then he inhales deeply and says, “I just… I can’t even.” and then he promptly walks away from Time’s car and towards where Porsche is squeezing his tiny grandmother in a big hug.

Porsche’s grandmother is named Pimchan, she’s a little less than five feet tall, has thick silver hair that sits just below her ears in an adorable bob, and bright hazel eyes that glitter in a way only sweet old ladies’ eyes do as she takes in the sight of Porsche; her first grandchild, and secretly her favourite. She’s wearing a flowy white blouse and a pair of dark blue linen pants that she’s paired off with white sandals, and she looks like someone you want to hug and vent all your feelings to.

There’s large tears in her even larger eyes as she reaches up to pat Porsche’s face with both hands, “Oh, you’ve gotten so skinny— so skinny! You should eat more, dek ! You’re going to eat more!”

Porsche laughs as he warmly clasps his grandmother’s hands, “As if I’m going to say no to you, grandma.”

She laughs, and it’s entirely identical to Porsche’s laugh, and her eyes are still glittering and still full of warmth as she turns them towards Tem and grins a little wider, “Tem! Hello, darling!”

Tem immediately feels his face splitting into a grin to mirror hers, as he bows to her in greeting. He hasn’t even properly straightened when she pulls him in for a hug, and he goes willingly. Pimchan met Tem almost a decade ago, when Porsche’s uncle Athee had driven Porsche down to Hua Hin for the summer— but instead of one skinny teenage boy, he had brought three, and a ten-year-old. Porsche had explained that one of them was Tem and the other was Jom, and they were his best friends in the world, and they both had permission from their families to go along with Porsche. Pimchan had, of course, called their parents immediately, and it turned out that her grandson was an incredible influence, and they had felt safe leaving their sons with him. That alone had made Pimchan’s chest swell with pride, so she didn’t even care that her tiny house was now filled with three teenage boys, and her youngest grandson, a shy ten-year-old — all of whom were nothing but skin and bones. Pride was a sin and Pimchan had spent too many Sundays in church with Father Michael preaching to the masses, to not be aware of this  — yet she still prided herself on being determined— she was nothing if not determined, and so she took one look at the boys and made it her mission to make them look anything other than malnutritioned. So she had fed them enough homemade meals over the course of two months, that by the time the boys had returned home to Bangkok, they weighed twice as much as they did before. Porsche and Porchay had complained the entire time because they’d gotten too fat and wouldn’t fit in their uniforms anymore, but Tem and Jom had just experienced the unconditional love of a grandmother and they left Hua Hin with a kind of love for her that the coming years only strengthened.

Time comes to stand next to Tem and waits for the hug to break, then he quickly presses the palms of his hands together in front of his chest and bows his head so low that his nose touches his fingers, “ Sawadee ka , grandmother.”

Pimchan’s hands find Time’s shoulders and she squeezes them warmly, “Hello!” she waits for Time to straighten and once he does, she reaches up on her tiptoes to warmly clasp his chin, “well, you’re a very handsome boy, aren’t you?”

Time chuckles, his smile becoming bashful, “Thank you, grandmother, my name is Time. It’s so nice to meet you, and I want to thank you for having us at your home. I hope we’re not too much trouble.”

“Nonsense!” she waves her hand dismissively, “there’s more than enough space in my house and food in my cupboard, dek , don’t you worry. You’re more than welcome here!”

Time nods, “It’s so nice to meet you, Porsche always has the nicest things to say about you, and rightfully so.”

“Ah, does he? Shame he never calls.” She glares at Porsche, who's interest has been snagged by a pebble on the walkway, and he’s staring determinedly at it. “And he’s a liar too!”

Porsche gapes at his grandmother, “When have I ever lied to you?”

“You said you were bringing four friends! I only see two! I thought you were bringing Jom and Ren!”

“Ren?” Time asks, but his question is ignored as Porsche laughs.

“I didn’t lie! The other two are in a different car, they’re on their way here!”

“Oh,” she delightedly claps her hands together once, “so Ren and Jom are coming?”

“No, not them. It’s Kinn and Tawan — Jom had to work, and Ren was out of town for a meeting. Jom did say he’ll drop by next weekend.” Porsche replies, then he glances curiously over his grandmother’s shoulder, “grandma, I don’t see grandad? Is he not at home?”

Pimchan nods as she turns to face her house, “Yes, your grandad went out to buy Lao Khao . We didn’t have any at home and he thought you boys would want some— Porsche, don’t you let him touch a drop, okay?”

Porsche laughs as he grabs hold of his luggage from the car and follows his grandmother towards the house, “I promise to try my best to stop him, but if he challenges me to a game of darts over it, I’m backing out.”

Tem and Time follow Porsche in grabbing their own luggage, and trail behind him into the house. Porsche’s grandparents’ house is modest, but quite spacious. As Time ventures further into the house, quietly disconnecting from Porsche’s conversation with his grandmother, he makes notes of the traditional and elegant decor that adorns every corner of the home. The wooden furniture exudes a sense of history and craftsmanship, while intricate Thai silks hang delicately from the walls, adding a splash of colour to the serene ambiance. Porsche is walking through what Time guesses to be the dining area, and as soon as he walks in he is greeted by the warm aroma of exotic spices and herbs that seems to take up the entire room. A long, polished wooden table serves as the centrepiece, surrounded by intricately carved chairs upholstered in plush fabrics.

Moving into the living room, Time’s gaze is snagged by a collection of antique artefacts proudly displayed against the far wall. He marvels at the ornate details of each piece, recognizing the dedication and meticulous care that had gone into preserving the rich cultural heritage of the region.

To the left of the living room, the whole wall is replaced by tall glass double-doors that open out onto the patio, and beyond it, Time can see the sun sparkling off the Gulf of Thailand. Distinctly, Time feels like he doesn’t even want to go to the more luxurious villa, he’d much rather stay right here.

“Hey, Tem.” he calls out quietly, trying to catch his friend’s attention, but not Pimchan’s. He waits for Tem to approach him and when he does, he asks, “Is there any way I can stay here instead of at the villa? I like this place.”

Tem laughs with a shake of his head, “Yeah, that’s what everyone says. I’m sure grandma would love it, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when I first came here, Porsche’s grandparents didn’t have the villa, so we didn’t have any other choice but to stay here. But even after they got the villa, every time I visited I stayed right here. Every time Porsche brings someone here, they all fall in love with this house, and opt out of the villa,” Tem’s smiling fondly, as if he’s remembering happier times spent within these four walls, “that’s why grandma keeps at least three bedrooms prepared upstairs in advance.”

“What are you two gossipping about?” asks Porsche as he drops his bag onto the floor, and then drops his body onto the soft green sofa.

“Time’s onto the same shit everybody’s on.” Tem says, shrugging, but he’s smiling still so Time takes it as a good sign.

Porsche shakes his head, “Let me guess, you want to stay here and don’t even want to go to the villa?”

“Oh, good! I have the rooms ready.” Pimchan says as she walks into the living room from what Time assumes is the kitchen, holding a platter of Khao Neow Mamuang and he almost cries over it— mango sticky rice are and always have been his favourite dessert, that his strict dietician forbade him to eat when he was a gawky teenager. It has been eight years since he’s had the sticky dessert, and fuck him if he breaks that streak today.

“Ooh!” Porsche says as he leaves his sprawl on the sofa and walks towards his grandmother, and earns a slap on the back of his hand when he tries to take some of the dessert, “Ow! Why?”

Pimchan frowns tightly at him, “It’s Time’s first time here, he gets the first bite!” she motions Time closer, and he obediently goes to her, “Here, dek , you take the first serving.”

“Oh… uh…” Time doesn’t have the right words to tell her about his prolonged fast against desserts, and he stares at her quite helplessly. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I just… I stopped eating this when I was twelve years old, after my American dietician said I need to cut back on it because I was fat and wouldn’t lose weight no matter what. I haven’t had any since then.” Time blurts out, as if he was barely holding it all in.

Pimchan frowns tightly, “And how long ago was this?”

“Eight years.” Time feels a sense of shame wash over him over the admission.

Pimchan tuts disapprovingly, “And what a pity that is, Time, because I think you’re a gorgeous young man, so you must’ve been one adorable child— such a shame that you were given a diet to follow. Although it has been eight years, and a little Khao Neow Mamuang never hurt anybody. I won’t tell your dietician if you won’t.”

There’s this look in her eyes, a glittering warmth that makes Time’s expression felt, his shoulders sag and his hands reach for a bowl of sticky rice. “Thank you, grandma.”

“Whatever for?” she asks in a way that leaves no room for further conversation.

Porsche and Tem are watching the exchange with quiet smiles, and as they turn their eyes towards each other, Porsche knows that it was a good idea bringing his friends here. Most of his friends come from homes that aren’t as happy as they appear to be, and they could always use a warm maternal hug and food for the soul. Time obviously needed that affirmation from his grandmother, and for all that it’s worth, Porsche is so glad he was able to help him get it.

Vaguely, Porsche thinks that no one needs his grandmother’s warmth and kindness the way Kinn does— and as soon as the thought enters his brain, he shakes himself free of it. He glances at his wristwatch, then says, “How long has grandpa been gone? Should I go get him?”

“Hm? Oh he’s been gone thirty minutes, he probably found his friends playing poker in front of the pork skewers stall— if you find him there, tell him I’m keeping the slipper ready!” his grandmother says as she loads a spoonful of diced mangoes onto Time’s plate.

Tem smiles widely as he turns to Porsche, “You want me to come with you?”

“Sure, if you want to,” replies Porsche, then he glances at Time, “he’s in mango heaven, clearly, let’s not bother him.”

Pimchan waves them off dismissively, too interested in feeding the starved boy in front of her— well, to her he’s starved, but in reality he dines at three-star michelin restaurants at least once every week, but she doesn’t need to know that. So Tem and Porsche leave Time to his vices as they make their way out of the house.

They’ve only gotten halfway down the yard, when Tem says, “I wonder what’s taking Kinn so long? He should’ve been here about ten minutes ago, like us!”

“I don’t know, actually, I didn’t speak to him. But Time said Tawan had a packing issue, which is why they left the city much later than us.” Porsche says in a tone as nonchalant as he can make it. In truth, he’s very much concerned about Kinn and his whereabouts, but he’s not about to tell Tem that.

“Packing issue? What’s he packing for, Paris Fashion Week?”

Porsche can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes him, “Well, to be fair, I do believe that he thinks every week is Fashion Week.”

“It’s the stupid sunglasses, Porsche, I’m telling you— he looks like all three of the blind mice at the same time, all the time.” Tem says, and while they aren’t people who usually talk shit about others like this, this is about Tawan who hates them both on account of not being rich and fancy like him— so Porsche thinks a little light hearted trash talk isn’t the end of the world.

They haven’t even properly laughed at Tem’s comment when a silver MU-X comes to a gentle stop right in front of his grandparents’ house. The window of the driver’s side rolls down to reveal Kinn, wearing a dazzling grin and an expression of surprise on his face. He lifts a hand, a thumb and two fingers held up while the other two are folded down, and he waves at Tem and Porsche.

“Wait a minute,” he says, his expression half surprised and half confused, “don’t tell me—”

Before he can finish his sentence, the window of the right rear side rolls down to reveal a white haired man smiling widely at them. “Porsche!”

“Grandpa?” Porsche asks, eyes going wide— in no world was it normal for his grandfather to be sitting in the backseat of Kinn Theerapanyakun’s car.

It takes a few seconds for his grandfather to get the door open and then he climbs out of the car and approaches Porsche with his arms wide open. And Porsche goes in for the hug willingly, albeit still a little confused. 

“Oh, I’ve missed you, boy!” his grandfather says to him, patting his back warmly.

They separate and Porsche struggles to school his confused expression, “I’ve missed you too, grandpa. I’m so sorry I couldn’t come any earlier, I should’ve made time before uni started.”

“No, no, no…” grandfather says, holding his shoulder firmly, “University is important, dek , and you need to pay attention in class, and focus on your studies. You’re here now, son, that’s enough for me.”

“ Sawadee ka, grandfather.” says Tem from next to Porsche, drawing his grandfather’s attention.

“Here you are, Tem! I was beginning to think my Makruk partner had forgotten about me!” grandfather says as he pulls Tem up from his wai and into a gentle hug.

“Never!” Tem replies automatically, “Your grandson’s just a jackass and never brings me by.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t own the roads, and you can perfectly travel them all by yourself, you know.” grandfather gazes meaningfully at Tem, and he flushes in embarrassment, making Porsche laugh.

Then his attention is drawn towards Kinn who has by now parked his car next to Time’s, and has just stepped onto the sandy walkway. “By the way, what happened here? How’d you end up in Kinn’s car?”

“Oh, you know each other?” grandfather says as he turns his head between Porsche and Kinn, looking surprised, “he gave me a lift!”

“How’d that happen? I thought you went to the market to get drinks?”

“I did, I did! And on the way back, the handle of my carrier broke, so there I was on the side of the road,” says grandfather, his tone changing entirely as if he was starting to tell a story, “all alone, and there was no one for miles, not even a tuk-tuk ! When suddenly, this knight in a silver car came cruising down the other side of the road— he saw me standing there with my broken carrier, he saw how troubled I was! And although he was going in the opposite direction, he insisted on giving me a lift! I kept saying no, but he insisted! And he drove me all the way here, even though he was going into town— he’s such a good boy!”

Porsche blinks at his grandfather, his brain working overtime to figure out whether the story was true or not— his grandfather could be a bit of… Don Quixote at times. Then he turns to Kinn, who is now unloading two crates full of Khao Lao from the back of his car, “Kinn, why were you going in the opposite direction? I texted you the address, right?”

“Yeah,” Kinn says as he gently places the crates down on the ground and straightens, “but the GPS started lagging almost instantly after we left Bangkok. And it stopped completely about fifty miles back, so I was just going in circles. Your grandfather saved me , technically.”

Tem laughs, “And what about him standing there all alone with no one for miles, not even a tuk-tuk ?”

“Well…” Kinn looks sheepishly between Porsche and his grandfather, and shrugs, “there were people around, he just told them to piss off and that he didn’t need their help.”

“Hey!” grandfather interjects, “I just said you’re a good boy, don’t make me take my words back.”

Kinn laughs, and it is such a pleasant sound that Porsche feels his knees growing weaker. So he quickly turns to his grandfather and adopts an expression of faux indignation, “Why would you do that? Imagine if Kinn hadn’t been driving down the road when you were out there telling people off for trying to help you, what did you plan to do ultimately? How were you going to get home?”

“I was going to walk home.” replies grandfather, folding his arms across his chest.

“With two crates full of Khao Lao ?”

“No. I was going to leave them on the side of the road.”

Tem laughs loudly and Porsche has to pinch the bridge of his nose in order to stop raging. His grandfather was as petulant as he was sweet— he was really the best of both worlds, and also the worst. Porsche often secretly lauds his grandmother for pulling off over forty years of marriage with him.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a car door closing nearby, followed by an irritated huff, and then an extremely annoyed sound of, “Kinn? Is this where we’re staying?”

Porsche opens his eyes to find Tawan standing in front of Kinn’s car, wearing expensive and frankly ridiculous sunglasses— and he has to struggle with his instinct to not share a look with Tem, thousand-baht jeans, and an expression of utter contempt.

“I’m not sure,” replies Kinn, and Porsche can’t help but notice that his voice is dimmer than before, as if the life inside had faded a little, “Porsche?”

“Hm, what?” Porsche asks, blinking stupidly at Kinn before his brain finally remembers to work, “Oh, sorry! No, this is not where you guys are staying, this is my grandparents’ house, the villa is down by the beach, five minutes by foot.”

“Oh! Okay… why is Time’s Jeep here then?”

“He opted to stay here, he doesn’t even want to go and see the villa.” Tem replies, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“Why? Is it… bad?” asks Tawan, sounding worried.

Grandfather turns to him with an offended expression, “No, son, it’s not bad. Most of Porsche’s friends just like the home better than the house .”

“Right. But we don’t have to stay here, right?”

“No, Tawan, of course not. You can go directly to the villa, if you’d like.” Porsche says, resisting the urge to defend his grandparents and their lifestyle. He knows Tawan doesn’t mean it like that— and even if he does, Porsche knows himself and he knows how to behave. It’s not worth stooping down to Tawan’s level. 

“Great! I’ll go freshen up and then I’ll come say hello to your grandmother, I feel disgusting after the car ride, all sweaty.” he makes a face, as if the car ride was the most unpleasant experience of his life. Then he stands there, expectantly staring at Kinn.

If Kinn takes notice of it, he doesn’t show, instead he turns towards the crates on the ground, and lifts one up. Then he turns to Porsche and offers him a smile that is almost apologetic, “I want to say hello to your grandmother first. Is that alright?”

“Of course,” says Porsche, nodding, as Tem takes hold of the other crate and begins to trail after his grandfather into the house.

“Pimchan! Look who I brought!” Porsche’s grandfather calls out as he enters the house, taking his fedora hat as he does. 

“They’re in the living room,” Tem says helpfully as he leads the party of four further into the house, with Porsche’s grandfather following suit. Kinn and Porsche trail after, matching one another’s steps.

Porsche watches, out of the corner of his eye, as Kinn drinks in the house; his eyes are wide, as if he’s dazzled by the simple elegance of the beautiful home. His eyes pause at the array of photographs decorating most of the walls; they’re all of family members— Porsche’s parents, Porsche, his brother, his uncles and aunts, his cousins, his great grandparents, of Tem and Jom and Ren and Uncle Athee, and of family pets throughout the years.

Kinn stops in his tracks before quickly placing the crate down on the ground and walking up to one of the pictures. “Is this you?” he asks, pointing towards a picture encased in a brown wooden frame. 

It’s of Porsche and his mother at the beach; she’s wearing a flowy blue dress that is flying behind her in the wind, and she’s got both arms wrapped around Porsche’s waist. She’s holding him up, and his legs are kicking underneath him, his head is tipped back and his mother’s face is pressed to the side of his. Their eyes are squinted, hair wild, but the laughter etched into their faces is clear.

“Yes,” Porsche replies softly, “that’s me and mum.”

“How old are you in this?”

“Maybe five or six.”

Kinn’s expression softens as he reaches a hand up to gently trace the frame, “You know, I can see where you get it, Porsche, your mother is absolutely breathtaking.”

Porsche disagrees. She wasn’t always beautiful, in fact, in her last moments she was anything but; covered in her own blood, tears streaming down her face, hair stuck to the sweat on her face, apologies that meant nothing to anyone tumbling past quivering lips— she was not beautiful to look at then. She was just heartbreaking. But he can’t tell Kinn that, he can’t tell anyone that.

“Oi, Porsche!” Tem’s voice cuts through Porsche’s thoughts, and the relative silence surrounding him and Kinn, “Grandma’s wondering if you’re ever going to bring Kinn in.”

Porsche blinks to clear his blurry vision and nods, “Be right there.” He turns back towards the crate and picks it up, then he looks at Kinn, “Let’s get in there before grandma comes out with a spatula in hand.”

Kinn laughs, as he nods, before slowly following Porsche into the other room. The scene in the living room is just the same as Porsche had left it; Time’s still sitting at the table, consuming sticky rice like the world’s ending, and his grandmother is still fussing over him— the only thing different is that his grandfather is also fussing over Time now.

“It’s like we don’t even exist for them.” Tem says begrudgingly as he gestures towards Time, who is very obviously basking in the glory of being the centre of attention, and Porsche thinks of how cruel it would be to cut the moment short, but he does so anyway.

“Grandma, this is Kinn.” he says, as he steps aside, letting his grandmother get an eye full of him.

And she gets a really good look in. She watches Kinn in a transfixed sort of way, her eyes trailing from the tip of his glossy black hair to the very point of his white running shoes, and Porsche vaguely thinks that he can relate, because Kinn is beautiful in a way that it's hard to look away from him.

Then grandmother grins delightedly, “Hello, Kinn. How are you, teerak ?”

Kinn mirrors her smile as he steps forward and bows to her in greeting, “Good afternoon, grandmother, my name is Kinn Theerapanyakun, and I’m doing well, thank you. How are you?”

Kinn is so goddamn polite that it makes Porsche want to roll his eyes forever, but if he’s ever honest with himself, he knows it’s because he loves that Kinn is polite, because men of his social standing rarely ever are. 

Grandmother seems impressed with Kinn as she steps forward and pats his shoulder, and Porsche almost, almost tells her not to touch Kinn because he gets uncomfortable, but Kinn is smiling at her in a way that suggests he welcomes the touch, and Porsche doesn’t understand why it makes his heart feel a little sore. 

They spend the next ten minutes making introductions and getting to know one another; Porsche’s grandparents feed him and his friends mango sticky rice and Kinn leaves shortly after to take Tawan to the villa, escorted by Tem, and he promises to come back as soon as they’re settled in. Time takes his and Tem’s bags upstairs, and Porsche tells them to bunk together in one of the rooms, and Time seems a little more than happy to do it. And Porsche shows him around the upper floor of the house, but he walks right past the room his parents used to stay in whenever they visited, and Time doesn’t ask him to unlock that door. Tem joins them a handful of minutes later and he tells them that Tawan clearly loved the villa, but he complained about the hot water not being turned on and that he said he needed hot water for his night shower, and Porsche makes a mental note to do it later on.

It’s much later in the day, when the sun has dipped right below the horizon, and Time and Tem are standing in the kitchen with Porsche’s grandmother, chopping up bell peppers and onions, when Kinn wanders back into the house with Tawan in tow. He’s wearing a loose shirt in a beige colour that is unbuttoned halfway, and black loose-fitted pants, and he looks like a breath of fresh air. And from where Porsche is sitting on the top of the staircase, he gets a really good look at Kinn before he speaks up.

“Time? Porsche?” he calls out from the foyer, eyes darting expectantly around the room.

Porsche folds his body so he’s visible below the landing and grins, “Hey, guys! They’re in the kitchen.”

“Everyone?” Kinn asks, a little confused.

“Yep! They’re making dinner.”

“And what are you doing?” asks Tawan, as if he expects Porsche to be in the kitchen instead of on the stairs, talking to his boyfriend.

“Trying not to kill myself while coming up with a closing sentence for my paper on the International Monetary Fund for our Social Economics class,” Porsche replies in an exhausted tone, then he glances at Kinn, “did you finish yours yet?”

“Oh, hell no,” Kinn laughs, “I’m probably going to fail that class.”

Porsche shrugs and then chuckles, “Honestly? I think more than half of us will flunk, but that’ll only reflect poorly on Professor Chailai.”

Tawan tuts, “Well, if it’s that hard for you, you can always drop the class.”

“Well, no, I can’t just drop the class , Tawan.” says Porsche, standing up from his perch on the stairs and taking his notebook with him. He descends the stairs and comes to stand a few paces away from the couple, “It’s kind of a mandatory class for the course I’m in. I just need a little time for this, I’ll crack it.”

“You only have three days, though,” Kinn says, pushing his hands into the pockets of his pants, “we need to hand the papers in on Tuesday, or she’ll fail us anyway.”

Porsche sucks air through his teeth in irritation before he throws his hands up in defeat, “Honestly, whatever. I’ll come up with something— or worst case scenario; I’ll just use a fuckin’ AI writer.”

Kinn laughs, but Tawan looks a little impish, “You know that’ll get you expelled, right?”

That sobers up the mood instantly, and Porsche shrugs, “I know. I was joking. I wouldn’t actually use AI.”

“Hm,” says Tawan in a dismissive tone, as if he doesn’t quite believe Porsche, as if whatever he says means nothing to him. He turns to Kinn then and says, “shouldn’t we go say hello to everyone now? We need to head out before it’s too late for dinner.”

“You’re not having dinner here?” Porsche asks, and he tries really hard to not sound as offended as he feels.

“Uh, no… Tawan has a sensitive stomach, he doesn’t handle local cuisine well.” Kinn replies, and he looks as apologetic as he always does.

“Oh! Um, that’s definitely too bad, my grandma— well, Time, Tem and my grandma are making Panang curry, because that’s the safest option, but you guys should definitely get food from town. I wouldn’t recommend local eateries, though.”

“Sure, thanks, Porsche.” Kinn replies, and he sounds every bit as exhausted as Porsche feels. So he takes the two of them further into the house, where he introduces Tawan to his grandmother, and to everyone’s surprise, Tawan is perfectly pleasant to her.

The couple stay around for about ten minutes before they excuse themselves and leave for dinner, and Porsche’s grandmother clearly takes offence to it as she walks around a little huffy for the rest of the night. Time and Tem make absolutely delicious curry, and Porsche feels like he’s about to explode by the time they’re done with dinner. He helps his grandfather clean up, and then he takes his friends out to the beach.

There’s several people milling about the beach, but Porsche expects this much, so he takes his friends towards the shoreline, away from the crowds. There’s a few eateries and little shacks serving as bars in the surrounding area, and Time buys beers for all three of them. They spend the next twenty minutes or so on the beach, talking and laughing and making memories that will last a lifetime. At some point they’re joined by a group of foreigners; two girls and three guys, and they’re all friendly and warm— a little too friendly, Porsche thinks, when one of the girls throws her arms around a very drunk Tem’s neck, and tries to all but devour his tongue. Time breaks the two of them up, he tells Porsche that he’s taking Tem home, and Porsche tells him that he’s going to go and turn the hot water on in the villa before Kinn and Tawan get back.

As he walks along the shoreline towards the villa, he wonders where Kinn took Tawan— was it to Trattoria ? Or was it to Rak Talay ? Porsche decides that he doesn’t actually want to know. He’s alone with his thoughts when he enters the premises of the beach house. The lights are on and Porsche wonders if Kinn’s back already, and then he thinks that it’s very likely that they had come back in the time Porsche had spent with Time and Tem, getting shit faced and slightly assaulted by the foreigners. So he knocks on the main door of the house when he approaches it.

There’s sounds of life coming from inside the house; soft music being quickly turned off, moving of furniture, shuffling of feet, and then the door slowly swings open to reveal Kinn on the other side; shirtless, messy hair, a half-empty glass of wine in his hands, pupils blown, sweat and saliva glittering on his waist, and his boxer brief clinging dangerously low on his hips. His eyes widen and he makes a half-decent attempt to cover up by cupping one hand over his bulging crotch, “Porsche!”

“Shit,” Porsche murmurs, “I didn’t think— fuck , why didn’t I think? I’m sorry, I’ll come back— no, I won’t actually. Sorry!” He turns right around and walks away as quickly as he can without breaking into a run, and he walks until he finds himself standing on the beach, mere foot or two away from the ocean, and then he doubles over and throws up. His stomach feels queasy and simultaneously like lead, and Porsche thinks he’s going to die one of these days.

He doesn’t know why he’s feeling this way, and he’s disgusted at himself for feeling like this, he feels like a homewrecker even if he hasn’t done anything. There’s a voice in his head, and it tells him that he’s just like his mother , and it isn’t his own voice, it’s the voice of Naiyana Wong— his father’s first wife.

Porsche takes a handful of sand and throws it on top of his vomit, he repeats his actions until he’s made a tiny mound of sand on top of the sick, and he feels like shit— and it’s not all entirely for the fact that he threw up on a public beach. He walks away from there, and he’s only managed to get a few feet away when his knees give out and he collapses on the beach, heels digging into the sand underneath and hands taking fistfuls of it. Porsche tries to breathe through the anxiety attack he knows is coming— he managed to go so long without thinking of the ugly truth about his family; he lasted four and a half months without letting his father’s secret become the noose around his neck, choking him until all he saw were stars, until all he heard were Naiyana’s words.

He didn’t always know that his father had a wife before he met his mother, he didn’t always know that his mother had broken his marriage. He didn’t always know he was a product of an extramarital affair, and he didn’t always know that he was the son of a homewrecker. But then he was twelve years old and his father had just died, and his mother lost her mind in a way that she couldn’t come back from, and he was cleaning in his parents’ room, because they always kept their room clean and now he had to do it. But he was only twelve years old and he couldn’t quite reach the top of their wardrobe, and he was on his tiptoes on a chair and it was wobbling, and he fell— he hit his elbow on the steel bed-frame and grabbed at anything he could to lessen his fall. What he happened to grab as he fell to the carpeted floor was the corner of his father’s desk, and it came tumbling down. Porsche saw stars for the next five minutes, but then he saw papers and envelopes scattered around the fallen table, and it appeared that he had accidentally popped open a secret compartment. But Porsche was only twelve years old, and he had just lost his parents, and now there were secrets strewn about the room, and he took an envelope, and found pictures inside— his father in a black tuxedo, and a woman in a white wedding dress… but it wasn’t his mother.

So Porsche was only twelve years old when he sat there, buried under a pile of his parents’ secret, and he felt a piece of his soul die that day— there were pictures, and letters, and a marriage licence that wasn’t his parents’, and Porsche’s own birth certificate that was dated three months before his parents’ wedding, and a divorce certificate that was dated a few days after his birth. Porsche’s mother always told him that she met his father at an art gallery, she just refrained from telling him that the art gallery belonged to his father’s first wife. Porsche was only twelve years old when all of his grief and heartache over losing his parents turned into anger and resentment.

Porsche has lived eight years with all that anger and resentment, and oftentimes it feels like a physical weight on his chest, crushing his ribs, and making it hard for him to breathe and making it harder still for his heart to beat. It has been so long that the emotions that he had thought were like ocean waves at twelve years old, now felt like a tsunami at twenty. Porsche often wonders how long ago he stopped grieving his parents altogether.

“Porsche?” His name drags him out of reverie and he turns absentmindedly to find Kinn standing above him, looking confused. “What are you doing out here?”

For a long minute, Porsche looks at him, at the wonder that is Anakinn Theerapanyakun; his friend, his academic partner, and the source of all his misery. And he wants so badly for Kinn to go away, and he wants to keep himself away from Kinn too. But then Kinn tilts his head frowns lightly at him and says, “Are you okay?”

And Porsche gets it— he gets what longing for someone who you cannot have feels like, he gets what his mother was talking about in all those letters she wrote to his father, he gets what it’s like to sit there and watch the person who has you spinning in circles be wound up tight around somebody else’s finger. But he will never understand the kind of cruelty it takes to destroy someone’s happiness to ensure his own.

So he looks back out to the sea, shakes his head a little and gets to his feet. He pointedly does look at Kinn as he brushes off the sand clinging to the fabric of his shorts, and says, “Ah, nothing, it was just so nice out and I wanted to watch the sea by myself for a little while.”

If Kinn finds it odd that Porsche isn’t even looking at him, he doesn’t show— instead he just nods and looks out at the dark expanse of the ocean, “It is quite beautiful. Terrifying too, isn’t it?” he asks, eyes hollow as he stares into the vast emptiness, and when Porsche doesn’t answer him, he tears his gaze from the ocean and focuses on his friend instead, “When you came to the villa earlier— did you need something?”

“Yeah, I’m so sorry about that,” says Porsche, finally glancing at Kinn, and just as quickly looking back out towards the ocean, “Tem mentioned earlier that Tawan needed hot water to shower at night, so I was just there to turn it on. I didn’t think you guys were back already, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s alright, don’t worry about it,” says Kinn, then he gestures back towards the villa, “if it’s not too much trouble, you can turn it on now— Tawan’s going to want to shower before bed.”

“Absolutely, I can. But what are you doing out here anyway?”

“Well, I was actually looking for you— I wanted to apologise for earlier.”

“What?” Porsche asks, a little more than confused, “What do you have to apologise for?”

“Well, earlier, Tawan and I were having drinks… dancing a little, and… you know. A-and then you dropped by… and I was a little bit drunk and I rushed to open the door without covering up— I’m so sorry about that,” Kinn replies, rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed way, “and well… I just need to shower now and I was actually going to ask if there was any way we could get hot water, and then I saw you here from the balcony… and well, here I am.”

“You really don’t need to be sorry, Kinn, if anyone is sorry, it’s me— and I am very, very sorry. I’m going to go turn the hot water on for you guys, and we never have to talk about this awkward situation again.” Porsche ends his words with a laugh and Kinn takes it in stride, but as they walk back towards the villa, Porsche knows he’ll never forget about this night.

For tonight, Porsche really felt like his mother’s son.

~*~

Porsche goes back home on Wednesday. His last class for the day ends at five in the evening and he doesn’t even wait for any of his friends to catch up before he leaves the classroom and heads straight for the parking lot. He distinctly hears his name being called, but he breaks into a run before he can get caught up in anything.

He spent the entirety of Friday night lying awake in his bed, replaying his conversation with Kinn from earlier that night, and of course, being tortured with the sounds of Time and Tem getting busy in the next room. Then he spent the entirety of Saturday with Kinn attached to his side as they helped his grandmother tend to her garden, and in the evening all the boys decided to play volleyball with the French tourists they’d acquainted themselves with on Friday. He spent Saturday night in the living room of his grandparents’ house with Kinn, both silently working on their papers, and when they were done, they sat there and reviewed each other’s work into the late hours of the night— he woke up on Sunday morning on his grandmother’s couch, with a crick in his neck and Kinn’s head on his shoulder as he slept soundly, and Time sitting on the armchair with a cup of coffee in his hand, watching the two of them with an unreadable expression. Porsche felt sick to his stomach as he gently lifted Kinn’s head away from his shoulder and instead rested it on a cushion before he quickly fled the room as if it was the scene of a crime, and he was the petty criminal.

Then he spent the next three and a half days watching Kinn and Tawan closely, and hating himself for how he felt about the way Kinn smiled at Tawan, and the way Tawan brushed his hair away from his face before kissing him. He hated the way Kinn’s fingers lingered on Tawan’s skin, and how he looked at his boyfriend when he thought nobody was watching. Porsche absolutely hated himself, and he needed to get away from Kinn, and from Tawan, and he needed to feel anything but contempt for himself, so he thinks of Ren.

As he swings his leg over his bike, he texts Ren that he's coming over, before he pockets his phone, slings his backpack over both shoulders and quickly turns the key in the ignition— the engine underneath roars to life in a familiar sound, and Porsche practically feels his heartbeat steady. Miraculously manages to stay within speeding limits as he rides his bike across town to Ren's apartment. He knows he’ll get fined for not wearing a helmet, but he also knows that he needs to feel the wind in his hair and on his skin for his brain to feel alright.

Ren opens the door, looking as gorgeous as he always does, and he smiles at Porsche in a way that makes his knees weak, and his throat burn with an ache he cannot identify. “Porsche!”

With his heart beating in what feels like his throat, Porsche steps past the threshold and into his apartment, hands already tightening into the soft cotton of Ren’s Metallica t-shirt and then he pulls the older man into the messiest kiss of his life. Porsche is a goddamn mess, and he needs to feel something— and nobody makes him feel quite as good or quite as much as Ren does. And when Ren twists his fingers into Porsche’s hair and pulls, a mix of pain and ecstasy shoots down Porsche’s spine like an electric bolt, and Porsche knows that this is exactly what he needed. Ren is what he needed.

And for his part, Ren is as attentive and as sweet as he always is; he kisses Porsche in a way that makes his brain melt and all the noise in his head go quiet. He touches Porsche in gentle whispers of fingertips against overheated skin. And when Porsche goes limp in his arms, Ren holds him firmly but gently as he carries him into his bedroom. It isn’t often that Porsche is dominant over Ren, usually they work based off of communication and easy understanding, so when he grabs Ren’s hair and pushes at his shoulders, Ren’s quick to get with the program. And when Porsche pushes into him, Ren goes pliant and warm and inviting— and Porsche feels like a fucking animal when Ren looks thoroughly disheveled afterwards; the prints of Porsche’s hands are as evident as daylight across Ren’s fair skin, and so are the marks left by Porsche’s teeth. But Ren’s smiling when Porsche rolls off of him, and he laughs when Porsche apologises.

Porsche lights up a cigarette in the dark, and Ren watches him bonelessly from behind. And then he asks, “Did something happen?” and Porsche doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he is an extremely fucked up individual who does extremely fucked up things, so he takes another long drag of his cigarette and moves back until he’s back on top of Ren, and he kisses him. “Your turn. Leave marks.”

And when Ren is finally rocking into him with the pace of a damn jackhammer, his hands are around Porsche’s throat, his teeth are digging almost painfully into sensitive skin, and Ren’s hands leave his throat to grab his ass in an entirely painful grip, Porsche feels fucking electrified . With each truth, each bite, each slap and each grabbing of flesh, Porsche feels like everything that had frayed in his being has just slotted back into place.

Afterwards, they lay entwined with each other, Porsche’s body lifeless and Ren’s thighs burning from the strain, Porsche distinctly thinks that he would have lost his mind a long time ago if it wasn’t for Ren.

“He’s a lucky guy, Porsche.” says Ren, and his voice in the dark room feels like Porsche’s own subconscious saying things that aren’t exactly true.

“Hm? Who is?”

“The one you’re losing your mind over.”

Porsche raises himself up on his elbows and stares at Ren indignantly, “Shut up.”

Ren laughs, then he reaches up and pulls Porsche into a tender kiss. “You know I’m right, baby. Go get him.”

He leaves the bed and heads towards the bathroom, and Porsche watches him go, he even admires the fantastic view of his ass before it disappears from his line of sight and then he says, “If I get him, we lose this.”

“We were always meant to end one way or another,” Ren calls back from the bathroom, which makes Porsche leave the bed irritably, and he practically stomps towards the bathroom. The open door reveals Ren turning the shower on and adjusting the water temperature, so Porsche goes to stand behind him, with his arms crossed across his chest, “What does that mean? Are you seeing someone?”

Ren turns around under the hot spray of the water and laughs, “Me? No. I’m not seeing anyone but you, pretty boy.” His voice is gentle and his hands are even gentler as he takes hold of Porsche’s hips and pulls him under the spray of the shower and presses up against his body. And Porsche automatically leans in for a kiss, for the safety that Ren provides, for the comfort and for the kindness. Ren is the best thing that has ever happened to Porsche, and he knows this down to his core.

Porsche leaves Ren’s apartment at eight in the evening, with his uniform in a mesh bag in his backpack, and wearing Ren’s clothes, with a heart full of warmth and a belly full of ramen noodles, and Ren watches him go— that’s all he ever does, anyway.

At eight-fifteen, Porsche pulls into the parking space of Uncle Athee’s apartment. He spends the next hour with his uncle and his brother, then he goes to see Jom, who is so surprised to see Porsche that he flips the game of chess he had been playing with the neighbourhood elders and wraps Porsche up in the tightest hug possible. By the time Porsche leaves his best friend’s company and rides back across town towards his own apartment, he’s feeling better than he has felt in weeks. But then his phone rings and it’s Tem calling and of course he picks up.

“Where the fuck did you run off to earlier? We were calling after you, but you ditched us like you owed us money.” Tem sounds only slightly pissed and that’s of some comfort to Porsche, but he still knows that his best friend’s definitely mad at home.

So he chuckles nervously and says, “Okay, I went home. I missed Porchay and I wanted to see him.”

“You were with Porchay for four hours? Isn’t it a school night for him?”

“Well, I may have stopped by Jom’s place too.”

“And?”

Porsche sighs. His best friend knows him too well. “I went to see Ren.”

And instead of the lecture that Porsche prepares himself for, Tem just says, “Good. You needed that. Go home and sleep now, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

For what it’s worth, Porsche is really glad he decided to steal Tem’s lunch in kindergarten.

~*~

It happens in a way Porsche can’t wrap his head around; suddenly he doesn’t feel like shit around Kinn anymore, he instead feels like himself. He laughs with Kinn, and he spends hours on the phone with him, talking about university and their assignments, and life in general, and when he hangs up, he feels better than before. He even sits down in the cafeteria with Kinn opposite him and Tawan next to Kinn, and he doesn’t feel like banging his head against the steel table.

Everything falls back into normalcy; Kinn and Porsche get paired up for more projects and assignments than they can count, he sees less and less of Tawan everyday and that’s not something Porsche finds himself complaining about, he calls his grandparents and he calls Porchay, and Ren sometimes comes to see him at his apartment. 

Once, Ren is leaving his apartment when Kinn steps out of the elevator, followed by Time, Tae, and Tem— the latter of whom greets him with enthusiasm and a hug. And Time practically bristles , and Porsche honestly doesn’t have it in him to care about it because he sees the way Kinn’s eyes land and linger on Ren’s hand on Porsche’s waist— he looks like he wants to take it off. So Porsche does it for him, he steps forward and takes the box of doughnuts from Kinn’s hands and bids farewell to Ren, because ‘ he was just leaving .’ And Tem frowns and asks Ren to stay, to which he smiles and shakes his head, and says, ‘ no, I already got what I came here for .’ and he winks at Porsche— and he, in turn, has the electrifying pleasure of watching Kinn’s face fall as Ren’s words register, and for that alone, Porsche wants to blow Ren as many times as he asks him to.

The passing days turn into weeks, and Porsche finds himself inexplicably drawn to Kinn, as if there was a part of himself that he didn’t know existed, but has now come alive because of Kinn, so he remains in his orbit— like a dark star circling the sun. And he likes the thought of that. But there’s this way that Kinn looks at him, like Porsche isn’t just a dark star in the sun’s orbit, it’s like Porsche is the sun itself, or even something even bigger. It makes Porsche feel indestructible, and he falls a little more in love with Kinn.

But Tawan is there— not as often as he was before, but he’s still there, and every time Porsche sees him, he thinks of Naiyana’s words, and he wants so badly to climb the tallest mountain and scream into the void that he’s not like his mother in the sense that he would never intentionally break up Kinn and Tawan. In fact, he thinks that if it ever happened on his account, he would protest it.

Kinn often looks sad, Porsche notes on one particularly lazy afternoon. They’re all sitting in the garden by the Faculty of Law; Time and Tae are napping on the grass, eyes covered behind expensive shades, and Tae is sitting a little further from there, he has his sketchbook in his hands and he appears to be sketching Time. Kinn is sitting with his back against a tree, and Tawan sprawled across the picnic blanket with his back pressed to Kinn’s chest. As Porsche watches them, he thinks Kinn looks sad— there’s this look on his face, as if he’s so far away from this place and all the people around him. As if he’s not here at all. But he’s talking to Tawan, and he’s responsive to every little thing Tawan says, and he even smiles and laughs— but Porsche feels like Kinn’s really not here at all. Then he looks up and his eyes meet Porsche’s, and time slows down until Porsche can hear every single beat of his heart, and in the back of his mind, Porsche thinks that Kinn’s eyes were begging for something Tawan can’t give to him. 

Porsche wants so desperately to know what that something is. He spends the rest of the day thinking about it, and when he goes to bed at night, he realises it; that something that Kinn wants from Tawan is silence. Porsche often thought that Kinn looked there was this noise in his head, this constant, never-ending cacophony of sounds that hurt him with every passing moment. And having looked at Kinn in that moment, Porsche thinks he was right; there is a cacophony of noise in Kinn’s head, and sometimes he just needs silence. And Porsche vows to give it to him.

The next time Porsche finds himself alone with Kinn is on the following weekend, and they’re all in his apartment; Time is napping on Porsche’s bed, and Tem and Tae have gone out to grab food, and Tawan has gone home for the weekend. Porsche hasn’t asked why Kinn hasn’t gone with him, and he genuinely doesn’t want to ask.

Kinn is sitting on the sofa in the living room, and he’s got his arms crossed across his chest, and as Porsche walks into the room, he realises that Kinn is, once again, a million light years away from him— he’s staring at the wall with an expression close to discomfort. So Porsche does what he does best; he provides comfort. He plugs his brand new bluetooth speaker, courtesy of Tae, into the wall and opens up the Spotify playlist he made during the week— it consists only of ambient sounds; waves on the shore, distant rain falling on leaves, the rustling of paper on a windy night, sound wind chimes swaying in the breeze, the soft lull of a babbling brook. Porsche grabs the book he was reading earlier, ‘ Anna Karenina ’ and sits down on the couch next to Kinn, leaving a full seat between them.

Porsche reads his book, and from time to time he glances at Kinn, and he makes note of how Kinn’s eyes are a little hooded now, and how he doesn’t look discomforted anymore, instead he just looks serene and perhaps a little sleepy. So Porsche grabs hold of the nearest throw pillow, and it stings a little when he notices that it’s a pale pink daisy crocheted by his mother. He misses his mother . And he gently places the pillow between Kinn’s head and the wall, and Kinn doesn’t notice; his eyes are nearly closed the whole way, and he appears to be fast approaching sleep.

So Porsche goes back to his book. He has read a page and a half more when there’s a soft gasp to his right, and he looks to find that Kinn is blinking at his surroundings, as if he was just startled back out of sleep, and he touches the pillow under his head, and his eyes dart around the room, as if trying to identify the gentle sounds that lulled him to sleep, and then he finally looks up at Porsche.

And Porsche looks back at him with the softest smile he can manage, and he’s well aware of the moment that passes between them; the warmth of being cared for, of being known . Kinn’s breathing falters and Porsche wonders if he’ll cry, then he closes his eyes and rests his head firmly against the pillow, and whispers, “Thank you.”

And Porsche wants to tell him that he would ruin himself a million little times to provide Kinn with this sense of security and peace, but he doesn’t. He bites down on his tongue, and he turns back to his book, and he wonders if that’s how Anna felt about Johannes, or perhaps what he feels for Kinn is bigger than that, perhaps it’s bigger than this room, this world— or perhaps it was nothing at all, just a charming illusion in Porsche’s pretty head.

“ What have I come for? ” whispers Kinn, so softly that Porsche almost doesn’t catch it, “ You know that I have come to be where you are. I cannot help it. ”

Or perhaps the charming illusion in Porsche’s head is not really in his head, or even an illusion after all. Maybe it is as real as this room, this city, and this world — maybe even more real than anything anyone has ever known.

~*~

If anyone ever asks Porsche what exactly changed the way he feels about Kinn, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to answer. But there’s this feeling in the centre of his being; a sense of belonging. Porsche has drifted through life for the longest time, feeling like a kite with its string cut off, just drifting through the air, hoping to not get snagged on branches or wires. But now it feels like there was always this invisible string, keeping him on the right path, leading him all the way to Kinn— all the disappointment of life, all the grief and the sadness and the stress seems to fade away when Kinn is around. And he wonders if there were ever signs along the way that he missed; maybe the writing was always on the wall, and he turned away from it like an unlearned man.

Perhaps there were signs that he missed. Because it’s months later now, and it’s summer and there’s nothing to do, and Porsche is sitting in his apartment, and it’s raining outside and the world is shrouded in a grey blanket— and have the skies always been this gloomy? Or are they especially sad now, because they’re sharing his grief? Because Kinn is gone, he left for Malta with Tawan, and it’s been five days but he hasn’t heard anything from him, and it hurts . It hurts so bad that Porsche feels like his heart is about to climb up his throat and exploded in his mouth, so blood can be the last thing he tastes before he dies; and maybe that’s how it was always meant to be— maybe he was always supposed to die like his father and his mother, grieving over a love lost and a life ruined, with blood and iron coating his tongue.

Or maybe Porsche just needs to get out of his house, of his mind, of his own skin.

So he puts on his running shorts, and he leaves his phone and his earphones, and everything else behind except for his keys, and he takes the stairs. The rain is pouring in heavy torrents over the city of Bangkok, and Porsche finds himself solitary as he pulls the hood of his hoodie over his head and begins jogging at a quick pace through the deserted streets of uptown Bangkok, trying to outrun his thoughts of Kinn. The gloomy skies cast a dull grey blanket over the usually bustling city, muffling all the sounds of life that usually echo through its vibrant streets.

Each step Porsche takes is accompanied by the loud crashes of thunder overhead, serving as a stark reminder of the storm both inside and outside of him. The raindrops pelt against his skin, his hoodie doing very little to shield him, but they’re now merging with the tears that have begun to streak down his face, lost somewhere in the downpour.

As he navigates the empty streets, he has the distinct feeling that his city seems to be weeping alongside him, its buildings standing tall like silent guardians witnessing his silent struggle. The neon lights that usually illuminate the city's nightlife now lay dormant, their glow subdued by the heavy rain. Porsche presses on, his heart and mind equally weighed down by the feelings he just cannot escape, and he thinks that they mirror the heaviness of the clouds that hang above him.

Despite the emptiness of the streets and the relentless storm, Porsche continues to run, seeking solace in the rhythmic pounding of his footsteps against the wet pavement, the raindrops that hit every inch of exposed skin they can find like tiny icy bullets, and he thinks that that’s what he always does; he runs, from his problems, from his fate, from his heartache, from even his happiness. The only thing that has ever mattered to Porsche is leaving. He has always wanted to leave; his home, his city, his responsibilities, his grief, his pain, his memories, and his life. And it kills him when he realises that it’s not only Porchay that he doesn’t want to leave behind— it’s Kinn. He doesn’t want to leave Kinn even though the thought of him alone makes him want to flee whatever’s coming his way, even if just for a fleeting moment in the midst of the tempest.

Porsche’s heart was beating in his ears now, and he could physically feel the pain in it, so he slowed down, and eventually he stopped running. With rain soaking through his clothes and dripping from his hair, Porsche stands there under the cold grey skies, and he closes his eyes as he tips his head back, letting the rain wash over him, and he sees it in that moment; that the storm within him cannot be escaped, it can only be weathered— but Porsche has to stop running from it.

He decides to stop running.

And that night, he’s awoken by a phone call. He doesn’t even open his eyes, he doesn’t even glance at the screen, he blindly swipes at it and presses the phone to his ear, “Hello?” There’s silence on the other end, and he is about to hang up, when he hears the gentlest and the shakiest of exhales. Porsche’s eyes fly open on their own, “Kinn?”

“Porsche…” his name has never sounded as beautiful before. But he hasn’t heard Kinn’s voice in days, and now that he has, he feels like a starving man having been given a seat at the buffet.

“You’re back?” he asks, because how can he not?

“No, still… still in Malta.” he replies, and Porsche goes quiet, then he sits up in bed and Kinn asks, “Did I wake you?”

And Porsche wants to tell him that he would bid farewell to sleep forevermore if it meant he could hear Kinn’s voice as vulnerable as it is in this very moment, but he can’t. So instead, he says, “I’m glad you did,” and because he decided to stop running, he says slowly, “I missed you.”

Kinn exhales sharply, and his voice is shaking when he says, “I missed you too… God, I missed you fucking much.”

Porsche laughs, and his voice shakes and he grabs onto his sheets to stop himself from saying something he can’t take back. Another silence stretches between them, but it’s comfortable now, like they can exist in the silence too. Then Porsche asks, “When are you coming back?”

“A week before classes start.”

There’s this voice in Porsche’s head and it is clear as day when it says, ‘ No ’ so Porsche echoes it, “No, two weeks. Come back two weeks before.”

“Porsche…”

“Give me a week of you, Kinn.” Porsche isn’t asking, and Kinn doesn’t say no.

“Okay. I’ll be there, Porsche, I swear.”

“Okay,” Porsche replies, then he inhales shakily, “what are we doing, Kinn?” but what he really wants to ask is, ‘ do you love me, Kinn ?’ and ‘ do you ache for me, Kinn ?’ and ‘ do you yearn for me, Kinn ?’ but he cannot.

“I wish I knew… but I do know that it just… it feels…”

“Right?”

Kinn’s voice is shaking as he says, “Yes. Yes, it does.”

“God, fuck…” Porsche hisses, screwing his eyes shut, mouth contorting in a pained frown, and he wants Kinn to come to him and ease his pain. He takes a moment before he speaks again, “One week of you, Kinn, you swore.”

“I know I did, and I’ll be there. You have my word, Porsche.”

And Porsche believes him.

So he isn’t surprised when exactly two weeks before the end of summer, there’s a knock on his door, and Porsche—who had spent the entire day pacing holes into the floor of his apartment—makes a run for the door, he climbs over furniture and almost falls on his face before he reaches the door and he yanks it open.

There he is; Anakinn Theerapanyakun in a black shirt under a black leather jacket and denim jeans, RIMOWA trolley bag by his feet, face gaunt and expression crumbling. He’s watching Porsche with the softness of a million misted stars, his eyes hold fondness and yearning and in that moment it’s apparent— all the questions Porsche wanted to ask him, answered.

“Kinn…” he breathes out before he grabs a fistful of his jacket and yanks him inside his apartment, into his arms, and into his embrace. And every single thing quietens down, his apartment becomes quiet, the street outside becomes still and silent; the only thing he can hear is the beating of two hearts as one. Kinn’s in his arms for the first time, but his body fits perfectly against his own, like artfully covered pieces of wood which composed the picture puzzles of their entire lives. And all the hollowness and the gaps in the portrait of Porsche’s life seem filled now, with Kinn serving as the centrepiece, like he was always meant to be right there.

Kinn cries into Porsche’s shoulder, and Porsche doesn’t ask him why he’s crying, he doesn’t even need to. He lets him cry, he strokes his hair and whispers sweet nothings into his hair, and he holds his face and wipes his tears when they’ve run dry, and he kisses his forehead, and Kinn practically melts in his arms, and Porsche holds him together.

He makes his house into a home for them; a fortress of safety, of peace, of pillows and blankets in Porsche’s bedroom becomes their nest, and Kinn slips out of the mask he wears and under Porsche’s blankets, and Porsche gets to see him in a way he didn’t think was possible; Kinn is soft and he’s warm, and he holds Porsche’s hands and he tells him about his mother, and he talks about his father, and he cries for his brothers, and Porsche lets him.

In the mornings Porsche makes him breakfast, and they eat it in bed, and they laugh in-between the tears, and Kinn sleeps on Porsche’s shoulder, and Porsche watches the way his eyes dance fearfully behind closed eyelids and how they calm down when Porsche whispers to him and holds him. In the afternoons Porsche draws Kinn a bath, and he tells him about the time he almost drowned Porchay because he was only twelve and didn’t know how to bathe an eight-year-old who just wanted his mom, and he says that he’s sorry if he accidentally drowns him too, and Kinn takes a hold of his face and tells him that he’s just saved him, and Porsche breaks in a way he’s never broken before.

In the evenings Kinn makes them chai, and it tastes like love and fear and betrayal all mixed together, and it’s a little bitter on Porsche’s tongue when he swallows it but Kinn smiles at him and it works like a balm on all his ache, and maybe the bitterness is worth it after all. At night, Kinn rests his head on Porsche’s lap, and points to the scars on his body and tells him how he acquired each one, and Porsche traces his fingers along all of them and Kinn asks if he’ll kiss them too, and Porsche wants to, he really wants to but he doesn’t. Instead he takes Kinn’s hands into his own, fingers entwined, and he presses kisses to the soft skin there, and he looks at the freckle in the centre of Kinn’s palm and rests it against his own cheek, and watches Kinn’s expression crumble as he holds his face with both hands and draws closer until their foreheads are resting together, breath mingling, and Porsche falls in love in a way he never has before.

Then their week approaches its end, and Porsche knows that he’s Kinn’s in a way he’s never been anyone’s before, in a way he’ll never be anyone’s again. And Kinn is his in a way he’ll never be Tawan’s.

Kinn kisses him before he leaves, his hands are on Porsche’s waist and his forehead is pressed against Porsche’s, and there’s tears in Porsche’s eyes, and he knows that they are what break Kinn. He tips his head, and his lips touch Porsche’s in the most gentle whisper, and Porsche kisses back and he supposes that he is his mother’s son after all. He kisses Kinn in the purest way he knows, because Kinn deserves the purity of his touch after experiencing the cruelty of the world, and he traces his jaw, and brushes his hair back with his fingers, and then the kiss ends. Porsche isn’t sure if he pulled away first, or if Kinn did, but he accepts it— it had to end. Just like their week has to end.

So he rests his forehead against Kinn’s, and whispers, “You’re with him.” and it’s just as much of a reminder for himself as it is for Kinn, and he wonders if his mother ever tried to let go of his father like this, and he thinks that if she did, he’s sorry for her, because the pain he feels once Kinn leaves his apartment and the door shuts behind him with a final ‘ click ’ is enough to send him to knees on the hardwood floors, gasping and trying to hold back the tears that refuse to be stopped.

Porsche sits in his house and cries his heart out because it is no longer a home for him and Kinn. It was their home for a week, and now it’s just four walls and a roof, and he desperately wants Kinn back, but he can’t— he won’t.

He is not just like his mother , because he won’t ever slit his own wrists in his brother’s kitchen and have his twelve years old son sit next to him holding tea towels to his bleeding wrists to try and save his life. He would never do that to Porchay.

But he is exactly like his mother in the sense that he too fell hopelessly, heads-over-heels in love with a man that he cannot have, a man who is somebody else’s, a man who loves him back just the same, but a man who is so out of his reach that Porsche feels he has a better chance of reaching and having the moon instead.

~*~

Porsche can say that the attack came as a surprise, but that would be a lie, because it doesn’t really surprise him at all that he got attacked by guys twice his size who were very obviously not locals like they were pretending to be— if he had to guess, he’d say they were Russians, but he isn't sold on the idea. Not until he meets the men, that is. 

Kinn finds them— or, at least his men do. And that is another thing Porsche files away in a folder in his brain that’s reserved just for little tidbits of information about Kinn; he has henchmen who do things for him. And they’re obviously much better at their jobs than Tawan’s men are, because if they couldn’t even do proper homework about their victim and figure out that he is the National Judo Champion, then that’s entirely on them being fuckups and clearly terrible at their jobs.

When Kinn pulled up to his apartment in an inconspicuous black car and asked him to get in, Porsche didn’t hesitate for a moment before sliding into the passenger seat. And he didn’t exactly know where they were headed, but he wasn’t expecting this : an unmarked warehouse on the outskirts of Bangkok, where they’re surrounded by a bunch of men holding automatic weapons of a large variety. And Porsche wants to ask what exactly the Theerapanyakun family does for a living, but then Kinn’s right next to him, helping him out of the car, and his hand’s on the small of Porsche’s back, and he doesn’t want to ask any questions anymore. He wants to go where Kinn goes, he wants to follow him to the end— even if the end is in jail, or neighbouring rubber rooms in a psych ward.

But the doors of the warehouse open to reveal five men knelt on the floor, wounds of varying degrees marking their bodies, bruised and bloody and looking a whole world of sorry. Porsche recognizes them through the bruising and all, and his dislocated shoulder hurts with phantom pain as his eyes meet those of one of his attackers.

“Kinn…” Porsche murmurs because he doesn’t know what to say.

“Are these the bastards who hurt you, Porsche?” Kinn asks, and Porsche is startled to hear his voice— it’s cruel. Kinn has never sounded cruel, but right now, he sounds like he’s never let any warmth slip into him.

Kinn stands there; tall and proud, full of confidence, and a ferocity that seems to roll off of him in waves. He’s wearing short leather gloves now, and the way he has his hands fisted, Porsche knows he’s about to throw punches— he’s a fighter himself, he knows what stance people take when they’re about to get violent. And he’s not scared for even a moment when he slips his right hand on top of Kinn’s, and he holds his fist gently.

And Kinn’s expression melts, and when he turns his eyes to Porsche, the usual softness is back in them. “Porsche… are they the men who hurt you?”

“Yes, but two of them aren’t here.”

Kinn’s face shifts, as if he’s trying not to smile, “They, uh… couldn’t make it.”

“Kinn. What are you doing?”

“They hurt you. I’m paying it back.”

“Don’t do it, Kinn.” Porsche murmurs, squeezing Kinn’s fist, and he feels the fist opening and Kinn’s hand turning to hold his hand gently.

“They hurt you.” Kinn says, as if that justifies everything. And maybe to Kinn it does, but Porsche isn’t cruel, he doesn’t hurt people, and he will not be someone that Kinn hurts people for.

So he shakes his head and says, “You’ve hurt them enough. End this, please.”

A muscle jumps in Kinn’s jaw, and his dart between Porsche’s for a minute before his jaw laxes and he nods. “Okay. I won’t hurt them anymore.”

Porsche watches Kinn's eyes, because his eyes never lie to Porsche, and they're clear and full of tenderness for him, so he nods. “Okay. Can we go back? I hate saying this, but we have classes tomorrow.”

Kinn nods again, “Let’s go.” and they make it a few steps towards the door before they’re stopped.

“Khun Kinn, please.” says a man who looks like he’s in charge of all the other men, and Kinn stops walking.

He turns to the man, and then to Porsche and says, “Porsche, this is Khun Chan, he’s my father’s bodyguard and best friend. And Khun, this is Porsche, he’s… mine.”

And Porsche thinks he would have died on the spot if Kinn’s hand around his hadn’t squeezed gently, but Khun Chan turns to him with a small smile, and he nods, “Good evening, Khun Porsche. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s very nice to meet you too, Khun.” Porsche replies.

Khun Chan turns to Kinn and says, “Khun, what would you like me to do about Bones?”

Kinn’s demeanour shifts entirely, and Porsche wants to know who Bones is exactly and what they plan on doing to him. But Kinn turns to him with a soft smile, and says, “Porsche, will you please go and sit in the car? I’ll just be a minute.”

And he asks in a way that Porsche doesn’t even feel like arguing, so he nods and slips his hand out of Kinn’s. He has only just sat down in the car when five gunshots ring out clearly above the silence of the night; the bodyguards stationed outside the warehouse don’t even so much as flinch. Porsche watches, transfixed as Kinn walks out of the warehouse, confidence and power oozing from every stride, and he takes his gloves off as he walks, chucking them aside. 

When Kinn finally sits in the car, he’s smiling softly. He turns to Porsche and says, “I’m so sorry about that.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt them.” Porsche says, and he’s not exactly angry, but he’s not pleased either.

“And I didn’t,” replies Kinn, raising his hands, “I killed them, but I didn’t hurt them.”

“Kinn—”

But he’s cut off as Kinn takes hold of his face, “Listen to me very carefully, Porsche, they had to die because they hurt you. I would kill for you, Porsche, and I would die for you. And I need you to understand this and make your peace with it. I will protect you with everything I’ve got from now on, I swear to you.”

And Porsche is definitely not someone who hurts people, but when Kinn says it like that, when he makes a promise to him that nobody has ever made, when he fights for Porsche, when he stands in front of him like a shield, Porsche wants to lay his burdens to rest. He wants so badly to be someone that can be protected and not just someone who needs to protect others. Kinn allows him to be vulnerable in a way that Porsche feels safe with his own vulnerability, and that Porsche can accept. 

So when Kinn leans up and presses his lips to his forehead in the most gentle of kisses, and leans back down to ask, “Okay?”

Porsche can only reply with, “Okay.”

~*~

Kinn disappears after leaving Porsche’s apartment, and Porsche calls him but his phone is turned off, and nobody seems to know where he is. But on Thursday, Time shows up unannounced to his apartment. He’s wearing a black turtleneck and burgundy pants, and a thick silver necklace sits at the base of his throat, and he looks way too relaxed for someone who’s childhood best friend has just disappeared.

And when Porsche asks him about it, he just laughs and says, “Oh, yeah, I’m not worried about him. You shouldn’t be either, Kinn’s fine, he’s like that— when shit gets too much for him, he goes radio silent and basically disappears. D’you want to know where he is right now?”

“Obviously, I do very much want that.” replies Porsche over the rim of his cup of chai.

Time watches him carefully, then nods, “Well, you can relax, Kinn’s back at home, he’s with his family right now — I’m guessing he’s probably having lunch with his father and brothers right about now.”

“Oh,” says Porsche, inhaling deeply, “oh, that’s good that he’s home. I was beginning to worry. I didn’t want him to be alone this week, but I’m glad he’s with his family.”

“What are you talking about?”

Porsche shrugs, “Well, you know, this Saturday will be the sixth anniversary of his mother’s passing.”

Time nods slowly, but the expression on his face says that he remembered the day, but he didn’t expect Porsche to remember, or even know of it. “I’m surprised you know that.”

“Of course I do, Kinn told me on the very first day we met. Don’t you remember that second class? We talked the whole time.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“Of course I remember, Time, it’s important to Kinn.” says Porsche, and Time’s expression melts, as if he has just realised something he didn’t know before. Then Porsche clears his throat and asks, “Did you know her?”

“Mrs. Theerapanyakun? Yeah, I knew her.”

“What was she like?”

Time’s smile falters, and he looks at Porsche as if he’s just asked him to reveal the secrets of the universe, and to the elites, maybe they are. Maybe Kannika Theerapanyakun’s death was the biggest, most well-known secret in elite Thai society. But Porsche has never been part of that society so he doesn’t know what to expect when Time starts speaking.

“She was… perfect. She was the kindest person in their family, and she was… she had this air around her, this warmth to her, as if she knew your deepest, darkest, most fucked up secrets and she loved you not in spite of them, but with them. She was beautiful, and full of grace, and she never said a harsh word to anyone. Kannika Theerapanyakun was just without flaw.” his voice sounds broken towards the end and Porsche doesn’t have the heart to ask any more. Then Time’s gaze shifts over Porsche and he smiles forlornly, “You wanna know something, Porsche? She would’ve adored you.”

That makes Porsche’s heart feel heavy in a way he can’t quite describe— he’s grieving for a woman he never met, he’s grieving for a warmth he never got to experience, he’s grieving for adoration he never got to receive. And maybe this is what Time meant, maybe this is how Kannika was without flaw— she could make you love her even in death.

Time shakes his head, then inhales deeply. When he speaks again, his voice has returned to normal, “And you — you’re drinking chai— you’re wearing Kinn’s hoodie— his perfume is on your dressing table too. Kinn was here, wasn’t he? When?”

Porsche’s expression blanks, “What do you mean? He’s been here a million times. You know it, you were there.”

Time smiles and he looks just a little bit diabolical as he comes to sit down in the chair opposite from Porsche. He tuts, as if he finds Porsche’s little lie obvious and stupid, “Porsche, come on, we’ve been friends for so many months now, we’ve been through so much, you have to know that I know you better by now. Kinn was here when none of us were, wasn’t he? I’m thinking… it was when he cut his vacation with Tawan short because Tankhun needed him ?”

Porsche sighs as he places his cup down on the table between them, “Time, look, I know that Tawan is Kinn’s boyfriend, and he’s also your friend and—”

“Woah, woah, no,” Time raises a hand to stop him, “he’s not my friend, Porsche. He’s my best friend’s boyfriend, but he’s not my friend. He never really was, you know? I always thought that he hated everyone who didn’t fit into his psychopathic standards. You see, Tawan’s not a friend to anyone— he’s not even a friend to Kinn. So I don’t care if you’re fucking his boyfriend, Porsche, but I do care about Kinn, because I love him, he’s like my fucking brother— and if you ever hurt him, Porsche, I will kill you with my bare hands, Judo champion or not.”

Porsche blinks stupidly at Time, partly in shock. Of all the things he expected Time to say in this moment, this was definitely not among them. He doesn’t know what to say to any of that, so he just murmurs a weak, “We’re not fucking.”

“What was that?”

Porsche clears his throat, “I said we’re not fucking— Kinn and I— we’re not. We’re just… Well, we’re not really just friends, but we’re not anything more either. I—I don’t actually know exactly what we are, Time, but we’re a little more than friends and a little less than… boyfriends.”

Now it’s Time’s turn to blink stupidly at Porsche. He takes a moment before he speaks again, “So, you… you guys aren’t secretly fucking behind Tawan’s back?”

“No!” Porsche huffs out in irritation.

“But if Tawan wasn’t in the picture, you guys would be fucking?”

“I mean… shit, yeah, probably.” Porsche says with a shrug, and Time laughs loudly.

“Oh, shit!” he says, his mouth splitting in a grin, “You motherfuckers are in love with each other, aren’t you? Wait, of course you are! It makes perfect sense!”

“What? Do we make sense?”

“Duh! You and Kinn, you two make perfect sense together. Oh, you definitely need to get together— Tawan needs to get out of the picture.”

“Shit, you’re not going to like… kill him, right?” Porsche asks, a little scared of the answer.

Time chuckles, “Sadly, no. If I could kill Tawan, don’t you think I would’ve done it like a decade ago? Nah, Tawan comes from a moderately powerful family, and although mine has more power and influence, killing him would make all this noise and his mother would probably become a nightmare— even more than she already is. And it’s just going to be too messy for too long, so no, I’m not going to kill him. But I can always ensure his departure in other ways.”

Porsche presses the tips of his fingers to his mouth, and raises his eyebrows at Time. “You’ve thought excessively about killing Tawan, haven’t you?”

Time rolls his eyes, “Oh, believe me, if you knew him for as long as I have, you would have done the exact same.”

Porsche laughs at that and Time smiles, and then a thought occurs to Porsche, so he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms across his chest, and says, “Hey, by the way, I really appreciate what you said before— that you think Kinn and I make sense together, and the way you have his back. It’s good to know Kinn has someone who will protect him like this in his corner. And I especially agree with the consequences of hurting your best friend— because if you so much as break Tem’s heart, I will kill you with my bare fuckin’ hands, powerful and influential family or not.”

Time’s mouth tips into a smirk and he nods, “Deal?”

Porsche reaches across the table to shake his hand. “Deal.”

“Now,” says Time as he drums his fingers against the table, “do you want to go and see your not-boyfriend?”

So at quarter to seven the next day, they end up in the Theerapanyakun estate, and Porsche vaguely thinks he’s in some kind of movie, because this cannot be a real house that real people live in— it just cannot be. He watches from the window of the rear seat of Time’s car as it pulls up to the entrance of the Theerapanyakun estate, a grandiose monstrosity dripping with luxury and elegance. The sprawling mansion is a sight to behold, with marble pillars and golden accents that boast of the filthy richness of its owners. The towering marble columns, intricately carved with ancient motifs, seem to be reaching for the sky. The sprawling gardens look nothing less than a masterpiece of greenery, meticulously landscaped to perfection. But the thunderstorm turns the magnificence of the estate into an otherworldly kind. The Theerapanyakun mansion stands like a fortress of alabaster and gold against the gloomy grey sky at its back.

As Porsche steps out of the car, he feels a mix of awe and utter discomfort and he cannot help but feel that way. The opulence of the estate is entirely overwhelming, and he is reminded instantly of the stark contrast between his modest life and the extravagant world of the Theerapanyakuns.

They’re greeted at the door by someone Time refers to as ‘Arm’ who leads them inside, where they are immediately greeted by marble floors that gleam under the soft glow of a thousand twinkling lights. They take their raincoats off, and Porsche distinctly thinks that the air feels heavy, almost tangible with the scent of exotic flowers and the lingering aroma of wealth. 

Khun Chan greets them just inside the foyer, “Good evening, Khun Time, Khun Porsche… and Khun…?”

“Good evening, Khun Chen,” replies Time, smiling, “this is Tae, he’s our friend from university. And I… see that you’re already familiar with Porsche here.”

“Yes, I am,” replies Khun Chan, then he turns to Tae, “pleased to make your acquaintance. What brings you all here?”

“We’re here to see Kinn.” Tae says, with the air of someone who belongs in this world.

Khun Chan’s eyes cut to Time, and he gives the slightest nod, which prompts Khun Chan to ask the party of three to follow him as he leads them through halls adorned with priceless art pieces and into a sprawling sitting room.

As Porsche enters the elegant sitting room of the estate, he is immediately taken aback by the opulent yet tasteful interior of the room; it exudes an air of sophistication with its exquisite art pieces, plush velvet armchairs and sofas, and intricate wooden carvings. Besides a number of bodyguards sitting around the sprawling room doing various activities, Porsche’s eyes land on two young men who stick out like sore thumbs, and Porsche doesn’t need to speak to them to know who they are; Tankhun and Kim. Kinn has talked about both of them enough for Porsche to feel like he practically knows them. Kim is sprawled across a recliner in front of a fairly large window overlooking the gardens, and he’s strumming a guitar in his lap, but he seems to be irritated with the chords. Tankhun, however, is on the other side of the room, seated on the large velvet sofa in front of the television, with two bodyguards on each side, all of whom look nervous and tired.

Khun Chan softly clears his throat, and Kim looks up at him. His eyes dart to the newcomers, but his eyes rest on Porsche for a second before they slide to Time, “‘Sup, Time?”

“Kim,” replies Time, nodding, then he gestures towards the other two, “this is Tae, and this is Porsche— they’re our friends from university, so don’t be an ass.”

“Fuck off.” replies Kim, but there’s a small smile on his face, and Time’s expression doesn’t change, so Porsche thinks that this must be a regular occurrence for them, they must have a relationship where they can joke around and swear at each other. Maybe Kinn’s brothers were like brothers to Time as well.

“Big,” Khun Chan calls out, and a bodyguard stands from his perch at the long table where two others are sitting and cleaning guns. He approaches the party and slightly bows his head, prompting Khun Chan to say, “please go to Khun Kinn’s apartments and inform him of his guests.”

“Ooh, Biggie, don’t do that.” Time interjects before Big can leave the room, and instead he regards Time with such a loathful look that Porsche has to physically step away from them, but Time either doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care, as he says, “don’t tell Kinn, we want to surprise him. I’ll take them to him. But before I do that— Khun Chan, please do inform Khun Korn that I’m here. I don’t want to go before I greet him.”

“Of course,” replies Khun Chan.

Time turns to Porsche and Tae, and taps both of their shoulders, “Let’s go.”

As they turn to leave, Porsche is stopped by a frustrated grunt from Kim, who is still unable to get the chord right. So he turns to him and says, “If you turn the topmost tuner all the way down, and strum it based off of that, you’ll get it right. I’ve been playing since I was seven years old, trust me.”

Kim regards him with a sceptical look for the longest moment, but as Porsche turns to leave, he does reach for the topmost tuner. Time watches the exchange and chuckles in surprise, “If this was just another day, he would’ve told you to fuck off and die.”

“He seems like a ray of sunshine.” says Porsche, and he means it fully. From what Kinn has told him about Kim, he just seems like a child who never got to experience what it was like to grow up normal; he had to fit into a certain narrative. Porsche just feels sorry for him.

Time leads the three of them through what Porsche thinks is labyrinth of opulence and luxury; corridors lined with exquisite art, walls covered in 16th-century tapestries, and floors lined with Persian rugs— Porsche feels like he’s walking through a fucking museum. But there’s warmth in the estate, as though this is a home rather than a palace, as though children have ran through these labyrinthian corridors screaming and laughing with delight, as though drinks have been spilled and food has fallen over on those persian rugs, as though dirty hands have been wiped on the tapestries. This castle feels like a home too.

They stop in front of tall wooden double-doors, with circular brass door-pulls on each other, and Time raises a hand to knock, then he stops and pushes Porsche in his place, “You go in first, he’ll be happier to see you.”

“What?”

“Just do it.” Time waves his hand dismissively, and Porsche has no choice but to knock.

It takes a minute, but the door swings open, and Porsche feels like he can breathe again at the sight of Kinn— Kinn who is wearing a zinc blue pyjama set, sans the shirt, the front of his robe is undone. His hair is dishevelled and his eyes are red and puffy, as though he’s been crying a lot, and Porsche has no doubt about it.

Kinn’s eyes are wide as he stares at Porsche, his mouth halfway open, and then Porsche steps inside his room, coming toe-to-toe with him, and he smiles brightly at him and says, “Missed me?”

The way Kinn wraps his arms around Porsche’s neck in an almost crushing embrace answers his question. He holds onto Porsche with such intensity that Porsche feels like he’ll never let go— not that Porsche wants him to, he would gladly stay in Kinn’s embrace for the rest of his life. Then Kinn inhales deeply, as if he’s inhaling Porsche’s scent and he says, “More than you’ll ever know.”

And now it’s Porsche’s turn to cling onto Kinn with unparalleled yearning, he fists Kinn’s robe and presses his lips gently to the top of his shoulder, and feels Kinn’s arms tighten around his waist.

“Hey, we’re here too, you know?” says Time, and Porsche huffs out a laugh as he unwraps himself from around Kinn.

He stands back as he lets Kinn’s friends take him in and speak to him, and he turns to look around the room— Kinn’s room, the place he grew up in. There are pictures lining the walls as far as he can see; they’re in a sitting room of sorts, and it has a low coffee table and several sofas around the place. A corridor to the left leads to another part of Kinn’s apartments, and Porsche has the sickest urge to let Kinn hold his hand and show him around, take him to his bedroom, take him to his bathroom, to his balcony, to the solarium outside of his room. He wants so desperately for Kinn to take him out of his room, and his house, and show him the world that he belongs to, show him the life that he lives outside of university. But Kinn can’t do that, and Porsche doesn’t think he should either.

So for now he settles for looking in from the outside, at Kinn’s life through the photographs on his walls. They’re all of Kinn, his family, and his friends— and Porsche makes notes of how Tawan is in none of those pictures, and he wants so badly to not feel as good about it as he does, but he’s only human after all. And he lets his smile slip, and he feels fucking awful about it.

~*~

Nothing, however, feels quite as bad as waking up with a blinding headache to somebody groaning in pain next to you. Porsche blinks into the white comforter under him and tries to tune into his surroundings, and he registers Kinn’s voice before his vision even adjusts.

“—me explain, it’s not what you think!”

“Kinn?” Porsche mumbles as he turns onto his back, gaze landing on Kinn sitting next to her, and the blood dripping from his arm. And that wakes Porsche up unlike anything ever has, and he sits right up, “What the fuck happened?”

Kinn turns to Porsche, his eyes wide and full of panic. Porsche doesn’t even have the time to make sense of the situation when something hits the side of his head and he yelps, half in shock. His gaze finds the offending object, which turns out to be a basketball, and he turns then, not at all surprised to find Tawan glaring indignantly at him.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

Tawan laughs, and he sounds absolutely manic, and Porsche gains rapid cognition by the second, “Oh, you’ve got some nerve. I’m going to fucking kill you.” he moves to step forward but Porsche is fully awake and he’s quicker than Tawan, and he gets right to his feet even before Tawan has taken the full step. 

Kinn’s sweatpants cling loosely to Porsche’s hips, and he has half a mind to tighten the drawstring again, but he’s much too preoccupied with murder on his mind to care about the sweatpants. Porsche levels Tawan with the iciest glare he can manage, “Sure, you can try — like you tried last time, but this time your little henchmen aren’t here. Its you and me, fucker, let’s do it.”

“Porsche, please—” Kinn’s voice cuts through Porsche’s rage like hot knife through butter, and it takes all his willpower not to turn to Kinn, who is still speaking behind him, “Tawan, listen to me, nothing happened between Porsche and I,” he takes a step towards Tawan, hands outstretched, “we were all dinner together last night. And I got hammered—” he takes another step forward and Porsche can practically see what’s about to happen, and he reaches for Kinn to pull him away from Tawan, but he’s a second too late; Tawan takes a swing, his punch connects with Kinn’s jaw and he goes down like a Jenga tower.

Porsche doesn’t recognize the sound that escapes him; it’s a wounded little noise, somewhere between a gasp and a pained shout, and he’s besides Kinn before he can even think. Lifting him up to his chest, and shielding him from further damage. His gaze is filled with fury when he turns it upon Tawan, “I will kill you with my bare fucking hands, Tawan, not today, but someday. Remember that.”

Tawan tilts his head, and the smile that he bestows upon Porsche is equal parts diabolical and maniacal. “Not if I get to you first— you’re a dead man walking, Porsche. You and him. When I’m done with you, you’ll wish you had fucking killed me first.”

“I promise that I will kill you, someday.”

Kinn lets out a soft groan from next to him, and Porsche’s eyes dart to him, to the expression on his face, and he knows that if he takes his focus off Tawan, he’s making himself vulnerable to an attack— but it takes one tiny glance at Kinn, and Porsche’s decision is made— he chooses Kinn; he turns all of his attention and focus towards Kinn and gently places his head against his own chest, arms going around his shoulder and hands putting pressure on the fresh wound on Kinn’s arm.

In truth, Porsche doesn’t even realise it when Tawan storms out of the apartment, he instead chooses Kinn; he holds him close, and tries to stop the bleeding from his wound. He doesn’t notice when Time and Tae come back to the apartment, and he doesn’t notice when they notice him and Kinn on the ground.

Because Porsche has his arms around Kinn, because Porsche finally has Kinn— and because Porsche just chooses Kinn.

~*~

“I’m so fucking scared,” Porsche tells Time, his eyes wide and full of tears that refuse to fall, “what if he doesn’t—?”

“Are you kidding me, Porsche?” Time asks, the smile on his face full of mirth and love as he steps up to Porsche and adjusts the bow-tie around his neck. He then smooths his hands over Porsche’s shoulders and says, “He loves you. He is ridiculously in love with you. There is no way this doesn’t happen, you hear me? He loves you, and you love him.”

Porsche watches Time, watches the expression on his face, watches the honesty dancing in his eyes, and he wonders when exactly in the chapters of their shared history did Time Ratanapakorn became the sensible voice of reason. But he’s grateful nonetheless, because not a lot of people are capable of bringing Porsche down from his incredible highs, but Time is one of them, he has been one of them for over a decade now. 

“Time…” he begins, his throat tight and painful, “I just… thank you.”

Time smiles, and it’s one of his rare ‘I’ve-Got-You’ smiles, the kind he keeps reserved for special ones only, and it’s more than enough to calm down even more of Porsche’s frazzled nerves. “You’ve got this, Porsche, you’ve so got this.”

Tem walks into the room, holding an iPad, his gaze settles on his best friend and his husband and he smiles as he says, “Alright, Po, it’s go-time. They’re on their way. Time, we’ve got to go, teerak .”

Time nods, his hands find Porsche’s shoulders again and he squeezes them warmly, “Smile, Kittisawat, you’re about to win.”

Tem is grinning when Time makes his way to him, and he holds his hand out, which Time grabs hold of with the biggest smile. Porsche watches Time bring their adjoined hands up and kisses the back of Tem’s hand, and he watches them as they exit the room, and then he watches Uncle Athee and Auntie Naiyana walk into the room, arms around one another— and then she stops dead in her tracks, she watches Porsche with tears glimmering in her eyes.

Then she leaves her husband’s side to walk over to Porsche and gently press a kiss to his forehead, “You look so handsome, dek — you have your father’s beautiful eyes, so why are they filled with tears today?”

Porsche inhales shakily as he takes hold of both of her hands and presses kisses to their backs, “I’m so happy, Auntie, especially because you’re here— thank you.”

“Of course I’m here, Po, where else would I be, if not right here with you and Athee?” she asks him, as a tear falls from her eyes.

Over the course of his life, Porsche has acquired many regrets, he has done things he is not proud of, and he has said many things that he wish he could take back— and then there are things he’s proud to have done, and one of those things is developing a relationship with Naiyana. Initially, Porsche just did it because he felt bad about what his parents had done to her, but Naiyana was kind and she was warm, and she was gentle with her words and she treated him like he was her son. And Porsche, who had long held resentment for his own mother for being the person that she was, and for leaving him the way she did, felt safe enough to put his doubts and insecurities down at the doorstep of Naiyana Wong’s home— and she kept his secrets and his pains safe, she loved him regardless of the pain that his parents had caused her, because she saw Prayut in his son, and although her first husband had broken her heart and left her cold, she loved him and she missed him, and his passing had broken something in her that the sight of Porsche’s face eventually fixed. She often told Porsche that he was just like his mother, but now Porsche knew that she meant it as a compliment— Naiyana couldn’t even hate Namphueng for ruining her home and her marriage, instead she just felt sorry that she didn’t get to live a good life with Prayut. And then somehow, fate worked in the mysterious ways that it always did, and Uncle Athee ended up falling in love with Naiyana— they married a year after meeting, and had been living a happy life ever since.

For what it’s worth, Porsche loves Naiyana and he’s grateful that she loves him back, that her kindness helped him forgive his own mother and let go of all the resentment that he held inside of him for ten years, and because of that forgiveness, he is now capable of missing his mother without feeling like he was betraying an integral part of himself. He really misses his mother and father, especially on days like today.

Uncle Athee grabs his shoulder, and says, “Hey, why are you crying? You need to be smiling like it’s the happiest day of your life, because it is. You made it to the finish line, Po, aren’t you happy?”

“I’m crying because I’m happy, Uncle. I’m so goddamn happy, I think I might just die— and I’m also so sad,” Porsche says, voice breaking, “I’m sad that grandma and grandpa passed before they could see me today, I’m sad that Tae is gone too. I’m sad that maew and phaw aren’t here either. But I’m grateful for those that are here, and I’m grateful that I got here. I’m happy and I’m sad and I’m grateful— but mostly, I’m scared out of my mind. What if he changes his mind?”

“Porsche,” Naiyana says, her voice gentle and full of love, “he’s not going to change his mind, my darling. I have never seen someone love another person the way he loves you, he’s waiting for you out there— don’t make him think you changed your mind.”

Porsche laughs, and nods. He takes a deep breath and takes the handkerchief offered to him by Uncle Athee to gently dab at his eyes. He takes another second to compose himself before he nods, “Alright, okay— I’m ready, let’s do this.”

Naiyana laughs as she comes to stand on Porsche’s left, and Uncle Athee goes to his right. Gentle accordion notes fill the air as the three of them exit the room, they make it halfway down the back veranda when soft violin notes join the accordion in blissful harmony and Porsche takes a deep breath as the butlers outside open the double french doors for them.

It is a pleasantly warm day in August, and the gardens of the Theerapanyakun estate are in full bloom, vibrant with colours and fragrant with the sweet scents of various flowers. The sun shines gently in the clear blue sky, casting a golden soft glow over the picturesque setting.

The usually minimalistic garden has been transformed into a fairy-tale venue, adorned with an abundance of delicate floral arrangements in the softest hues imaginable. White lilies, blush pink roses, and vibrant peonies intertwined with lush greenery, create a romantic and ethereal atmosphere. The air is filled with the soothing symphony of birds chirping and soft music.

All the guests turn in their seats to look at Porsche and his parents walking him down the aisle, but Porsche isn’t looking at any of them, he’s staring state ahead, trying to focus his eyes under the sun— and there he is, standing under the flower-covered arch, looking right back at him; Kinn, the love of his life, the man he’s marrying today.

And it’s like Porsche can breathe again, his lungs expand and blood rushes to his head, and Naiyana tightens her grip around his arm as though she knows. But he doesn’t care for anything except Kinn, and what a sight he is for sore eyes— he’s dressed in a black tuxedo, and he looks like everything Porsche has ever wanted.

The aisle is too long and the distance between them is too much, and it’s only Naiyana and Athee’s arms around Porsche that keep him from running the rest of the way into Kinn’s arms, but he holds steady, and he watches Kinn with every step he takes— watches the rise and fall of his chest, watches his hands shaking as he brings them up to wipe away his tears, watches as his chin wobbles but his grin remains in place.

And finall y, Porsche makes it to the end of the aisle, where he’s greeted by Korn, who has tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. Naiyana releases Porsche’s arm and gives him a soft kiss on his cheek, and Uncle Athee gives him a hug before they both find their seats. Korn steps forward and he embraces Porsche in a way that makes him feel like he belongs in the patriarch’s family. “Porsche, I’m so happy that I get to call you my son-in-law. I’m so proud of you.” he presses a gentle kiss to the side of Porsche’s head, and it takes all the strength in him not to break into a thousand pieces.

“ Phaw , I can’t thank you enough for everything.” he says, holding his father-in-law to-be’s hands in a warm grip.

“And you never should, my boy.” Korn tells him, squeezing his hands warmly right before he releases him and clears Porsche’s view of Kinn.

Kinn, whose grin is so wide that Porsche thinks he must be hurting— Kinn, who steps down the stairs and takes Porsche’s hands in his own— Kinn, who kisses the back of Porsche’s hands and guides him up to the altar— Kinn, who has tears streaming down his face and instead he dries the tears Porsche had no idea were falling from his eyes like tiny meteors.

“Hi,” Kinn whispers, his hands shaking as they hold Porsche’s tightly, “you made it, teerak .”

“ We made it, my love.” Porsche replies, and it takes all of Porsche’s strength to note embrace Kinn right then and there.

He stands there, under the flower arch, holding his lover’s hands, and he gazes into Kinn's eyes, and feels a surge of emotion unlike anything he has ever experienced. In that moment, surrounded by their closest family and friends, he knows that this is where he was always meant to be — standing in front of Anakinn Theerapanyakun, the love of his life, promising to cherish and protect, honour and love him for all eternity.

"Anakinn Theerapanyakun, from the moment our eyes met, I knew you were the one I had been waiting for. You are my rock, my confidant, you are my best friend. I promise to cherish and honour you, to stand by your side through thick and through thin, to laugh with you in times of joy and to comfort you in times of sorrow. With you, I have found my home, my soulmate, my peace in life.” Porsche’s voice shakes in a way it has never before, and Kinn’s hands tremble as he frees one of them to dry the tears that refuse to stop falling from Porsche’s eyes. “You have filled the chasms in my being with so much love and happiness, that I wonder how I ever survived without you. In life and in death, for better or worse, I am yours as you are mine. I swear by the heavens and the Earth; I love you, today, tomorrow, forevermore, until the stars blink out and the sun burns out, I will love you even after that.”

And now it’s Porsche’s turn to dry Kinn’s tears, and he does that just like he does everything with Kinn; gently and with love. When Kinn speaks, his voice is calmer than Porsche’s was, “Pachara Kittisawat, you are my best friend, and the answer to every single one of my prayers. I feel like the most blessed person in the world to have found you. You are my best friend, you are my soulmate, you are the one I was born to love. Choosing you, and committing the entirety of my life to you is the easiest thing I will ever do. I promise to spend every day I have left on this earth loving you, laughing with you, choosing you, and being unconditionally, irrevocably, tirelessly, selflessly yours. I want you for better or for worse, I want you in sickness and in health, I want your ocean wave blues and your maroon highs, I want you in this life and every other life. I’ll find you wherever you are, Porsche, and I’ll follow you until the end of time. I loved you since the moment I saw you, but I love you more every day. I once believed love to be black and white, but I see you now, and I know love is golden, because you are golden.”

Porsche’s tears haven’t stopped in the two minutes it took Kinn to say his vows, and as he watches Kinn dry his tears first and then his own, he knows what all the poets and all the songs meant. They exchange rings, and seal their love with a tender kiss, and the world seems to hold its breath in reverence for the momentous occasion. Porsche’s fingers twist in the hair at the nape of Kinn’s neck, and Kinn holds his face in his hands with the most tender grasp, and their lips slide together in perfect harmony. They pull apart just as gently as they kiss, and Kinn ducks his head as he pulls Porsche in for the tightest hug of their lives.

Champagne flowed, laughter rang out like music, and the gardens whispered tales of love that would be told for generations to come

Their loved ones are shouting happily, the band is playing the softest tunes, there are twelve white doves flying overhead, but Porsche has his arms around his husband and he tunes out the rest of the world. He listens to Kinn’s heartbeat and he feels his warmth on his skin, and he whispers, “I love you so much.” and Kinn whispers it right back to him.

As the sun dips below the horizon, it casts the softest rose-coloured glow over the estate gardens, where Porsche and Kinn dance under a canopy of stars, lost in each other's arms. They sway to the music of their love story, making it clear to all who are there that theirs was a bond that transcended time and space —  a love that would endure for all eternity. 

Evening descends upon the estate, and the gardens come alive with twinkling lights and a different music, creating a dreamy atmosphere perfect for celebration. Guests savour delicious food and clink their glasses in honour of the newlyweds, their faces lit up with smiles that mirror the happiness radiating from Porsche and Kinn.

Underneath the starlit sky, Kinn and Porsche dance the night away, their hearts overflowing with gratitude for finding each other amidst life's unpredictable journey. The garden wedding not only united them in marriage, but it also wove a tapestry of memories that would forever be cherished in their hearts. And as the stars twinkle brightly in the night sky and the sounds of laughter and music fill the air, Kinn and Porsche begin their journey as husband and husband, their hearts intertwined in a bond that would never be broken. 

Theirs is a love story for the ages, a tale of two souls destined to be together, written in the stars for all to see.