!!!CONTENT WARNING!!!
This project contains triggering themes and sensitive content. Reader discretion is advised.
***
Chay was the dawning of love. The spring of hope and joy. All cradled in his sweet earth eyes. In his full lips bellows the songs of life and beginnings. He was all and everything until he wasn't.
Broken and damned by a man who couldn't stand the magnitude of their love.
Everybody knows the story when a boy loves. They get lied to and forsaken. Stripped of their innocence and their delicate trust in the world. Beaten and battered, until they could give no more. Left only with tears for comfort.
Only God knows what Chay did to himself when Kim left.
The men. The drugs. The bodies he doesn't wanna mention or recall. The blood that had dried under his nails.
He's nearly forgotten everything —to his convenience. However, one thing he will whisper: one that has kept him going. In the evenings when he feels vulnerable the most. Again and again, he would say to the wind; "I'll break him too." Along with the tears and bitterness from his barren world.
This hell had clung to him for years: Chay swelling in hate. He was a threatening eruption. Then, Kim announced his early retirement. He says he does not feel the joy of performing anymore. It felt more like work instead of passion. He tells the world he's to focus on producing music instead. A corroded lie to feed his fans and himself. To lighten the string of his dear brother's demand: help in the family business.
Kim couldn't ignore his calling any longer.
"Tonight," Porsche says. "Kim's arriving tonight." He answered the cold question. Chay is standing idly by the window, looking over the cityscape, calculating his movements to not startle the sniper across the roof. He flips the coin on his knuckles twice and Arm pulls the trigger.
"It is done." Pol relays the message, piercing the eerie silence between the brothers. The assassin has been eradicated. Porsche lets a relieved sigh. He hated this game: of playing bait. Porchay, on the other hand, takes pleasure in the knowledge of death. He felt himself shiver, excitement rushing through his veins. He turns his back on the window, smiling at his brother.
Finally. Chay smiles to himself. Fate is to meet them once more. But this time he's smarter.
...
The evening is as hot as the day. The air conditioners whir in protest, being worked for hours. Filling the back of the restaurant with its low vibration. Echoing in the concrete, murmuring into Chay's ears; a comforting white noise. Macau isn't bothered by this either. (He simply does not notice) He's idly checking his fingernails, as he sits next to his dear cousin.
"Can you try not to look too interested?" Chay tells the other.
Macau snickers and fidgets his feet; knees prompted on the table's apron. "How'd you know?" he teases. Chay pushes those knees down.
"Please. It's been two long years since last we saw him. I'd never want to miss it." The excitement in his tone did not please Chay. Macau indulges the grimace on the other's face.
The doors burst open. "Chay!" Tankun shrieks. He swung his arms open and grabbed the younger, knocking his wind out. "Long time no see, my sweet Nong!" he glees. Months he had spent indulging in the summer of the South. Chay could see where the sun had ravished Tankun with its heat. The shadow of his sunglasses printed on his face. Chay had to purse his lips and smile. Macau, however, let out a loud cackle. "You look like a burnt Gai Yang!" he said since Chay didn't.
Tankhun crinkles his nose upon laying eyes on his dear cousin. Macau is a stench Tankhun had not bothered to acclimate to, despite the years they've worked together. "Macau." Tankun nearly spat. The younger just laughed even harder, to annoy Tankhun is one of Macau's callings.
"It's nice to see you again, Khun'Tankhun," Porchay says, feigning amusement with gaiety to not humiliate older further. Tankhun ignores Macau. "How are you?" He takes a seat and there he goes on complaining about the weather, contradicting his online posts and reels with his lover. Chay listens with one open ear. Macau patronizes.
Moments then, people begin flooding the room as Tankhun shrieks about the crabs in Phuket. Porchay sees his brother buttoning his shirt, while Kinn fixes his hair. He rolls his eyes at them. Tankun welcomes them joyfully, though. Then Vegas and Pete enter. Chay was so quick to stand it startled the others. He doesn't notice though, as he gleefully greets the two.
"Khun'Vegas! P'Pete! I'm so glad you two could make it" he said.
"Almost couldn't, buddy." Vegas answers. He went to his brother and brushed Macau's hair. "How are you?" he asks the younger. Macau shrugs, "I'm doing fine." When they talk to each other, nostalgia engulfs Porchay. The memory of cheap candy in clear plastic would fill his nose. "Thankfully, Pete opened his mouth before I could pull the trigger," Vegas continues. Pete sighs and shakes his head. "Discussion isn't too much, you know?" he nags. Vegas grimaces. "I assume the transaction went well?" Porchay asks as he pulls a chair for Pete. Yet before Pete could claim his seat. The eldest of the main family had grabbed him away from his husband. Tankhun hisses at his cousin, holding on to Pete as if he were a borrowed object. Vegas shrugged and sat next to Macau. "Doesn't matter. It's my dick he'll ride later anyways," he said barely under his breath. Tankhun gasps. Atrocious! Pete scolds him with his eyes. Vegas is smug. Tankhun brushes him off and starts telling Pete about his vacation. Porchay and Macau are more than welcome to listen again. But the two had turned to Vegas.
"Yes, the transaction went well" the older continues. Pete sighs. He excuses himself to Tankhun and speaks; "Fortunately, the Buenavista Cartel had much more patience than my dear husband. They were nice enough to reconsider after Vegas shot one of their men," Pete replied, placing the napkin on his lap. He leers at his partner. The mafia associate stuck his tongue out in a playful manner. Pete sends kisses to Vegas' way. Porchay's eyes glint with admiration.
"Chay," Porsche calls as he takes his seat, across the table, miles away from his brother. His eyes flicker to Pete —who is leaning towards Tankhun busy indulging the older with his ears.
"How was your day?" Porsche asks. There was something in his voice. Like a child with a stolen toy. Porchay glances at his brother, then busied himself; like folding his napkin or arranging his fork. "I've told you. Fine." He modestly replied. Porchay turns to Tankhun and asks him about his vacation again. The older sighs and tells his story one more time. Porsche sits there with bitterness in his throat. If Kinn noticed, he does not say anything.
Tankhun was grieving over his lost scarf in Ko Phayam when the door opened for the last time. Kimhan waltzs in, fresh out from his tour. Still fashioning his signature leather jacket and black jeans. The pastel yellow tank top fits him like a second skin. Porchay had to look away.