break me again

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/39469227.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: |
KinnPorsche: The Series (TV)
Relationship: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun
Character: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun,
Macau Theerapanyakun
Additional Tags: Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Sadism,
Masochism, Denial of Feelings, Feelings Realization, Falling In Love,
Ambiguous/Open Ending, Hurt, Blood, Violence, Lowercase,
Introspection, Melancholy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence,
Eventual Romance, Fluff, Intimacy, Domestic Fluff, Making Love, Non-
Explicit Sex, Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Vulnerability, Minor Character
Death
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of for vegaspete
Stats: Published: 2022-06-06 Completed: 2022-06-21 Chapters: 6/6 Words:
18591

break me again
by athousandbyeol

Summary

pete speaks the language of tenderness. but vegas talks about love in torture and pain.

Notes

playlist.
 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes

i posted something similar last night but it didn't live to (my own) expectations so i
decided to delete it...

i wrote this story as soon as i wake up and yeah. i just have to let this one out. not
entirely sure how this will go but i hope it'll be decent enough. probably will add more
chapters when inspiration hits. what i had in mind is- i want this story to be angsty. and
it will be different from the novel!vegaspete and series!vegaspete, i guess? not entirely
sure too. and i only read snippets of the vegaspete special chapter on twitter. so this
story will definitely diverge from the true essence of vegaspete. just wanna put that
out.

anyway, thank you for giving this story a try. i hope it'll be worth the read.

pete doesn't want to feel it.

but his body moves on its own, flinching from the sudden contact. of warm palm on his back, a
wildfire that is impossible to tame. the faintest grip on his waist that descends to the low of his
hips. pete can't breathe. because fear gnaws painfully on the walls of his throat, sucking the air
from escaping his lips. and pete doesn't know if he wants to breathe ever again. not when vegas is
staring intently at him, almost devouring pete's whole existence with the wildness in his fierce-
looking eyes.

but when pete asks, "do you like listening to the sermon, khun vegas?" does the colour in vegas'
eyes change, no longer burning in red. it's blue now. like the calm ocean waves, pete sees
whenever his grandparents bring him to the beach on the weekends. green. like the hills and
mountains surrounding the house pete grew up in, made from wood and endless days of hard
work.

pete notices the glow, the need to be found, the desire to be loved, all circling in vegas' eyes. as
much as pete wants to despise and fear the mafia leader out of forced respect- something blossoms
in his heart. a feeling that warms his soul and feeds the awakening demons in his chest. a sensation
that makes pete think once, twice, and millions of times, even when he lies in bed that night.

because whatever he's feeling towards vegas shouldn't be anything other than fear.

but that's what pete feels.

he wasn't subtle enough. pete knows this. who would even wear something as striking as red to
break into the second family's house and think they wouldn't get caught? well- pete is.

pete doesn't know what to do. he loses every plan he has constructed in his mind the moment vegas
captures him. those eyes are fierce again. but there's also excitement, an expression that doesn't fit
the usual stoic demeanour of vegas he is so used to seeing. he's so confused that he wants time to
stop because he needs to understand this situation. pete needs to know how to react to this.

since he started being the first family's bodyguard a few years ago, pete has never been in such a
perplexing situation. nothing as similar to this. his head spins, chest tightens, and he knows no
ground, only the air clouding his brain. it's too much even for him to bear.

vegas locks him into a room down the darkest hallway pete has ever witnessed, and he doesn't
know if the sunlight can refract its rays from lighting up this eerie-looking path. but pete knows
now- it's possible.

red and purple light bathes the small room with a blinding intensity that forces pete to squint his
eyes. he looks around and finds all sorts of equipment: cuffs, rope, gas masks, blindfolds, taser
guns, whip, canes, and plugs- everything that is so foreign and new to pete. and the thought hits
him in all right directions- is this a torture room? he knows that vegas enjoys torturing people. he
saw the mafia take a tooth from a man before, without mercy, without guilt. pete will probably go
through the same fate.

blood is white in his veins and black in his artery. pete senses his impending death right there and
then.

"you've been a bad boy, pete," vegas whispers close to his ears, and the rush of warm breath ignites
a sensation that makes pete sees nothing but red.

vegas takes his time picking the handcuffs on display, and when he finds the perfect match for
pete's wrists, he retrieves them. and they dangle around pete's wrists, following a silent melody that
matches the thump of his heart. the sound almost resembles the ring he heard at the temple before.
but this doesn't bring calmness to him, only calamity.

it's red and purple when vegas strips him off. naked skin is on full display, waiting for something
(or someone) to have a taste, to paint the canvas with marks that will heal but scars that remain
forever. humiliation forces pete to close his eyes and breathe hard. hard enough until his chest is
like rapid currents on a stormy day, engulfing and swallowing every hurdle in its way, seeing
everything as a hurdle and not a solution. pete had never felt so exposed and vulnerable before. so
opened and stripped to the core of his soul, where happiness keeps him alive, and sadness is only a
memory that he can overlook.

and it hurts him.

"k-khun vegas..."

vegas doesn't listen. the leader rips his top and yanks his pants, and all that pete has is his skin and
nothing more.

there's ego in those eyes, a pool of satisfaction and power that kills all positive ideas pete once had
on vegas. despair numbs pete to the brink of his existence, shadowing the white light he saw in
vegas' eyes that day at the temple. it was all an illusion, after all. it's true- vegas is the most
heartless human being pete has ever encountered.

the whip kisses his thighs in a swift motion, eliciting a growl that simmers from the deepest part of
his throat. pete tries to endure the pain, but it gets overwhelming and overbearing. the smell of
blood and sweat wafts in the air, circulating the room constantly, like a reminder that pete is guilty
and should be punished.

when vegas is satisfied, he takes a step back and holds his hands up, forming a square. like a
photographer, he captures the sight of pete smothering in his own blood, a string of drool that
stream from the corner of his mouth, and beads of sweat that crystalise on his forehead, a picture to
behold. vegas laughs wholeheartedly, applauding himself for the beautiful artwork he created, but
pete is too tired to care. he drifts to somewhere far before he can hear vegas says anything.

time passes. and pete opens his eyes to a new place. but his world stills in its spot when he sees
vegas in front of him, sitting cross-legged with a smile that reaches his eyes. this side of vegas is
even creepier than anything pete has ever seen before. his lungs burn for air.

"k-khun v-vegas-"

"don't worry, pete. i'm not going to hurt you."

and it's all lies that hide beneath the smile that has pete questioning his existence.

no handcuffs or ropes this time- pete is free from those items. but he's sore all over. he is shirtless,
but at least now he has his pants on, which is a blessing. but the sting around his thighs and the
juncture of his back makes him wince whenever pete moves, trying to avoid direct contact with
vegas. however, vegas insists on trailing him close, observing him from a short distance, with a
smile that pete wishes to unsee.

"you're pretty, pete," vegas says. and wonderment is a constant tone that laces vegas' words. but it's
hard for pete to believe him. it's hard even to think this is possible.

vegas touches pete. his index finger follows the red lines on his bicep, circling his collarbones and
down to the perk of his nipples. "i didn't know you're this pretty," he repeats, out of breath.

and their eyes meet halfway. the world stops for pete, no longer spinning in its orbit. tears free fall
from his eyes. no gravity can ever hold them back. he sobs and heaves and screams, and all vegas is
in pete's eyes is a monster. heartless. ruthless. destructive.

vegas seems surprised by pete's sudden outburst. the fierceness in his eyes disappears when there's
a tinge of regret there. or so pete thought.

"pete?"

pete hates his name. he hates the way it sounds.

"hey? pete?"

he flinches, trashes and turns, and moves to the far corner of this dimly lighted room. he avoids
vegas' eyes and screams, "stay away from me!"

he screams until he no longer hears his voice in this empty room.

the door opens, and pete's nightmares come to a halt.

"phi pete?"

pete flutters his eyes, one blink at a time, and ponders for a moment. will it be better if he plays
dead? they might just dispose of his body somewhere, and the first family might find him if pete is
lucky enough. but the voice that calls him doesn't belong to vegas.
the bed dips, and pete looks at the shadowy figure sitting in the corner. the sun paints his silhouette
in black, and pete has no idea who this person is.

"phi pete. it's me, macau."

and it's not relief that pete feels. it's the opposite.

he sits up straight and plasters himself to the headboard, hugging his knees together to make
himself appear small. fear is like splashes of embers on his skin, fueling the blood that stops when
another member of this cruel family is near pete.

"phi pete, don't worry! i'm not doing anything! i'm just here to deliver breakfast. phi vegas asked
me this favour."

"take it away," he exhales. "i don't want it."

"phi..." the younger pleads. "you've not eaten for a week. you should at least drink this, hm?"

macau gently pushes the glass close to pete's lips, but he slaps macau's hand away, and it shatters
on the floor. a pool of water soaks the carpet, and glass shards are tempting pete to step on them.
the more the pain, the better it is.

"stay away from me!"

"phi pete-"

"get out!"

and he's alone again.

but alone in this hell-like house is better than being accompanied by the devil.

when the windows to his room are open, pete realises how much he misses the outside world.

it's vegas this time. he pulls the blinds away at one corner and allows the breeze to flood the room.
it's quiet, too quiet that pete hears nothing but his thundering heartbeat and breathless gasps.

"pete?"

"khun vegas, please, i- i know i'm wrong, but can't you just-"

"stop," vegas commands. pete obeys.

he's ready to face the worst. another round of whipping, one more round of branding his skin with
iron, pete is ready to take them all and praying to God to take his life away from his body. he
doesn't want to live if everything he feels is only pain.

pete closes his eyes and counts to three.

but the whip isn't slicing his skin into pieces, the searing hotness doesn't scar his body to death,
and pete doesn't smell his blood in the air.

"pete," vegas calls.

and pete reacts. he opens his eyes.

vegas places the tray on his bed. those eyes- pete has never seen this shade before. it's pink. and
yellow. with a tinge of blue. what is this?

vegas stares at him for more than a heartbeat. his lips are moving, but no words are falling, and no
sentences are forming. pete wonders if he's deaf from the pain, but he hears his heartbeat just fine.

the weight of this silence is killing them both. vegas exits the room without saying anything, and
pete is thankful that he didn't speak a word either.

he looks down and what he sees next invites another wave of tears: a plate of steaming rice, a bowl
of curry and fried prawns. it looks similar to his grandmother's curry. the colour. the smell. the
potatoes were cut into cubes, and carrots were sliced into discs. his chest hurts. his heart is
breaking again.

pete swallows every spoonful of curry and rice with tears brimming from his eyes. a wave of
sadness hits so close to home that pete wonders if he can ever escape this madness. maybe he can't.
from the far corner, vegas observes the bodyguard. and there's a tinge of regret in his heart that
blossoms and grows. he clutches the fabric of his shirt, wondering why he feels pain. vegas has
never felt this way towards someone before. this sensation is only familiar to him. this particular
pain of missing someone he no longer has, the longing that awakens him every night, the fading
memories. but when he looks at pete, and sees the dimple on his cheeks, a scene he never knew
existed before, his heart falls to the pit of his stomach. when pete smiles, showing gratitude to the
humble bowl of curry and rice with stars in his eyes, a view that vegas can see even from a
distance, a blatant force smashes his lungs into a ball of sympathy.

it scares vegas more than anything in this world. more than the fear vegas has of his father. greater
than the love he has for his mother.

whatever he feels then is not guilt. or sympathy. or genuine interest. or anything. it can't be. it
can't.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

vegas doesn't want to feel it.

but the realisation hits every corner of his heart. like thorny tendrils entwining around his ribcage
and down to the core of his stomach. there's this feeling of agony that settles deep in his bones,
expanding his stifling chest in heaves of cold sweat and broken gasps. if he breathes, there will be
fire, and if he holds onto them, his pumping heart will freeze.

and vegas doesn't understand this, can't comprehend how his dead heart can feel so much, too
much, for a person that he's supposed to despise. he's kinn's bodyguard, after all. his forever
nemesis. the root of his sufferings, the start of his misery.

kinn might have come up with a plot to take him down by sending pete over. to spy on his every
move. and if his cousin's plan succeeds, his father will look at him with disgust and nothing more.
vegas knows he has no worth. a sin. a mistake. the thought hurts still, and vegas is a liar to
everyone but himself. and it's always hard to deal with the demons in his head, more than anyone
he has ever encountered. the snobbish drug dealer, the arrogant club owner- no one can beat the
whispers he hears every night before going to bed. because vegas knows- he has always been mere
trash in his father's eyes- always second below kinn. always after kinn. that's enough to make his
dream filled with blood and gunshots. he's content with only those emotions in his heart; hatred,
envy, wrath.

vegas hates how his heart clenches whenever he sees pete. this feeling isn't what he's accustomed
to, a sensation that curls his toes and boosts the happy meter in his veins. he detests the foreign
calmness in his heart when pete smiles at the maids, helping them with the dishes sometimes,
talking to other bodyguards while he thinks vegas isn't looking. he doesn't like pete's eyes. they are
full of stars and constellations, kind and loving and desperately enticing vegas in their wicked
spell.

vegas awakens one night in nothing but darkness.

but in this hopeless gloaming, he sees a lone star sparkling, and it's from pete's eyes.

on a sunday evening, vegas passes by pete's room, the only bright space in this brooding mansion.
the room that exudes serenity, like getting a warm hug after a tiring day. vegas thinks it must have
been that pete likes to keep the windows open and closes them at 7 pm sharp every day. vegas
notices that pete likes staring into the void, pacing around in a rhythm that lulls vegas to sleep
when he stares a bit too long. everything about pete is therapeutic, soothing, and home. pete makes
this house feels like a home.

his body lunges forward, naturally, desperately, hopelessly. he almost enters the room but then he
freezes. thoughts are forming a lump in his head. what am i doing here?

before pete turns around, vegas is quick to hide behind the walls. his heart is in his throat,
pounding two hundred kilometres per second, so close to jumping out from his tense body. he
doesn't know if pete sees him, but vegas is too shocked to think of the aftermath. the rush is still
running wildly in his artery, screaming for salvation, wanting to breathe.
vegas hears pete murmuring to himself, and it scares him how he can imagine the twist of his
mouth, the scrunch of his eyebrows, the wrinkles on his forehead. with those images in mind, a
smile blooms on his face, pulling his lips upward. and every move is like butterfly kisses, fleeting
aimlessly on his cheeks, the point of his nose, the bow of his mouth. vegas smiles.

wholeheartedly, he craves that. he yearns for that scorching sunlight on his skin the way they kiss
pete's. vegas wants the orange rays to illuminate his world with happiness as they did to pete. he's
envious, yes, because joy looks beautiful on pete. he's jealous, no doubt. because pete is one
carefree soul that brims with positivity and light that vegas vibrates in sheer want. want. want. he-
wants pete. not in a sexual way (maybe? but that's another worry for a different day). but this want
surpasses every form of sinful desires vegas has. nothing can ever beat this urge to gobble pete up
and taste that sweet, nectarine-like delight pete personifies.

and vegas wonders, if he has a morsel of pete's beauty, can he ever look as breathtaking as the
bodyguard?

but he remembers the sermon he once heard a few years ago, at the heart of the vicious cycle of
samsara, the wheel of becoming, are the three poisons, the three root kleshas: greed, hatred and
ignorant confusion. vegas epitomises them all. how can he ever expect to be holy again? he's
already too deep in this manufactured hell. he can't find the way out.

so, he looks at pete, the piece of heaven on earth. and vegas marvels if he can ever have a fraction
of that beauty, even if he has to sign another contract with the devil.

pete runs away whenever he sees vegas. his face detorts in pure terror and shock. it makes vegas
laugh sometimes. cheerfully. sadly. that's normal. he coaxes his heart, ensuring that a demon like
him doesn't deserve to be loved and worth the attention. vegas has seen that coming. but more than
once, he wishes pete will look him in the eye and see that vegas is not just a monster or a devil. he's
still human too. he's- he's- human- too.

when he sees pete with macau that morning, doing some light exercises in their private garden,
vegas stills in his stand. he can't move his feet no matter how desperate he tries to walk away,
knowing well enough that pete doesn't want to see him within the fifty-meter radius. but the force
that pulls him in is impossible to overcome. and there, vegas knows, his world centres around pete.
pete is the epicentre, while vegas? he revolves around him. he needs him.

pete is a good fighter- thus why kinn positions him as the most trusted bodyguard of the first
family. he understands the movements, knows where and when to exert more force, and holds back
when macau falls to the ground, screaming at his favourite phi (aside from his phi vegas).
however, what makes vegas' heart skips a beat is when pete pounces on macau. fluent steps are
almost dancing, swaying in a feisty tango. those advances have vegas applauding from afar.

"phi vegas!" macau waves at him, nudging pete to do the same. pete forces himself to wave, but his
eyes pass through vegas like he is not standing there. it hurts.

vegas takes his time to lessen the distance. one step at a time, keeping his cool and maintaining his
composure. one hand inside his right pocket while the other discards the strand of hair from his
forehead. he becomes anxious suddenly, wondering if his gelled hair is too overly styled or if his
printed red dress shirt is wrinkly around the wrists-

"phi vegas, did you see phi pete? he's so good!"

macau's voice awakens vegas from his short mental breakdown. he looks up, surprising himself as
he's already standing only a few feet from the two most important people in his life. and vegas
shocks himself again when he includes pete in the picture.

pete plays with his fingers. his jaw tenses, his eyes are darting everywhere, missing the point, and
vegas is endeared by these little details he's seeing.

he gazes at the bodyguard and at macau. he smiles. "yeah, i saw him," vegas pauses, detecting his
lungs are running out of breath as pete finally meets his eyes. "he's great."

crimson colours the shadows on pete's cheeks, and macau teases him, invoking another batch of
soft giggles that dazes vegas from seeing anything else. but memories hit him right in the chest-
vegas remembers the lines he drew on pete's thighs. his back, his chest. the howls and growls. the
groans and pleads. don't do this to me, khun vegas! please!

vegas feels sick to the stomach that he sees red whenever he blinks.

macau and pete's worried faces are the last thing he witnesses before everything shuts down into
another mirage of darkness.

it's almost too good to be true.

as soon as he opened his eyes, the bright orange lights refracted to the sides of his enigma,
shadowing the reality from greeting vegas in another hellish hello. but slowly, everything starts
coming together and there- pete stands in front of him, the towel in his hand hangs midair as shock
colours his face in relief. perhaps it's all in his head, but vegas allows himself to dream. only once.

"khun vegas..." pete calls, and is that worry lacing his voice? vegas is clueless.

"you- you fainted this morning. the doctor said you were dehydrated. he advises you to drink more
water and take some time off from work."

vegas' heart clenches so deliciously that he laughs.

"khun vegas?"

"i thought i was dead," he breathes. "wouldn't it be better if i die?" and vegas dares himself to look
into pete's eyes. "don't you think so too, pete?"

pete stiffens, but this time it's not from fear. it's different. vegas knows this is different.

when only vegas wants to dismiss the suffocating ambience around them, pete voices, "no."

and vegas' heart stammers. plummets to the carpeted floor, fumbling for redemption.

"no?"

"khun macau will be sad if you die, khun vegas," there's determination in his voice that vegas has
never heard before.

pete meets his eyes as he continues, "so, don't die. some people still care about you. loves you.
treasures you."

words are always his forte. because with words, vegas can lie. with words, he can hide his
emotions from surfacing, mask the truth, bury them deep in his mind, and locks them safe in his
heart. words are the easiest to manipulate once you master the art of lying. and vegas is a prodigy
that holds the evil title since the day he was born into this cut-throat mafia world.

but he finds no words to describe how he feels towards pete. he fails to construct a sentence that
makes him appear fearless, superior, and fiercer than this bodyguard. vegas is tongue-tied. because
when these tears fall, vegas doesn't try to hide them. and pete doesn't question.

carefully, timidly, pete inches closer and wipes every drop away. vegas holds eye contact, blinking
furiously, so he can discern if this is another dream of his. but pete is still here, drying his pent-up
tears with the wet towel, lips forming the cutest pout, focused on the task.

and time stops.

time stops, but vegas moves.

he places his palm on pete's cheeks, and god- it's fire. he's so warm. so gorgeously warm and
inviting, and there's a hurricane in his chest waiting for the right time to clot the negatives in vegas'
bloodstream.

pete doesn't say anything. vegas doesn't want to say anything.

but he allows his lips to take over. thoughts control his sanity as vegas whispers, "stay."

pete's eyes are like two blinding fireballs. and vegas wants them to consume him. burn him. kill
him. anything. everything.

"stay with me," he repeats. "stay with me." please.

"khun vegas, i can't- you don't want me here-"

his fingers fall until they latch around pete's wrist. he tightens the grip but loosens when pete
scowls. vegas hates hearing those sounds from pete- he knows it's not from happiness or pleasure.
but pain and discomfort.

"you have to stay," his lungs are screaming for air, but the pressure of his words compresses every
emotion that boils over, making vegas head spin and spin and spin.

he licks his drying lips once, twice, and speaks again, "pete."

pete closes his eyes.

vegas touches him. gently. tenderly. cautiously. he doesn't want to smear black on such ivory skin.
vegas doesn't want to taint the beauty of pete's figure with the unholiness of his hands. but he's a
devil still. and temptation has always been vegas' major weakness.

"pete," he calls, again and again. until pete opens his eyes and looks at him, vegas will not stop
summoning his name.

"pete."

"pete."

"pete."

every cry of pete's name is a mantra that aligns vegas from falling astray.

pete meets his eyes after the fifth try. his lips are moving, but no words make sense, and no
 sentences convey meanings.

"you're scaring me, khun vegas," pete mutters, but vegas hears him loud and clear.

"i'm afraid of you, but you're always in my line of sight. wherever i go, i see you. and i'm so
confused, i-" pete audibly swallows the lump in his throat before he adds, "i don't know what's
happening to me."

"you don't have to know," vegas answers. "we don't have to know why pete. just- embrace it."

"...can i?" pete asks, wild eyes hunting for answers.

and vegas gives him one. "yes."

every emotion circles pete's face, but the only facade that matters to vegas is this- acceptance.

hope flourishes in his heart and drives his hands forward, wrapping them securely around pete's
waist as he brings the bodyguard closer. their breath mingles, holding a battle on their own, but
vegas manages to crack a smile when pete eyes him, not so subtly. he adverts his gaze when vegas
catches him on the act, and vegas flicks his chin, assuring him that it's okay.

look at me. and pete looks at him. there's a smile on his face now. the smile that vegas saw weeks
ago before he extracted it away from pete. pete is smiling at him now. not at the maids. not at the
other bodyguards. not at macau. but at him- vegas. and vegas has never felt so seen before. so
transparent. so see-through. so him.

his heart soars to the sky.

probably, this is how love feels. it's how love is supposed to be.

vegas pulls pete into a kiss.

he sucks at pete's upper lip and tastes the sweetness of sugar, or probably it's only his mind fooling
him. but it's addicting- pete is. vegas can't stop devouring him, pulling him close and gripping the
fabric on his back, biting his lower lip and pausing only when they are frantic for air. pete mirrors
the chaos in vegas' heart; his lips are swollen, spit-slick, cherry, captivating vegas to have another
bite. always, vegas falls into the wormhole of seduction and savours all things pete with everything
he has.

it's when reality and fantasy mesh into a thin line of mayhem- vegas forces himself to stop. and all
vegas sees right now is pete, nothing else.

vegas wishes he could say something. anything. but what cascades from his swollen lips are only,
"pete..."

and it becomes a tune that vegas whistles in his wake and dream. pete.

Chapter End Notes

honestly, after i finished the last sentence, i realised that vegas in this story is different
from the novel!vegas and series!vegas... i'm sorry if it's ooc. but, yeah...
thanks for reading this! <3
 Intermission Pt. 1
Chapter Notes

mood
sweet night (slowed down) - taehyung (bts)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

pete gently parts vegas' overgrown bangs from tickling his closed eyes, combing them neatly to the
sides, carefully tucking them behind his studded ears. once the deed is over, pete takes a step back,
admiring his work from a distance, mentally applauding himself for the great work. he laughs at
the odds, at how peaceful his heart is right now to see vegas sound asleep on this king-sized bed.
he doesn't look that lonely anymore. he appears... happy. pete wants to believe the mafia leader is
genuinely relaxed now.

the stress lines on vegas' forehead fail to exist when the silver linings of the moonlight brush the
honey of his skin, like a warm duvet that shields us from the coldness of the 2 am breeze. it's dark
in vegas' room, but pete can outline the high of the other's cheekbones, the tail of his slightly
slanted eyes, and the dainty bow of vegas' lips. it takes pete's breath away how the cunning and
intimidating vegas kornwit theerapanyakul is just another human being like pete is. vegas is human
too.

pete smiles. he relishes the gentle simmer in his heart, the ardent tug encircling his ribs, the blob of
feelings in his throat with a grin that turns his eyes into crescents. and pete holds his chest, trying
to catch up with the thundering heartbeat, wondering if it can ever slow down.

pete likes this vegas.

the vegas that laughs and jokes around with macau. the vegas that singsongs when the maids cook
his favourite ramen after a long meeting with the club owners. the vegas that gazes at him with a
glint of familiarity and something pete can't quite comprehend. it tingles his skin and excites his
senses, and pete thinks he can get used to this. to this vegas.

his hand finds a new home and resides on the right side of vegas' face, cupping the supple flesh of
his cheek. he caresses the bag under vegas' eye, and vegas stirs, chasing after the warmth of pete's
palm, nestling closer. pete's heart stammers and staggers, but it makes him smile. surprisingly, pete
feels the familiar hotness pooling in his eyes. he decides to embrace them and allow the tears to
fall. happy tears. because deep down, pete believes that vegas only wants one thing; love.

pete closes his eyes and prays, dear God, give vegas someone that will love and cherish him
forever. give him someone that will always be by his side. pete finishes with a quiet svaha.

the night is unmoving, but something shifts inside of pete.

the thought pete has bloomed into notions that colour his cheeks pinkish. pete remembers the high-
noon sun and green mountains and the smell of freshly-cut grass, his grandmother's curry and her
rough hands behind his back. those memories bring so much childhood joy to pete, and the same
feeling resurfaces now when he looks at vegas.
 pete smiles.

he stands up and whispers close to vegas, "good night."

pete knows it's his other way of saying, be happy, vegas.

and he means it with every fibre of his being.

Chapter End Notes

disclaimer: i'm not a buddhist. therefore, i'm not entirely sure if svaha is equivalent to
amen. but i did some research and there are a lot of alternatives. some said svaha is as
close to amen.

i'm sorry for not knowing (and also for being insensitive to buddhism). do educate me
if it's not the correct term to use. thank you.
 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

hi everyone.

this chapter is fully on self-indulgent. it's just me writing something fluffy (and sappy)
for vegaspete before *ehem* some *ehem* angst in the last chapter *maybe* //uwu. i
know this story is so ooc and vegas/pete are so different here. but i believe that's the
power of fanfiction. (or is it just me wanting them to be sickeningly in love while
toning down the bdsm/masochist/sadist nature of their relationship...) it's still there,
but not as pronounced...? but anyway, this story was initially written because i couldn't
find a proper outlet to express my anger (lol). then, it became a story that i'm... proud
of? //i'm sorry if i sound a bit narcissistic here// but yeah, i had fun writing this and
exploring the multidimensional dynamics this pair can offer. as i've diverged far from
the essence of novel/series vegaspete, i might as well do my very best, yeah?

disclaimer: this chapter also contains non-explicit smut and choking as a pleasure-
driving mechanism. so, yeah... please skip the last part if you're uncomfortable with it.
also loosely inspired by some scenes contained in the vegaspete special chapters that i
read on the net.

also, tmi, i'm unwell atm but i had the stupidest urge to write this chapter down so i
apologise if there are errors here and there. i'll correct them once i feel better.

thanks for reading and i hope you'll enjoy this 4.9 k of vegaspete fluff/intimate
moments hehe

playlist.

"phi! good morning!"

pete turns to the thunderous callings of vegas' name from the overly excited macau, sitting on his
usual spot at the dining table, forking the fluffy scrambled eggs into his mouth. pete laughs at the
smear of ketchup at the corner of macau's lips, and when their eyes meet, pete signals to the
tomatoey stain, earning an embarrassed chuckle as a response.

he scoops the last portion of eggs made specifically for vegas and lays them neatly on the white
plate, careful not to dirty the ivory stovetop with more greasy messiness. once satisfied, pete turns
off the hob and quickly makes a beeline to the rectangular wooden table where the brothers are
sitting, chatting to something pete vaguely understands. pete learns that vegas is more comfortable
talking in english with his little brother, and he can't help but gawk at how attractive the mafia
sounds in that language. similar to how porsche finds kinn insanely charming when the boss speaks
in italian. as if there are tiny butterflies in his chest whenever he listens to the string of english
words falling from vegas' lips. and pete doesn't even know why he feels it. feels this. after months
of being 'abducted' by the heir of the minor family, pete learns to accept than question the reasons.
some things happen without reason.
carefully, he places the plate in front of vegas and takes a step back, making a ball out of his hands,
fidgeting. nervousness suddenly invades his previously calmed senses.

vegas looks up, searching for his eyes as he asks, "why aren't you sitting?"

pete scratches the back of his neck, awkwardness riles the tension in his bones, and he feels his
cheeks flare in pink. cautiously picking his words, pete voices, "am i... allowed to sit here?"

macau almost gags on his scrambled eggs at the question. he eyes pete and vegas with confusion
and disbelief. he looks like he's ready to murder vegas there and then. "phi," macau clicks his
tongue, twirling the fork between his index and middle finger. the act makes him look- evil-
almost. "did you do anything to phi pete? did you hurt him again?"

vegas punches his brother's chest softly, scandalised. as if discarding macau's acclaims as foolish
and absurd. with wide eyes and a pout. pete has never seen this expression on vegas before. he
never knew it was possible to see vegas so vulnerable. so childlike. so- raw. it makes his chest
tightens.

if pete has to subtract the time they kissed that one faithful night, he can't quite recall the last time
vegas hurt him (in a good way, that is).

"no, i didn't!" vegas answers, glimpsing at pete as if instructing the bodyguard to back him up.

"ah!" pete flounders, taking the hint, now scratching his not-so-itchy head out of impulse. the
engines in his brain are trying to process reasons after reasons. pete assembles an answer as he
speaks, "i- i'm not part of your family, khun macau! i can't, um, sit here, with both of you. it would
be wrong, haha." he ends with a burst of overly-obvious forced laughter.

if looks can kill, possibly pete is already dead from the way macau gazes at him. ridiculous, the
expression on macau's face tells pete. "phi," the youngest calls, putting down his fork. and
everyone in this household knows- whenever macau stops himself from eating, it's serious
business. but his face morphs into a shade of happiness and warmth. the smile macau wears is
sincere when he says, "you're a part of this family now. you're like another big brother to me. don't
make yourself feel like an outcast."

pete notices that macau also shares the same core strength as his big brother; they are both very
eloquent. they know how to entice pete and make him feel every emotion a human can possibly
experience. it's beneficial at times, especially when pete misses the comfort of home, his friends
back in the first family's house, and the routined life he once had before this happened. their words
make pete feel at ease. terrified, and other weird things.

but pete knows words are double-edged swords that can protect and kill them. how many times did
words kill vegas? how many instances did words harm macau?

now, pete discards every afterthought and embraces the present. he smiles sheepishly, and the zeal
of vegas' stare penetrates the pores of his skin.

vegas pulls the chair by his right and motions with his eyes. "sit here, pete," he speaks softly, in the
faintest tone of a honey-dripping voice.

awkwardly, pete fixes the chair and pulls it closer to the table while vegas hands him a plate and
macau gives him a set of cutlery. pete's chest encloses by a samba of chirping birds and blooming
flowers when the brothers take turns to spoon the eggs he made and butter the toast on one side.
vegas asks if he wants strawberry jam or marmalade. pete says neither. he has never tried these
flavours before, only accustomed to the chocolate spread they have in the bodyguard's housing
complex. vegas mumbles, he would file a complaint to the first family's kitchen department and
stocks some multi-flavoured jams for pete. pete insists, but vegas looks determined enough to
make it happen.

"you two look like a couple," macau interrupts with a ticking bomb, and pete doesn't know if the
choking sounds are coming from him or the howling noises are coming from vegas. but one thing
is for sure, both of them are in a mess. they are a mess.

"talking about domestic things. cute, though," macau smiles at pete, and mocks his big brother by
sticking his tongue out.

he sees vegas from the corner of his eyes, a faint hue of pink on his cheeks, and the world
somehow stills for pete. so many questions, so few answers; pete wants to know them all for him to
sleep well at night. but he can't.

"shut up, macau," vegas remarks, feigning anger, but the smile gives him away. "eat your breakfast
and get ready for school," he continues, alternating from english to thai.

macau jeers jubilantly. "it looks like you have a crush on him, phi vegas! it's so obvious!" the
youngest hollers. pete somehow believes macau intentionally speaks in thai for pete to understand.
pete blushes even more, slowly losing control. the clasp around the fork tightens as heat rises to the
peak of his throat.

"i've never seen you smile this much around the house. something is going on between you two,
eh?"

pete turns at vegas and vice versa. and when they speak, it falls into a frenzy of "no!" and "that's
none of your business!" in which the intelligent macau is, gets a better picture of what the two
idiots (affectionate) are.

macau finishes the last lump of eggs and wipes his mouth clean. he sips the final drop of juice and
stands up, fetching his backpack on the chair beside him, acting as if he didn't brew a commotion
seconds before. there, pete also realises that both brothers can be a menace anywhere and
everywhere.

the youngest pats vegas on the shoulder and says, "phi, don't fuck this up if he's special."

maybe pete understands english better than he thinks he does.

when vegas answers, his eyes are on pete. "i hope not."

his throat feels dry, and all he can think about is vegas lips. the way he calls pete's name that night.
the taste of red wine and warmth makes his insides churn like a refreshing cold smoothie for the
hot summer in thailand. memories are gushing in, and pete feels the shock in his bones when vegas
smiles at him. a genuine smile.

it's only the two of them now. and pete swears he can hear crows caw, filling the silence. or it's all
just in his head.

"it's delicious," vegas speaks, breaking the bubble of tension, pointing at his empty plate. "i
enjoyed today's breakfast," the mafia looks hesitant to say the next thing in his mind. but he goes
for it, nonetheless. "thanks, pete."

pete now understands the power of words, especially if there are from someone named vegas
kornwit theerapanyakul.

vegas excuses himself, saying he has a meeting with one of the italians this morning. (which he
doesn't have to inform pete. vegas is the boss anyway? but pete lets it slide because he's too
stunned to think). pete meekly nods as he zooms away into his room.

he plops his body on the bed, knowing he might get indigestion from not chewing properly (not
being able to, pete corrects himself) and holds his chest. his heart thunders. the pantometer of his
insanity angles dangerously to negative three-sixty when he remembers vegas' warm smile, making
pete fall helplessly off the cliff.

all pete says to himself is, "what the hell was that?"

vegas allows him to follow him on a mission starting from that day.

instead of wearing his usual suit, vegas gives him a set of casual clothes. flower-printed shirt, red
hibiscus with green leaves. washed-out jeans paired with white converse. a casual style, different
from the formal dress code of the first family.

pete can't quite say he prefers this over the suit, but he does feel more comfortable wearing them.
and it's easier to run with converse than his dress shoes. he moves faster, shielding vegas from the
surprise gunshot, taking him out of the venue when things get hectic. he joins forces with the other
bodyguards when the situation gets physical, knowing his fighting skills can knock them down in
one blow. once it's over, pete rushes to vegas, inspecting if there are wounds or cuts anywhere.
relief washes over him when the leader is bruise-free.

after all the action and endless running, technically, pete has become vegas' bodyguard by now. he
follows vegas everywhere around bangkok city, protecting him, doing the same work he did for
kinn. sometimes the deal went without much fight, only discussions, give and take. other times, it
gets nasty. a war of blood. pete is used to it, though. nothing scares him. he adapts to this mafia
underworld just fine.

however, the skin of his achilies tendon bruises after a few wears. his pinky toes go through the
same fate, swollen and red, painful to the touch. he winces in pain after the day ends, silently, not
wanting to draw attention. it's nothing new, pete assures himself. it'll heal in no time.

he exits the bathroom that night, freshly showered, the colour of dust and blood no longer clinging
to his skin. pete sees a bottle of ointment and a box of bandages on the bedside table when he sits
on the bed, drying his hair.

"uh, use that."

vegas is already at the door, looking at him and the supplies, with arms crossed on his chest. he
looks queasy, as if he thinks of something else but ends up saying the opposite.

"you were bleeding- yeah- i saw it. so, um, i thought you should use that to- you know- ah, just use
it, pete. no questions, please," vegas speaks faster than any rapper he's fond of, spurring infinite
words in seconds.

it's funny to think about this- about them. because vegas hurt pete before, he tortured him, inflicted
a new kind of pain and maybe- a part of him likes it- the side that pete has never shown to the
world. but this scares him more. this kindness that vegas showcases so outwardly to pete. he doesn't
know if the other is trying to manipulate him or if vegas is being sincere. it's confusing.
pete nods. "thanks, khun vegas."

before vegas retire from the room, he looks at pete with a new wave of determination in his eyes.
it's strong, overbearing, holding pete captive, taking his breath away.

"call me vegas. just. vegas," he states, and the dark hallway engulfs vegas' fading silhouette in their
captivity.

when pete applies the ointment to his bruises, he can't help but smile.

it's 2:49 am, and pete runs the flight of stairs to the kitchen. his throat is screaming for something
cooling. but he surprises himself with the dim light of the spacious space and vegas standing in
front of the cooktop in his silk pyjamas, eyeing whatever substance in the small earthen pot. the
kitchen smells of instant ramen, tom yam, precisely. he knows this scent because it's the go-to
ramen for pol and arm. porsche joins along sometimes but claims the broth is too spicy, resorting
to his usual curry ramen instead. oh, he misses his friends all of a sudden. how are they doing now?
are they-

"pete?"

his train of thoughts comes to a stop. he replies, "khun- ah," pete corrects himself again. "vegas,"
he calls, breathy, and he witnesses the glow in vegas' eyes, beauteous under the orange light. the
previous recallings vanquish to thin air.

he walks closer to the other, looking at the pot, and pete jolts.

vegas senses the exchange of air between them, an impending danger that awaits to turnover the
whole kitchen. the mafia leader gazes at pete with timid eyes as he inquires, "what's wrong?"

pete never knew this obscurity existed. he places both hands on the sides of his waist, inspecting
the boiling ramen and vegas' nameless expression. pete points at the pot, "how many litres of water
did you put in here?"

confusion colours vegas grey. "huh?"

pete wants to pull his hair out. "you've put too much water! the soup will be tasteless!"

"did i do it wrongly? i followed the instructions, but-"

"sometimes, we have to follow our guts instead! you like the strong taste, vegas. this-" pete
emphasises on the pot of pale orange-red ramen with his heart clenching in disappointment, "-will
be very flavourless."

and that's how pete ends up cooking ramen for both of them. vegas insists on pete to join him,
which pete politely declines at first. but vegas is a master of persuading, and pete falls under his
spell like it's entirely inevitable.

it's 3:07 by the time pete sets two steaming bowls of ramen on the table. vegas has set up the
chopsticks and forks on the side, with two cups of cold water and a small plate of cubed pickled
radish. it looks appetising, and what pete knows by macau, instagrammable.

vegas' eyes light up like none before. fairy lights are dangling from the wrinkles near vegas' eyes.
the touch of gratitude pulls those thin lips into a smile that makes pete's heart simmer in liquid
affection. moments like these make pete realise that vegas is human after all.

vegas tastes the broth once, and a hum of satisfaction slips from his closed lips as he savours the
rich flavour. he slurps the noodle, muttering al dente, chewing on them happily, one bite after the
other.

"you're a great cook, pete," vegas praises, picking up a cube of radish to cleanse his palette.

"i learned from my grandmother. she's an amazing cook."

when vegas' gaze draws pete into the centre of collision, he runs out of breath, more so when the
other says, "she must be so proud of you."

what his heart is now- only a puddle of goo.

he feels full just by watching vegas clearing his bowl. sanctified even when vegas shares he has
never cooked anything for himself before. it's always the maid's cooking, top restaurants around
the city and nowhere else.

"i've never tasted home-cooked meals before," vegas voices, putting down the empty glass. "it's
only instant ramen, after all. but it tastes homemade. like, there's a lot of love in it, or whatever
mothers put in their cooking," vegas appears as if he's embarrassed by saying that, but pete
condones this. it's precious. he likes this vegas. very.

he continues, playing with the skin on his fingers, avoiding pete's eyes. "it's delicious, more than
any ramen i've tasted before."

"you're just praising me so i could keep cooking for you..."

vegas laughs. "you caught me," he gingerly answers, holding up both hands, admitting guilt. the
smile is permanent on his face. pretty, pete thought, but he didn't say it aloud.

the silence puts pete on a thin life between life and death. vegas is thinking so loudly, but pete
doesn't understand him, can't make out the foreign fear on his face, the twitch of his upper lip, the
constant picking of his fingernails.

"can you..." vegas begins, daring himself to look at pete. pete does the same. "can you- cook for
me- when i ask you to?"

all emotions tangle in his heart, tying a knot that makes pete sees streaks of gold and silver. pete is
unsure if it's the honesty he sees in vegas' eyes, the hopelessness in his tone, or just simply vegas-
that he now understands. he truly understands.

"sure," pete tries to keep his cool, trying to control the tremor from twisting his voice into visible
nervousness. "i can do that," he flashes a bright smile that turns his eyes into crescents, sincerely
from his tumbling heart.

vegas smiles, and he looks beautiful when he smiles. pete can't help but think this is the inner child
vegas tries so desperately to suppress. how awful that is- to hide such innocence from the world.
because under the yellow rays of ardour, vegas glows. angel's holo now covers his head from the
downpour of misfortunes, shielding him from the cruelty of life.

"thanks, pete," he says, breathy. "thanks a lot."

when they are doing the dishes together, their fingers brush, knuckles bump, the soap slips from
one hand and falls to the other, and they laugh about it. vegas challenges pete to a competition-
whoever washes the plate faster will have their wish granted.

pete won.

and vegas curses even when both of them are ascending the stairs to their rooms.

vegas accused him of cheating, but pete says vegas is just too slow and needs to polish some skills
before he can beat pete.

it's 4 am when vegas says good night, finally succumbing to defeat.

it's 4 am when pete says the same. remnants of laughter befall his lips even after the door closes.

and it's 4 am when pete lies on the bed, finally acknowledging, despite the ugly circumstances that
follow suit, that he likes vegas.

the knock on the door stops pete from the task at hand. the broom is stagnant from collecting dust
as macau enters unannounced.

macau makes himself at home, sitting at the foot of pete's bed as he continues sweeping, collecting
the particles into the dustpan.

"phi pete?"

"hm?" pete answers, not looking at macau when he does.

"do you like staying here?"

that question gathers all pete's attention.

"i don't know," pete sincerely answers. "i really don't know, macau."

"phi vegas, he- i think he likes you," macau says, frantic almost, and his words always make pete's
heart skips thousands of beats, falling from their destined route.

"i know him. he's comfortable with you. i know you think he's heartless, but phi, he's different
when he's around you. he's more- human."

pete can't find anything in him to deny that truth.

"i just want you to know that you gave him something he needed, wanted, craved. you gave him
that, phi pete, and, thank you," macau takes him aback as the younger sucks in a sharp breath,
almost masking the sadness from verbally reaching pete. but pete hears the crack in his voice loud
and clear, transcending his beatless heart.

"i don't know how long this will last," macau tries to smile at him, but it doesn't reach his eyes. that
pains pete to the core. macau's smile is always bedazzling.

"but, thank you for making phi vegas human, phi pete."

macau stands and rushes to pete, embracing him in a bone-crushing hug. he pulls away and
disappears from pete's line of sight like he was never here.
pete doesn't know if these tears are of joy or sorrow, but he treasures them all, drop per drop,
believing it all comes from his heart aching to tuck vegas into a soundless, dreamless sleep.

pete blames the alcohol.

vegas takes the bodyguards to one of the prestigious clubs to celebrate, rejoicing the deal he
successfully made with the powerhouse drug dealers from colombia. luckily the club is under the
reigns of the second family, pete sees no stress lines on vegas' forehead tonight. he's at ease. that's
wonderful.

under the flashing lights of red and purple, pete's clouded mind reverts to vegas' torture room. and
he recoils, mouth dry. discerns the sting of pain in his stomach. the electricity rushes in his veins
and arteries. the lines of blood on his back and thighs. and pete's sensibility relinquishes when
vegas pulls him to the dance floor, warm hands on his waist, trapping him in this suffocating
intimacy.

some nights, pete thinks about vegas. about the torture, humiliation, and pain that vegas bestowed
on him. but those reasons free fall to the earth underneath his feet when he recalls vegas' genuine
smile, the twinkle in his eyes, the chime in his laugh, the other vegas that pete adores. pete's
having a mental crisis to distinguish the emotions warping in his heart, whether sympathy or love
or nothing. only a fragment of his wildest imagination.

when vegas pulls him near, pete smells the stench of liquor from his breath and the sweet scent of
bergamot, oak and the squirt of honey from the bath wash he uses. all intoxicating. and pete blames
the alcohol for making him chase after vegas, dancing with him to the booming bass.

he holds onto vegas' shoulders when the music slows down. pete's whole body jerks when he feels
vegas' hot lips on his neck. his tongue swipes the trail of sweat from pooling into his collarbone.
the whole room spins. pete loses his bearings.

"pete," vegas calls. the alcohol alludes him to faraway places, but his gaze is dormant, looking into
pete, devouring him alive.

"pete..." the air scalds pete's skin, blossoming a red rose below his jaw.

the red light enhances the sharpness of vegas' jawline, and pete boldly traces them, aware that he'll
cut himself. he recklessly grips vegas' chest, seeking stability, loving the closeness the purple light
gives amid this chaos in his head.

and it's not enough.

vegas must have felt the same thing. he drags pete from the mass of bodies and into his private car.
pete doesn't know where they are heading, but along the ride, vegas doesn't stop touching him. he
studies every nook and cranny, smiling when he spots a mole under his eyes and near the point of
his nose, awed with every discovery.

when vegas kisses him, pete shatters. he's made of glass, after all.

pete loses the sense of reality when vegas pushes him to the bed. he doesn't know where he is.
probably it's vegas' room, but he can't ponder on the thought long enough when vegas' mouth is
busy, rendering soft moans and heavy whimpers from pete.

clothes are off. they are now skin on skin. burning and scalding. vegas holds pete close to his
chest, and god, he listens to the blare of his heartbeat and thinks one of them will die tonight. of
how fast it is. how irregular it is, out of tune. unsynchronised.

vegas pants close to his lips. their breath mixes, disconnecting needy lips with a string of saliva
when they part. the grip on pete's hair heightens the pleasure in his body, making him plod closer
to vegas, desperate for more. more than just greedy lips on lips.

warm palms are massaging his bare ass cheeks before vegas slaps them hard. pete feels them
jiggling, but the pain is enough to make him sober up. he whimpers when vegas repeats the
torment, but it's from satisfaction. pete loves this.

"more..." he whispers close to vegas' ears, and the other complies, exerting more force until pete
sees life flashing right in front of his hazy eyes.

it feels good. this pain feels impeccable- pete thirsts for this euphoric sensation. he wants more. the
pleas cascade from his lips in their accordance, knowing that vegas will grant them all.

vegas bites him when pete grinds their crotch together, eliciting guttural grunts that intensify the
pang on his neck. pete continues, smearing ickiness all over their groins, moving to the battered
breathing of their lips, driving them to the edge.

but vegas stops him.

he looks deep into pete's soul and extracts a feeling so mysteriously puzzling that pete relents,
believing he'll not survive this night.

vegas whispers as his mouth hang open and kiss pete's jaw, "can i fuck you tonight?"

"yes," pete doesn't know other words than those three syllables.

"yes... please."

vegas is a monster.

he's rough around the edges, sharp at all corners, thrusting into pete, drilling him with textbook
precision that has pete seeing cotton and scarlet. every thrust pierces deep into the core of pete's
body, crumbling his sanity.

vegas likes it rough, and pete appreciates roughness.

the deathly clasp around his waist, the cruelty when vegas bends him on the bed, pushing his face
into the pillows, driving the air out of his lungs. but, good god, pete loves it. he loves it.

"vegas," he chants the name like a prayer, taking the other in even when his stomach tightens,
chasing after the pleasure.

"you're so pretty, fuck," vegas breathes, reeling him in, wielding more pressure on the hold around
his neck.

"you're so beautiful that i'm going fucking crazy just thinking about you-"

it's getting hard to breathe. impossible. when the pleasure from vegas' penetration and the need for
air overpowers pete, pressing all the right buttons in pete's sinful galore.
"yes, yes, yes," he holds onto vegas' hands, coaxing him to tighten the grip even more.

vegas obeys. and, god, fuck, this is it.

"you like that, huh?"

"y-y-ye -yes," pete tries to speak. "yes... ve-vegas..."

vegas angles his hips and drills harder, faster, the slapping sounds are lewd in his ears, but it's too
good that pete doesn't care if anyone could hear his strangled moans because this is- this is-
heaven.

his walls tighten when pleasure wrecks him havoc, taking over his sane mind. he comes untouched,
spilling white all over his stomach. vegas tenses, growling as he accelerates and fills pete with
oozing hotness.

vegas releases the grip around his neck, and oxygen gushes into pete's deflated lungs again.

residues of alcohol are bitter and sour on pete's tongue, but when vegas kisses him, there's
sweetness, masking the displeasure. vegas follows wherever his lips go, teasing the bottom lip with
his tongue, biting the upper, twirling his tongue once pete grants him access.

pete feels the world stems in its track when he meets vegas' hooded eyes. but there's tenderness in
them that pete associates with the vegas he likes, the rawest version of the mafia leader. he looks
like he has so much to say. but only mumbles of pete resound in the quietness of this room.

pete is sober enough to tuck the loose strand of hair behind vegas' ears. his fingers graze the end of
his earrings along the process.

"vegas..." he breathless says.

and it's enough to invoke a blinding smile from vegas.

pete has never been so fragile. so- in love before.

"you're a monster, pete," vegas says as he rests his forehead on pete's chest.

he plants a tender kiss close to pete's heart. "what have you done to me?"

pete laughs. "what have you done to me?" he repeats as pete echoes the kiss on the crown of vegas'
head.

"it's harder to forget you now," vegas turns to look at him again. "i don't think i can ever let you
go."

those words are heavy in his throat and weigh so much in his chest. but pete hammers away with
the grave possibilities, thinking if this devil is for him, he'll serve vegas for as long as he lives.

he cradles vegas close and draws a line around his cheeks, marking him almost. "then, don't let me
go."

puzzled, vegas questions, "you don't want to go?"

pete chuckles. "i do, but-" his fingers spin around vegas' bicep before they reach his hands. pete
laces their fingers together, glimpses at the completed star, and back to vegas' eyes, "-this isn't so
bad."
vegas is in awe. "you're crazy, pete."

maybe it's the alcohol boiling away in his bloodstream. pete is extra giddy tonight. "you're crazy
too," he mumbles before claiming vegas' puckered lips again.

vegas harmonises the giddiness with more kisses on his chest, neck, hands, and everywhere
reachable.

as the night deepens and vegas falls into a tranquil of dreams, there's a sated smile on his face. that
smile makes pete's heart squirms.

when pete moves closer to vegas, sharing the bed (vegas insisted), he pulls the covers around their
naked bodies. pete holds vegas' hand gently and wonders if this will ever last. whatever this is.

but he finds refuge in this. perhaps, foolishly, pete believes it'll last. because, after all, they are just
two souls wanting to love and be loved.
 Intermission Pt. 2
Chapter Notes

i honestly had a hard time writing the last chapter of this story. i don't know if i should
go with the ending i've plotted before (an open/sad ending) or go with a happy one
instead? i've never been so confused before... my head is spinning. so, that's why i've
decided to add another intermission to this story! i hope the next chapter (the ending)
will not disappoint anyone who reads this story. crossing my fingers. i'll try my very
best //fighting!

i can't get over vegaspete, tbh. it's the first time i didn't even focus on kinnporsche. my
mind and heart were only on vegaspete. lord. i feel guilty. where's the na who didn't
want to watch kinnporsche? saying it was too violent? and now she's in love with
vegaspete's dynamic? //she's regretting her words rn xD//

i hope this //filler/ chapter will satisfy the cravings we have for vegaspete
fluff/domestic moments. hehe

happy reading!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

it's not the zeal of the sun on vegas' bare skin that awakens him from the most peaceful slumber.

it's not the gush of coldness that electrocutes his tailbone, inflaming the fading scars of despair and
unworthiness, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

it's when vegas inhales the coconut from pete's hair that it stops him from dreaming- because
reality is too sweet to be put on hold.

and vegas wants to experience it again. the nectarine on pete's lips, the daffodils at the tip of his
calloused fingers, drawing comforting circles around vegas' broad back. raking his nail skin-deep
into the core of vegas' tormented soul. lines upon lines of crimson besmears vegas. of desire, lust,
something as wicked as love. the pleasureful moans and sinful groans, a symphony of want that
excites the demon inside him. vegas wants to rewind time and gobbles the moment pete consumes
him in his hold, making vegas feel so seen and worthy and loved and cherished. he wants that.
again and again. can he?

the wounds he had as a broken child feels less excruciating now. vegas can finally accept that part
of him with a different perspective. his father is just as equally as shitty. he's not the superhero
vegas saw growing up, after all. he's just another asshole that also failed to be the best.

the thought warms his heart, a response still so unfamiliar in his system. but vegas then thinks,
perhaps, this is how life should be. at least in this fucked up mafia world, where no ends are ever
blunt, promises are a sign of betrayal- vegas chooses to believe in one thing. pete. this is what his
heart wants. this is what vegas vows to protect. if the world crumbles and the sky shatters, vegas
will still hold onto pete. that's his promise.

pete begins to stir, and the mop of hair tickles vegas, eliciting a soft giggle from his lips. it's more
than this, vegas thinks. it's not only pete's hair tickling him that makes vegas so happy. it's just-
pete. it's pete.

the latter moves from vegas' chest, trying to take in his surroundings, and his hair lightly grazes
vegas' skin again. pete blinks the sleepiness from pulling him into the custody of sleep again. vegas
thinks he looks adorable, like a lost puppy. pete's hands are dormant around vegas' waist,
automatedly caressing the cold skin there, offering comfort. and this gesture swells vegas' heart. he
needs a sturdier bandage than what he has in store. his blood vessels are all rushing to this still
point, invoking an ocean of warmth to wash the nightmares away. overwhelmed, vegas is. by
everything and anything. but vegas doesn't show. he keeps them all inside. it's better this way.

he smiles when pete finally looks at him. pete sheepishly grins, toothy and blinding, beautiful as
always. the morning sun casts a shadow of brightness on pete's face, gracefully lighting up the
contour of his eyes. his throat runs dry, sahara is now located within vegas instead. and vegas
wonders, captivated. how can he feel so much for this guy? vegas has always believed his heart is
dead. then, how can he experience these fireworks in his chest? how can he-

so many unanswered questions. so little time.

the whip and taser in his torture room are mocking vegas, calling him a softie. the chains should be
around his wrist and not pete. the knives are dying to cut the foolishness from munching on his
skin. but for once, vegas doesn't feel like fighting back.

his whole body lurches forward. vegas follows the pleas in his heart and caresses the cotton of
pete's cheeks. it's soft to the touch, like the sweet tofu they ate a few weeks ago, the cotton candy
vegas bought for pete after his mission ended. he continues, satisfied to see pete is still smiling.
maybe, pete enjoys tender moments too.

and vegas realises for the nth time. there's so much to adore about pete, so many reasons to put him
on a pedestal, but his brain is still foggy from last night. he can't focus. he'll try again when he's
sober enough to word feelings into coherence.

the alcohol gradually subsides from his veins when pete hums a wordless tune. the memories
remain close to his heart. the beautiful ones. only the prettiest. and vegas religiously grabs onto that
piece of heaven. because pete is in all of them.

"morning, pete," he greets, a routine he now shares with the other as the sun rises. vegas doesn't
know how it started, but he's certain why it'll never end.

"morning, vegas," pete mutters, resting his head on the pillow. the hand around vegas' waist cruises
to his chest, and pete relaxes his palm close to his heart, stretching his fingers, an exploding star.
and that's when time stops. that's when his mind is empty of thoughts. vegas can't breathe.

pete is- everything that vegas never has. with this sweetness that pete offers, his gorgeous smile
and sparkling eyes, his kind heart and attentive nature, vegas becomes greedy again. he wants all of
pete to himself. vegas is never fond of sharing. what is his will be his forever.

even if he's stripped to only bruised skin and cracking bones, even if his father points a gun to his
head, forcing him to pick between his life and pete, vegas will not hesitate. it has always been pete.
his answer remains unchanged.

no one can ever take pete away from vegas. no one shall cross that line. vegas doesn't know what
he'll become if someone does. he might have to kill them all. he will kill them all.
there's nothing to say. there's not much to say, either. vegas doesn't trust the power of words this
time. vegas relies on subtle actions, staring into the windows of pete's eyes, the entrance to a
beautiful sanctuary, hoping the bodyguard can decipher the emotion vegas can't express with mere
sentences. he doesn't doubt the bodyguard. pete has always understood him better than anyone,
seen all of his facades and accepts vegas as he is. he gives pete the liberty to unveil him, all of
vegas, in whatever whimsical, ludicrous and nonsensical way he wants. pete is authorised to
consume him.

so, he lets his guard down and surrenders to captivity. and the first thing that comes to vegas' mind
is, "pete," he calls. "i want ramen."

he hears a choking sound. or is it just pete groaning. annoyed. irked. tired.

vegas laughs.

"what the hell?" pete voices his disbelief. "we had ramen a few nights before! aren't you tired? why
are you acting this way? you're bored of salad and steak too?"

"hey," he switches to english, knowing that this is one of pete's weak spots. the fascination on
pete's face whenever vegas converses in english with macau doesn't go unnoticed. he relishes the
look of awe pete wears, using it to his advantage. vegas is a menace, after all.

"nothing can ever beat salad and steak," vegas says, but when pete wants to intervene, he cuts him
off quickly, "except your ramen."

pete scoffs, rolling his eyes as an answer. "you're a shithead," he growls, but there's no irritation in
pete's voice, only masked fondness. vegas can see pete's lips twitching upward. an honest smile
awaits for another impactful eruption.

that's all it takes for vegas to lose self-control.

vegas crosses the boundary and claims pete's plush lips with his. the room turns silent as vegas
moves expertly, savouring the residues of last night's endeavours still prevalent on pete's tongue. he
moans into pete's lips, allowing their breath to mingle when vegas pulls away. the air doesn't reach
his lungs when pete closes his eyes and flutters them open immediately, bashful and confused.
when the shock morphs gradually into a grin, vegas experiences the zap of happiness deep in his
bones.

what can vegas do other than this?

he kisses pete again.

vegas grips a chunk of pete's hair, keeping himself grounded. if he doesn't hold on, vegas will stay
afloat, lost like those fleeting clouds. he doesn't want to disappear, not when pete moves, setting
the pace, slow and steady, pushing and pulling, giving and giving. vegas inches for more but pete
propels backwards. a victorious smile flickers on his face like a switch. but the coral on pete's
cheeks gives vegas a sign that maybe he's the winner instead.

"r-ramen," pete mumbles, stumbling all over his words. "ramen!" pete repeats, his voice a pitch
higher. the bodyguard discards the blanket and jumps from the bed. pete storms to the bathroom
without looking back, forgetting he's still naked. his ass jiggles, and vegas feels something boiling
in his stomach, a different kind of hunger, a new kind of ardour. but that can wait. he has all the
time in this world. even if he doesn't, he does. because time spent with pete equals every lost
moment vegas fumbles to save.
 as they are eating ramen, vegas remembers something. he lied. the first notion that came to his
mind this morning was not ramen. it was pete. it was this: i like him. i like you, pete.

but vegas doesn't say. not yet.

Chapter End Notes

[i'm also on tumblr if anyone wants to talk about kinnporsche/vegaspete with me :)]
 Final
Chapter Notes

i'm really sorry...

[specifically for this chapter, i had joji's glimpse of us on repeat.]

See the end of the chapter for more notes

he resents this feeling- of sharp claws raking the walls of his chest, opening old scars for them to
bleed again, soaking his entire existence in another bloodbath of remorse and unwanted memories.
the bile in his throat is a constant, an inevitable aftertaste that vegas has to swallow every time he
sees crimson on pete's body that isn't from their play games of pleasure and passion. it's from
protecting vegas, from the gunfight and physical brawl, just for vegas to escape safely, no lines mar
even an inch of his skin.

he hates pete sometimes. all the time. for being so straightforward and loyal to his job. with the
title bodyguard, he honourably carries anywhere he goes. because what pete is to vegas- has always
been more. and what his heart wants, vegas tentatively listens for the first time, is for pete to
survive. he shouldn't die. he can't die. not on vegas' watch.

pete exits the bathroom, freshly showered. water droplets cling onto the ends of his hair, descend to
his chest and disappear into the towel wrapped around his waist. vegas sees the cut on his left
bicep, still red and swelling at the sides. it has stopped bleeding ages ago, but vegas can't help but
wonder if it hurts. if pete wants any painkiller or medication that can stop the pain-

"hey," pete calls, his voice gentle, halting the tsunami of thoughts swirling in vegas' messed-up
head.

vegas stares at pete, and examines the other with his eyes, but nothing hurts him more than the
smile on pete's face, burning bright as the sun that lures icarus into their trap. and vegas feels his
wings are melting. slowly. until they disappear like specks of dust. like they never existed. vegas
free falls to the ground, ready to meet his impending death. but he's breathing, living, because the
warmth of pete saves him from the impact, like a duvet that nestles vegas safely in their net. it
breaks vegas more than anything he has ever experienced.

if the bullet pierces into pete's chest instead? what will happen then? his mind can't even make
scenarios of the alternate possibilities. if death is the ending to those stories, then vegas doesn't
want to read them.

the sun leaves an imprint on his hand as pete laces their fingers together. vegas is on hyperalert,
careful not to inflict strain on the deep wound. he can only heave a heavy sigh, burdened by the
emotions vegas doesn't welcome but makes way into his heart, unnoticed, unwilling.

"i'm alive," pete mutters under his breath. but vegas can't even look at him, can't even form a smile,
a fake smile he's so used to wearing.
"hey- ah-"

vegas slaps the hand away, avoiding contact. if pete touches him, vegas will disintegrate. it's
enough that pete saves him from the downfall. he can't risk losing pete because of this unsettling
wrath. vegas doesn't want to hurt pete in any shape or form. not like this.

"stop it," he hisses, a sign of warning.

pete looks torn. the corner of his lips twitch from the surprise. the blue of calmness subsides, and
pete is all grey now. vegas can't believe his heart is stammering in his chest, but it's not because of
joy. it's painful. he can't take this anymore.

"vegas, look at me?"

he chews his bottom lip, hoping he could extract blood, and maybe the taste of iron on his tongue
can divert the demons' attention elsewhere. in his mind, it's all cloudy, foggy, with ideas that kill
rather than mend. all vegas wants is for these voices to stop.

pete is as stubborn as vegas is. he forgets this often. and pete is always ready to fight him, push
vegas to the corner and watch him almost slip, relishing the look of terror in vegas' eyes. vegas
holds that side of pete dear to his heart- just because the resonance of wickedness they share is
awfully intimate, and vegas devours the immoral sweetness like a madman. but this is not it. it's not
the sinful desire they both reckon. how many times will he be on the doorstep of death, watching
pete taking his stance instead?

pete holds him by the chin. he exerts a bit of force for their eyes to meet, demanding, taking solely
a yes as the answer. the room is dark. only the flicker of orange light illuminates pete's face in their
grace, softening the rough edges of past scars on his skin. the lines that vegas traces every night
before he falls asleep is evident under the rays, shining like a remembrance, burning in the back of
his mind like firecrackers.

he can't look at pete without feeling like a failure. he can't stare into pete's eyes without this
familiar guilt and unworthiness.

but the touch along his jaw is tender, like cotton, like butterfly kisses, always gentle, mending and
breaking vegas' shattered heart. pete looks at him with the same awe, but the fondness in his eyes
is what sets him apart from the pete he knew months prior. this gentleness is only for vegas. pete
carves that designated spot in his heart for vegas to call home. and who is he to step into that space
empty-handed? he isn't worth it. vegas has never been worthy of anything-

pete eases the lines of uncertainty on vegas' forehead, doodling lines or shapes vegas can't
decipher. the comforting ardour is now on vegas' cheek. pete's thumb circles the cold skin,
providing comfort, grounding vegas from straying too far. his eyes move back and forth from
vegas' eyes to his lips, and that's enough to rekindle the flame of affection vegas has tried so hard to
keep at bay.

"why are you thinking so much, hm? i'm still here, injured- yes- but alive. doesn't that matter?"
pete's voice is melodious, like a tune of lullabies no one has ever sang to him, but he heard them a
lot in the cartoons he watched growing up. it's lovely, almost surreal, and it makes vegas feel like a
child again, seeking protection from a mother. the fear he has of his father can't quite compare to
this- the terror of not hearing pete's voice ever again.

he chokes up. emotions are a mesh that envelops his heart, preventing them from pulsing.
vegas doesn't say anything.

pete laughs, trying to enlighten the mood. "you're overreacting!" he says, pinching the supple skin
of vegas' bony cheek. but there's no response. even if vegas' eyes are on pete, his soul is hollow, an
empty shell, void of anything other than dread. he can't explain this feeling in words. vegas
helplessly allows the pain to consume him in silence.

"am i talking to a wall?" pete thunders, irritated. a low groan escapes his throat, threatening vegas
to admit defeat. "i think talking to a wall won't be so frustrating as this, eh?"

vegas doesn't answer.

vegas immediately creates a distance between them, sensing pete's confusion and anger, running
away before pete can think of killing him. but pete, the kind pete, stops him from scooting afar, his
fingers imprint a scalding scar around vegas' wrist, holding him captive.

"talk to me," pete pleads. the tremor in pete's voice is clear as day. "vegas?"

he shakes his head. "i don't want to."

"why?"

"i don't know, okay!" vegas explodes. his voice rises an octave higher, cutting through the silence
of the night. fuck, he curses. the unshed tears in his eyes sting so much that vegas grunts under his
breath. he hates how weak he appears right now, especially in front of the bodyguard. he despises
how he's taking pete into a spiral of doom again. why can't he stop being so flawed just this once?

the notion of not knowing is absolutely daunting. it's killing vegas so slowly from the inside, like
poison. he drinks to the last drop and waits for the effect, but it's not coming. why is he still
breathing?

pete embraces him, all of him. pete picks the broken pieces, foolishly carrying them with his bare
hands, and the blood oozes from his skin like niagara, but pete is loyal. pete never lets go, no
matter how aggressive vegas gets, how desperate he is to escape. the scar bleeds again. vegas
knows from the hot stickiness on his fingers. but there are so many unnamed emotions in his heart
and mind that he's blinded. he can't see a way to flee.

even in pete's arms, vegas can't find the usual peace he loftily cherishes. it scares him.

"i won't die easily, vegas," pete whispers to the crown of his head, attempting to ensure the mafia.
what pete says after changes the direction of his world, no longer spinning clockwise. "i have
someone to protect, after all."

how can a person be so stupid?

vegas forces himself to stop breathing, holding back the oxygen from circulating his lungs. he
permits the fear of death to ruin him now. because what hurts more than listening to the words
coming from pete? nothing. because his words are the shelter vegas has been wanting all his life,
his saving grace, and a drug. vegas wants to be addicted to pete. but can he?

"that someone doesn't need protection," vegas voices, recoils into the cocoon of his yesterdays
again. although his throat is parching, the last ounce of air withdraws from the opening of his nose-
vegas doesn't relent. he continues this meaningless battle. more pain, his brain interjects.

"he'll die anyway." and it's the truth vegas has known to accept.
pete tenses. "if he's dying," the grip on his back stunts the growing anxiety in vegas' chest, "i'll die
with him."

vegas emits a growl. he wants to scream and cry. but vegas needs to save these tears from corroding
his skin. he can't let pete see them. "you're a fucking idiot," he says in english, emphasising every
word with peril, wanting to hurt pete as deep as possible.

it didn't work. pete noses on his hair and plants a wet kiss close to his ear. a whisper follows, like
the soothing wind, "shut up."

and all it takes for pete to consume vegas is this- a hand around his wrist, bruising his skin while
pete kisses vegas on the lips. he swallows every sound of disapproval and pushes vegas to the bed.
he forces vegas' to hold him around the waist as pete rides him to oblivion. pete navigates vegas'
hand on the cut, pressing onto it, adding more pressure. because the pain makes pete happy, the
pain makes pete forget the glint of hurt and sorrow in vegas' eyes.

you're so good. pete uses the power of words to render vegas mindless. you make me feel so good,
vegas. it's haunting- those words are.

vegas feels his chest tightening. those once-tangled feelings form an intangible knot between the
flowers of his ribcage, drawing the last ounce of air from his stifling lungs. an unspoken promise
commences. it's an oath vegas will remember even on his deathbed.

pete chants his name like a mantra, kisses every drop of sweat that adheres to vegas' neck, and darts
his tongue around vegas' perk nipples. that drives vegas mad. he sees red on pete's skin, the
subdued blue in his eyes. all that's left of them is purple, harmonising every moan with more force,
strength, and power.

they come at once, like a ticking bomb waiting to erupt. the guttural scream, pete drinks them all.
he besmears vegas' skin with marks the shape of his lips, blooming in purple, their colour. pete
admires him from a distance, knocked out from euphoria, but all vegas can do is smile lifelessly at
him. the bitterness is prominent now, jarring to the sweetness of pete's lips. he looks down at his
fingers, tainted with pete's blood, and vegas ponders if this is pleasure or torture.

pete is sound asleep by the time vegas finish tending his wounds. he dabs the warm cloth all over
pete's skin, cleans the ivory off his stomach, and slides the boxer to pete's hips skillfully, having
done this multiple times before. pete chases after him even in his sleep, but vegas puts those hands
away, fearing he'll burn again.

when vegas lies by pete's side, he stares at the ceiling, but he sees nothing in this darkness. when
he turns to his right, he finds the light. it's pete.

quietly, vegas cries himself to sleep.

the glimpse of delight is evident in pete's eyes once they arrive at the garden.

vegas frantically snaps a mental image of this carefree-looking pete, not knowing what the future
will look like for them. but it's pretty now. he's content with today, the greatest gift he can ever
obtain.

the light bulbs are dangling along the wired lines, and pete stares at them in wonderment, with
hints of shyness whenever he meets vegas' expectant eyes. if this is not love that vegas feels so
deeply inside, then he doesn't want to believe in love anymore.
"do you like it?" he asks, genuinely curious.

pete lights up instantly, like the thousands of suns he is. "yeah," he mutters, sending hearts in the
form of glittery glints in his eyes.

and that takes vegas' breath right away, the good kind of pain he treasures. there's no importance in
respiring when pete always induces him breathless.

he opens a bottle of red wine and uncaps the beer for pete. vegas offers a faint saluti, to which pete
responds, saluti. the giggle from pete's lips, vegas wants to eat those sounds and let them long live
in his body, becomes one with his veins and arteries. if he swallows pete, the source of light,
perhaps, he'll glow as bright.

they sit comfortably on the grass, vegas forgetting to bring the mat along with him. pete offers to
take it from the storeroom, but vegas insists, saying this is enough. pete obeys without much
thought, taking a sip of the cold beer in hand happily. vegas follows, tasting the rich flavour of
grape and tannin on his tongue with a little smile on his face.

their shoulders brush, and the mere contact puts his heart in a frenzy, melting every afterthought
that blocks his mind. vegas crosses his legs, sets the glass on the side, and rests his palms on the
dewy grass. when pete mirrors him, their fingers touch, the slightest scrape, and vegas' heart soars
to the clouds, picking the finest star for the other as a token of appreciation.

"it's nice being here," pete breaks the silence. vegas turns to look at him as the other stares at the
star-painted sky. "there aren't many stars tonight," he comments, lips pouting naturally. and vegas'
heart juts, in love.

"really?" he entertains pete's thought. "was there many stars back at the first family's house?"

pete punches him on the chest. "haha, funny, vegas," he mocks, rolling his eyes. "what i meant
was, from my grandmother's house, it's like a rain shower of stars every night. it's beautiful," pete
says, fond, reminiscing something so close to his heart, a sturdy core differentiating pete and vegas.
affection, sunny memories, home-cooked meals, gentle pats before going to bed: all things vegas
never had as a child.

vegas dares himself to break his own heart. "do you miss your grandma?"

he doesn't expect pete to laugh at the question. but vegas learns to read between the muted shifts of
expression, the twitch of pete's lips, the hues of longing that is endless in his eyes. he discovers the
truth- the hard way.

"of course," pete answers, his voice airy and light, fleeting and moving like those shapeless clouds.
"i miss her more than anything."

vegas hesitates, but he has entered the ring of hell. he can't retreat. it's too late. "do you want to go
home?"

pete sits straight, knocking the can of beer over the green grass. the bodyguard fumbles, trying to
fix the mess, but vegas stops him. it doesn't matter. he tries to say. some things are better left
broken- vegas wants to say.

pete takes the sign. he no longer moves. his focus is on vegas again. what is it? those eyes blink,
inquiring. vegas hears the cracking sound, and that's when he realises- his heart is of glass, after
all.
there's contemplation in pete's eyes. his lips are now a downturn of sorrow and bafflement,
rendering vegas in a stupor of hope. maybe there's a chance to mend his heart again. perhaps,
tonight won't end with a tragedy as he envisioned.

"i want to," pete begins, slowly unwinding as he leans closer to vegas. "but it can wait," he gazes at
vegas, and his stare lingers for longer than vegas' stuttering heartbeat. in each beating staccato,
vegas prays to any god up there for this moment to last.

pete extracts something out of his soul that puts vegas in a dizzying spell. "that can wait. grandma
knows i'm working, anyway. she isn't worried," he adds, and those words are like cooling balm to
his inflaming heart. and oh, vegas is selfish. he can't let pete go.

"if only," vegas broods but sees no harm in being vulnerable in front of pete. after everything they
went through, talking to pete is like chatting to a mirror. but this reflection doesn't downgrade him,
doesn't give in to the derogatory remarks. this reflection, vegas believes, echoes the good in him
and takes away the bad. even if it's temporary, vegas cherishes this fragment of genuine serenity.

he plays with his fingers, picking the skin there, and pete slides his hand closer. their pinkies touch.
vegas smiles. "if only pa doesn't hate me and macau, maybe we could go star-gazing like this. like
other families do, or at least, that's what i read in books, haha."

when vegas looks up, pete's eyes are glimmering. and he knows that mist too well. it's quelled,
transfixed in those dark pools. they never fall but are always there, an anchor for vegas to believe
that pete understands him, pete sees him.

"i don't mind," vegas exhales the fire from his lungs. "i'm used to this anyway. but macau-" he
chokes upon thinking of his little brother, the love of his life, the core of his existence. vegas still
carries on because of macau. and pete came along, like a hurricane. sweeping vegas off his feet. he
enjoys this mayhem and celebrates the glee of pete implanting havoc in his twisted life. vegas has
more reasons to grasp that tinge of clarity. because he has someone to lose, because life is
meaningful now, and vegas no longer exists in scraps. not anymore.

he seeks answers in pete's glassy eyes. immediately, he finds them. "don't you think macau
deserves better? he's still so young. he doesn't deserve this bullshit."

and his world shatters when pete takes his hands and strokes the bumps on his knuckles, ensuring
vegas of his presence. as if saying, i'm not going anywhere. i'm here.

"pa could hate me, but why must he hate macau too?" vegas bears his heart open, like a prey
offering its meat to the predator. but vegas knows pete will only sniff at the lure, uninterested in the
alms, passes by him and doesn't bite. he stays. and he listens. he understands. it's enough for vegas,
more than anything he never had in the first place.

it's foreign, everything that pete is. but every day, vegas learns this is everything he wants in life.
pete gives him this. and this has no definite meaning, transpiring boundaries, exceeding all limits.
this- equals pete.

"he sucks, that's why," pete answers lightheartedly. vegas laughs. a part of him says he shouldn't.
but vegas doesn't bother to care.

pete stops the caresses as he firmly grabs vegas' hand, forming a ball with his own. he rests them
on vegas' chest, exactly where his heart is pounding. their eyes meet in the middle again, finding
common ground. pete says, "you love macau. and that makes you different from him."
he is tongue-tied. emotions are skyrocketing in the nooks and crannies of his body again.

"it's his loss for hating his children. he doesn't deserve you both, either," pete remarks smugly.
vegas doesn't know why he's still laughing, but he can't stop. the dying flowers in his heart revived
another mishap. a field of red roses. vegas feels so sated that if he opens his mouth, crimson petals
will cascade, and a downpour of profound bliss will drown him.

pete tightens the grip when he speaks, "there's no one too good or too evil in this world. we can
choose to be kind or bad to ourselves," he bumps his shoulder with vegas. "so, you better be kind to
yourself."

vegas quirks his eyebrow teasingly, "and cruel to others?"

pete chuckles. "that's entirely your choice. reap what you sow," pete ends with another round of
chime-like giggles, soothing every strand of pain in his bloodstream.

when pete smiles at him, vegas listens to the faint voice in one of the rooms in his heart. he
acknowledges the outcry, and he nods, accepting.

"you can be different from your father," pete says, suggestively, almost deceivingly, like promising
a kid a lollipop if they behave. funny enough, vegas obeys and tentatively listens to whatever pete
says next.

vegas inquires, showing interest, "how?"

"forgive yourself," pete says. the universe relocates, no longer spinning on its axis. vegas hears
nothing but pete's voice vibrating in the space of his mind, taking over the shouts of the devil.

"forgive yourself for being so shitty and heartless. forgive yourself for thinking whatever your
father did to you is your fault."

it's hard. everything pete says will not change vegas overnight. he's aware of this. but it's a life-
altering feeling to be noticed, to be known. to finally have someone other than macau that sees
vegas raw and tainted with so many cuts and bruises, with unresolved daddy issues and
neverending toxicity. and still accepts him. it's nice to have pete here. someone as close to a friend,
maybe more.

the wine tastes sweeter on his tongue. the night is getting chilly as the clock strikes midnight. the
stars are enough to provide transparency, and pete's hand sneaking around his waist stems vegas
from crumbling to embers. pete relaxes on vegas' shoulder, skating closer until no air can penetrate
between them. vegas does the same. he leans comfortably on pete's head, twirling the glass of red
wine while gaping at the silver specks above.

it takes a lot of courage for vegas to fight the blazing urge in him. the desire to say those three
words press the right buttons in his heart. he still has time, he thinks. he doesn't have to rush. pete
isn't going anywhere. it doesn't have to be tonight.

"hey," vegas calls, but pete doesn't respond.

he chuckles at the thought. pete must have fallen asleep.

vegas singsongs a tune that quietens the monster in his mind. a song that begins with pete and ends
with pete. how beautiful. he smiles as the breeze brings him nearer to pete, his sun. home; he's
finally home.
pretty things don't last long. they will either rust or wither under the discourse of nature. it was
beautiful while it lasted.

vegas goes through other rounds of hell. his father's punches are stronger every time they land on
his face, resettling his jaw from its position. he spits the blood as numbness flows like currents in
his head. he despises the colour that is so accustomed to him. can't blood be anything but red?

it's empty everywhere the moment kan steps on him, gutting the life out of vegas with every
beating. the bruise that forms on his skin is a concoction of old and new. scarlet and pine are like
paintings of hatred and danger. but vegas thinks he's beautiful this way. am i beautiful, pa? he
wishes to ask. am i worth it, pa? vegas knows there's never an answer. did i beat kinn this time,
pa? he meets silence, his good friend. but it doesn't hurt to hope. fuck. another punch on his
stomach. it does hurt.

"you messed up everything!" kan screams to his face, spitting at him with utter disgust. "can't you
ever do things right, you fucking idiot!" the jabs that come afterwards are faster than light. it keeps
coming, like the changing tides washing the dormant shore, and vegas has to take it all. blood after
blood until he runs dry, only skins and bones left.

kinn has beaten him again. the deal with the smugglers, kinn took them all. it's kinn again. always
him. and the thought of losing to kinn makes his blood boil.

when his father leaves his room, vegas can't see anything other than red. it's red to the point
whatever he touches are like bars of carmine that percolate from every pore of his skin. it hurts all
over. vegas is aching everywhere, and the pain doesn't end. no matter how hard he grits his teeth,
the pain only increases. the anger begins, rattling the last bits of sanity in him. and life flickers in
front of his eyes like an epiphany, reliving the demons in his head as vegas storms out. his feet
bring him to a place where fury meets fire, and they fume vegas to the ground. he's nothing but
ashes once he sets foot in pete's room, yanking the bodyguard from his peaceful slumber.

"vegas?! what are you-"

vegas slams him to the wall. the collision is hard, vegas can hear the knock, but there's a veil that
hinders his vision from seeing through the anger. he needs to let this out. he has to let this out.

he punches pete. he unbuckles his belt and whips him, one strike at a time. from his chest and
down to his thighs, draws lines after lines on pete's broad back. he repeats until his palm bruises
from the deathly grip, but vegas isn't nearly as satisfied. he pushes pete to the bed and slaps him,
chokes him, anything, anything-

"v-v-ve-vegas!"

he's deaf. this side of vegas doesn't want to hear the pleas of sympathy. this side of vegas doesn't
know the name of his victim. vegas continues his punches. every inch of pete's body is in
gruesome colours. purple. blue. yellow. red. brown. he slashes pete's skin open, and the wounds
from before redden. new ones emerge like mushrooms after heavy, continuous rain. swirling in
another puddle of blood on the pristine bedsheet. the smell of iron ignites his senses to the
maximum, and the force of rage drives vegas to wrap his hands around pete's neck, hauling the life
out of him. vegas unleashes the untamed and exerts these familiar sensations on pete, akin to the
punches he endured from his father, laughing mockingly as the other battles to escape.

pete tosses and turns, but vegas pushes him to the bed, further and further until they become one,
pale on white. vegas savours the adrenaline in his bloodstream. spiking a three-sixty, accelerating
his heartbeat to one-eighty. it feels so good, so fucking good-

pete kicks him in the middle. vegas recoils, impacted by the power pete holds. the grip around
pete's neck loosens. and the world brightens again, no longer in red. someone has flicked the
switch. the veil uncovers by itself, and what vegas sees next makes him sick to the stomach.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

pete is- oh god- pete is-

pete laughs. it's horrifying. it's a silent killer. vegas knows this will not end well.

"pete-"

"i thought," pete's voice is muffled from the lingering strain around his neck, vibrantly red in
fingermarks. he's trembling. his chest heaves up and down. pete looks so lost that the stars no
longer live in his eyes. where did they go?

"i thought i- i'm not your toy. haha, fuck, i'm- stupid. aren't i?"

there's so much red on pete that it looks beautifully daunting on him. if they are in another time and
space, vegas might have the privilege to admire this beauty, but the reality is this- vegas crossed
the line. he couldn't change anything.

"i thought what we had was- different. i- thought it was- special, at least." pete blinks, and one lone
tear falls. vegas wants to kill himself.

he locks eyes with vegas. "was it just in my head?"

the way pete is looking at him now, there's no tenderness, no happiness or light. it's empty, cold.
like the first they met. like the first moment, vegas wanted to torture him to death. but karma exists
for a reason. and this is what vegas has to bear.

pete is so far away from vegas now, so out of reach. he tries to hold him, but pete slaps him on the
face. and the sting is so similar that tears fall from his eyes. he can no longer hold them back.

"if this is how you see me, treat me, then what sets you apart from your father?" pete asks, his
swollen eyes bulging, staring down at vegas. so much hatred. he sees so much of kan in pete's eyes.
and it's hurting him. where is pete? the kind and beautiful pete that holds him with gentleness? the
pete that makes him smile more often than before? the pete that discards the shadow of his father
from following him?

where are you?

vegas has no answer.

"nothing!" pete screams, his voice strained with disappointment. "nothing, vegas. you're the same
as your father."

words never hurt this bad before.

pete pushes him away, staggering in his step once he stands. he hears those winces of pain, but
pete quickly gathers his belongings, ignoring the blood that stains the carpet, leaving a permanent
mark everywhere.
"pete-" vegas is out of breath. "pete- listen- hey- you're not a toy! pete- listen to me-"

"shut up!" pete doesn't look back when he exits the room.

he chases after pete, almost tripping when he descends the stairs. vegas grabs pete's wrist, pulling
him into his arms, but pete pushes him away with so much brutality. vegas ends up on the floor,
clinging onto pete's legs, shouting, "pete! stay! don't leave me!"

pete doesn't stay. with one last look, pete says, "i can't do this."

pete's retreating silhouette is no longer within reach. the dark hallway destroys his existence
entirely, not leaving a fragment of light for vegas to remember.

vegas realises- nothing hurts more than this. not even the bruise at the corner of his lips, the
footprints on his stomach. not even the idea of his father despising his existence repeatedly. like a
broken record.

nothing hurts more than pete leaving him.

he screams pete's name. it echoes silence and nothing else.

vegas despises the daylight.

the sun reminds him of pete and everything they once shared. pete would cook ramen from
monday to wednesday for breakfast, and vegas would buy the best curry and fragrant rice every
thursday to saturday for lunch. sunday was always the best; pete would make a dish his
grandmother taught him, and they gathered around, the three of them, vegas-pete-macau, like a
happy family they wished to have. shared laughter, and embarrassing stories were told (mainly
from macau as he loves teasing his big brother). pete listened to them while he placed another
scoop of rice on the brothers' plate. he filled the empty glasses with cold water once vegas and
macau fell into a hot (and controversial) debate. vegas needed refreshments to rebut his brother's
defence of which marvel movie is the best. at night, pete would invite vegas to watch a movie, just
the two of them, mainly the old thai action films vegas had never come across before. it wasn't as
good, but the company was. and the most mundane show turned exciting with pete by his side.
with his witty remarks, voices his thoughts out loud, laughing at the crappy editing and loud
music.

it was beautiful.

but it's all in the past.

it hurts. it hurts even more as vegas lies on this bed. the smell of coconut wafts from the pillows
and bedsheets, everything that follows the shape of a fading pete. even when the maids had washed
the beddings and covers, the smell remains, and what the fuck is this? vegas is going insane. it
stays and loiters around in a waltz of its own, inviting vegas to a dance. but he denies it, having no
strength to relive another recollection of pete he never tries to forget. and what hurts more is when
pete has given him the taste of freedom. and for that deliciousness to be ripped apart from his soul
so suddenly? vegas loses his bearings.

it's cold. this room has never felt so chilly before, like snowflakes falling on taut skin, the ripple of
the sudden rain underneath bare feet. it was always warm because the sun resided here once. but
it's over now. vegas has lost him completely.
he didn't notice when macau entered the room, but the bed dips when his brother sits close to his
legs, one hand patting his waist ardently. "phi," he calls, but there's no willpower in vegas to
answer.

"phi, let's eat, hm? you haven't eaten for days..."

"i've hurt him," his heart says, his voice hoarse and sounds foreign even to his ears. "i've hurt him,"
he repeats, and the same intensity pulls vegas into the tunnel of gloom.

macau rests his head on vegas' hips, offering comfort. "maybe it was meant to be," he says. "maybe
we can't hold onto him in the first place."

"i'm so stupid," vegas blinks the tears away, and the dam reopens. the emotions flood again to all
places, drowning vegas. "why can't i stop fucking things up?"

macau doesn't answer. he reaches for vegas' hand and clasps them, channelling the strength his
body needs. "don't say that," macau whispers, trying his best to contain his feelings. but vegas isn't
stupid. he knows. he knows macau feels it too.

"i'm sorry, macau."

and the doors to hades open when macau audibly lets out a sob. it's so heart-shattering that vegas
has to close his eyes and listen to the constant ring in his eardrums. it's piercing, deafening. it's his
voice blended with macau's, two striking tones that sing the same tune of remorse.

his lips don't stop muttering, "i'm sorry, macau," and the replies he gets are waves and waves of
broken wails. deep down, vegas want macau to hate him. just like his father. just like pete. it's
better to die knowing everyone hates him. at least he can discard these memories like they mean
nothing. it wouldn't hurt as much, vegas pleads to himself.

time passes, but vegas doesn't know where it starts or ends. when macau leaves the room, there's a
patch of wetness on vegas' pants, but he doesn't mind. the pillow underneath his head is soaking
with tears, too.

he falls asleep and dreams of nothing. pete must have hated him so much- he doesn't even want to
visit vegas in his slumber the way he used to.

and when vegas wakes up the next day, he wonders why he's still alive.

it's loud.

the gunshot chimes in his ears like the multiple alarms pete set every morning. he never wakes up
to any of them. that enrages vegas sometimes. but what the hell? he shouldn't be thinking of pete in
this situation.

vegas wishes he could entertain the thought longer, remembering how hard it was to wake pete up
sometimes, especially after a long night of endless love-making. it makes him smile, happy even,
that one part of his life is brimming with joyful memories. but the bodyguards are rushing vegas
and macau out of their rooms. one of them broke the news after they went into hiding. mr kan is
dead. someone shot him in the head. as if vegas' world hasn't collapsed, now it's no more, only an
entity.

he feels everything and nothing. a nameless sentiment that never finds a way out of his heart. a
sensation that trails after vegas from the day he was born. it's unsettling, and the tears that fall from
his eyes are shapeless, hot and burdensome because he can't see where the enemies are. he doesn't
understand why he's crying? is it because of his father's death? isn't it great, though? he's no longer
a failure in his father's eyes. he can rule the empire his way. no longer a black sheep to his father's
unexpected wrath. isn't he supposed to be elated? why vegas feels anything but contentment?

he can only hear the screams from the bodyguards, taking orders from one another, fulfiling their
duty to protect the heir of the second family. the rest is only white noise.

he listens to macau's heavy breathing and searches for his hand. it's freezing. vegas' heart plummets
to his stomach. his little brother must have been so shocked by the sudden attack. vegas promises
himself- that even if he dies today, macau must live. that's vegas' only hope.

when they move to a different spot, someone shoots, and the bodyguard dies in front of them.
vegas takes macau's hand and tugs him to shelter behind the sofa. the gunfight continues, and
vegas tries to figure a way out. he turns to meet macau's trembling eyes, gripping his shoulders to
steady him, "macau, whatever happens, you'll be safe. don't worry, okay?"

"phi! what about you?" macau asks, shaking his body as if to wake vegas from the trance. "don't
think of anything stupid! both of us will live! do you fucking hear me?"

tempted, vegas wants to say, i would rather die, but he doesn't want to make his little brother sad.
he answers, "i know how to take care of myself! stop worrying about me," vegas hopes the smile
on his face is convincing enough.

his body lunges forward, engulfing macau in his embrace. macau reciprocates, tightening the hug,
patting his back assuringly. at least, in this life, he still has macau. and the thought welcomes
comfort to settle in his beating heart. he flashes a smile before vegas loads the gun and waits. once
he figures the coast is clear, he pulls macau again and runs.

when someone tugs him behind the walls, vegas is ready to embrace death. he wants to make a
deal, take him and let macau free. but what he sees is nothing close to what he expects.

his mind is playing games with his sanity. it can't be. vegas blames the alcohol he drinks every
night before bed. he's no longer stable to differentiate between reality and fantasy.

"pete...?" he calls, confident that it's all in his head.

"shut up," pete answers. venom laces every syllable. but the warmth vegas has accustomed to
feeling is still there. it makes him smile.

he has so many questions. and he demands answers. he holds onto pete, finding his lost home
around pete's wrist again. "pete-"

"take macau out of here. there's a car waiting outside, a red car. it'll take you to a safer place-"

"pete, you-"

"fucking save yourself first! stop talking shit, vegas!"

vegas almost forgets the feeling of happiness. it's good. wonderful. it's still the same. still so sweet
and worthwhile. he can die right there and then. this is already heaven to him. maybe vegas is a
believer now- god answered his prayers. he gets to see pete again.

if he gets a second chance, he'll pray hard. every day. he'll go to the temple, listen to the sermons,
 and make merits with pete that promises a lovely ending. if vegas gets a second chance, he'll not
hurt pete anymore. he will say this repeatedly- you're never a toy. words that died down the
moment pete left.

as pete senses vegas won't make a move, he hauls the both of them and sprints to the main door.

but it's quiet. the room no longer spins. as if the world stops revolving and parched voices are
muted from resounding. vegas can't hear anything, not even his own breath.

it's hot. whatever is growing on vegas' chest, it's uncomfortably hot.

when he stumbles to the floor, he doesn't miss macau's howl. "phi!"

what's happening?

he's not running. macau isn't, too.

and it hits him.

oh. he knows this feeling. he knows how death looks. an old friend of his, they meet again.

"vegas!"

he almost slips into the custody of dreamland when pete's face comes into full view. he's still so
beautiful. the pete he admires. oh. vegas wants to touch him. one last time. can he?

"vegas!"

it's the same scream he heard that day. so much pain. and it still hurts.

vegas wants to say it. he wants to say those three words. now's a perfect time, he figures. yes-

but the air is now blood in his throat and the red liquid spurts from his frotting mouth. his body
convulses when more blood exudes from the hole in his chest. vegas is about to give his soul to the
devil, but can't they spare vegas one last chance? he needs to say it. he needs to-

"p...pete..."

but the words come to a halt when emptiness fills his deflating lungs.

"vegas!"

the sound of pete's voice calling his name breaks vegas. again and again. but he smiles. he's finally
home.

because some things are better left broken, and vegas has never been whole in the first place.

Chapter End Notes

i had so much to say but my brain isn't working as efficiently as i want it to be. i'll try
to make it simple.

firstly, if you've reached the end of this story, thank you so much :( i sincerely
 apologise if this isn't the ending you want for them. but this is what i've plotted
initially. i went with my gut feeling and proceeded with this ending. i would be lying if
i said i don't want vegaspete to be happy. but maybe i'm a sadist too? this ending feels
more- filling- in my opinion. God. maybe i'm sick in the head too.

secondly, i would've never thought i would be here, posting the last chapter of this
story. i started this story because i was having some issues in my life and couldn't find
the right outlet to unleash that anger. but in the end, i could safely say, this is the kind
of writing i want to be known for, haha. it doesn't make sense, i know. i blame my
brain and the tiredness that follows haha

thirdly (this would be the last) thank you so much for embarking on this journey with
me! to everyone who followed this story from the beginning, thank you so much <'3
couldn't have done it without you guys. i'm sorry if the ending doesn't make sense or
feels rushed or anything :'( i apologise for everything, especially the ending, the
grammatical errors, etc. i'm sorry because it's nowhere near the novel/series vegaspete.
:( i'll check it again once i'm sane enough (it's almost 5 am as i'm writing this ha... ha...
ha...)

thank you for reading this and i truly appreciate every feedback i receive. thank you.

and this chapter marks the end of break me again! i hope i'll see you soon, perhaps in
another fanfic someday? hehe. until then, take care! thank you so much and sorry
again for everything <'3

[i'm on tumblr if anyone wants to scold me or just want to talk ^^]

[shameless promoting: i made a vegaspete fmv a few days ago hehe]

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