Hunting Down The Bambi

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/42146088.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandoms: KinnPorsche: The Series (TV), KinnPorsche: The Series (TV) RPF, รัก
โคตรรายสุดทายโคตรรัก | KinnPorsche: The Series (TV)
Relationships: Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat/Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakun, Porsché
Pichaya Kittisawat/Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakun
Characters: Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat, Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakun
Additional Tags: Blood and Violence, Not Beta Read, Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff, Non-
Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Kissing, Read at your own risks,
Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-10-04 Completed: 2023-03-15 Words: 53,755 Chapters:
11/11
 Hunting Down The Bambi
by Fancifulnim

Summary

“He's gone.” The voice from the end of the line grimly said. Kim's mind short-circuited for a
second, trying to understand what the uttered words meant.

“Explain Kinn,” he said after a few breaths.

“He's gone, Kim. Porchay is gone.” Kinn replied, his tone serious. “He disappeared this
morning. His belongings were packed, only a note was left on his bed.”

The words felt final, like a verdict on his sins as punishment against the younger boy.

Kim breaks Porchay to the point where he decides to run away.

⚠ DO NOT TRANSLATE MY WORK WITHOUT PERMISSION ⚠

Notes
See the end of the work for notes
 Arrival
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The Theerapanyakul mansion had always been buzzing with activity. From strictly trained
bodyguards positioned in front of the opulent entrance and patrolling around the compound,
to staff working day and night to keep the majestic palace spotless — the scenes rarely
changed. The cooks were constantly busy preparing the food, ensuring all the men and
women working in the Theerapanyakul’s household were well-fed. All of them needed
energy and strength. The fact that they were standing and working under Thailand’s most
influential and notorious mafia family meant that mistakes and slacking were not tolerable. It
was unacceptable.

The towering mansion, designed with modern touches by prominent architects, was filled
with luxurious furniture and rare items that were worth more than any ordinary person could
imagine. The shiny and polished marble floors reflected those who walked on them. The
advanced facilities equipped inside the opulent building were impressive, and the grand
mansion only screamed a small part of the family’s wealth. The mansion seemed to have
everything except humanity.

These were the normal, almost mundane surroundings for every staff member that served the
Theerapanyakul. Normalcy means good — it signifies peace.

But today was different. There was no regular appearance of the eccentric behavior of Master
Tankhun, business meetings were officially canceled by the heads of major and minor
families, the staff was walking on their toes, and the elite bodyguards were called into the
meeting room by Master Kinn and Master Porsche. The internal conflict happening inside the
heavy locked doors could be felt by everyone. The air was brewing with upcoming havoc.
The constant whispers and endless gossip from the workers could not be heard — the silence
in the mansion was deafening. The atmosphere was dark, the tension stretched and waiting to
be snapped — like a ticking time bomb about to explode. Just like three months ago. And this
wasn't good, it signifies war.

It's all because of the missing young master, Khun’ Porchay.

The rumbling engines could be heard seconds before a black Maserati screeched to a stop in
front of the mansion's driveway. The bodyguards, standing uprooted at the front of the
entrance, dressed in standard black and white suits with the major family's insignia pinned on
the right upper chest — visibly stood upright and shoulders tense.

They knew who had just arrived.

The third son of the Theerapanyakul major family came like a storm, opening and slamming
the car door shut with heavy force, his dark eyes glaring piercingly at the rigid men. The aura
the man emanated was a dark one — one that couldn't be seen yet could be felt by every
person in the area. Throwing his car keys at one of the unexpected bodyguards who
reflexively caught them, the man continued to stride into the mansion.

They knew that Doom had just arrived.

Kim Khimhant barged through the entryway with one main purpose in mind — Porchay.

All the staff who stumbled across him scattered away with bowing heads, muttering their
greetings in small voices. Some even turned their backs and scurried away, tails between their
legs. Bodyguards straightened, shoulders squared, arms on their sides, and eyes focused
ahead. Not daring to make any eye contact with the brutal man.

They know who he is, who they shouldn’t come across. It's not a secret what kind of
ferocious reputation the third son of the major Theerapanyakul carried. The one with the
coldest aura out of the three brothers, the one with the pitch black eyes—almost obsidian, the
most stealthy yet the cruelest. The killer of the major mafia family.

Kim Khimhant had always been the epitome of a controlled vicious beast.

Three months ago, they witnessed what happened when the man became enraged. Bullets
were flying, marble floors were bathed in dark blood, and family members were almost
killed. That day had felt like the end for the Theerapanyakul — when the third son stormed in
directly through the mansion’s door, destroying everything that dared to cross him, killing
those who tried to take away what was his, and leaving the survivors with unhealed scars and
dark terrors in the night. Since that fateful day, they'd called him the 'Doom.'

He strode and reached the front of the elevator, jaw clenched, eyes hard. Big, one of the
bodyguards he trusted, quickly pressed the button to the upper floor. He needed to see it. He
needed to see Porchay’s room with his own eyes. To see if it was indeed true that the boy had
managed to pack his belongings and run away.

Porchay didn’t have the skill to do that. Not from the high security installed in this place, not
from the more than 40 trained bodyguards located around the building. And definitely not
from the two bodyguards he secretly assigned to take care of the boy.

The bodyguards that he had personally trained to protect him.

The elevator dinged, snapping Kim out of his thoughts. He stepped into the rectangular box,
looking out at the glass window briefly before he turned his back away from the marveling
view. Big followed after him, pressing the button to the 25th floor — Porchay’s room.

Kim felt it, the heaviness that was growing in the pit of his stomach, the feeling of
desperation that threatened to consume him. A desperate plea for the news to not be true.
That Kinn was just bluffing in the phone call, trying to get on his nerves, to get revenge on
him for shooting him three months ago. Kinn knew that Porchay was the most lethal bullet to
pierce him back.
He thought back to their conversations less than 30 minutes ago, and his fists were
automatically clenched.

"He's gone." The voice from the end of the line grimly said. Kim's mind short-circuited for a
second, trying to understand what the uttered words meant.

"Explain Kinn," he said after a few breaths.

"He's gone, Kim. Porchay is gone."

Kinn replied, his tone serious. "He disappeared this morning. His belongings were packed,
only a note was left on his bed."

There was a pause after the man finished talking, waiting for the other person at the end of
the line to speak, to say anything. But all Kinn received was the sound of labored breathing
and an incredulous "What?" from the other man.

Kinn exhaled, his hand tightened on the phone. "Come to the main house and see for
yourself. Arm and Porsche are trying to track him now." Kinn said with an urgent, tone that
was unmistakably grave before he ended the phone call.

The elevator dinged for the second time, and Kim was pulled out of his reverie. He glanced at
the small screen on the top of the elevator — 25th floor. He marched out, Big seconds after
him. The sound of his dark leather boots stomping on the burgundy carpeted floor made him
aggravated. His dark leather jacket creaked on his sides, his hands tightly clenched until the
fingers cracked, his cold eyes narrowed, and he glared down at whoever came across him.

Kim couldn't think of anything else except Porchay.

Porchay is gone.

His mind was spiraling out of control, and whispers of venom kept repeating, feeding his
controlled panic as anxiety crept in. The only thing that kept him from insanity, from going
berserk again, was the thought that Porchay might have just outsmarted the bodyguards and
was still inside the mansion. Hiding from them, from Porsche, and the CCTVs. He told
himself the boy was just moping around, bored out of his mind, and wanted to play hide and
seek, and these fucking people just couldn’t find him in this massive building.

His breathing started to get labored.

Porchay is gone.

The boy might just be in the kitchen area, stealing the freshly baked pastries from the chefs
downstairs before they can serve the sweet desserts on the table. One of the bodyguards
reported it to him a few weeks ago. He might be in the family’s library, drowning in the
massive collection of books from the past generations. Apparently, Porchay liked to read.
The boy could be in the back corner of the gigantic room, soundlessly asleep on the brown
leather of the library’s sofa, with a book covering his face from the sun rays coming in
through the large windows. He remembered seeing the photo attached to the report, safely
treasured in his room, hidden in one of the nightstand’s drawers.

He gripped his hands tightly, feeling the slight pain from the nails breaking into the skin of
his palms. He needed to stop them from trembling, to ground himself from turning into the
very side he despised the most.

Porchay is gone.

The boy could simply be walking around, sulking about whatever happened to him. Or he
might be wandering around the city with his friends, sneaking out like he used to do,
mingling with the wrong crowd before Kim intervened and stopped the boy from getting
drugged.

He had made sure those people wouldn’t even dare to contact Porchay again.

Porchay will come back later after he’s done playing, and Porsche will scold him for leaving
without the bodyguards. Kim will make sure the bodyguards he secretly put on the boy will
get severe punishments for being careless, and for letting a 19-year-old outsmart them. He
will remind Kinn to tighten the security around the boy, and Porchay will be safe again in this
place — surrounded by brick walls, thick bulletproof windows, and shielded by the people
who swore their loyalty to protect him.

He's not gone.

"Porchay is gone, Kim."

"He disappeared this morning."

His steps quickened. Kim swallowed the panic bottled up in his throat, trying to shut out the
dark whispers inside his head. His eyes were glaring straight at the double doors at the end of
the hallway. The two bodyguards he assigned to Porchay — Toru and Mike — had been
waiting for him at the front of the room. Dressed in regular black and white suits, the family’s
insignia gleamed under the light from the ceiling's hall. Their posture was straight, like
standing soldiers ready to march, hands behind their backs and expressionless eyes staring
straight ahead. They knew what was coming for them.

"Master Kim," they bowed their heads when Kim reached them, trying to avoid the man's icy
cold gaze.

"I’ll deal with you later." Kim growled out, teeth-gritting in his mouth. One more word from
them and he'll snap their necks with his bare hands.

They seemed to notice his tone. The tone Kim only used when the man was about to lose
control, like how they caught sight of the bloodbath the man had spilled three months ago.
Both of them quickly step away from the door, not wanting to be at the end of the man’s
wrath.
Kim didn’t let the men reply. He took out his wallet and slid out the key card to Porchay’s
room and pressed it onto the card reader. The door beeped, and Kim clutched the handle
before turning slightly towards Big at his back.

"Stay outside. Do not enter until I give you permission." Kim ordered, his voice hard.

"Yes, Master Kim." Big responded with a small bow of his head before proceeding to shift
his body around and stand guard, hands behind his back, looking over the hallway they just
walked down.

Kim took a deep breath, readying himself for something, something that would definitely
break the last string of his sanity.

He entered the room.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. The room faintly smelled of vanilla from the cheap
2-in-1 body wash and shampoo Porchay loved to use. Kim shut and locked the door. His eyes
were skimming around and landed on the seating area, a beige sectional couch and a smart
TV propped up against the wall. Some magazines, sudoku, and crossword books were lying
around the top of the glass coffee table.

Stepping further into the second area, Porchay’s sleeping space, he was enveloped by the
strong vanilla scent. He felt it. The heaviness in his stomach was beginning to consume him,
threatening to drown him whole. Kim swallowed down the telltale signs of hysteria and
hardened his feelings. He needed to see it for himself.

The day he came to tutor the boy, he remembered seeing the bottle of the product at the boy’s
old house. When he was investigating the Kittisawat family, when everything was fine
between them, Porchay always smelled like soft vanilla around him. When Porchay lay in his
arms that morning, head resting on his pounding chest, his hand unconsciously stroking the
boy’s head, he could smell the vanilla from his hair.

Porchay's body smelled like vanilla when he tightly circled his lean arms around his neck
after confessing his feelings in the music room — speechless and giddy after receiving a kiss
on his cheek. Kim hugged him back, squeezed him close to his chest, hips meeting hips,
warm bodies molded into one — so close that Kim still remembers the taste of vanilla on his
tongue from Porchay’s neck. He inhaled deeply and swallowed down hungrily — craving to
be intoxicated by the boy’s scent.

And Kim just had to know what product the boy was using to smell this heavenly. Maybe it
was the product, or maybe it was just Porchay himself, but he became addicted to it —
desiring the boy's calming scent to wrap him all the time. After he went home, Kim ordered
two bottles of the cheap 2-in-1 vanilla-scented body wash and shampoo.

The smell wasn't the same.

He walked to the queen-sized bed, white sheets rumpled, blankets neatly folded at the foot of
the mattress. Images of Porchay on this bed, soundlessly sleeping, soft breaths coming out of
his mouth, hugging one of these pillows, brought unknown greed and jealousy into his throat.
How he badly wished to turn back time and be with the boy like that morning. Hands
wrapped around each other, Porchay's head tucked into his neck, silky hair on his rough
fingertips — to feel that morning again before everything went downhill.

He traced his fingers on the soft cushions, feeling the smooth cotton case under his calloused
fingertips, and grabbed one of them. He brought the snow-white pillow close to his nose and
inhaled deeply. His eyes closed, face buried in the soft cotton and savoring this part of
Porchay.

Kim let out a low groaned.

Vanilla, Kim thought, head dizzy in the cocoon of the comforting scent, and Porchay.

"He disappeared this morning. His belongings were packed, only a note was left on his bed."

Kim exhaled harshly. His eyes snapped open as the sound of Kinn’s voice echoed across his
mind like a punch to his face. The panic in his stomach finally overflowed, edging him to
almost snap the last of his sanity.

He was thrown back to reality, forcefully woken up from the drunken trance he had been
pulled into. Like a raging wave crashing against the shore, the hysterics came in with full
force.

He dropped the pillow down, striding to the white dresser against the wall of the room, and
wrenched the drawers open — empty. His hands started to tremble.

He stalked toward the bathroom and banged the door open, looking over the countertop and
finding nothing. His breathing was getting labored.

He strode to the center of the room and looked wildly around, opting to march to the small
walk-in closet and yank the door open. There were a few pieces of clothing scattered around
the floor, some still hanging on the opened wardrobe doors, and Kim hastily reached for
them. The soft fabrics felt strange in his rough palms, and Kim madly rummaged through the
closet.

These branded clothes weren’t Porchay’s. He didn’t like wearing these types of fabrics made
by these expensive brands. He had never worn them before, and he was certainly sure the boy
didn’t even know how to pronounce the names. Those shoes and sneakers weren’t to his
taste, and the pants looked untouched like they had never been worn.

No, these weren’t Porchay’s belongings. Instead, he harshly rummaged through the wardrobe,
like a crazed man looking for something — hoping to see it. To find the plaid shirts and
worn-out pants of Porchay. The desperate hope of finding the boy's old beaten-up shoes.

Nothing.
 He felt like drowning.

Kim dragged his feet back to the bed, sitting on the foot of it with his head in his hands, arms
propped on his knees. His back bent forward and his mind blanked for a moment.

Kinn wasn’t bluffing. That man wasn’t trying to take his revenge for what happened three
months ago. His older brother was telling the truth.

It finally dawned on him that Porchay had truly left this place.

Alone. Unprotected. Nowhere.

The old plaid shirts and oversized cartoon sweaters weren’t here. The old stained shoes and
school books couldn’t be seen. His cheap 2-in-1 vanilla-scented body wash and shampoo
were gone.

Kim looked up from his hands, his red-rimmed eyes looking over the room once again. That
was when he noticed it. The final blow to the last string of his controlled sanity.

Near the floor to the ceiling windows, beside the opened white curtain, leaning against the
wall was the black guitar case he had gifted to the boy almost 6 months ago. The wooden
acoustic guitar he personally picked up for the younger man was laying on the carpeted floor,
abandoned by its rightful owner.

Humorless chuckles left his lips. It violently hit him. The impact left him breathless and
choking on his silent rage.

Porchay packed only his belongings and left behind everything that wasn’t his.

Porchay is gone.

Kim finally snapped.

Chapter End Notes

Tell me what you think in the comment! Kudos are appreciated.

Twitter: @fancifulnim
 Madness
Chapter Summary

Kim knew he was a bastard when, after shattering the boy’s heart, he still didn’t get rid
of the tracker he had placed in the boy’s belongings. And he never attempted to get rid
of it, even when Porchay had pushed him away, clearly didn't want anything to do with
him.

The meeting room was in chaos, Kinn noted. The room was packed with more than 15 men;
Arm was seated around the massive black table, surrounded by his high-tech equipment and
giving orders to an additional five members of his team.

Pol was nowhere to be found, probably calming down Tankhun from his emotional outburst
since the news of Porchay's disappearance reached his ears.

Unsurprisingly, Pete, his former head bodyguard was also present. A frantic phone call from
a distraught Porsche less than an hour ago, asking if the boy was at the minor’s family house
made the guy quickly want to help and join the search.

Six men from the other team sat at a round table in the corner of the room, tasked with
organizing and strategizing for the search teams that had already departed.

The room was a clamorous buzz of phone calls, the sounds of typing keyboards, and low,
gruff voices. Kinn stood in the middle of it all, in front of an unconscious Porsche, hands on
his hips, a deep frown was visible on his forehead — signifying the mounting stress. He was
feeling helpless and rattled about the whole situation.

Porsche, who had fallen unconscious on the sofa after going through stages of intense
emotions in a few hours, had been hysteric. The man was inconsolable. He was screaming for
his younger brother while desperately searching around the compound, looking in every nook
and cranny for the said boy. He had never seen his lover like that.

The mansion had been on lockdown and all the staff was ordered to look for the missing
young master.

No one had found him.

The note was still clutched in Porsche’s right hand, crushed just like the man’s heart.

Kinn glanced at his wrist, the black watch ticking to almost 11 in the morning.

To say it was surprising for Porchay to do this would be ironic. Kinn hated the fact that, deep
down, he had actually expected this to happen. It was just a matter of time, the real question
was ‘when.’

They knew the boy desperately needed the help. They had noticed the change in Porchay's
behavior. The dark circles under his eyes were a stark contrast to his pale skin. The small and
almost underweight body was clear evidence of the boy's drastic weight loss.

Although Porchay had tried to cover it up by wearing oversized clothes, his drooping
shoulders and bony fingers were clearly visible. The boy's sparkling eyes had dimmed over
the past few months — the light had gone. And the way he dragged his feet when walking
instead of the usual bounce screamed that something terrible was going on. He didn’t talk to
Porsche like he used to.

Porchay appeared to be dead, with only his moving chest as evidence that he was still alive.

The doctor had told them that the boy's therapy sessions didn't seem to improve his mental
state. Maybe the trauma of being kidnapped and beaten almost 8 months ago triggered it, or
maybe seeing dead bodies strewn across the floor at Yok's bar 7 months ago caused him to
break into pieces.

The trauma must have piled up and threatened the young, fragile mind to crumble into
nothing when the war between the members of major Theerapanyakul happened 3 months
ago.

Perhaps, the boy had been damaged beyond repair when their father had used the boy as a
pawn in his chess game — ultimately resulting in Porchay's last chance at living a normal life
being taken away.

This was the final blow for Porchay to escape.

They found the note on the boy’s bed around 9:30 this morning — confused when the boy
didn't come down for breakfast.

Porchay was always present at the breakfast table. He was always the first to arrive before
anyone else, before the waiters could fully serve the food on the table, before the eccentric
Tankhun's appearance, and before Kinn and Porsche's presence.

Sometimes, he was just there. Sitting and eating quietly, answering in a low voice when
Tankhun and Porsche asked him some questions. Sometimes, Porchay tried to return the
effort and initiated light conversations, only to be silent again and continue playing with his
food.

But, no matter what, the boy would always be there. A constant presence in the room.

Kinn noticed that Porchay would always put away the fried eggs from his plate.

So, it was quite a surprise when this morning, the young man wasn't in his usual seat. Porsche
said his little brother might have accidentally slept in, or he might have forgotten to set his
alarms. They dismissed the topic with little chuckles, saying it was normal for an almost-19-
year-old to wake up late.

But, deep in Kinn's heart, he felt like Porsche was just trying to convince himself. A failed
attempt to soothe his own heart.

Tankhun, being the drama queen, still ordered Pol to go and check on the boy. To wake him
up because he needed to see his new baby brother every morning to start his day. Insisting
that the younger man was his serotonin boost and that it was mandatory for Porchay to eat
breakfast together with them.

Kinn sensed that his older brother was also worried about Porchay's absence. And the dutiful
bodyguard — Pol — went to fetch the boy. He came back 15 minutes later, with no Porchay
tailing behind him.

“I have called and knocked on the young master's room, Master Tankhun,” Pol informed his
master before he turned towards Porsche and addressed the other man, “Master Porsche.
However, the young master did not answer and did not open the door. The two bodyguards
standing in front of his room said Khun' Porchay hasn't come out of his room since last
night.”

“Did you knock hard?” It was Porsche who spoke, his eyes looked questioningly at the
bodyguard still standing in front of them.

“Yes, umm...” Pol hesitated for a second, one of his hands rubbing the back of his head.

“I was actually banging loudly on his door while screaming his name,” Pol said sheepishly,
eyes looking down shyly in silent embarrassment at his actions.

Tankhun let out a ‘tsk’ sound and continued to eat his omelet while a deep frown appeared on
Porsche’s forehead. He took out his phone and started to call someone. His legs started to
bounce under the table.

“Who are you calling?” Kinn had asked with confusion written on his face.

They had no morning meetings today, only afternoon ones and a private deal at night, so he
didn't understand why his lover was suddenly tense for no reason.

“Chay didn't pick up his phone. It just went to voicemail,” Porsche said worriedly, fingers
busily pressed on the phone screen, trying for the second time.

“Didn't you just say he might have just slept in?” As Kinn was trying to calm his lover down,
he reasoned, “perhaps your brother is just sleeping heavily.” He said, while his left hand was
gently placed on Porsche's bouncing leg, trying to soothe the man's concerns.

But it didn't help at all. Instead, the man began to bite his lips, a worried expression on his
face as the second phone call went to voicemail.

“No, no, Porchay is not a heavy sleeper,” Porsche said urgently, shaking his head while he
stood up and ready to walk out of the dining room.
“He used to wake up even when I tried to quietly enter our old house. He's sensitive to sound
when asleep. The loud knock should've been enough to wake him up,” Porsche said while
pocketing his phone.

He started to stride toward the door, ready to check on his brother himself but was abruptly
stopped when a loud gasp left Tankhun’s lips. Porsche looked back.

“My baby!” The man had screeched, arms flailing on his sides as he, too, stood up quickly
from the dining table. His thick, furry pink coat fluttered with his movements.

“What if he passes out?” Tankhun said, his voice turned high-pitched.

“What if he falls in the bathroom and no one helps him? What if he's bleeding on the floor
and—” The man couldn't finish his sentence before Porsche bolted out of the dining room.
Rushed steps were heard hitting the cold marble floor.

It was a blur after that. Kinn recalled that he also followed after Porsche, and tried to calm the
man down when he began banging on the door, yelling his brother's name to open it. No one
had answered the door.

The two bodyguards that stood outside guarding the place had confused looks on their faces,
eyes looking at each other, questions ready to slip between their lips. Still, no one had opened
the door.

After seconds of no response and the arrival of Tankhun in his striking outfit, Porsche
ordered one of his trusted bodyguards to go to their room and bring his wallet. It contained
Porchay's spare key card.

Shooting the door down would be impossible; the doors in the mansion had been changed to
bulletproof since the clash with the minor family.

Soon after, they barged through the door. Porsche’s eyes wildly scanned the room, calling out
his brother's name yet again, frantically walking further into the sleeping area. However,
there was no sign of the said boy.

They had searched for him in the room, and the standing bodyguards had double-confirmed
with them that: “Yes, the young master didn’t leave this room since last night, Master Kinn,”
one of them had replied, sweat trickling down his temples.

“We have been guarding this room and no one has come in or gone out.”

It was when he took a second look around that he finally noticed how empty the room had
looked. Barren from the boy’s belongings.

His eyes landed on Porsche, who had stood at the foot of the bed. He noticed the man had
frozen as he examined something in his hand. Kinn walked over, trying to see what the man
was looking at, or rather, reading.
And since then, he felt like everything had fallen apart again — just like it did three months
ago.

Porsche found the note on Porchay’s bed, specifically on top of the folded blanket. His face
had turned from confusion to sorrow, from shock to alarm, and finally to terror.

As if someone had placed an immeasurable burden on him, the man’s legs suddenly gave up
and he fell to his knees. His hands trembled, his body shook, and then, like a cracked dam
that had eventually given way — he cried.

It was anguished, heavy with despair, laced with unknown regrets, filled with sorrow and
heart-wrenching wailing — the cry that Kinn swore would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Porsche had looked into his eyes. Tears were still running down his cheeks. Kinn had never
felt helpless, not knowing why this could happen so suddenly. Choked sobs plugged into
Porsche’s voice and left him unable to speak. And when he did, Kinn never thought for a
second in his life, not even when his darkest thoughts possessed his mind, not even when
everything had felt like a downfall for Therrapayankul three months ago — that those words
would be spoken from Porsche’s lips.

It sounded like a damn curse.

“T-t-this...” Porsche had sobbed. Trembling fists tightly clutched his lapel suit, the note
crumpled in his hand.

Kinn waited patiently, rubbing his lover's back, trying to calm him down. Porsche took a
deep, stuttered breath as if preparing himself for his execution. And when those words left his
lips, Kinn wished Porsche hadn't talked at all.

“I-i-is this... Is this Porchay’s suicide note, Kinn?”

Kim badly wished someone had shot him by now. At least the pain would be bearable; it
would be ten times less painful than what he was feeling right now.

The despair that gripped his chest overcame the rage that had been simmering in Porchay's
room. Trying to regulate his breathing was a struggle. It was hard to keep his hands from
reaching for the gun.

He wanted to kill someone. This consuming rage needed to be released, this dark demon
needed to be fed, and the ferocious beast within him needed to be unleashed.

Kim had turned into the side he hated the most. The tamed beast wanted to rampage.

He stormed through the meeting room, his red-rimmed eyes searching wildly for Kinn. He
saw the man, crouching in front of the lying Porsche, stroking his hair and murmuring soft
words that he couldn't hear.

He marched toward him, his jaw clenched and his rage flared. When Kinn noticed him, the
man stood up, his face hardened, a frown marking his forehead.

Kim wasted no time. There were no polite greetings or words of brotherhood between them
before he grabbed Kinn's collar and jerked him hard. His mouth growled like an animal, his
eyes glared with hostility.

“I told you,” Kim gritted out, staring intently into his brother’s eyes. “I fucking told you to
keep an eye on him all the time and you can't fucking do that!?”

Kim was furious. His hands tightened around the clothes in his fists.

“I fucking did! I did what you told me to, Kim!” Kinn retorted harshly, his hands ripping
away the brutal grip around his shirt.

After the two separated, Kinn took a few steps back from the seething man. They looked at
each other for a few seconds before they both broke eye contact when they heard a whimper
from Porsche.

He took a deep breath, attempting to tame himself and regain control over his emotions. He
bitterly accepted the fact that anything that had to do with Porchay could affect him severely.

Made him lose his mind and act like a lunatic.

“Update.” Kim said after a few moments, his head cleared and his emotions were buried. If
he wanted Porchay back, he needed to get a grip and think properly.

Kinn told him how they were trying to track Porchay down. The younger man left his new
phone on the nightstand, only taking his old one with him.

Kim felt sick in his stomach. Porchay's old phone was useless. It was outdated, and the GPS
didn’t fully work. That was why he had bought a new one for Porchay, and told Big to give it
to the boy without mentioning his name. Kinn had agreed to cover up his actions if Porchay
asked questions. His brother seemed willing to do anything to make up for his mistakes from
three months ago.

Porchay only took his IDs and some cash, leaving behind the credit cards given to him. It
only made things much harder to find him. The boy was smart. Money transactions were
completely untraceable if the boy only used real cash instead of the money in the bank
accounts created solely for him.

The bank accounts that Kim had set up and transferred hundreds of thousands every month
just for Porchay to use without the boy's knowledge.

Kim knew he was a bastard. A bastard that broke a teenager’s heart and still begged him to
stay when he was the one who left.
A bastard that couldn't let the younger man go despite the deafening silence from the boy
after sending the video should’ve been enough to show how much Porchay hated him.

The bastard still chased after the boy’s forgiveness, pleading for a second chance when
Porchay clearly had cut him off from any way to approach him.

A bastard that had dared to declare war against his own family three months ago just because
he was consumed with rage, blinded in jealousy, and drowned in fury that the boy had been
used as a pawn in his father’s game.

Kim knew he was a bastard when, after shattering the boy’s heart, he still didn’t get rid of the
tracker he had placed in the boy’s belongings. And he never attempted to get rid of it, even
when Porchay had pushed him away, clearly didn't want anything to do with him.

Kim knew he was the worst bastard when, at times like this, he felt relieved instead of
ashamed. He was relieved that he hadn’t listened to his heart to throw out the tracker he had
placed before.

“Big,” Kim called out to his trusted bodyguard, and the man knew just what his master
needed before Kim could say it to him.

Big, who had been standing a few steps behind Kim all this time, took a step forward. His
hands were already holding out a black tablet to his master; the screen displayed a static
blinking red dot.

Kim grabbed it with his right hand, “His old phone's tracker showed he was heading toward
Pattaya. We lost connection some time ago. The last location the tracker sent to my phone
was Chon Buri.”

Kim said to Kinn — who had an inexplicable look in his eyes before he slightly turned and
ordered Big to hand the tablet to Arm. The IT guy knew what to do.

“Where's the note?” Kim suddenly said. His voice was devoid of any emotion, his eyes
staring blankly at Kinn.

It was then that he saw the realization in Kinn's eyes. His brother looked down at the
unconscious Porsche and removed a crumpled piece of paper from the man's hand. Kinn
folded the note first before handing it to him.

“Read it when you're alone,” Kinn stopped him, the voice warning him as Kim was about to
unfold the paper.

Kim felt fear start to creep up in his chest.

He hated the look in his brother’s eyes. The look that deep down, Kinn knew. Kim needed to
read when he was alone.

Away from other people. Far away from anything — so he can let the wrath consume him.
He tucked the paper into his leather jacket after deciding to listen to his brother.

“How?” Kim asked.

Kinn knew the question was coming. Kim certainly wanted to know how the boy managed to
flee from the mansion secured with hundreds of cameras, guarded by highly trained
bodyguards and people that had been ordered to look after the young master.

Kinn cleared his throat before speaking. “CCTVs showed he fled through the staff's entrance
at 6 a.m. It was crowded because workers were arriving for their day shifts.”

Kinn stopped before continuing, “No one noticed him. The guards that were ordered to guard
Porchay’s room last night were new. They were not the usual bodyguards you secretly put on
the boy.”

Kinn stated, looking at the bodyguards standing at a distance behind Kim — Toru and Mike.

He was already dreading the next words. He didn't want to say it, but Kim was going to come
for his throat if he found out how Porchay managed to escape by someone else’s mouth. He
can’t take the risk.

Not after witnessing Kim’s devilish side three months ago.

The healed bullet wound suddenly throbbed as if to warn him. He already felt small pity for
the poor men.

“They left for a smoke at the emergency stairs for a few minutes, but it was enough time for
the boy to flee,” Kinn said.

Kim chuckled darkly after hearing that. Humorless and apathetic. Suddenly, Kinn felt the
clamorous room fall into a deafening silence. It felt like the whole light in the room had been
sucked out of it. And when Kim spoke, voice laced with menace and promising great misery,
Kinn felt chills running down his spine.

“Where are they?”

Never, ever, anger Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakul.

Never.

It had been quick and easy, Kim thought. Two bullets straight to the men’s heads were the
most merciful way he granted as the punishment.
They deserved it. That was the equal price of being reckless in protecting his Porchay.

The dead bodies were already zipped up in the body bags before the blood could completely
drain from the single hole in each man's forehead.

The underground level was eerily silent except for the sound of painful grunts and dying
breaths. The smell of iron blood was pungent in the air.

Kinn, who was next to him, just stood still, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve changed,” Kinn said.

Kim wasn't in the mood to talk but he couldn't bring himself to deny the statement. It is an
absolute fact. He had changed into the worst version of himself.

Instead of responding, he chose to remain silent and began to walk out of the dark floor.

“Big,” Kim called, and the loyal bodyguard always knew what he meant by that one word.

“Arm is still trying to determine the exact location of the young master, Master Kim,” Big
said, walking slightly to Kim's left.

Toru and Mike, who had been silent the whole time, started to follow Kim’s steps. They both
knew who their true master is.

Kinn had stopped a few steps behind, just looking at Kim’s back.

“Why did he take so long?” Kim gritted out, and the thirst for violence came crashing back.

He shouldn't have made it that quick for those men.

“I'm sorry, Master Kim. Arm informed me that locating him would be difficult because the
young master's phone appeared to be inaccessible.” Big said.

Kim cursed under his breath, “Call Chan and tell him to deploy all search teams to the area
around Chon Buri and Pattaya. Pack your bags, and meet me at the garage in 20 minutes.”
Kim ordered.

He stepped into the elevator, and Big, Toru, and Mike followed closely behind him. When the
button to the 28th floor was pressed, a command to scan fingerprints and an 8-digit password
were displayed on the elevator screen. 28th floor — Kim’s private floor.

“If Porchay wasn’t found by 2 p.m. this afternoon, put out a reward to anyone who can locate
him. ฿120 million baht. Call me if Arm notifies you of anything.”

“Yes, Master Kim.” Big slightly bowed.

The elevator dinged, and Kim stepped out. Before he could dismiss the bodyguards, Toru, for
the first time since this morning, opened his mouth.
“Master Kim, may I ask you a question?” Toru's voice was confident, but Kim could detect a
slight tremor in the man’s tone.

He faced the three bodyguards who stood in the elevator, Big pressing the open door button.
He gave a nod, silent permission for Toru to speak.

“What makes you so sure he will go to Pattaya? The young master may just be passing
through the area and will move on to another location.”

Kim smirked, “Porchay loves the beach.”

That was all he said before he turned around and entered his private space. Kim didn't tell
them that swimming on the Pattaya beach had been on Porchay's bucket list for months. The
younger boy had excitedly blabbered about the activities he could do from hours of browsing
on the internet.

The boy had said the nightly festival looked like so much fun and the street food must have
tasted delicious from the tons of good reviews. Porchay had mentioned he really wanted to go
to the beach at least once in his lifetime, and Kim had listened attentively, amused by the
boy's adorable hands fumbling.

He had made a mental note to bring the boy to the place — before everything went downhill.

He wished he had brought the boy sooner.

He changed into his house slippers before he walked into his living quarters. Kim noticed the
area hadn’t changed one bit. Everything was in place, kept the same as how he had left it
months ago. The area was clean and free from dust; floor-to-ceiling windows were wiped
clean, the floor was polished, and the room still smelled like sandalwood.

When he stepped into his bedroom, the black king-sized bed was still in the middle of the
room, close to the wall. The burgundy carpet on the floor and the black furniture gave him a
nostalgic feeling in his chest.

He closed the heavy bedroom door and locked it. Locked himself away from the outside
world, far away from his mental turmoil.

Kim sat on the bed and took out the folded paper from his leather jacket. He started to read it.

Kim knew he was a strong man. He had faced horrific situations that no one else would have
imagined. He had felt the pain of people he loved being taken away from him from a young
age. He had felt the misery of betrayal by his own family. He had been face-to-face with
death more times than he cared to remember. And he had taken all of it with a blank face, his
heart tightly closed.

But nothing had made him shed tears like this. Nothing had caused him this excruciating pain
that made him fall harshly to his knees.

His breathing had become rapid, his hands trembling with dread.
Kim had never felt so terrified in his entire life.

He felt like dying.

‘I’ve tried to be happy, but it never works.’

‘The scream, the blood, the gunshot sound, it haunts me.’

‘My heart hurts. I want it to stop.’

‘Hia, take this heaviness away. I can’t breathe, please.’

‘I just wanted to sleep.’

‘I don’t want to live anymore, it hurts.’

‘Every day hurts, Hia.’

Kim sobbed painfully, his hands gripping his hair, yanking the strands forcefully.

‘I want it to stop. Hia, don’t be mad at me.’

‘Thank you for raising me. I will repay you next time, okay?’

‘Not this time, but next time, okay?’

‘You can’t be mad at me, Hia. I promise to wait for you there.’

‘You’re my mom and my dad, Hia. I love you so much.’

Kim felt his mental break. Violently shaking, his body rocked back and forth on the floor. No.
He can’t take this.

Not this.

Not like this.

‘Tell P' Kim I forgive him.’

His heart was crushed, terror and agony destroyed him. He felt like exploding into nothing
and the hard sobs couldn't stop.

Kim wanted to die.

‘And I still love him.’

Kim roared.
The man standing in front of him, amongst the luxurious cars and armored vehicles, wasn't
the little brother he had known before, Kinn thought.

The Kim that stood in front of him, eyes rimmed red, orbs dark as obsidian, scorching fury
burning underneath wasn’t his little brother.

This Kim, with his jaw clenched, hands curled into fists, and eyes that promised death;
reminded him of Kim from three months ago — the man who led the war against his own
family for a mere boy.

The man who ended countless men’s lives on that day, and annihilated an entire mafia family
for an orphan boy named Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat.

This was Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakul from that fateful day.

On that fateful day — men were killed, the marble floors were bathed in blood, bullets were
flying, and bonds were broken.

Kim had gone on a rampage and brought doom directly to the mansion’s door.

Three months ago, when Korn Theerapanyakul dared to make an arranged marriage of
Porchay with another man, Theerapanyakul’s mansion was drowned in blood and burned to
ash.
 Misery
Chapter Summary

Maybe Kim had always been like this — a merciless monster who just wanted to protect
his most prized possession.

The only thing that kept him sane, the only person that made him feel like a human.

Only Porchay Kittisawat can bring out both the beast and human sides of him.

Kim wasn't one to pray. He had stopped praying to God after pieces of his mother’s brain
splattered across his face. When he tasted the drops of warm blood spattered on his lips, the
woman's dead body fell heavily on his lap; a single bullet hole cracked her forehead open,
eyes wide, looking at him — dead.

His school pants were drenched and felt hot with her running blood.

He was just 12 when his mother was brutally murdered in front of him.

Kim wasn't a believer. He had stopped believing in God when he had killed his first target.
The man had begged for his life, sobbing on his knees and sputtering pleading words to free
him, to forgive him. Kim didn't even flinch when he pulled the trigger. A bullet shot him right
in the forehead — pieces of his brain scattered on the hard concrete floor — dead.

The white t-shirt he wore smelled like gunpowder and death.

He was just 13 when he turned into a murderer.

Kim wasn't a God. Ironically, he constantly found people kneeling in front of him, begging
for his atonement, crying for his mercy as if he were the Almighty.

Kim wasn't a forgiving person. He killed, not forgive.

His mother must be in heaven, amongst the angels — happy and free. On her knees, gripping
and ripping her long black hair, blood tears streaming down her cheeks, hysterical laughter
left her lips.

Watching her youngest child turn into a vicious monster.

Kim had stopped praying and believing years ago. He had never asked God for mercy,
forgiveness, or salvation after all the horrific things he had done to himself and others. If God
truly exists, he should be the one to seek Kim’s forgiveness for all the things that he had been
put through.

God should beg for his mercy for tormenting him like this.

Standing rigid in the center of the massive garage, hands fisted in his leather jacket’s pockets,
eye-to-eye with Kinn, emotions cold as frozen ice. With bodyguards hurriedly packing the
necessary items, reloading the weapons, restocking the armory, and filling the SUV with the
necessary equipment, Kim was more than ready to start hunting down the Bambi.

The chances of their enemies finding out about the missing Theerapanyakul’s young master
were high. They could be plotting dark plans to get their revenge by using the boy.

They had tried to hide Porchay's existence from their enemies, but their attempts were futile
when his father openly announced the arranged marriage. Their enemies eventually learned
of the boy's existence, and the secret they had been keeping for so long had been revealed.

And Kim had to deal with the aftermath.

If concealing Porchay's existence was in vain, then warning the enemies was the only option.

Kim had sent pieces of the dead man's body parts who dared to marry his boy to every mafia
organization in Thailand.

The man's severed legs were shipped out of Bangkok; with the right leg going to Italians and
the left going to Russians.

To their enemies, the message from the mutilated body was loud and clear.

‘Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat is under Theerapanyakul’s protection.’

‘Touch him and this will be your end.’

When Kinn said Kim had changed, he truly had changed into the worst version of himself.

Or maybe, he didn't change at all. Perhaps, this is the true version of himself that he had been
denying all along. The part he'd desperately hidden, convinced he wasn't the human weapon
he'd been trained to be since he was 13 years old.

Maybe, Kim had always been like this — a merciless monster who just wanted to protect his
most prized possession.

The only thing that kept him sane, the only person that made him feel like a human.
Only Porchay Kittisawat can bring out both the beast and human sides of him.

“You looked different,” Kinn suddenly said, shattering the silence between both of them.

Kim did not respond.

“Your hair is getting longer,” Kinn said, as Kim only stared at him.

“You looked older too—”

“Get straight to the point, what the hell do you want?” Kim was irritated.

“How have you been, Kim?”

Kim didn't know what to answer. If spending days and nights getting drunk and blacked out
from alcohol sounded like he was doing well, then he was living a fucking perfect life right
now. Writing songs had been difficult — all he could think of was Porchay, Porchay, and
Porchay. Sitting on his bed for hours, looking at the boy's pictures, and bottles of booze
scattered over the penthouse, his mind was filled with only Porchay.

That was all he could do and think about.

He had instructed the boy's bodyguards to report on a daily basis; when Porchay woke up,
when he went down for breakfast, what the boy was doing that day, what book he read, what
food he ate, did anything interesting happened to him, who talked to him and what time he
went to bed.

Kim wanted to know everything about Porchay's life, even from afar.

Every day, Kim waited for Porchay's updates like a starving dog. He was only full and calm
when Toru and Mike sent him photos, videos, or the latest updates about the boy. Kinn would
provide medical reports on the boy's progress, and Porsche — the man had felt indebted
enough to quit interfering in Kim and Porchay's business since the two of them had worked
together against his father three months ago. The only thing that kept his sanity intact was the
idea that Porchay was fine, he was doing well — eating well and living well. Despite the fact
that it was in the mansion of hell.

Kim knew everything about the boy.

Tankhun was different. While Toru and Mike sent daily reports on Porchay and Kinn on the
boy's mental improvement, Tankhun bombarded him with infuriating messages just to
provoke him.

‘I found a crop top that is so fucking sexy! My baby Chay's gonna look so good wearing it~’

‘Little Chay is having ice cream with me! sucks not being me, right little brother?? *send
kisses*’
‘He HUGGED ME sooooo tighttt during our horror movie dates! You wish it were you huh,
brat *winks*’

'You better step up your game, Kim Khimhant. I'm teaching Chay how to use Tinder todayy'

‘UNBLOCK ME YOU LITTLE RASCAL! IF YOU DON’T I’M GOING TO START SETTING
UP BLIND DATES FOR CHAY ’

‘DON’T YOU DARE TEST ME KHIMHANT!’

Kim had ordered Big to go to the mansion and burn the crop top. He had instructed Arm to
uninstall the Tinder app from Chay’s phone secretly. He had also unblocked Tankhun's phone
number from his phone.

Kim had been training vigorously since the incident three months ago. The possibility of their
enemies getting their hands on Porchay again at any point anxiously rattled him. He needed
to be prepared for anything. The aching muscles from hours of workouts and training helped
him to concentrate.

Kim found the sole reason for his existence; to protect Porchay.

The first month following the incident was hell. He had relapsed and took drugs again. The
desire and longing to hold Porchay slowly tortured him, and all he wanted to do was forget
and get high on ecstasy. Kim wished he could never wake up from his fever fantasies —
Porchay by his side, in his arms, and under him.

Tankhun had pounded on his door one Friday morning, dragging his still-drunk body out of
the bed and forcing him to attend the dreadful therapy appointment he had arranged with the
family doctor.

Kim's urges were still difficult to control, but he was doing much better than in previous
months.

“Good.” That was all he said to Kinn

He heard the rushing steps before he saw him. The IT guy — Arm — suddenly halted in
front of him, breaking the invincible string of tension between him and his brother. And when
the man opened his mouth, Kim’s heart stopped beating for a second.

“I found him!” the man had said breathlessly, arms tightly holding the laptop, body jittery.

“Pattaya, Koh Lipe island,” Arm said with certainty. “His old phone just signaled me 2
minutes ago.”

“Master Kim, young master Porchay is in Pattaya on Koh Lipe island.”

All at once, the dimmed-lit fire burning in his chest, the suppressed agony in his ribcage, the
quietened down roar in his throat — all at once, Kim’s stony heart was ablaze with ardent
fire.

Sitting in the back of the posh SUV, windows tinted with bulletproof glass, with Big driving
and Arm sitting in the passenger seats, Kim closed his eyes and let his thoughts cloud his
mind.

He had ordered all Theerapanyakul’s search teams to head towards Koh Lipe, search for
Porchay around the area, and once found, make sure he was surrounded and protected in
silence.

He had talked to Chan over the phone 15 minutes ago and briefed all the bodyguards to be as
discreet as possible from Porchay’s knowledge. To not let the boy be aware of the eyes
looking for him.

“Track him, and once you find him, do not approach him.” Kim had said to Chan, “Don’t you
dare make him scared with all your presence; this is an order.”

“Yes, Master Kim, I understand,” Chan had responded.

“And Chan,” Kim slowly said.

“Yes, Master Kim?”

“If he tries to go into the ocean, capture him and lock him up in the car.”

It took Chan two breaths before he replied, “Yes, Master Kim.”

Kim recalled the conversations he had with Kinn before he took his leave. His hands
tightened into fists, his mouth curled in loathing.

“What are you going to do with Porchay once you find him?” Kinn had asked, eyebrows
raised in question.

“None of your business,” Kim responded with narrowed eyes. His legs started to walk down
passed Kinn towards the lineup of black SUVs.

Kinn’s hand gripped his arm before he could brush past him. The hold halted him for a
second.

“It has everything to do with me, Kim. He's Porsche’s little brother, remember? That makes
him my business too.” Kinn said exasperatedly.
Kim yanked his arm, sharp eyes looking intently into Kinn's. “Now you want to act
concerned about him?” he hissed.

“You weren't three months ago.” Kim had retorted, his cold voice changing into a snarl. The
urge to hurt his brother began to consume him.

Kim knew that if the brotherly bond between them was on the verge of breaking in the past, it
had been destroyed to pieces after the incident. When his father arranged a forced marriage
for Porchay with a man from another mafia clan, Kim was blinded by jealousy and rage. And
he had come for revenge, with the aim of shooting his father in the head, to end the life of the
man who dared to touch what was his.

Kinn had covered his father.

He had shot Kinn instead.

Kim had never known the anguish of betrayal could be so excruciating.

He strode past Kinn, ignoring the other bodyguards' stares. They knew better than to get
involved.

“Kim, please...” he stopped, his hands tightly clenched.

He looked back to his brother, who had looked at him with those eyes . The eyes when Kinn
had to beg him to stop the madness three months ago. The eyes that had promised him he
would fix everything that their father had done, the eyes that pleaded with Kim to spare his
father’s life.

Kim swallowed, his mouth suddenly parched. He despised his brother's expression — as if
the man was in pain and suffering like him.

“You told me he was progressing,” Kim remarked coldly, his gaze fixed on Kinn's.

“We thought so, too,” Kinn said resignedly. “But the doctor just told us a few weeks ago that
he wasn't recuperating as quickly as he had hoped. Kim, we're looking for another doctor to
—”

“You should've fucking told me!” Kim suddenly roared, and the sound echoed throughout the
huge garage.

The tension between them had heightened. The bodyguards stood frozen, their gazes darting
away from the enraged man.

“Disperse.” Kim said, after taking a long breath.

Kim said it loudly to no one in particular, but the message was clear to all of the bodyguards.
Eight guys entered the four prepared black SUVs, waiting for their master to end the talks
before they could depart. Others left the area, leaving Kim and Kinn alone.
“You told me Chay was getting better. You said you'd fix this,” Kim snarled, swallowing the
sobs that threatened to break free.

Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

He stepped toward his brother and stood at arm's length. Kinn's shoulders slumped and his
eyes crestfallen.

“I believed you, Kinn,” Kim grounded out.

“I thought leaving Chay with you and Porsche was the best decision for him to heal,” Kim
said slowly this time, eyes rimmed red, looking intensely into Kinn's.

He felt like breaking all over again.

“Three months, Kinn,” Kim rasped. “Three months I bore this longing for him,” his voice
started to waver, heavy with grief and misery.

“Three months I didn’t see him, only caught glimpses of him when he let me...” Kim grasped
the jacket over his heart and continued, his voice strained with thick sorrow.

“Three months of looking at him through pictures, three months of not hearing his voice
speaking to me.” Kim stopped as if the words that followed would physically crush him.

He can't breathe.

“I’ve done horrible things to him, and I'm selfish enough to chase after him.” Kim closed his
eyes as the hand gripping the jacket trembled.

“I can’t let him go.”

‘I don’t want to live anymore, it hurts.’

“I would never let him go,” Kim croaked out.

The note inside his breast pocket felt so heavy, like someone had placed a massive burden on
his chest.

‘Tell P'Kim I forgive him.’

“Have you read the note, Kinn?” Kim whispered. His voice had sounded so small, so
helpless, that Kinn’s knees buckled.

“When I was reading it, I badly wished I was with Mom instead of here,” Kim said
anguishedly.

‘And I still love him.’

“I felt like dying, Kinn.” Kim finished, his voice so broken — so agonizingly heartbreaking
that Kinn had to close his eyes as guilt was eating him alive.
“I’m sorry...” Kinn whispered back, his voice quivering as he opened his eyes, pleadingly
looking at Kim's.

“I’m so sorry, Kim.”

When Kim returned his gaze, he knew his bloodshot eyes met Kinn's. Unshed tears strained
in his orbs, and a deep frown furrowed his brow. He truly felt much older, and so miserable.

Instantly, as if he wasn’t just openly showing his vulnerabilities to his brother, his voice
turned cold once again. The mask of restrained emotions returned.

“I’m going to fix this.” His eyes shone with tenacity, “I won’t wait for Chay to heal
anymore.”

“I’ll take him away and fix this in my own way.” Kim declared.

“Kim, you can’t do that! What about Porsc—” Kinn's words were frantic and cut short as he
looked at his brother and realized — Kim's eyes had turned maniacal.

“I should've done this months ago, but I listened to you! You told me to wait until Chay
healed before I tried to approach him, but look what fucking happened!” Kim thundered.

Kinn grabbed both of Kim’s shoulders and shook him violently, his eyes wildly looking at his
younger brother. “Don’t do this Kim, please...”

Kinn reasoned desperately. “Both of you are going to get hurt all over again.”

Kim pushed him hard, and the man stumbled a few steps back.

And when he looked at Kinn for the last time, his words were final.

“Both of us have been bleeding for months, Kinn,” Kim said bitterly, “and if it takes both of
us to drown in each other’s blood to fix this, then no one can fucking stop me.”

“Not you or Porsche.”

“No one.”

“Not even Porchay himself.”

Kim had given up praying and believing in God years ago. If the Almighty was truly that
powerful, he should've heard Kim’s anguished cry when he was on his knees. When he was
just a 12-year-old kid, begging for memories of his dead mother to vanish.

Even when he was at one of the lowest points in his life, captured by the enemy and tortured
for days, Kim never uttered a single prayer to God to help him.
Nothing had made him feel desperate enough to pray.

Sitting at the back of the moving SUV, shaking his thoughts off of his head and watching the
scenery that drifted past him, Kim couldn’t help but do the unthinkable.

His finger pressed the button for the car’s partition to roll up, and the soundproof board
separated him from the two bodyguards seated at the front. Kim wanted to be alone and away
from anyone along the 2-hour ride.

Dark whispers and a thundering heart surrounded him.

He zipped open the duffel bag he'd placed next to his legs and looked for the white fabric.

He needed it to calm himself, to ground him back to reality.

He pulled it out and held it up to his nose, burying his face in it and breathing deeply the
calming scent.

Vanilla, Kim thought, and Porchay.

“Please, whoever is up there listening to this, please... ” Kim finally begged, and another
silent, muffled sob wracked his entire body.

In the backseat of the car, alone, Kim finally felt desperate enough to believe.

“Please, don’t let him do it.”

Kim prayed.
 Warmth
Chapter Summary

Chay wanted to forget everything about his life, except for two things: his brother and
that man.

Chay wished he could feel disappointed over the reality he was facing right now. The island
on his bucket list should've been vibrant like he had imagined: crowded with tourists, colorful
kites gliding in the sky, and savory food stalls open and bustling.

He expected the blazing heat of the sun to warm his skin, the gentle breeze, and the soothing
sound of the waves to fill his ears. He had envisioned Koh Lipe as a vibrant and healing
haven. This place was supposed to be sunny.

Instead, he was met by darkened skies and harsh cold winds. Koh Lipe was almost empty;
stores were closed, and only a few stalls were open to tiny groups of people roaming around
the island. The sky was cloudy gray, the wind was bitingly cold, and the roaring waves were
crashing loudly on the shore. Behind him, the violent sway of the palm trees reached his ears.

He didn’t expect the island to be impending with turbulent storms.

And nearly empty.

Sitting on the beach sand and eyes staring out to the sea, it was just him and his belongings.

He wished he could feel pity over the state he was in right now. The bottoms of his worn-out
shoes had ripped during the journey, leaving his white-socked feet uncovered. His stomach
had been growling for the past hours; the lack of breakfast was the reason. With the raging
water in front of him, his backpack placed near his legs, and hugging his knees to his chest;
Chay's body had gone numb from the freezing wind a while ago. His hair was blown messily,
his whole body was shaking, and the damp, salty air could be tasted on his lips.

He gazed up to the sky and yearned for the hot, glaring afternoon sun instead of the gloomy,
dark clouds above him.

It was going to rain.

Chay hoped he could be disappointed and feel pity for the fact that this wasn't the Koh Lipe
he had been dreaming of visiting. It was as if the world didn't welcome his arrival.

He wished he could feel anything, any emotion to arise in his heart; just so he could feel like
a human again.
But he felt nothing.

Chay knew his heart had dried out months ago, leaving it hollow and fragile.

He couldn't comprehend how his once simple life had turned upside down in less than a year.
He and Porsche had their own share of problems: unpaid bills, food, expensive tuition fees,
and money .

The loan sharks that often haunted their lives, an uncle who was addicted to gambling, the
electricity supply that was often cut off, and overdue school payments.

He often felt ashamed when his class teacher had to constantly remind him of his unpaid fees.

Chay was aware they were poor; but not to the span of being impoverished. His life lacked
many things, and everything was just never enough — yet, he remembered he was happy.

And safe.

He truly appreciates how Porsche worked hard to provide and take care of him. To give him
the normal life a teenager was supposed to have. And Chay knew, everything was weighing
them down and stressing his brother out.

He couldn't fathom how his mundane crisis had abruptly changed. From outstanding bills to
kidnapping threats, insufficient food, and unaffordable tuition fees to bullet wounds, the
never-enough money issue turned into being the target of assassination attempts.

His once poor, normal, and dull life had drastically turned into a bloodbath.

Their old lives were difficult, but to some extent, Chay believed they were safe. But looking
at his life right now, he can't guarantee he'll remain breathing for years to come.

And Chay still can't accept that his mother, who was thought to be dead for years, is still
alive. His father, who was supposed to have passed away in a car accident, was actually shot
dead by the same mafia family that was taking care of him.

The damned mafia family that made him an orphan was also the same people that gave him a
life full of luxury.

Feeding him with their filthy lies and bloody money.

Chay still can't grasp the idea that he wasn't an orphan, as he had thought he was since
childhood. The woman who stared at him with emotionless eyes and an empty face wasn’t
his mother. He didn't recognize her. He didn't want to.

His only parent in this life was Porsche. Only him.

Not her.
With many mysteries revealed, including being used in dirty plots by the criminals and being
brainwashed until he fell into a pit of victimhood; Chay no longer knows who was telling the
truth and who was trying to deceive him.

Every day, the same questions kept spinning around inside his head; how much more violence
must he witness before he goes insane? How many more exposed lies does he have to
withstand before he begins to doubt his own existence? How much longer can he live like
this, plagued by terror and horrifying nightmares, before he breaks and begs for his own
death? How long can he endure living in this hell before he reaches the end?

His chest tightened.

Or, maybe, the truth is, he has reached the end.

He had tried to harden his heart and bear all the unfamiliar things he was thrown into,
pretending to be okay and happy in front of his brother.

Feigning and acting as if everything were fine.

But, Chay had given up pretending long ago. Ignoring the gunshot sounds that were still
ringing even months later, and drowning out the ear-splitting screams was futile. Attempting
to forget the faces of the lifeless, bloodied men on the bar's floor months ago was in vain.

All of them kept haunting him.

Chay wanted to forget everything about his life, except for two things; his brother and that
man.

His loving brother, who has sacrificed a lot for him, took care of him and has supported his
life since childhood. His caring older brother, who prepared bottled milk for him when he
was a child, taught him how to cook and ride a bicycle. Even though Chay was big enough,
his brother still kept pampering him with his affections and carried him to his room when he
fell asleep on the sofa.

The one who insisted on sending him to school every morning, even when Chay knew he was
exhausted from his night shift. The one who had always been by his side no matter what
happened, and the person who would run to protect him in every situation. His brother —
Porsche — is someone he already regards as his parent.

And that man, wearing his leather jacket and boots, white t-shirts, and dark jeans. The man
who had pierced into his soul with dark eyes three months ago, the man with strong arms that
had wrapped around his body tightly, and pulled Chay into his firm, warm chest — the same
arms that had barged into his room holding a loaded gun, enraged with the fact that Chay had
agreed to the marriage.

Chay won’t ever forget that man; who had gripped his neck with those rough fingers, snarling
at his face for answers as to why Chay had obeyed Korn Theerapanyakul’s plan. The same
fingers that had brutally gripped his arm and dragged him out of the mansion, with bullets
still flying in every direction, and used his own body to shield Chay from the rain of terror
and the war of vengeance.

And he still remembers that night, when the war had settled down and Chay was escorted to
the man’s penthouse, the man had revealed all of his darkest lies and manipulations to him.

They had cried, they had sobbed, the man had begged, and they had made love.

Hot fiery love.

That night, in front of him — Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakul went down on his knees and
begged for Chay's forgiveness.

It never crossed his mind that, the third son of Theerapanyakul — the most silent but cruelest,
the one who was possessed with boiling madness — to storm into the heavily guarded
mansion with a gun pointing at his own father's head.

Just because he was blinded by jealousy.

This man, who had brought hell to his own family and slaughtered many of his father's men
out of envy, was also the one who had pleaded for Chay's mercy.

On his knees.

On that fateful day, people witnessed Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakul’s real power.

And wrath.

That night, Chay's body was worshiped, pounded, and rammed into oblivion. The man’s
sinful lips were chanting prayers of atonement on his skin, his neck was claimed with deep
scarlet bites, and his frame was stroked and gripped until it was covered with the man's hot
seeds and purplish bruises.

Kim had punished Chay for his foolishness from nightfall until sunrise.

And those eyes, those pair of dark obsidian eyes had stared at him with reverence, with
heavily dark devotions — as if Chay was a holy being he had just discovered.

Kim looked at Porchay like he was the Almighty.

But, when the morning came, it all ended.

This time, it was Chay who left first.

That night was long gone, time was ticking, and almost three months had passed between
them.
Chay had done his best to appear fine. But he was, nonetheless, a human.

A mere human who was tired of pretending.

Everything wasn't fine.

He wasn't doing good.

His end has arrived.

Eyes staring dully at the raging sea, Chay wondered if letting the waves consume him would
end it all.

The nightmares, the dying faces, the gunshot sounds, and this emptiness.

Chay knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be found. The bodyguards were
everywhere. He saw the men a while ago, wearing the usual black and white suits, searching
frantically for something or someone — for him — with lips murmuring into their earpieces.
He had caught sight of the older bodyguard; he remembered his name was Chan. He had
talked with the others before they all split up into groups and started looking around.

And Chay knew more was coming.

Coming for him.

Will Porsche forgive me? Chay thought, his body quivering in the cold. His fingers had
turned blue, his legs were numbed, and his eyes were clouded.

He felt miserable.

His chest hurt.

Chay once had a dream. A dream of deep, endless, and dark water — drowning him. He
dreamed of silence, of falling into the bottomless sea with one hand outstretched, and his
body enveloped by warmth. As he was sinking, he saw the sunlight coming through the
surface of the water, his opened palm reaching out to it, trying to grasp it.

He remembers the light was golden.

As he was sinking, it dawned on him that the ocean was vast, it was dark, it was dragging
him underneath, and it was tranquil.

The water was warm and soothing.

He wasn't scared.

Chay realized that as the water was taking him, he didn't fight for air or swim up to survive.
He just let it be.

He wasn't cold and in pain anymore.

His chest had stopped hurting.

The darkness was serene; everything felt quiet, empty, and nothing.

As he was drowning, Chay didn't feel anything.

Only warmth.

And when the golden light faded, Chay closed his eyes. And for once, everything went silent
inside his head, his chest felt lighter, and the agonizing pain inside him was gone.

He felt at peace.

When he was startled awake from his sleep, the peace was gone.

His body was freezing, and the pain came crashing back.

Chay felt his heart break.

In the darkness of the unfamiliar bedroom, with crumpled sheets and heavy blankets
wrapping around him, witnessed by the twinkling stars and moonlight, Chay wept.

Chay sobbed for the lost feeling of peacefulness, he mourned for the lack of warmth he
dreamed of in the water, and he grieved over the absence of nothingness.

Curling on the bed, fingers gripping tightly on the sheets, and blankets tangled up around his
body, Chay wept until the twinkling stars disappeared and the sun emerged.

He can’t breathe.

The piercing hurt was back, the deafening sound in his head returned, and his chest felt heavy
again with an invisible burden.

That was the first time he prayed for death.

Chay snapped out of his reverie to the first drop of wetness on his cheek. Soon, it became two
drops on his arms, then three on his hair, then four on his skin. It took him a few seconds later
to realize the sky was crying for him.

Crying with him.

It was heavy, it was pounding, and it battered his cold body and drenched him in a flash.
His black and gray plaid shirt was soaked, the earthy brown tone of his pants darkened, and
his white socks were wet and covered in sand.

Sitting by himself, looking out to the raging sea, with rainfall pouring on him — Chay was
left trembling in the cold on an empty beach.

Chay whispered to the sea to end his suffering.

He didn’t want to be here anymore.

His eyes gazed at the violent waves, and his teeth chattered in cold.

He hugged his knees tighter, his body coiling in to keep some warmth, but, the pain in his
chest intensified.

Whimpers left his lips.

Everything hurts.

He longed for the warmth the water gave him and desperately desired the tranquility he had
felt in his dreams.

He had reached the end .

Chay stood up on his shaking legs and took wobbly steps to the waves.

The warmth called for him.

He walked unsteadily to the sea, his body swayed and quivered, and anguished whimpers left
his lips.

The peace whispered to him.

He stumbled until his white-socked ankles were wet from the crashing waves crawling at the
shore.

He started to sob.

Chay continued to stumble on his steps and aimed for the deep ocean to consume him.

The nothingness invited him in.

Chay lurched into the water, and the waves violently pushed him back to the shore, as if
trying to stop him from reaching his final peace.

He fought back the waves’ rejection and stubbornly struggled forward until he was knee-
deep.

Chay began to wail.

“-HAY!”
The water reached his chest, and his body went completely numb. Only pain enveloped him.

A little more. Chay cried out.

His streaming tears fell into the sea that was waiting for him.

The sky roared.

“-CHAY!”

He waded in the water, his mind clouded, and his muscles stiff. The water reached his neck.

He was freezing.

Agony left his lips.

You can finally breathe, later. He closed his eyes and smiled forlornly, aching for everlasting
serenity.

Just a little more. Chay sobbed.

The sky was crying, the ocean was raging, and the faraway voice was begging.

“CHAY!”

He tasted the ocean’s saltiness on his lips and knew the silence would finally reach him. With
dark spots swimming in his sight, his vision started to blacken.

Chay looked far away into the vast ocean, and for one last time, he left a grin for the world to
keep.

‘I'll wait for you, Hia.’

‘Take your time.’

As his body gave up, Chay finally closed his eyes.

Eternal peace welcomed him, and warmth engulfed his entire body.

‘In another life, P’Kim,’

Chay smiled.

‘We'll fix this.’

‘I promise.’

“PORCHAY!!!”

Chay let go.

 Hunger
Chapter Summary

For hours, the beast watched the sleeping beauty with dark eyes.

The sky was still weeping for the boy. Even when the overcast afternoon turned into stormy
midnight, the sun had left the sphere and the moon had greeted the world; the sky was still
weeping for Porchay. The rain continued to pour, grieving the misery and shedding tears for
the humans to see.

The sky was inconsolable.

The presidential suite was void of any light, bathing the huge living and dining room in
darkness. The modern-luxe interior was a combination of golden brown, silver, and black;
enriching the exquisite atmosphere of the upscale hotel room. The floor was pristine white
marble, perfectly polished and shiny. A big, round clock, golden and gleaming, was hanging
on the living room wall.

It was ticking past midnight. Outside, the relentless downpour was unforgiving; the wind
picked up, lightning struck, and thunder boomed, shaking the whole world into a restless
sleep.

The sky was unmistakably crying.

The lone floor lamp in the distant corner bathed the enormous presidential bedroom in faint,
low-golden light. The open curtains on the high-ceilinged windows were splattered with
raindrops that trailed down one after the other.

Except for the thunderous storm and heavy rain, the place was eerily quiet. The air was
sinisterly chilly, the room was forbiddingly darkened, and the aura exuding from the
restrained beast was menacing.

Lurking in the opposite corner of the dimly illuminated room, devoid of light and engulfed by
dark shadows, was a seething monster.

A monster who had killed many with his bare hands, committed heinous crimes against
others, and was unafraid of God's retribution.

In the dark corner of the room, sitting on the huge black velvet armchair, was Kim Khimhant
Theerapanyakul.

Long hair was pushed back, a deep frown was visible on the forehead, and the leather jacket
was absent, only leaving the cruel man in a dark t-shirt and black leather pants. Metal rings
and ear piercings gleamed in the dim light.

Kim wasn’t doing anything. He was just sitting there, silently in the shadows, jaw clenched,
hands tightly clasped on his spread knees, shoulders tense, while looking — staring —
intently at the unconscious figure on the king-sized bed. Darkly watching the tranquil face,
full parted lips, and delicate strands settling on the forehead. The young man's body was
draped in thick blankets up to his chin.

Kim was just sitting quietly, closely observing the faint movement of Porchay's chest rising
and falling. Looking for evidence that the boy was still breathing and alive. For hours, he'd
been staring, his intense gaze fixed on the sleeping Porchay, never leaving him out of his
sight.

For hours, the beast watched the sleeping beauty with dark eyes.

Kim refused to acknowledge the agony in his heart. He forbade the anguish that desperately
clawed to get out of his chest, the boiling wrath that threatened to spill out of his body,
inflicting pain and misery for the world to suffer.

He had almost lost Porchay.

Almost lost him in the nothingness.

Forever.

No. Kim swallowed down the rage that threatened to burst. He tightened his fingers, his nails
digging into his own skin until it bled.

No. He refused to acknowledge that he had witnessed Porchay walking into the raging waves
and attempting to take his own life. Watching with his own two eyes that Porchay — his life
— was trying to drown himself.

Kim felt it. Deep inside him, on the verge of shattering, his mental wanted to break.

No.

Not now.

Kim fought the outrage that was trying to break free, the rampage he gravely wanted to
unleash, because he knew that the madness would entirely consume him.

No. Not now. Not when Porchay was safely tucked under the heavy blankets, soundlessly
asleep on the large bed, totally enveloped in real warmth.

Not with Porchay lying there in front of him, living and breathing.

Kim won't risk it. He won’t take the risk of unleashing his fury. Not with Porchay near him.

Not now.
Like an animal, Kim rose from the armchair and slowly stalked toward the sleeping young
man. Stopping at the foot of the bed, his eyes slowly scrutinized every inch of Porchay.
Capturing everything and engraving each and every perfection in his memory.

His breathing turned hard.

Not now.

Staring at him, Porchay’s image from hours ago suddenly flashed through his mind. His
drenched body, limp arms, pale face, and shallow breaths. Porchay’s body was freezing cold.

As though he were dead.

Just like his mother.

Kim's heart clenched in anguish.

Abruptly, without warning, dread burst inside his chest. Kim gasped for air as dark terror
seized him. His legs buckled, and quickly he staggered to Porchay's side. He needed to be
sure — to be assured —- to feel with his own hands that this sleeping boy was still alive.

That Kim had arrived on time.

The man shakingly bent forward; his breath caught in his chest, and his trembling hands
gently cradled the boy’s face. Kim brought his face close, close enough to count Porchay's
long eyelashes, close enough to see the small mole on the young man's temple, and close
enough to feel the warm breaths from the boy's mouth caressing his skin.

Porchay’s cheek was flushed. His face wasn’t pale.

He was warm.

Kim had arrived on time.

Sliding off the hotel’s slippers, Kim brought his legs onto the bed, straddling the young man’s
torso covered in thick blankets, and positioned his face right in front of Porchay's. His lips
hovered close, almost touching the boy.

Slowly — desperately — Kim inhaled deeply the soft breaths into his body. He drank the
boy’s breath, breathing in as Porchay breathed out.

His stomach was suddenly churning with an all-consuming hunger.

The heavens cried.

Not now.

Porchay was breathing... He wasn’t dead.

Kim took his time drinking in Porchay’s breath, his obsidian eyes open, intently gazing at the
boy’s face, and carving the image into his mind. His rough fingertips tenderly stroked the
young man's cheeks, and his lips gulped down hungrily the boy's intrinsic scent into his
body.

It only worsened. The hunger intensified.

Kim wanted more.

He was starving.

His right hand moved, his thumb brushing lightly on Porchay’s silky-long eyelashes, before it
ran down to his nose, feeling the delicate skin on its tip. Kim’s gaze hardened. The fervent
desire was sizzling. Finally, with his mind clouded and dazed, Kim traced his finger down
softly over the boy's open lips, tenderly stroking the soft pinkish cushions. His thumb slightly
digs into the boy’s softness before it circles around the rim. His other hand was still
incessantly caressing Porchay’s cheek, nestling the young man’s face with warmth.

He craved more.

It wasn’t enough.

Porchay’s parted lips were tempting. The soft plumpness beckoned him to taste it, to lick it
and bite it, to be sucked and lapped, to be kissed and abused.

Kim pressed his thumb harder, slowly rubbing the sleeping boy’s full bottom lips in slow
motion.

He was tempted. Porchay’s lips looked irresistible.

And Kim was starving. For months.

Lightning struck. It was the first warning.

The man was enraptured, his eyes half-lidded, staring dazedly at Porchay’s open lips, Kim
pushed his thumb into the warmth.

He moaned.

A low, husky moan escaped Kim. His left hand, which was still cradling the young man’s
face, swiftly moved to the neck and dug his fingers lightly into the boy’s flesh, feeling the
pulse under his grip. His right thumb dove deeper into Porchay’s mouth, drenching his digit
in slippery, wet saliva, twirling his finger, and probing the tenderness of the boy's insides.

Kim exhaled sharply, a scorching heat erupting within him. He stroked his finger on
Porchay’s tongue, feeling the warm, moist texture on his fingertip. Still, in a trance, Kim’s
thumb twisted around inside Porchay’s mouth, probing every inch of the boy’s inside, on the
roof, and on his teeth, rubbing on both sides until his finger was coated with slick, sticky, and
slippery saliva.
Kim brought his thumb out, and the boy’s wetness dripped and soaked around his finger. He
looked at the digit in awe, his gaze dazedly fascinated by it.

Kim was a monster. A creature that had been starving for months, denied food for a long
time, and deprived of the nourishment it required to survive.

Kim was hungry. He wanted to devour everything offered to him.

Bringing the wet thumb inside his mouth, he sucked hungrily on Porchay's wetness. Gulping
down ravenously on Porchay’s moisture.

Kim groaned.

He can’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. He did it again, and again, and again. He dipped his
thumb inside Porchay’s mouth, coated and soaked it with the boy’s slick juices, and brought
it to his mouth to be sucked and devoured. Kim lapped every single wetness on his finger,
drinking thirstily from the dampness and slurping down Porchay’s intrinsic fluid into his
body. Repeating the action over, and over, and over again.

Until the corner of Porchay's mouth started to trickle down with drool, trailing down to his
chin, dribbling down to his nape, and pooling around his collarbone. Kim stared at it in
wonder, and his heartbeat increased. The ravenous beast, with his hard — long tongue,
lapped greedily the boy's drool from his collarbone to the corner of his mouth, swallowing
Porchay's saliva down his throat, and leaving a searing hot kiss on the young man’s corner
lips.

He lapped like a thirsty dog, his mind completely went insane.

Kim growled.

And he was still hungry. His appetite was voracious. Kim wanted more.

The storm picked up. The second warning boomed.

Kim rested his forehead on Porchay's side temple, peppering kisses on the young man’s mole,
his legs still straddling Porchay’s torso. His breathing became heavy, and the left hand
wrapped around Porchay’s neck tightened. The sleeping beauty was still deeply resting,
unaware of the starving beast that had just gobbled him alive.

Minutes passed, and Kim still couldn't get the images of limp Porchay out of his head. The
scenes kept playing in his mind like broken recordings. It won’t stop. Just like how his dead
mother's splattered brain and burst forehead kept running through his mind; Porchay's
freezing-cold body, after Kim had dragged him back to the shore, kept flashing.

It haunted him.

Kim refused to accept it. To let it dawn on him that Porchay had been one second away from
death; that if he had arrived one second late, Porchay wouldn't be here with him anymore.
Alive, and breathing. Sharply, Kim felt the all-consuming rage that had been stirring inside
his chest threaten to come out. A menacing hiss left his lips, and the hand that had been
holding Porchay’s neck all this time released its grip. He braced his other hand against the
headboard of the bed, keeping his heavy body from crushing the boy underneath him.

Then, with a snarl, his arm’s muscle tautened; he curled his hand into a fist and brutally
punched the bed's headboard. Kim mercilessly blew it repeatedly until the covered black
metal bent inward, the bed shook, and until he felt part of the rage inside his chest was
contained once more. Kim ended his assault when a loud roar of thunder bellowed from the
sky.

It was the final warning.

His mental state was on the verge of collapsing. His body wanted to rampage.

No.

Not now.

Not with Porchay near him. Not when the young man’s safety was at stake. Not when
Porchay was still outside the towering mansion, away from the main family fortress, and had
been unconscious for hours. Kim needed to make sure Porchay was safe before he could sort
out his fury. He should call the family doctor to check on Porchay again.

Porchay must not be near him when Kim lost control. Porchay can never witness that side of
him that he despised the most. Kim won’t allow him.

Kim sat back on his heels and adjusted his position on Porchay's thighs, tightening his legs
around the boy's hips. With firm hands and heavy breaths, Kim slid the blankets down from
Porchay's body. His eyes traveled down from the young man’s face; a naked chest met his
gaze, and dusty pink nipples caught his eye.

Kim gulped down. Hard.

He traced his fingers across Porchay's bare chest, leaving lingering warmth and feeling the
soft flesh beneath his calloused fingertips. From Porchay’s collarbone down to his chest,
Kim’s fingers trailed down to the young man’s side. He gripped the flesh on both sides, and
this time, Kim felt his heart drop. Porchay’s rib cage was protruding with bones, and the once
lanky and fumbling arms had lost their weight. His once healthy body looked sickly and
skinny.

Kim wanted to scream.

Kim's hands rubbed down, and he felt his heart shatter. The once-supple waist he had grabbed
and circled around his arms had thinned, and the waistband of Porchay's light gray
sweatpants couldn't hide the bony hips that were sticking out.

Something dark settled in his stomach. All this time, he had thought wrong. Porchay wasn’t
doing well. He wasn't healing.

Kim felt like crying.

Regrets washed over him. He should have met Porchay sooner. He shouldn't have listened to
Kinn. He shouldn't have relied on the bodyguards he had assigned to Porchay in secret. They
didn't know Porchay like he knew the young man.

He should’ve fixed this earlier.

Kim desperately wanted to lash out. He wanted to cause pain, he craved violence and he
badly wanted to vent out his anger.

But he can’t. Not when Porchay is close to him. Beautifully sleeping.

Not now.

He gasped for air.

Suddenly, he felt weak. All the energy drained out of his body, making him feel lethargic in a
second. Kim lowered his head to Porchay’s beating chest, listening to the steady thump of the
young man’s heartbeat.

Porchay is breathing.

He is alive.

He had arrived on time.

Shifting his weight, his strong arms engulfed the thin body, and Kim’s heavy body lay on top
of it, fully covering the boy underneath him. He pressed his face against the boy's neck, and
deeply inhaled the scent.

Vanilla, Kim thought, and Porchay.

It’s okay.

He’ll fix this.

They’ll fix this.

Together.

“Wake up, baby.” Kim whispered hoarsely into Porchay’s neck, his warm lips brushing the
skin.

“I’ve missed you.”

Kim closed his eyes.

 Aftermath
Chapter Summary

It was a matter of fact. Everyone knew this. The entire mafia of Thailand was aware of
this.
That the third son of Theerapanyakul, Kim Khimhant, had found his one and only
weakness.

His true love.

They were stranded. The clock struck 2 a.m., the rain was pouring, and the roads were
flooded and blocked. The storm was still raging, helicopters couldn't fly over the harsh wind,
signals were poor, and reinforcement teams couldn't be reached. They were totally stuck in
this hotel building.

The sitting area of the presidential suite was permeated with tension. Plans to get out were
met with dead ends; enemies were coming; bodyguards were spread over the hotel’s floors,
entrances, and exits; and Big was in turmoil.

The depravity of the situation finally hit him. It dawned on Big how close, how near enough
they were to lose the young master, Khun’ Porchay. One second — all it took was one second
for the destruction of Theerapanyakul to happen. Everything would have been over if they
had arrived even one second late. And deep down, Big, along with other bodyguards knew —
they were close enough to be one of the witnesses to the catastrophe that almost happened.

Big was completely left perplexed. He couldn't grasp how a mere teenager could hold so
much power over the entire main mafia family. It utterly confused him. How is it possible for
a simple boy with the ambition of becoming a musician, to have the Theerapanyakuls
wrapped around his fingers so tightly, and effortlessly?

He knew who Porchay was. The boy he had been assigned to perform a background check by
his master a long time ago, the skittish boy he had seen numerous times on his secret
undercover duty, and the same timid boy he had witnessed shaking the whole empire family
to the ground several months ago. The amusing part — Big thought — was that the boy had
done so without him knowing it. Khun’ Porchay was entirely clueless about the mafia world
that revolved around him.

Completely oblivious to the consequences others had to bear because of him.

Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat; a teenager with a mop of black hair, a pair of doe eyes, fair skin,
fumbling hands, and a fidgety body. A boy who wore the same pair of worn-out shoes,
washdown plaid shirts, and handed-down pants. A simple, normal, and even boring teenager
he had watched over for almost a year.

He really couldn’t fathom how this mere person could put an entire force of grown men and
bodyguards into a frenzied state and turn the mafia world upside down simply with his
decision three months ago. The same boy who had managed to enrage Theerapanyakul's third
son to the point of rousing up the silent monster and making Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakul
return to the criminal world.

He can't believe it — the man who had stayed quiet for years has decided to return to the
madness for the sake of an almost 19-year-old boy.

For a fucking mere teenager.

The idea was absurd. And almost unthinkable.

It was impossible.

And it was at this point that reality began to seep in. He'd been working with Kim Khimhant
Theerapanyakul for years, quietly probing into Korn Theerapanyakul's past and secrets under
the third son's order. He had observed how his true master worked, and while there were
several terms he could use to characterize Khimhant Theerapanyakul, these three words rang
true in his mind: intelligent, manipulative, and merciless. Most importantly, of all the traits
exhibited by Master Kim, love definitely wasn’t on the list.

It would be impossible to be on the list. The third son didn't do love. He killed and tortured
people, but he never loved. He couldn’t think the man had enough heart in him to love
someone else romantically. To be willing to sacrifice his years of silent peace, to remove the
mask he had been wearing, all for the sake of an orphan boy.

However, looking at the closed double door of the suite's bedroom, Big was struck by the
realization that his master, Kim Khimhant, had truly and freely fallen in love.

No. It's not simply love. Love wasn’t close to what he had been witnessing. That man was
captivated. He was head over heels — madly — obsessively — desperately — in love with
Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat.

It was a matter of fact. Everyone knew this. The entire mafia of Thailand was aware of this.

That the third son of Theerapanyakul, Kim Khimhant, had found his one and only weakness.

His true love.

Now, Big has ultimately realized the weight of Porchay's presence in the mafia family. And
the extent of the boy's impact on Thailand’s underworld.

Khun' Porchay was the sweetheart, the child, and the sole purpose of Master Porsche, his
older brother. His older brother, who was also the head of the minor family, and the lover of
Master Kinn, the head of the major mafia family. Porsche was the solid pillar supporting the
main castle of Theerapanyakul. If the pillar swayed, the major family leader; Master Kinn,
would ultimately die in the collapse.

Only by endangering Khun' Porchay's safety can the pillar's strength be shaken.

Master Tankhun, the eldest son, had announced to all the bodyguards that Porchay was his
new baby brother. Anyone who touches him and bothers him will face harsh punishment.
Porchay is treated like a little duckling, constantly wrapped and sheltered under Master
Tankhun's thick robes, smothered and cared for, clad like royalty in exclusive clothes, and
guarded by bodyguards like a treasure.

Porchay was treated like a true Prince, as he deserved.

If Master Porsche was the palace's pillar and Master Kinn was the King, Master Kim would
be the 5-star general army in charge of controlling and commanding the soldiers. Defend,
guard, and slaughter the enemy for attempting to steal the castle's treasure from the blood of
the Theerapanyakul.

Big never imagined that the general army would fall hopelessly in love with the Prince.

How ironic.

Khun' Porchay's life was like anything out of a storybook. From a rough existence as an
ordinary teenager to living in a lavish palace as a Prince. People adore him, and he has a
powerful main hero falling at his feet.

That young man was really fortunate.

However, when the line 'and they happily ever after' was spoken and the book was shut, the
truth finally came out.

It wasn’t a fairy tale but a tragic nightmare. Dark fantasy was the real genre, and the towering
castle the Prince lived in was indeed built with the life and blood of the people.

And the most heartbreaking part — for the Prince — wasn’t the fact that he had once been
abandoned by the pillar, or thrown forcibly into a twisted life that he didn't get to choose.

It was the fact that the hero he fell for, turned out to be a villain.

Glancing around the seating area, Big couldn’t help but sigh at the sight before him. Seated
around the coffee table, Arm was stressed out in front of him, his skillful fingers never
stopping typing on his equipment, trying to search for a connection with the main family. The
family doctor, Dr. Top, sat calmly in one of the recliners, his medical bag on the floor. And
Chan, as Big observed, was sitting quietly on one of the barstools in the corner of the room,
his eyes deeply lost in thought. His brow was creased with a profound frown.
Big understood him. Chan's teams were the first to arrive at the spot, but they were unable to
locate the young master in time. It was Master Kim who saw the mop of black hair in the
midst of the violent waves. If Master Kim didn’t see it, if they had arrived one second late, if,
by some horrible chance Master Kim didn’t look in the right direction at the right time, Big
couldn’t imagine what would happen to them now. He didn't want to think about it.

His body shuddered with fear.

The only reason Chan wasn’t heavily punished by now is that Master Kim was too
preoccupied with bringing the young master to safety. And that was it.

Looking at the black double door on the far corner of the seating area, Big prayed the young
master would be conscious soon. And he thanked heaven and the deities above for getting
Khimhant Theerapanyakul on time and seeing the mop of black hair walking into the ocean.
He thanked the heavens for saving the simple, normal, and almost boring teenager he had
watched over for almost a year.

He thanked the heavens a thousand times for granting them one miracle second.

Kim woke up to soft caresses on his hair. The soothing touches almost lulled him back to
sleep when an abrupt realization rushed over him. It took him a second to snap his eyes open,
spring up from his lying position, and look at the person underneath him.

Porchay was lying awake. His hand dangled in midair before collapsing onto his stomach.

Suddenly, Kim was struggling to breathe.

His heart was racing.

“Hi,” Porchay whispered. His voice was small, and so soft that Kim almost missed it.

He couldn’t believe the sight before him. Porchay had finally woken up. The boy he had been
longing for months, the boy he had been missing like crazy for a long time, the boy he had
nearly lost to the sea, was awake. Porchay was talking to him, looking at him, — with those
beautiful doe eyes and fleshy lips he had been dreaming of.

After long agonizing months, their eyes finally met.

Kim really, couldn’t breathe.

The air was stuck around his throat, his hands trembled, and the room was spinning.

This couldn’t be real.

“Hi,” Porchay breathed again. This time, it was louder.

Kim was still stunned and silent.

“Hi,” Porchay said yet again. His eyes tiredly blinked.

Kim cleared the lumps stuck in his throat. His own eyes burned.

He took a desperate, deep breath.

“Hi, baby...” Kim croaked out.

His rough hands gently cradled the warm cheeks.

“Good morning,” Kim hoarsely greeted him.

Kim moved his face closer.

“I’ve been missing you, Angel,” Kim whispered.

He kissed Porchay’s temple.

“Except for his high temperature and body exhaustion, the young master is in a stable
condition. However, I strongly advise getting him to the hospital as soon as possible for a
thorough examination. I apologize, Sir, I couldn’t do much with the limited resources here.”
Dr. Top informed Kim after checking up on Porchay while packing up his things and
stethoscope into the huge medical bag.

“Here are some medicines and vitamins for his fever, and… malnourishment.” Dr. Top
continued hesitantly after looking at the still-silent Porchay while handing him bottles of
pills.

“Take one pill for each after he eats. Light meals for the time being. Some fruits and plain
water will do.”

Kim, who had been watching from the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, grabbed the
bottles and examined the labels on the containers.

“Is it safe?” Kim solemnly asked a moment later, his dark eyes darting across to Dr. Top.
The question was straightforward, but they knew better.

Dr. Top cast a glance at the young master, who was leaning against the bed headboard, before
returning his focus to Kim.

“The fever medicines will cause sleepiness,” he said quietly with a subtle nod. Dr. Top
finished packing and took a step toward Kim.
Porchay didn’t look at him.

Dr. Top came to a halt and murmured near his ear before walking past him.

“I advise you to be careful with that.” The man said.

“I’ll be outside, Master Kim. Please call me if you need anything.” The doctor bowed before
he closed the door.

Silence settled across the room; only the pitter-patter of rain could be heard. The storm had
quieted down, and the once dimly lit room was brightened by light. Porchay, who had been
staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows with the blanket still wrapped around his chilled
body, suddenly moved to get out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Kim stopped him. His heart was unexpectedly pounding.

“Thirsty.” Porchay replied plainly, his voice cracking.

“Stay.”

Kim didn’t wait for his response before he quickly went to the door and called for Big to
bring some bottled water and a glass. He also ordered some food services to be brought up.
Kim’s body never stepped a single inch outside the room.

“I can do it myself.” Porchay said when Kim tried to help him drink.

Kim didn’t listen. His right hand went to wrap the back of Porchay’s neck, and the other held
the glass of water to Porchay’s lips. Goosebumps crawled across Kim’s arms.

“Drink.” Kim ordered when Porchay still had his mouth closed.

“You are thirsty, drink it.” Kim repeated sternly. His eyes fixed on the boy.

Porchay is, after all, a stubborn teenager. His jaw was tightly shut, and his still-shaking hands
reached up to take the glass from Kim. The blanket that had been covering his naked chest,
smoothly slid down his body, exposing the fair skin and dusty pink buds for Kim to feast.

He swallowed down. Hard.

Kim moved the glass away from his reach.

“Stop it. Do you want me to use my mouth?” Kim asked firmly. The boy’s eyes visibly
widened, and a faint frown was painted on his face. The hands that reached up fell limp on
his lap.

“Drink it, Chay. I’ll feed you after this.” Kim ordered once again and brought the glass near
to the boy’s lips. Porchay looked away.

“Porchay. Pichaya.” Kim warned.

Perhaps, it was the tightening grip on Porchay's neck, or maybe, Kim didn't control his tone
as well as he believed. Perhaps, Porchay sensed Kim's waning temper in his words.

The boy hesitantly opened his mouth and put his plump lips on the glass rim.

Kim carefully tipped the glass; the boy had his eyes closed, relishing the refreshing water that
ran down his throat.

“More…” Porchay muttered when the glass was emptied. Kim refilled the glass to the brim
and brought it back to the boy’s plump lips. His eyes never wavered from staring at those
puffy, wet lips.

Something hot was brewing inside him.

“Slowly, baby…” Kim hushed when Porchay tried to drink down the water quickly. The flesh
on the boy's neck was softly caressed.

Porchay obeyed.

Stillness surrounded the dimly lit room again; the rain had ceased, and the clock was
approaching four o'clock in the morning. The sky remained dark, and the sun and moon took
their time to arise and set. Obsidian orbs caught the doe's attention. Kim sat on the edge of
the bed; this time, his hand was holding a small fork poked into a piece of watermelon, and
he brought it near to Porchay’s closed mouth.

“Open up.” Kim ordered.

“I can feed myself,” Porchay weakly protested.

“Either it was my hand or my mouth, you choose,” Kim said, his tone serious.

Kim noticed the fight left Porchay's body instantly. Maybe the tiredness finally caught up to
him, or perhaps the youngster realized this would only end in Kim’s way. Nonetheless,
Porchay just sat pliantly, his eyes downcast, and began to eat the fruits Kim was feeding him.

He knew Porchay was hungry.

Kim found it hilarious — really. How Porchay tried to act as if nothing had happened — as if
he just woke up from his deep sleep and found Kim on top of him, dozing away — was
nothing. He desperately wanted to laugh. Porchay's pretentious act — as if Kim didn’t find
him right on time when he attempted suicide hours ago — was humorous. Kim wanted to
burst out laughing.

Laugh until his eyes streamed with tears and blood.

No.

Not now.

Fine. If Porchay wanted to act as if nothing had happened between them — as if he hadn't
walked into the sea to drown himself, as if he hadn't been the cause of Kim's suffering and
agony, and as if he hadn't just engraved an ugly scar in Kim's memory — then fine. Kim will
play along with him.

Play along until one of them breaks.

Kim can’t wait to see who will crumble first.

Kim continued feeding him bits of fruits: some watermelon, mangoes, and grapes. Staring
intently at those luscious lips wrapped around the fruit and disappearing into the boy’s warm
mouth, Kim’s gaze hardened. Watching fervently as the boy’s tongue licked the corners of his
mouth and chased after the juices, Kim felt something else harden. Kim keeps feeding him
until some of the juices escape Porchay’s tongue and trickle down his chin to his neck.

Kim didn’t think. It may have been muscle memory, his own hunger, or the scorching inferno
simmering inside him finally exploding, but one thing was certain: he didn't think.

The instant his eyes caught the sight of the juice dribbling down to Porchay’s neck, Kim’s
hand sneaked its way behind Porchay's head and tugged the boy’s hair back.

His head angled down, his long tongue stuck out, and Kim licked the boy’s neck up to the
corner of his mouth. Hungrily, he slurped down the juices, lapped Porchay’s throat until it
was clean, and left a burning wet kiss on the boy’s chin.

Kim didn’t think, he just took anything offered to him.

When he drew away, his hand was still holding onto Porchay’s hair, tenderly stroking the
silky strands. Kim's breath caught as he peered into the boy's widening eyes.

So fucking beautiful.

It left him breathless.

“You should’ve chosen my mouth from the beginning,” Kim huskily whispered.

Porchay was rendered speechless. They just stared into each other's eyes, one filled with lust
and the other with surprise. Time stilled, everything went silent, and the storm ceased.

Kim stared deeply into Porchay’s soul.

Three knocks on the door burst the imaginary bubble between them.

“Sir, this is Arm.” The voice on the other side said. Kim stood up and took the glass, fork,
and fruit bowl and placed them far away from the bed. Once he deemed it was out of
Porchay’s reach, he went to answer the door.
“What is it?” Kim demanded once he opened the door.

“Sir, I’ve managed to connect with the main compound. Master Kinn wishes to speak with
you.” Arm informed. Both of his hands held out the black phone to him. Kim took it and
closed the door, his back leaning against it. Kim cleared his throat.

“Kim speaking,” he said.

“Kim! Oh, thank God...” Kinn responded breathlessly.

“Kim, are you alright? What about Porch—” Kinn's voice was cut off.

“Kim?! Kim!” It was Porsche’s voice.

“Kim?! Are you listening?! Kim?!” Porsche was yelling.

“My brother! Porchay! Kim?!” He was frantic.

“I’m listening,” Kim answered, his voice low. Leaning against the door, Kim just gazed at
Porchay’s silent figure on the bed, his hand tightly holding the phone.

The boy was staring out the window, back resting against the headboard and fumbling with
his fingers.

Porchay didn’t look at him.

“P-p-please… Is he okay?... A-a-are you with Porchay, Kim?” Porsche asked sorrowfully.

Kim cleared his throat. He, too, felt his own sobbing clawing up to escape. Kim tightened his
grip and swallowed it down.

His knees buckled.

“Please, tell me, Kim... Please tell me you're with him,” Porsche begged. His once frantic
voice broke into sobs.

Kim gasped. His legs gave up. His body slid down on the carpeted floor.

His eyes never leave Chay.

His heart was broken. His chest squeezed painfully.

Kim wanted to scream.

No.

Not now.

Not with Porchay near him.

Kim braced himself.

“I got him, Porsche,” Kim answered thickly.

“He’s with me,” Kim rasped.

Porchay’s doe eyes suddenly met his gaze.

Kim’s bloodshot eyes stared back.

“Porchay is with me.” Kim croaked out.

Reality finally sank in.

“Porchay is with me, Porsche,” Kim gasped out.

“Alive.” Kim choked.

Kim listened to Porsche's heartbreaking cry.

And Porsche listened to Kim's silent anguish.

In the end, Porsche was the one who broke.

And it was Kim who crumbled first.

Both of them were shattered.

Porchay won.
 Believer
Chapter Summary

It was true; Kim had saved Porchay from the raging water. He had arrived on time. He
couldn't, however, save Porchay from the boy’s own darkness. Heartbreakingly, he was
months late.

The cold rampage from yesterday’s storm was hidden by the morning sun, which rested
warmly in the sky. The hotel suite was nothing like the outside, although the city was
humming and people were roused awake; some had begun their mundane days, and the
remnants of tears from the sky had gradually dried up. Inside, presidential suite No. 807 was
filled to the brim with soul-shattering silence. The expectant eyes of standing bodyguards
were directed at Kim, waiting for his next command.

Kim took a deep breath before opening his mouth: “How many bodyguards are excluding
us?” said Theerapanyakul's third son, his muscled arms folded across his chest, and his mouth
set in a fierce clench.

“24 men,” Chan said in response, “including the doctor, Master Kim.”

Kim nodded, “For now, we are staying here.” He halted, and the next words painfully twisted
his gut.

“An assassin was sent to the main compound.” Kim's anger was building, “Kinn and Porsche
are trying to neutralize and look into the threat.” He let out a harsh growl, “It was meant for
Porchay’s head.

Hellish wrath burned in his eyes.

“One and a half hours from now, reinforcement teams will arrive.” Kim went on, “20 of
them. Chan, sort them out.”

“I want all entrances, exits, and emergency stairs covered,” Kim ordered.

His gaze shifted to Big. “Book the entire three floors below us,” his voice lowered. “And all
the food and drinks going in that room,” Kim pointed to the closed master bedroom door
away from them, “must be going through with me first.

“Dr. Top,” Kim addressed the older man, “you’ll be staying in room 806 with Arm.”

“Standby 24/7.”
Kim’s body turned toward the bespectacled man. “Arm, secure the connection. Keep our
whereabouts secret and only share information with Kinn and Porsche.”

Kim spoke seriously: “Only talk to these two.”

“Toru and Mike,” Kim shifted his focus to the two former soldiers, “both of you stand guard
in front of the entrance of this suite.” Kim added, “No one can enter without my permission.”

“We are going to lay low for now. All suspicious acts must be reported to me. Prepare your
equipment, turn on your earpieces, reload your guns, and—”

Kim stopped for a moment, his voice going even deeper, his tone final: “From now on,
Porchay is our topmost priority.”

Kim pressed, “This is an order.”

“Not me or anyone else,” Kim’s voice hardened, “only Porchay.”

The men were agitated as the tension increased. The eyes of the five-star general's army
ignited with blazing blue fire. “Protect him,” he said sternly, his eyes narrowing.

“With your life.” Kim declared.

The soul-shattering silence exploded, the bodyguards stood straighter, and the once quiet
room was intensely stagnant with fiery determination. Kim uncrossed his stiff, muscled arms
and stared down at them; the narrow, dark eyes tore down past the bodyguards. The real Kim
Khimhant Theerapanyakul has awakened.

“Are we clear?”

“Yes! Master Kim!” The men swore.

Daylight passed, and evening came. The figure on the bed was soundlessly sleeping;
exhaustion had entirely emptied the young man’s energy. Porchay had been sleeping
throughout the day, completely oblivious to the danger that was coming for him.

“He’s recovering, Master Kim,” Dr. Top’s words rang in his mind, “and might still be in
shock.”

“Take it slowly on him, it’s one of the symptoms as well.”

“Symptoms of what?” Kim had spoken up.

“Depression, Master Kim.”

Deliberately, Kim's footsteps lightened, and quietly he walked to the armchair he had been
sitting in hours earlier. He picked up the duffel bag off the floor, unzipped it, and pulled out a
pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. The snow-white pillowcase was nestled and
folded in between his clothes. He stepped forward and set the clothing on the nightstand next
to the bed. Turning his head toward the sleeping body, a frustrated sigh left his lips.

Porchay refused to speak with him. The curt response he had received before changed into a
cold treatment. The doe-eyed boy had been averting his gaze with his lips sealed shut and his
body turned away.

Kim couldn't decide which was more painful: shooting and almost murdering his brother
three months ago or Porchay’s blank stare directed at him.

He approached Porchay's side and kneeled at eye level, facing him. The muted fear he had
been repressing was still scratching up his throat. Kim couldn't help himself. The hard
pounding of his chest and sickening images of Porchay in the stormy water ripped across his
vision uncontrollably. He couldn’t resist the silent hysteria and brought his fingers under
Porchay’s nose to feel the boy's warm breaths. To convince his still doubtful mind that he had
arrived on time. To reassure his anxious heart that his love was still breathing and alive.

Kim wasn’t aware he had a heart in him until the boy entered his life. The once frozen and
stilled organ finally began to throb and thump solely for Porchay. When he felt the warm air
caressing his calloused digits, the tension instantly vanished from his rigid body. Kim raised
his hand, and lightly and delicately brushed the young man’s silky hair. The black strands
slithered over his fingers just like water. Soft and smelled like vanilla.

“Baby, wake up,” Kim tenderly called. The boy's slumbering body remained still.

“Chay, wake up,” Kim coaxed, his hand still caressing the boy's hair. Porchay stirred, but the
shining orbs were still shut.

Kim slid his hand down, this time rubbing Porchay's cheek. Under his rough touch, Kim felt
the once full and filled buns with baby fat had disappeared. Instead, the youth’s face was
smaller and narrowly thin. Kim’s heart dropped. His entire body was rattled by the horrifying
realization.

It was true; Kim had saved Porchay from the raging water. He had arrived on time. He
couldn't, however, save Porchay from the boy’s own darkness. Heartbreakingly, he was
months late.

Kim swallowed hard and controlled himself from breaking. Mentally, Kim vowed. Whatever
happens this time, he’ll fix it.

Together with Porchay.

“Baby…” Kim drawled. His voice was huskily tired; hours of turbulent emotions and anxiety
had battered his whole body. Mentally and physically, he was exhausted.
“Open your eyes for me, Angel,” Kim tried again. He waited for the shining orbs and for the
doe-eyed boy to open those exquisite pearls. After more caressing and sweet coaxing, those
gorgeous lashes he had been yearning for, fluttered open. And when the deep brown orbs
sleepily peered into his dark eyes, Kim’s breath was taken away, again and again. Kim longed
to stare at it — forever.

Absolutely, entirely, captivating.

Kim was truly, irrevocably, and intensely in love with Porchay Kittisawat. There was no
going back for him — for eternity.

He tucked a stray strand behind Porchay's ear. “Hi, baby,” Kim rasped. “Good morning,
Angel,” Kim welcomed him again.

It’s okay. He’ll fix this.

No more running.

Kim has one important mission: make Porchay talk to him. “Wear this,” Kim instructed. His
hands were holding the clothes he had taken out earlier.

The boy didn’t take it.

Kim attempted again. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

Porchay avoided his gaze.

“Want some water?”

Porchay shook his head, and his messy, thick hair bounced.

“If you want me to dress you, all you have to do is say it,” Kim pushed.

Porchay turned his head away.

Kim frowned — wrong move. “Do you want to take a bath?” This time, he softly questioned.
“I’ll prepare warm water for you.” Kim gently offered.

The invitation had Porchay’s attention drawn back to him. Checkmate.

“A bath it is,” Kim concluded. “Wait here,” he said to the young man sitting on the bed,
blankets still wrapped around him. He placed the clothes on the nightstand and went to the
bathroom to prepare the tub.
Kim scanned around the bedroom before stepping away and mentally noting that nothing
sharp or dangerous was lying around. For safety reasons, Kim picked up the duffel bag he
had carried with him to the bathroom, far away from Porchay’s reach.

His gun was kept inside.

The connected suite's main bathroom was massive. Kim believed the space was bigger than
Porchay’s entire bedroom in his parents’ house. Kim set his duffel bag on the fully stacked
counter with basic hygienic items and walked across the white, gleaming marble surface. The
spacious bathroom had a gigantic white Jacuzzi bathtub in the right corner, just next to the
half-ceiling one-way window.

Kim began filling it, adjusting the temperature of the water until it was just perfect for
Porchay to soak and rest in. The water continued to flow, and as it filled the tub, Kim was
reminded of raging waves. Panic struck him suddenly and without warning. Memories of
Porchay in the water, his body already submerged, and a small head of black hair, the only
part that was visible, flooded his mind violently.

His knees jerked, and Kim had to grab the bathtub for support.

“Fuck,” he muttered. His chest squeezed tight.

No. Not now.

Please, not fucking now.

It took a few more breaths to calm his racing heart. Kim swallowed the lump and dashed
back to the bedroom and saw Porchay remained seated on the bed, his back against the
headboard. Kim can finally breathe.

He went to the boy’s side and offered his hand. “Come, I’ll take you to the bathroom,” Kim
said.

Seconds passed, and Kim’s hand remained still in mid-air, empty. “Your body is still
recovering,” Kim reasoned. “I don’t want you to fall,” he added.

Porchay's blank eyes wavered, and his frail hand appeared from the cocoon of blankets.
“Come here, baby, I’ve got you.”

Porchay placed his cold hand on Kim, and instantly, all Kim felt was warmth. His hand
wasn’t empty anymore.

The water had overflowed, soaking the little areas of the floor. Kim switched the water off
and tested the temperature. Just right, he thought to himself. For some inexplicable reason, he
unplugged the tub and let some of the water drain out before he plugged it back again.

Kim faced the boy beside him; Porchay's skin was covered with goosebumps, and the light
gray sweatpants hung low on his bony hips. “Get in.” He nodded toward the tub, Porchay’s
hand still in his.
“I’ll hold you,” Kim said and brought his other free hand to grasp Porchay's other arm.

Porchay frowned and attempted to tug his hands back, but Kim tightened his hold. “Get in,
Chay,” Kim sternly repeated. “Take off your pants and get in.”

Porchay’s blank eyes turned to confusion before becoming irritated. The boy bit his lips, his
hands weakly trying to free themselves from Kim’s gentle yet firm grip.

“Get in,” Kim urged.

Porchay opened his mouth briefly before closing it again. Just a little push , Kim thought,
and he’ll talk to me.

“Step in,” Kim ordered.

“Y-you…” Porchay’s voice cracked. “You...” he tried again, “you go out first,” Porchay
eventually muttered. One of the corners of Kim’s lips lifted subtly.

“No.” Kim said it with finality. Porchay’s head snapped up to meet his hard stare.

The doe eyes finally looked at him.

Checkmate.

“If you think I’ll leave you alone, then you’re wrong.” The unspoken reasoning behind Kim’s
behavior didn’t have to be said out loud. They both knew exactly why.

“It’s either I’m here with you or you won’t get to take any baths, you choose.” The boy
pursed his lips, and his face fell. Kim’s stony heart faltered instantly; he didn't like this
troubling look on Porchay.

“I’ll turn around, and you take off the pants, then get in the tub.” Kim negotiated. “I won’t
look.” He promised.

It took much more persuasion to get Porchay to heed his command. Nonetheless, the boy
listened, and Kim turned around for five seconds, let Porchay slide off the pants, and soaked
his body in the warm water. Once Porchay was seated, his legs drawn close to his chest and
covering his most intimate parts, Kim turned his body back. He pulled out a shiny black stool
placed near the counter and sat on it. Porchay hugged his knees closer, his eyes dodging
Kim’s. Only the faint sloshing of water could be heard as a solid silence descended over
them.

Outside the half-ceiling one-way window, beside the bathtub, the once-bright sky had been
tinged with a golden orange hue. Shadows of fluffy cotton could be seen, and the stars were
slowly preparing their twinkles. Far away, a flock of birds flew across the horizon, ending
their day in the same way that humans did. The sun was just about to retire for the night.
Kim's gaze was drawn back to Porchay, who, like him, was engrossed in the view beyond the
window, his naked body curled and head leaned on his folded legs.
Kim's gaze trailed down, his fiery gaze scrutinizing the boy's every inch of skin, mapping the
small moles spreading across the boy's flesh like scattered stars, searching for any scars he
wished to kiss every night, and engraving every detail of Porchay's physical being in his
mind. From his thick hair, down to his shoulder blade, to his dipped toes, Kim carved every
single inch of Porchay deeply into his memories.

Porchay's deep sigh was unexpected; his entire body went flaccid, and the boy turned his
head to meet Kim’s gaze.

“What are you thinking of?” Porchay asked quietly, his voice just above a whisper.

“You.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

Kim countered: “What are you thinking of?”

Porchay’s blank gaze hurt him more than he imagined. “Nothing.”

Outside, the sun had set and the moon had appeared. And until now, both of them have been
trapped in the same piercing suffering. A whisper of muttered ‘thanks’ wafted to Kim’s ear
when he handed Porchay a new set of fresh clothes. A light pair of gray sweatpants and one
of his white t-shirts. The shoulder line sagged low on Porchay’s thin shoulders.

Even when Porchay had voiced that he wanted to take a shower after soaking in the tub, even
when Kim had stood outside the bathroom, forbidding the teenage boy from completely
shutting and locking the door, and when Kim removed the razors and the flower vases placed
inside, Porchay simply stood quietly on the side and let Kim do whatever he pleased.

Kim made no attempt to conceal the obvious paranoia he was drowning in. He just let it
engulf him. The fear of losing Porchay seized him once more.

Porchay didn’t even shout or yell when Kim’s paranoia got the best of him. He had entered
through the bathroom door and decided to just stand silently, staring at Porchay’s naked back
as he took a shower in the glass cubicle.

“Are you a pervert?” Porchay had mumbled quietly to Kim after the boy had brushed his
teeth and washed his face.

“Why are you watching a person taking a shower?” Porchay muttered under his breath, a
towel wrapped around his protruding hips.

Kim just draped a white snow bathrobe over Porchay's torso as a response.
The silence stretched between them.

Kim swallowed down his anger. Porchay's behavior enraged him. Kim would rather hear
harsh words from the boy’s mouth than this pretentious act as if nothing had happened. He
would rather let Porchay vent his bottled-up resentment than accept his nonchalant attitude.
Kim would rather let Porchay do anything — everything aimed at him — than be on the
receiving end of Porchay’s empty gaze. Yet, Porchay chose to be silent and act as if nothing
happened.

It crushed him. This boy had witnessed Kim crumbling on the floor; Porchay's eyes had met
his bloodshot stare, and this boy had listened to his wordless suffering throughout the phone
conversation, and yet, he still feigned Kim's misery while looking straight at him — never
happened. Porchay’s blank stare excruciatingly and cruelly pierced his dark soul.

Kim badly wanted to scream, the seething need to destroy, to let the wrath out, tenaciously
eating him from the inside.

He was waiting. Kim was painstakingly waiting for the right time to let his mind fully break.
Waiting for Porchay to be secured once again in the towering mansion, surrounded by heavily
trained bodyguards, and beneath the safety wings of Porsche and Kinn before he decides to
lose it. To release the agony and the fury, the suffering he had been storing inside his chest
since the boy ran away.

Kim had been waiting to let the rage ruin his entire being.

But not now. Not with Porchay near him.

Not when Porchay might witness the dark side Kim hated the most, again .

Kim won’t allow it. Ever.

So, for the time being, he'll do what he does best. Buried his emotions, until he deemed it safe
to let the monster out. If Porchay was doing an incredible job of pretending nothing
happened, then Kim was a fucking expert at locking his feelings away. So, for now, he’ll
wait.

Regardless of what he had been telling himself, that doesn’t mean his patience wasn't running
thin. With the exhaustion of yesterday’s hunt, the emotional wreck he had felt, and the
sleepless night he had been awake, Kim was totally drained out. Yet, the fear for Porchay’s
safety and the looming threats outweighed his fatigue.

Kim won’t risk it; he will never, ever take a risk when it comes to Porchay’s safety. Not even
the slightest.

“I know you’re awake.” Porchay's body twitched, and true to his words, the boy pulled the
blankets higher over his curled-up body, almost hiding him wholly.
Kim’s lips curled: “You should’ve talked to your brother.”

He stepped close to the edge of the bed, but Porchay still didn't budge; the thick blankets
completely bury the frail body under their heaviness.

“Aren't you going to look at me?” Kim bared his teeth.

Kim’s tone was hostile, “Look at me, Chay.”

He snarled, “Fucking look at me, Porchay.” His own face was contorted in rage.

Kim was reminded of a frightened animal when, slowly and torturously, Porchay peeked out
of his blankets, fearful eyes meeting Kim’s. Kim's eyes widened, and a wave of regret swept
over him.

He was scaring Porchay.

Kim, terrifyingly close enough, almost let the monster out. In front of Porchay.

“ Fuck.” He took a step back and, remorsefully, turned on his heels and headed to the
bathroom to cool down his temper.

Bringing Porchay’s pillowcase from the mansion was the right decision. The anger he was
boiling in, the hostility he was steaming in, cooled down instantly. All the tightness and
bitterness evaporated out of his body, leaving him with nothing but pure glorification for the
boy’s scent. It grounded him. Kim felt slightly ashamed of his impulsive reaction.

It was strange; Kim couldn’t grasp the concept of how the vanilla smell mixed with Porchay’s
body musk could soothe his temper with just one whiff. Kim couldn't help but groan as he
buried his nose in the white fabric and watched his blissful face reflected in the bathroom
mirror. The scent was truly addicting.

And Kim couldn’t help the simmering lust twisting inside him, dragging him into the abyss
of red sins. Ironically, he felt neither humiliated nor a twinge of guilt about the wickedness he
was about to commit. Kim couldn't stop himself as one of his hands locked the bathroom
door, unzipped his pants, and began to pull out his hardened cock, with the boy’s scent
clouding his mind.

Kim, a sinner, wasn’t even fazed by the fact that he was simply turned on by just a whiff of
Porchay's.

Groaned and moaned muffled by the soft fabric, Kim drove himself high on burning frantic
passion, and directly plunged himself into the crater of burning desire. Kim wasn't ashamed;
he touched himself to the smell of Porchay, jerking off his erect cock when the object of his
ardent hunger was only a few feet away, separated only by a door.
Moans of Porchay's name were uttered past his immoral lips, and images of the boy's naked
back chased after him. And Kim was not the least bit remorseful for the sin he committed.
Bringing the white pillowcase to his lips, Kim sucked the fabric into his tongue, craving to
consume the holy being's scent inside him. Kim's lust was fueled by the boy's image carved
in his memory from months ago.

Porchay's skin, which Kim had licked all over until it was damp, and his plump lips, which
Kim had kissed and bitten until they were swollen and puffy. Kim had marked and left red
and purplish bruises on Porchay's body with his rough touches. The image of Porchay's body
writhing beneath him, pleading for Kim's mercy, with his hole stuffed with Kim's cock and
bathed in Kim's cum, heightened his arousal to the point of dizziness. The echo of Porchay's
steamy moan, whimper, and scream accompanied his sinful act to the end until his cock
spurted with a hot release.

“Fuck.”

Kim wasn't ashamed when he was reminded of a certain handkerchief that he used months
ago to wipe Porchay's cum. A black handkerchief with a golden embroidery of K.K.T. on the
corner. The fabric was carefully tucked away and kept in one of his drawers like a sacred
treasure. The same silky material Kim would sniff for days after Porchay had left him that
morning. To soothe his longing and yearning for the cruel boy. The same fabric that had
countless times aroused Kim's senses with the smell of Porchay’s holy essence.

There were many things that Kim was struggling to quit. His alcohol addiction began when
he was 15, to drugs when he was 16, and to sex with faceless people when he was only 17.
These were the humiliations he brought upon himself a long time ago. Kim was still battling
to break his coffee addiction.

But one thing was certain: Kim was not ashamed of his addiction to all things involving
Porchay. He refused to quit, and day by day, the more he missed, the worse Kim’s obsession
with the boy became. So much so that he thought he'd go insane if he didn't see the boy, even
from afar, for more than a day. Anything about Porchay turned him into a greedy man. He
craved more. So much more.

So, he mentally admitted. In everything related to Porchay, Kim changed into a perverted
bastard.

“Chay, can we talk?” Kim spoke into the night air, hoping it would drift its way into Pochay’s
ear. The room was deafeningly quiet. Beyond the opened balcony curtain, he heard the wind
pick up, and the stars faded. Kim sensed it would be raining tonight.

Kim walked closer to the bed until one of his knees bumped against the mattress. His freshly
changed black t-shirt and jeans blended well with the darkness.
“Let’s fix this, Chay.” He took a deep breath before proceeding to climb his way onto the
bed. Kim crept closer and slowly navigated his hands in the shadow to peel the blankets
away.

“Let me see you, baby,” he coaxed.

The blankets rustled, and Porchay’s face was illuminated by seeping city light from the
outside. In the dim light, his doe eyes still managed to sparkle ethereally. Kim was once again
left star-struck. He slid into the blanket and lay on his sides, one of his arms slipping under
the boy’s head, cradling the crown in his rough palm. Just like how they had lain on a beige
couch with a thin blanket thrown over them at Porchay's old house.

Kim bitterly swallowed the fact that it was a long time ago. Yet, it was a little different this
time. Instead of hearing Kim's heartbeat, Porchay was staring at him.

Kim pressed his body close, so close that his lower body was plastered against the boy, their
legs a tangled mess. So close that their bodies molded into one and their faces were barely
millimeters apart. Trapping Porchay’s body against him, it'd only take Kim a split second to
close their gaps and kiss those soft lips.

In the middle of the night, with warm blankets wrapped around them and the faraway sound
of the wind, Kim met eye-to-eye with his beginning and end.

With the chilly air in the room, Porchay in his arms, and faces illuminated by the dim light,
Kim fell in love once again with Porchay.

Terrifyingly deeper into the inescapable devotion for the boy.

“Hi, baby,” Kim greeted huskily.

Still caressing the black strands, Kim waited patiently. Looking into the timid eyes that were
trying to avoid his gaze, Kim had enough.

“Don’t avoid my eyes, Chay,” Kim gripped the boy’s hair slightly, snapping Porchay’s
attention back to him.

“Your eyes are mine to stare at,” Kim said as his other hand stroked Porchay's left eyelid.

“These pearls are mine.”

“Don’t you dare take it away from me.” Kim warned.

Porchay’s eyes widened, and Kim consoled him with a stroke to the boy’s bottom lips.

There were a lot of things that changed with Porchay’s physical being; the once healthy frame
changed into a fragile body. His hair grew longer, his arms were thin and feeble, his cheeks
hollowed, and from their proximity, Kim could feel the jutting ribs.

Kim recalled, carving deeply into his memories full of Porchay, that he had once hugged the
boy months ago. In a recording room, surrounded by musical instruments and a haunting love
confession.

Porchay was healthy and truly happy back then. His face was beaming, and his body was
jittery with nervousness. Kim was sure that back then, Porchay was happy.

Kim hated the sound of it being a long time ago.

Still, many things didn’t feel quite the same, but Kim was relieved. With a lot of things
revealed between them, Porchay's eyes stayed the same. Perhaps, the spark had jaded, and
what was left were the clouded, vacant eyes, but Kim knew Porchay. He had studied the boy,
observed him for countless hours, and watched over him secretly for months to know what he
was feeling just from his eyes and body language.

“Talk to me, Chay.” Kim coaxed again. “I want to hear you.

Kim sensed hope as the plump lips twitched under his rough fingertips.

“I’m waiting, baby,” Kim whispered. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

“H-hi…” The boy's sweet, honeyed voice finally escaped his lips. And strangely, Kim felt
like crying.

“Hi, baby,” Kim rasped. “Can we talk now?” Kim’s voice was thick.

Porchay nodded his head. Kim didn’t want that. “Speak, baby. I want to hear your voice.”

“Y-yes..” Porchay breathed.

“I have questions, Chay. Would you answer them?”

“...Yes,” Porchay peered into Kim’s eyes.

Kim nodded and started, “That morning, three months ago...”

“I woke up to empty arms.” He breathed in, “Why did you leave, Chay?” Kim’s eyes
searched into Porchay’s for the answer. “I thought I’d been forgiven, I’d thought you’d be
there with me.” Kim continued, “But, you weren’t there, Chay.”

His chest squeezed. “You left me.” Kim’s breath stuttered, “Why?”

Kim remained silent as Porchay took his time answering, and only when the boy’s resolute
eyes met his, Kim knew the answer he had been waiting for, finally came. Kim just didn’t
know that what he had been waiting for was his own death sentence.

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago,” Porchay whispered lightly, his warm air brushing across
Kim’s lips. “But I can’t bring myself to trust you anymore.”

Kim’s heart shattered, and he had to forcefully shut his eyes to control the tears. He had
expected this to happen; he had seen it coming, but why? Why did he feel like losing his
mother all over again? Why did he feel like someone had ripped his chest apart? Kim didn’t
understand why he couldn't breathe.

Remorse thickly laced in his voice: “I should’ve never left you, Chay.”

Humorless chuckles left Kim's lips: “I guess that’s what stupid people do.”

Kim was struggling hard to hold them in; the despair he was feeling and the grief he had been
carrying was threatening to yank him apart. He was on the brink of insanity.

“Chay, can we start over?” Kim’s voice trembled. “Can I fix this?”

“Please, let me fix this,” he begged.

“I don’t know,” Chay whispered, and Kim was left speechless when a frail arm reached out to
rub his cheek. “I’m not doing well,” Porchay added.

“I’ll heal with you,” Kim answered.

“I’m going to push you away.” Porchay replied.

“I’ll stay.”

Porchay trailed his finger to Kim’s forehead, “I don’t think I can fight for us.”

“I’ll fight for both of us.” Kim’s voice shook.

“I'm not ready.”

“I’ll wait.”

“I’m not brave enough to make promises. I might not be able to keep it,” Porchay’s depressed
eyes met his.

Kim's whole being jolted, the repressed agony burned his entire being, “I promise you with
my entire soul, on my dead mother’s name, that I would never, ever, let you go again,
Porchay.”

Kim took a gasping breath as reality crashed down on him. His body switched and turned on
top of Porchay. His heart was destroyed to pieces.

Kim's hands trembled as he cradled Porchay's face, his voice quivering, “Chay?”

Porchay looked up, his doe eyes meeting Kim’s desperate orbs. Porchay hummed, “Hm?”

Kim searched frantically into those gazes, and when he didn’t find the answer, he choked
out.

“Why won't you say my name?”

And suddenly, without warning, Porchay cried.

Months after separating from him and hours after being found, Kim received his answer;
almost killing his brother, Kinn, three months ago and being the end of Porchay’s blank gaze
didn’t hurt him. It didn't hurt him as much as hearing Porchay gasp for air, sob his tears, and
clutch Kim's hand for dear life.

Being betrayed by his own father didn’t come close to the excruciating pain he was in,
listening to Porchay's harrowing whimper and anguished wail. Kim swore, Porchay’s
saddened smile will torment him for the rest of his life.

Porchay reached up and took hold of Kim’s hands. The boy asked chokingly, “Are you real?”

Kim swore that as long as he lived, this moment, would plague him for his entire life. A
tragic nightmare.

“Yes, I am here, Chay.” Hot tears trailed down Kim’s cheeks.

“Am I dreaming?” Porchay sobbed out.

“No, you’re not, Chay.” Kim pressed their foreheads together.

“Can I really call your name?”

“Yes, yes, you can,” Kim pleaded.

“Will you answer?”

“Yes, baby,” Kim gasped out.

“P’Kim?”

Kim roared into the night. Kim was defeated, he was a failure. “Yes, Chay.”

He let the misery consume him.

“Did you come?” Porchay choked through his tears.

“I’m here, Porchay. I am here,” Kim wailed.

“P'Kim?” Chay whimpered, his thin arms reaching out for Kim.

“Yes, baby.” Kim clutched them.

“P'Kim?”

“Yes, Angel.” Kim croaked out. “Ask me, Chay.” Kim tightened his hold.

“Am I important to you?”

The raw hurt in Kim’s voice shook his body violently. Kim howled painfully deep from his
throat as his heart broke to pieces.
“Yes, you are important to me.”

“How important?”

And if by baring his entire soul could finally make Porchay understand how deeply Kim had
fallen for him, Kim would gladly and willingly serve his dark heart and let Porchay wipe it
clean. Let the boy inspect every inch, every sin, and every love he harbors solely for Porchay.

Kim sobbed, “Every night, I told my mother about you.”

In his life, Kim was every bad thing: a monster, a sinner, and a criminal. But, for Porchay, he
becomes only one thing: a believer.

“Every night, I pray to my mother to take care of you.”

They grieved, sobbed, and talked. One cried out of painful longing, while the other cried out
for barren warmth. The path ahead was unknown, with piercing bullets flying, shattered
hearts, and brutal pasts haunting them; the future was nothing but a dense haze.

But one thing was certain — one thing Kim has promised Porchay.

When the dawn comes, no one will wake up and be left alone again.
 Faith
Chapter Summary

If Kim weren't so good at keeping his monster in check, he would have by now taken
Porchay away, far from everyone, and locked the boy up. Just so Kim could have him,
love him, and ruin him — alone.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“Kim, everything has settled down.”

“You can bring Porchay back.”

Thailand, Pattaya City

Saturday, 3rd day

19:08 P.M.

“Prepare the men,” Kim commanded, strong arms crossed over his firm chest. “Pack your
things. We are moving in 1 hour.”

Heavy steps stomped on the carpeted ground as Kim walked off from the living area. The
bedroom door creaked slightly as he pushed it open. A deep frown settled over his face.

“Chay?” he called into the silent room.

Kim stepped further, eyes skimming around the space, and rustling sounds reached his ears.
He found Porchay huddled on a black velvet armchair. The boy was buried under a plush,
wide blanket; half of it enveloped him in warmth, and the remaining white fabric pooled on
the floor. Porchay’s attention was caught by the object in his hands.

Kim walked and stood tall in front of him. Glancing down at the item in Porchay’s hold, Kim
took note that it was a magazine. He crouched on one knee, yearning for their eyes to meet.

“What are you reading, baby?” Kim asked. One of his hands slipped inside and rubbed on
Porchay’s bare knee. Porchay’s eyes met his for a split second before they were snatched
away by the colored paper.
“It looks like a fairy tale,” Porchay muttered softly, his shining pearls keenly scanning the
opened page.

Kim scowled as a looming sense of being neglected took root inside him. He peered at the
front cover, and the bold letters in vivid crimson captured his gaze: ‘Christmas Holiday In
Switzerland’

On the opened magazine, Porchay’s eyes were drawn to published photographs of snowflakes
and brightly illuminated Christmas trees.

“I’ve never seen snowfall in my life,” Porchay said, his index finger tracing on a little white
snowman.

Kim hummed as he gently took the magazine out of Porchay’s grasp and set it down on the
coffee table. “I know.”

“I’ve never traveled outside of Thailand,” Porchay admitted.

Kim’s thumb circled the boy’s knee. “I know.”

Curiosity gleamed in Porchay's eyes as he glanced up at him. “Have you been abroad?”

“Yes.”

Porchay perked up, “Really? Which country?”

Kim replied with a shrug, “Too many, I don’t really remember.”

“Did you go on a snowy one?”

Kim chuckled, “Yes, baby.”

“Have you built a snowman before?”

Kim found it endearing how Porchay's eyes brightened. The sight was lovely. “No.”

Porchay tilted his head to the side. “No? Have you seen snowfall before?” Porchay asked as
Kim's other hand reached out for Porchay’s.

Kim’s rough fingers caressed the boy’s chilled knuckles. “Yes, baby. I have.”

The boy switched positions and laid his body sideways on the single armchair, his head
resting on the armrest.

“Did you eat it?”

Kim chuckled once again at the sight of those huge doe eyes. Porchay's innocent question
amused him. Kim knelt down on both knees and moved closer to Porchay, bringing the
distance between their faces to centimeters apart. One hand went to grasp both of the boy’s
wrists, and another sneaked out from the boy’s knee and reached up to tuck Porchay’s loose
strands away.

“You need a haircut,” he muttered absentmindedly. “And no, I did not eat the snow.”

Porchay’s reply came with a small yawn: “Why?”

Kim's lips arched into a fond smile. “Because the snow was dirty, baby.”

Porchay observed as Kim nestled the boy's thin hands against his own cheek.

“Chay?” Kim called gently. “Are you sleepy?” He turned the slender palms and smooched
them.

Porchay pulled his hands away and rubbed his eyes. Drowsily, he replied, “Now that you've
mentioned it, yeah... I’m kind of sleepy.” A second yawn followed after the words left his
lips.

“We are going back, Chay.” Kim broke the news. “Do you want to sleep now?”

Before the boy could respond, three rasps on the door snapped their string of conversations.
Kim rose up, and he leaned over to peck the boy's forehead. “Wait for me.”

“What is it?” Kim asked sternly, one arm propped on the door frame. The tucked-in black
turtleneck he wore stretched over the black pants.

Toru bowed, “Master Kim, we just received urgent intel.”

Kim nodded and closed the bedroom door silently. Briskly, he strode to the main area. The
men gathered around the long dining table stood up when they noticed his arrival.

“Master Kim,” the bodyguards addressed. Big stepped forward to him, “Our men just notified
us that there seemed to be suspicious activity around the hotel’s building.”

Big held up a black tablet and handed it over to Kim. “CCTVs show these men — ten of
them — have been roaming around the hotel’s compound for a while.”

Mike moved beside Big and spoke, “Sir, they seemed to be lingering for the past forty
minutes. They were not trying to check in at the hotel or hail any rides.”

“We’ve verified with the management, and they've double-confirmed there weren't any rooms
booked for a group of ten.”

Kim's face instantly turned grim, and his grip on the tablet tightened. His cold eyes sharpened
at them. “It’ll be hard to open fire with many witnesses here.”

He returned the device and crossed his arms. “With 50 against 10, they are greatly
outnumbered. But—” Kim came to a standstill, deep in thought. “There may be more hiding
in the corners.”
“Master Kim,” Chan voiced. “I have situated bodyguards in critical areas. Here's the plan,
sir.”

Kim stepped closer and listened: “We'll alternate between using the stairs and the elevator.
Four similar bulletproof cars have been arranged, and you and the young master will take the
second car.”

Chan approached the long marble furniture and rolled open a wide blueprint map. “We will
take many different routes to the main house. It will take one to two hours longer to reach
than the usual arrival time. But, in this way, our movement will be unpredictable to the
enemy.”

Kim’s eyes examined the map. Chan turned to him and added, “It might be raining during the
car ride, which might take us longer.”

Kim nodded his head. “Anything else?”

Arm raised his hand, “Sir,” and the man reached for a medium-sized black metal item lying
on the table. “This device will be used only by us to communicate throughout the whole
journey.”

Arm adjusted his glasses, “Any interference or attempt to tap on our conversation will be
blocked, sir.”

Kim held it in his palm. “Good. If everything has been prepared, we'll move now.”

Kim turned around and was ready to walk away when he came to a halt.

“Big,” Kim called over his shoulder.

“Yes, Master Kim?”

“Bring me three light blankets and a bulletproof vest.”

“Roger, sir.”

He found Porchay asleep quietly, curled up on the armchair. Crouching down in front of the
youngster, he peered intently at the boy's face. Porchay’s serene face was a sight to behold;
gazing upon those soft, kissable lips, he was overtaken with lust and frantic want.

In Kim's eyes, Porchay's attractive, straight nose accentuated his appearance. The long, thick
eyelashes reminded him of butterfly wings, fluttering delicately as they captured Kim’s
breath. And he knew he was doomed when those orbs blink open, two brilliant pearls will
conquer Kim’s heart and affection. Again, and again, and again.
“Chay,” Kim called tenderly.

His hands reached out and slid beneath the cover, heated fingers seeking warm skin. One
hand slipped inside Porchay’s short pants, stroking the tender flesh of his thighs. Another one
seeks solace in Porchay’s lean stomach, his index teasing and kneading the rounded, knotted
navel.

When Porchay was in close proximity, it was impossible for Kim to bind his hands to
himself. For Kim, any patch of skin to touch would do, and any strands he could caress
would suffice. As long as it belonged to Porchay.

Kim stared at Porchay, keeping himself in check. Knowing that if he was careless for even a
second, he would commit a heinous atrocity on the boy. But his own thoughts kept lingering.
And it scared him. For a moment, he freed the demon to whisper around his head.

The darkest part of Kim had long desired to press their bodies together — his body with
Porchay's — tight and firm, until Porchay cried and struggled to breathe. He craved to devour
all of the young man's flesh, to taste the boy’s blood on his tongue, to gulp down every single
drop of Porchay’s saliva, and to suck dry Porchay’s cum into his stomach. To keep the
youngster prisoner in a secluded place where he won’t be touched or seen by others.

There were times when he was mentally undone, and Porchay was the only thing swirling
inside his mind. For hours, days, and months, all Kim wished for was the taste of Porchay’s
skin, swallowing Porchay’s rapid breath, licking his hot, trickling sweat, and drinking the
boy’s whimpers, wet moans, and screams. Every second, he relished remembering their
rough night from three months ago.

It kept ringing, resonating, and swirling in his memory.

And they were countless dark nights, when Kim lay on his bed, stroking his erected cock.
With Porchay's worn and stolen underwear bunched up in his palm, those were the nights that
he plunged into bottomless despair. Desperately inhaling Porchay’s most intimate scent
through his nose, putting the boy's private cloth into his mouth, and drinking in any traces of
Porchay down his throat. Those nights were the moments he felt the lowest, hopeless, and
sickest.

Jerking off to the smell of vanilla, chanting the boy’s name through ragged breath, and
cumming to the recollection of Porchay under him, writhing and begging for Kim to slow
down, crying for Kim to go faster, his wanton moan and whimper.

Those were the nights Kim felt like a complete failure.

The atrocious act was horrid as much as it cured his longing for the boy.

Kim suddenly was reminded of a silky black handkerchief, with his initials engraved on the
fabric, used to wipe Porchay’s cum from his body.

Kim knew he was a sick man when the first thought of carving his name on Porchay’s skin
crossed his mind. The thought of committing the act sickeningly pleased him. Everyone
would know who Porchay belongs to. Porchay won’t forget who he belongs to.

If Kim weren't so good at keeping his monster in check, he would have by now taken
Porchay away, far from everyone, and locked the boy up. Just so Kim could have him, love
him, and ruin him — alone.

Porchay was indeed a captivating human being. And Kim Khimhant, a defeated man to
everything about Porchay was enamored by his magnetism.

Months ago, with him performing on the stage and the boy in the audience, was the day he
found his fated person.

The moment their gazes collided, his entire world changed.

“Chay,” Kim said softly. Taking out his hand from the boy’s stomach, Kim adjusted his
pants.

“Chay,” he called again. He thought his baby must be tired.

Kim noticed it. A drop of drool glistened on the boy's corner lips as it shyly trickled out of his
mouth. His sharp eye catches every detail of Porchay. Smoothly, he scooped it up with the tip
of his thumb. Heart beating wildly, Kim brought his wet digit into his mouth to be sucked on.
To savor the little taste that Porchay granted him.

Kim adjusted his pants again and continued coaxing the boy to return from his dreamland.
Eventually, the eyes slowly opened and for all eternity, Kim was infatuated with Porchay
once more.

Kim ran a finger through Porchay's hair. “We need to move now, baby.”

Porchay sat drowsily in Kim’s unrelenting touches. Kim stood tall, pried the blankets off the
boy’s body, and took the black vest he had brought into the room. Porchay hugged his frame,
his sock-clad feet pressing on the plush cushions.

“I know you are cold. Please bear with me for a second.” Kim said as he removed Porchay’s
hands from the thin body and slipped the vest over the boy’s beige sweater. Porchay frowned
and looked up at him, perplexed.

“Just for safety reasons,” Kim said.

As Kim was fastening the vest, Porchay’s voice tingled around the silent room. “Are we in
danger?”

Kim came to a complete pause. Hands stilled on the young man’s shoulders, Kim stared
intently into those pearls. “I won’t let anything hurt you, Chay.”

His grip tightened. “I vow with my life that you will never be hurt again.”

“I know you don't trust me,” he said as he cupped Porchay's face in his hands. “Can you give
me another chance?”
Porchay’s bleary eyes gazed up at him deeply as the seconds ticked by. Just when Kim could
hear the cracking of his heart, one word from Porchay soothed the pain.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Porchay licked his lips hesitantly, his eyes wide with doubt. “But P’Kim?”

“Hm?”

“Can I sleep?”

Kim's knuckles gently caressed Porchay’s cheeks. “Are you still sleepy, Chay?”

“I...” Porchay wavered, “I don’t want to see... or hear anything.”

“So you want to sleep?”

Porchay looked down. “Yeah, I don’t think... I could handle it.”

“Okay then,” he reassured, his mind catching the silent meaning. “Just sleep. I’ll protect
you.”

Porchay bobbed his head and those pure, shining orbs peered at him. “I know you will.”

And when Kim thought his shattered heart couldn't be mended, Porchay’s last verdict patched
it back together.

“I trust you, P’Kim.”

Kim rolled out one pill from a bottle and held it in his palm. He walked back to his person
sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand carrying a glass of water. “Open your mouth.”

Porchay obediently parted his lips, his head slightly tilted upward — waiting for Kim to put
the pill in his mouth. He pinched the pill and inserted his two fingers inside Porchay’s
warmth. Placing the single tablet on Porchay’s tongue, Kim moved the glass to the boy’s lips.

“Drink.”

Porchay brought his lips to the rim and slowly gulped it down. When the last drop was
swallowed, Kim set the glass on the nightstand. He turned back to face Porchay, looking
down at the boy. Kim’s hand reached up and seized Porchay’s jaw, squishing the boy’s
cheeks.
“Open your mouth.”

Another hand reached up, and Kim shoved his fore and middle fingers inside, inspecting
every nook and cranny — making sure Porchay indeed consumed the pill. Or perhaps, a mere
excuse for him to feel Porchay's moist heat on his digits. Calloused fingers ran on the boy’s
teeth and gums, probing on and under the boy’s tongue, and pressed the insides of Porchay’s
cheeks. If Kim’s drenched fingers swirled and lingered too long inside Porchay’s mouth, no
one said anything.

When he was satisfied, Kim pulled out his damp, glistening, wet fingers. And without an
ounce of shame, he thrust the two digits into his mouth and sucked on them loudly. His
burning eyes locked straight into Porchay’s.

The sound was lewd and wet, it resonated across the muffled room. Blood pooled around the
boy’s cheeks and the doe eyes averted his gaze and resolved to look down at his bunched-up
sweater’s sleeves. When Kim was done, he urged Porchay to lie on his side and proceeded to
kneel on the floor. The boy peered into his obsidian orbs, his cheeks were still flaming red.

“Sleep tight, baby.” Kim murmured hoarsely. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, P’Kim.”

Kim slipped his thumb under Porchay’s short khaki pants and rubbed his thigh in circular
motions. The boy’s flesh felt soft under his rough fingertips. Slowly, his nails trailed down
Porchay’s skin, massaging the bony calf and rubbing soothing touches around the area. One
of the boy’s ankles was gripped, and Kim tightened his hold on it. As he was putting more
pressure on his grip, he thought, just a little more, a little more strength, and he would break
the boy’s bone.

It took Kim twenty minutes to lull the boy into a dreamless sleep.

And it took Kim a long, brooding moment to realize that Porchay still won’t answer his
questions.

“Chay, can we start over?”

“Can I fix this?”

“Please, let me fix this.”

He was met with silence — again.

The leather jacket creaked as he slipped his hands into the sleeves. The boots trudged heavily
on the floor, and Kim tightened the strap of his gun’s holster. The fully reloaded firearm felt
heavy in his palm — like the weight of countless lives he had taken. Kim grabbed his duffle
bag and went to fetch Porchay, three light blankets were clutched in his other hand.

Big entered through the opened bedroom door and gestured to hold the bag for him.

“Have you put them away?” Kim asked as he handed over the bag.

Big nodded, “Yes, Master Kim. I have secured them in the car’s trunk.”

Hearing that, Kim proceeded to wrap the soft fleece around the sleeping boy. From Porchay’s
socked feet to his head, nothing was left uncovered. Other than the boy’s face, not even a
strand of hair or a map of skin could be seen.

Fully enveloped in the cocoon of warmth, Kim lifted Porchay into his arms. The young man
didn't even stir, long gone in his calm slumber. Securing Porchay in his hold, Kim strode out
of the bedroom and was greeted by a line of his bodyguards in the living area.

With Porchay in his grasp and the boy's face hidden in the crook of his neck, Kim’s dark eyes
bore into his men.

“Ready?”

All at once, they responded, albeit quietly. “Yes, Master Kim.”

Kim tightened his hold and glanced down at the serene face. His heart soared into a blazing
fire. With glowering eyes, he snapped the room into obedience.

“Protect him with your life.”

“Yes, sir!”

They advanced.

The atmosphere was stagnant with tension as the elevator went down to the seventh floor.
Kim glimpsed down at Porchay, looking for any signs of restlessness, yet he was still fast
asleep. Knocked out cold from the sleeping medicine. As Kim was standing in the middle of
his men, with their guns out and holding portable bulletproof shields around him, he could
feel the adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream.

The elevator chimed, marking their arrival, and in a second, they marched out. Heavy boots
trampled on the concrete floors, rushed steps could be heard, and thundering hearts could be
felt. Kim hugged Porchay close to his chest as he descended the emergency stairs.

“This way, sir,” Chan said as he pushed the last of the emergency door. It was slammed with
a loud bang, and Kim saw a line of bodyguards already waiting with their cars. Swiftly, Kim
settled himself and Porchay in the backseat of one of the black bulletproof sedans.

It didn't take long before they hit the road.

“The lookout team has confirmed that we are not being followed, Master Kim.” Big said to
him from the passenger seat.

Kim heaved a sigh, and the tensed arms around Porchay calmed.

“Master Kim, if everything goes according to our plan, we will arrive around 1 in the
morning,” Chan informed as he took the wheel.

Kim nodded and pressed a button; the soundproof divider rolled up. Silence fell, the engine
rumbled, and the streets moved at a fast pace. Separated from everyone else, in the darkened
backseat illuminated only by the passing city lights, were only Kim and Porchay.

He looked down at Porchay, and small chuckles left his lips. With Kim’s prior hurried yet
stealthy movements, half of Porchay’s face was covered in blankets. His hair was an
endearing mess, his cheeks scarlet, and his lips begging to be abused.

Kim couldn't help the sudden thirst as he stared down at Pochay's soft features. The urge to
do so many things to Porchay — wicked and twisted things that only he could understand —
raged through his entire being.

Yet, his heart sank when he recalled the deafening silence. He wasn't sure where both of them
stood. Definitely, they weren't friends, and they were far from being lovers. Porchay won't
answer him, and Kim was afraid to push the topic. Afraid that it will scare Porchay and
ultimately make the boy flee again.

As much as he hated to believe it, it was deep-rooted in his bones: Kim was born a selfish
person. He’d only accept one answer from Porchay and Kim was adamant about forcing it
out of Porchay’s mouth.

Not now, he thought. For the time being, he will wait and take whatever Porchay has to offer.
If that meant standing between the lines Porchay had drawn, Kim would gladly play it safe
and stay inside these long-suffering boundaries.

Only for now. Like a beggar on the streets, he’d gladly scrounge the little pieces of love and
attention that Porchay threw at him. Anything just to have Porchay by his side. Anything as
long as Porchay allows him to remain by his side.

His once-thumping heart gradually calmed down while he gazed at his sleeping sweetheart.
Fixing the boy’s position and cradling him on his lap, Kim brushed back Porchay’s hair and
tucked the stubborn strands behind his ear. Kim thought, his boy really needed a haircut.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready, baby,” Kim said into Porchay’s ear. His voice floated above a
gruff whisper. “Don’t make me wait too long, Chay. I’m far from a patient person.”

Kim thought, really — for now, he’ll wait. And scrape and beg the affections out of Porchay.
Accept whatever the boy thought was deemed the right punishment for him.

Smooching down kisses on Porchay’s face, Kim let his lips leave a mess of hot, passionate
trails on the patches of exposed skin. The boy's closed eyelids were dotted with devoted
kisses, his smooth cheeks were nuzzled, and the corner of his mouth was licked.

But never once did his mouth land on Porchay’s lips.

Pulling down the layers of blankets, Kim dove into Porchay’s neck and proceeded to suck it
hard, leaving angry crimson marks on his skin for the world to see. And for him to treasure.

He let his gaze wander outside the tinted window; the city lights resembled a handful of
moving stars. Pretty to gaze at yet uncatchable to own. Glancing down at his wrist; it was
ticking past 8:30 p.m.

“Am I important to you?”

Porchay’s words tormented his head. Kim swallowed and examined his sleeping half. When
Kim reflected back on last night, under the heavy blankets and brimming tears, he couldn't
say much to answer Porchay’s question. He was too deep in his misery to say anything more.

There was an aggravating scratch against his throat, a desperate need for him to feel
Porchay’s warm breath caressing his skin. Kim heaved Porchay up, bringing their faces apart
by centimeters.

Quietly, he started whispering into the boy’s ear, “You are important to me, Chay.”

Quietly, Kim voiced his true answer: “I believe heaven and hell truly exist because of you. A
holy being like you only belongs in heaven, Chay. Only for you, I want to be a better person,
just so I can be in that place with you.”

Kim cradled and stroked Porchay's cheek.

“Am I important to you?”

“You are important to me, Chay. It would be impossible for someone as pure as you to cross
into my mayhem and turn it into a safe haven. And with that thought, the only reason we had
met was by fate and destiny. You make me have faith in them.”

His voice thickened: “I started believing in the unthinkable because of you.”

Kim hid his face in the crook of Porchay’s neck, a futile attempt to conceal his vulnerability
from his world. “Chay, you're destined for just me. No one can convince me otherwise. No
one can take you away from me. Even less you.”

“Am I important to you?”

“Yes, baby, you are. You are the only one for me.” Kim loathed the hopelessness in his voice.
A broken plea for Porchay to believe in his maimed words.
“I was never one to have faith in the divine, Chay. God never exists for me. The moment you
stepped into my life, my mind began to doubt. As I looked at you, it dawned on me that I've
found my religion.”

Burning eyes imprinted on Porchay’s face. Holding Porchay impossibly close to his chest,
Kim rocked their bodies back and forth. As though to console their bereaved hearts as his
soul perished.

“A being for me to worship, to devote myself to for the rest of my life, a being that felt right
for me to kneel and bow my head to. Chay, you’re my once-in-a-lifetime atonement.”

Burying his face in the crook of Porchay’s neck, Kim bared his heart again for the boy. His
heart that was littered with ugly scars, stained with sin, and smeared with crimson blood.
Weeping his devotions for Porchay to dream of in his sleep. Begging for Porchay to accept
his ugly soul for eternity.

“You’re someone I want to do good deeds for. Because I know that in the hereafter, you only
belong among the angels, and I don’t want to get left behind by you. I want to be with you
wherever you go. Just for you, Chay, I'll pretend to be a human again.”

“I want to be better because of you. Better for you.”

“You will never understand how much power you hold over me. It scares me. You scare me.
The thought that you’re my one and only chance at redemption, Chay, scares me. I cannot
ever lose you.”

After drenching his hands with other people’s blood, Kim would be left pondering for hours
about the meaning of his existence. The hellish planet seemed pointless to live on; the void
sphere was only filled with endless agony. How long did he need to breathe in the same
cycle? Was he created by God out of unbridled hatred? Or was it Satan himself who twisted
his flesh and bones and turned him into this monstrous creature? Why does he spend every
waking moment feeling hideous, lonely, and ugly? When will this be over?

Yet, all those demonic whispers vanished when he was in Porchay's presence. If existing
meant he can be with Porchay until his last breath, then Kim would willingly endure the
long-suffering and lifetime pain in this empty globe. If God truly created him out of sheer
animosity and all horrible words combined, then Kim would accept all of it as long as
Porchay stayed by his side. And, if he were truly destined to be a hideous monster thirsting
for blood and death for the rest of his life, Kim would use the entire rage within him to
protect Porchay from his enemies.

Every ticking second with Porchay, he felt clean. For once in his miserable lifetime, he didn't
want this to end.

He'd heard it before: religion reveals a person's life purpose. The absurdity of those words
vexed him. Yet, in this instant, Kim entirely believes that when his world collided with
Porchay's, whether by force or not, he truly found a reason to keep on existing. A reason for
him to stay alive; to love and glorify; to cherish and kiss; and to hold and protect.
 “Hell carved me solely for you, and the Divine destined you to be mine, Porchay.”

And he sincerely believed that. Kim Khimhant found his only purpose in Porchay's existence.

Chapter End Notes

Feed me with your comment, it keeps me going, really.

If I'm not too late, I'd like to wish everyone a pleasant and prosperous New Year. As a
token of my gratitude for reading what I've written, I present to you the longest chapter
so far.

I want to thank every single one of you.

For updates, check out @fancifulnim on Twitter.

 Little Prince
Chapter Summary

Turning his body, Kim drilled his dark gaze into Kinn’s.

“Only a King can fight against a King.”

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

As they had predicted, the pouring rain was unforgiving. It cascaded down the earth,
battering the night ground with its persistent might. Thunderous lightning laid the world
awake in alarm.

It was past 1 in the morning when the tires screeched to a complete stop.

From an outsider’s view, the sight of Theerapanyakul’s mansion must be terrifyingly similar
to a movie scene. Armed bodyguards were lining up in front of the luxurious entryway, a
long line of polished black cars were parked, and the ominous aura of the mafia permeated
the air.

All of these criminals were waiting for the arrival of the third master — Kim Khimhant
Theerapanyakul, and his runaway little prince.

Wrenching the car door open, Porsche’s panicked voice echoed over the downpour. “Chay?!”

Tightening his grip on his sole treasure, Kim shot him a deadly glare.

“Shut up. He’s sleeping.”

Porsche's frown hardened. Stepping out of the car into the frigid winds with Porchay in his
arms, Kim felt an abrupt worry for the boy’s comfort. The entrance porch couldn't keep the
harsh breeze out.

“Move away.” Kim said curtly. Porsche was blocking his way and the man’s flailing arms and
agitated body was testing his patience.

“Chay? Is he okay? Did something happen? Give him to me,” Porsche said with arms
stretching out.

Kim could not explain where it came from — the impulsiveness to slit Porsche's throat and
let him gurgle in his own blood, and to shoot this man's head and burst his skull open. He had
no clue where the urge to just hurt him for having the audacity to take Porchay away came
from within him.

“Don't. You. Dare.” He growled.

Hearing his tone, Big, Toru, and Mike rushed and stood in front of him.

Every single one of them knew exactly who they had sworn to guard, and they all knew
precisely who was absolutely in command.

Kim drew Porchay into him impossibly close, shielding the boy’s body and face into his
chest. Porsche’s extended arms hung in mid-air, completely frozen in shock.

“Master Porsche, please step away.” Chan moved forward.

Porsche yelled incredulously, “But he's my brother!”

Kim refused to back down.

He gritted out. “Get out of the way.”

“You fucking bastard—” Porsche attempted to push past his bodyguards. It was a hand on
Porsche's shoulder that stopped him from doing so.

“Porsche, let Kim go inside first. It’s dangerous out here.” Kinn said into Porsche’s ear,
convincing the man that Porchay must be tired and uncomfortable.

Attempting to defuse the tense situation, Kinn rubbed Porsche’s back. “He’s sleeping, let's
settle him down first, okay?”

It took much persuasion until the head of the minor family relented, but eventually, all of
them strode inside the towering mansion.

It wasn't until they arrived at Kim's old room that Kim felt it was finally okay and safe to
place Porchay down. Carefully, he placed the boy on his king-sized bed, as if Porchay was a
rare piece of exquisite porcelain. Removing the layers of fleece fabric and the vest from
Porchay’s body, Kim replaced them with his pristine, thick bed blankets. Covering Porchay’s
frail frame, Kim noted that the room was cold.

Climbing onto the bed uninvited, Porsche smothered and checked on his brother. “What
happened to him? Why didn't he wake up?”

“He’s sleeping.” Kim simply replied.

“I fucking know that, but Chay isn't a heavy sleeper. He should've been awake with all the
shit that went down there.”

“I gave him a sleeping pill.”

“You fucking what?!” Porsche angrily bellowed, accusing eyes fired at Kim.
“He asked for it, Porsche.”

“And you think it was a good idea to give him that?!”

“Tone down your fucking voice, asshole.”

“Make me, bastard.”

Kim heaved a sigh, their heated argument was going nowhere. “We were preparing for a
battle, Porsche. Your little brother asked for it. He needed it.”

Perhaps it was Kim’s tone that gave it away, or maybe Porsche finally chose to use his brain
for the first time in his life. Nevertheless, the man’s retort petered out. His eyes drifted down
toward his sleeping younger brother as stuttered breaths left his lips.

“Oh.”

Kim clenched his jaw when he sensed a new presence walking into the room.

“Kim, I need to talk to you.”

Kinn's voice spoke from behind him. Kim knew the conversation was coming. For the past
three days, he had been preparing to come clean with Kinn. And possibly on Porsche as well.
But, Kim hated diplomatic talks. He favored action, not words.

Kim pocketed his balled fists in his leather jacket. “Watch him for me.” He sharply said to
Porsche. “Do not leave him alone.”

“You don't get to tell me what to do with my little brother, Khimhant.” Porsche fired back
with a glare of his own.

Deep down, Kim understood that other than him, Porsche was the only person he could
totally trust to look after Porchay. After all, this was Porchay’s older brother. Someone who
had raised the boy from scratch.

With a heavy heart, he turned around. Kim heaved a deep sigh and stared into Kinn’s
inscrutable eyes.

“Let’s talk.”

Looking down from the terrace, the pouring rain doused the garden. The ground shook as
lightning struck in the sky. Orange-tinted, hazy garden lights illuminated the wide landscape,
and only shadows of flowers and a huge pond could be seen under the heavy showers.
Even with his leather jacket on, Kim felt the cold air seeping inside. He rested both palms on
the stone railing, his grave eyes overlooking the view before him.

Gloomy and depressing.

Memories flooded his brain. He saw three little boys, the oldest couldn't be more than 12
years old; running around the wide patches of mowed grass. The youths were drinking from a
stone fountain, plucking flower buds from his mother’s garden, and playing hunting games
for a treasure hidden by the housekeeper.

Kim had a vague recollection of a man's silhouette. He seemed to be standing some distance
away from them; secretly watching, guarding, and ensuring no one was hurt. The man carried
Tankhun when his brother fell down and scraped his knees. He also scolded Kinn for pushing
the firstborn Theerapanyakul. The man’s gruff voice chided them that the water’s fountain
was unclean.

Flashes of memories bombarded his mind; of him sitting alone on a stone bench with a
broken kite in his young hands. For no reason, Tankhun suddenly locked himself in his room,
and Mom needed to accompany him all the time. Unexpectedly, their father began calling
Kinn frequently into his study space. No one was around to play with him.

That day, Kim tasted the bitterness of abandonment for the first time.

Yet, the man appeared in the next second, took the kite out of his hands and fixed the broken
rod.

Kim looked up; the man's stoic face greeted him, though his eyes were gentle. In his childlike
voice, Kim heard his young self speak to the man: “Do you want to play with me?”

Back then, Chan looked very young.

“What are you thinking?” Kinn’s sharp voice jolted him out of his reverie. His words were
drowned by the pounding roof on top of them, nevertheless, the question reached his ears.

Kim leaned his body on the concrete banister, “Why do you want to know?”

The surrounding area around them was dark, giving the illusion of privacy and secrecy. Out
of the corner of his eyes, he spotted his brother stepping forward and standing at an arm's
length next to him.

Kim mulled for a moment and ruefully acknowledged that there was something looming
between them. A bond that had shattered, a trust that was partially broken, and a sliver of
hope for both of them to mend it back together.

And they were working on it — in Theerapanyakul's manner.

Kinn’s shoulders dropped, “You’re hard to read, Kim.” Kinn said.

“Since we were young, no matter how hard I try to put myself in your head, I can never seem
to figure out what you're thinking,” Kinn spoke as his eyes swept over the bleak view beneath
them.

“One moment you vanished from the radar, choosing to live your musician life. The next
second, news of your hiatus circulated in the media. And several days later, you attacked our
house with a gun pointed at your father's head.”

Hearing the word ‘father’, Kim’s mood plunged. “Cut it off. What is it that you want to talk
about?” he somberly said.

“I need you, Kim.”

Kim was startled by the confession, his quizzical eyes quickly darted at Kinn’s tight-lipped
expression.

“What?”

Kinn breathed in deeply before fixing his eyes on him. “I need you, Kim. I—” Kinn gulped
down, “I’m gonna be honest with you. I don't think I can run the business without your help.
Our legal companies are expanding, the underground business is getting bigger, and
truthfully, at this point, I just can't keep up with both.”

Kinn averted his eyes away and tensely braced his hands on his hips. “Father is not in the
scene anymore, you already know that. My hands are tied, and you are the only person I
could think of to help me.”

“You've got Porsche at your service,” Kim replied blandly.

“It’s different — yes, Porsche is leading the minor family, but our men stood their ground
with the Theerapanyakuls. Not a Kittisawat. This has been going on for a while now, and we
are struggling to keep them on leash.”

“And what did this have anything to do with me? I’m not actively involved in the family’s
affair either.”

Kinn pondered for a second before he replied, “In some areas, I must admit that you are far
superior to me. You are driven by strategies, and I sometimes act blindly with my emotions
—”

“Who the fuck are you?” Kinn’s words were cut off as Kim looked at his brother
incredulously. “What happened to Kinn?”

Kinn sighed loudly. “This conversation has been long overdue,” he grumbled under his
breath. “And I am still Kinn Anakinn, your second older brother.”

Kim's gaze was dubious. “Why are you suddenly saying things like this? Aren’t you a man
with an ego bigger than your balls?”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole. I’m trying to have a civilized conversation with you right now.”
“Bullshit. I tried telling you long ago that father was plotting hidden shits and you told me to
fuck off, saying I didn't know anything. Now, you want to lick my boots so I will come and
help you out? I know you won’t change yourself that quickly.”

Kinn bit the inside of his cheeks, “Kim, believe it or not, a Kittisawat in your life can change
you.”

Kim's mouth was sealed shut upon hearing that. Because fuck him, it was the truth. He had
only known Porchay for a little over a year, yet that boy had done so much damage to his
system. And the fact that it was impossible to fix — pleased him.

He couldn’t function properly if he didn't know Porchay’s whereabouts even for a day, and
that boy really got the nerve to marry another man.

I should’ve punished him harder, Kim thought.

So Kim came to the conclusion that Kinn’s reasoning was valid. These Kittisawats were far
more dangerous than the Theerapanyakuls had expected.

Kinn looked up at the sky before his eyes landed back on him. “Let me get this out, and don’t
cut me off.”

Kinn continued when he kept his silence: “I saw the CCTV footage in Yok's bar, Kim. I'm not
sure where or when you mastered them, but your fighting ability shocked me.”

“It amazed us — the bodyguards. They saw the footage too. I told them to keep it down, but
they just couldn't shut up. Even Chan looked proud of you, and that speaks a lot.”

“You arrived empty-handed but walked out with dozens of men dying on the floor.” Kinn
snickered, “Porsche even gaped in surprise. He talked about you nonstop for days.”

Kinn chuckled while shaking his head, “And he also cursed you out for days.”

Kim smirked at that.

He heard the hesitation in his brother’s words: “Until now, I still couldn’t believe it, Kim.
Three months ago, you infiltrated our compound in minutes with them, broke our security
system, shot down the bodyguards, and... you threatened father with a bullet aimed at his
head.”

Kinn shot him a bitter smile, “That is the difference between me and you. I... do not possess
the same lethal courage as you.”

Kim interjected, “You actually do.”

“I told you not to cut me off.”

Kim ignored him. “When someone you cherish is forcefully arranged to marry another man,
the urge to destroy them will just come out,” Kim said with a shrug, his nonchalant eyes
sweeping mindlessly across the garden.
“Well, not as far as annihilating the entire family and cutting the man’s body into pieces,”
Kinn shot back.

“And wrapped those body parts in gift boxes and sent them to the other gangs. With fucking
greeting cards as well. You sure as hell just cherish that boy,” Kinn replied sarcastically.

Kinn’s head turned toward him. “So, my exact question is, what’s your next plan, Kim?
Because mine has you in it.”

Kim's shoulders tensed at that. The air became static.

Ducking his head, Kim contemplated his word choices. Many perplexing thoughts raced
through his mind — something unmistakably and terrifyingly dark. Yet, only one vividly
stood out: take Porchay away.

Kim took a deep breath, deadpanned eyes bore into Kinn, “I want to bring Porchay with me.”

Kinn tilted his head, as his brooding eyes asked with a frown, “What do you mean?”

Kim answered with a straight face. “I’m going to take him away, far away from here.”

Kinn's protest came with a grip on his shoulder. As though that single touch could stop Kim
from executing his planned action.

“You can’t do that. Porsche will kill you.”

“Does your lover want to see our enemies kill his own brother first?” Kim snapped back, his
eyes narrowing. “You weren't there when the only thing I could see among the waves was
Porchay's head.”

He roughly smacked the hand away. For unclear reasons, the single touch enraged him.
Something in Kinn’s words ticked him off the wrong way.

Controlling his breathing, Kim felt a hot sensation boiling in his throat.

“You weren’t there when I had to drag his cold body out of the water.” He growled in Kinn’s
face.

Deadly venom poured out of his mouth, clawing vexation burning his entire being, “You
weren’t there when I had to carry his limped body, running like a fucking crazy man,
shouting for the doctor to save him!”

“His body was fucking cold, Kinn!” Kim snarled, his face twisted.

“Because of our world, Porchay tried to drown himself. Do you still think I’d let him stay
here when I knew it would only harm him?”

How can he let Porchay stay here when every ticking second is a chance for their enemies to
hurt him? How can he let Porchay remain here when he knew his fucked up world would
come hunting the boy's head for the rest of his life?
Kim's tone was sinisterly cruel: “Porsche is capable of defending himself; his hands are
already filthy because of you. But Porchay is not the same as his brother, Kinn. That boy is
innocent, he is vulnerable and untainted by all of this shit. I doubt he even knows how to
throw a fucking punch.”

Kinn retorted back: “We can train him, Kim!”

Kim’s body shook.

“Train him?! Train him of what?! Violence?! How to kill people like what we did every
day?!”

“Don’t you see his condition?! He looked deathly sick and skinny. He was depressed and
suicidal because of the blood we spilled! Do you want to wait until he makes another
attempt? Do you still want to hold him here until our enemies get their hands on him?!”

“What about you?” Kinn unexpectedly said, his voice above a whisper. “Are you willing to
let him go?”

Now, Kim felt like crying on his knees.

That single sentence rendered him breathless, forcing him to swallow all the words he wanted
to say.

Cruelly, Kinn continued to pour salt over his opened wounds: “You are one of us, remember?
You are more than a mere mafia member, Kim. You are a fucking third son of
Theerapanyakul and a head of a mafia clan. Do you think Porchay will be safe if you stay
with him?”

No. Porchay won’t. His enemies — they’ll hunt him down. They'll chase Porchay’s life like it
was a bounty.

But — he also can't. He can’t let Porchay go. He refused to let Porchay go.

Kim had committed blasphemy once. He won't do it a second time.

Hypocrite, selfish, and a fucking bastard. That was all Kim Khimhant.

Kinn placed his hands on the concrete railing and said straightforwardly, “If you take him
away, Porsche surely will follow after his brother. I can’t let that happen.”

Kim felt something in him crack, showing ugly, bleeding scars. “You've never seen your
lover try to take his own life, right?”

It was his soul.

Painfully, Kim smiled. “You don’t want to see that, Kinn. I pray you never have to go through
that kind of pain.”
Kim looked down at the garden, his voice dark: “It’ll haunt you. It’ll plague your mind even
worse than the sins we have committed and the people we have murdered.”

Silence fell between them. No one made a sound for several minutes. The only thing that
filled the void between the small spaces was the thumping rain.

Kim’s answer penetrated the silence. “I cannot help you. Find someone else. It’s not like I
can do anything about it. Just kill those who show disobedience.”

“Actually, you can.”

Kim frowned, “Explain.”

“They are afraid of you. And respect you.”

Kim raised his eyebrows, and the sudden urge to walk away aroused within him. “Of course
they will. I am the third Theerapanyakul.”

Kinn shook his head, “It’s different, Kim. Don’t try to play dumb with me. You built your
own organization. You are a leader of another mafia clan, and you went against Father.
Everyone feared you.”

Kim remained silent because, as much as he tried to avoid this talk and the overall topic, it
was the resentful truth. From the very beginning, it wasn’t easy to form a mafia organization
under his father’s scrutinized eyes. Years of staying quiet and pretending to be out of the
family’s business were all a ruse. Kim had learned his lesson: the blood in his hands would
forever stain and drench his flesh — no matter how hard he tried to wash it off. So he might
as well dip them deeper and use them to his advantage.

“And I can’t believe you got two of my best men to betray me and went on your side,” Kinn
said bitterly. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” Kim asked back. Inside his head, he decided it was better not to correct Kinn that
it was more than two people. Another time, he thought.

“I used to believe you wanted nothing to do with our family business, but here you are, a
mafia leader. Just like the man you said you despised the most, your own father.” Kinn
cruelly mocked him back.

Kim closed his eyes and swallowed down the urge to punch Kinn in the face. “Don’t start it
with me, Kinn. I warn you.”

“Then fucking answer me. I have been waiting for months, Kim. I deserve to know.” Kinn
countered. “Why did you do it?”

Turning his body, Kim drilled his dark gaze into Kinn’s.

“Only a King can fight against a King.”

Squaring up his shoulders, Kim’s burning eyes locked into his brother’s. “Father made me a
General Knight under his reign. A wielded sword cannot fight against its own master. I had
only two paths to break free from his tyranny, Kinn. Either I committed a coup d'état or I
established my own empire. I chose the latter.”

“That doesn’t explain why you formed your own mafia organization,” Kinn replied. “You
could’ve just fought him alone.”

“I told you. A King against a King. A regiment against a regiment.”

“So you think firing bullets at us three months ago was your battle?”

Kim hated the contempt in his brother’s eyes. The looming ire within him sizzled. A creature
in him started rampaging.

“Father crossed my line. That’s a war to me.”

Kinn hissed: “And what’s your line?”

“Porchay.”

The rain became violent, and the hostility in the air intensified. Kinn’s harsh voice added to
the tension.

Sneering, Kinn spoke: “So that’s how it is.”

Kim replied through a clenched jaw, “What?”

Kinn continued over the pitter-patter, totally oblivious to the raging monster Kim was
restraining. “So that’s how it is. When I saw you with N’Chay—”

“Don’t call him that.” Kim’s grim voice echoed.

Kinn’s unreadable eyes darted at him. Kim abhorred how familiar the name rolled out on
Kinn’s tongue. As if Kinn was closer to Porchay than him. And something inside him, an
inferno he was desperately fighting to escape, began to bubble in a scorching heat.

The word 'father' really ticked him off. In a very horrible way.

He glowered at his brother, pure hatred set in his eyes. “Don’t call him that. Call him
Porchay.”

Kinn's shoulders stiffened. “You’re hopeless, Kim. I can call N’Chay whatever I want.”

“Stop provoking me, Kinn. I warned you.”

Kinn’s eyes twitched, “Or what? Are you going to shoot me again?”

Lightning struck the ground as the animosity between the two brothers heightened.
Kinn rolled his eyes and slipped his hands inside his pants pockets, “When I saw you with
Porchay three months ago, I finally found out what makes you return to our world again. I
just didn't realize the extent of the power the boy has over you.”

Kinn clicked his tongue, scoffing: “Looking at you now, I kind of get it.”

“No, you don't.”

Kim spoke through gritted teeth. He didn’t know where the resentment and the impulsive
rage were coming from, but he knew they were at the dangerous point of exploding. And
Kinn was clueless about the impending danger he was in.

How dare this man assume he knew what Porchay meant to him? How dare this man easily
say he understood the amount of sheer power Porchay has over him when Kim, himself,
couldn’t understand a single thing?

Kinn‘s eyes met him, “What?”

“No. You don’t fucking understand.” Kim replied through tight breaths. Abruptly, the strong
desire to destroy something obscured his mind. The choking and blind anger he was fighting
were starting to ruin him.

“What do you mean, Kim?” Kinn said mockingly, “I know you cherish the boy so much that
you chose to abandon us rather than help your family.” Kinn cynically remarked, his voice
acidic.

Maybe it was the three days of suppressed rage that caused it, or maybe the depressing
flashes of Porchay in the water kept haunting him until this very moment triggered it. But for
certain, he couldn't hold them back.

The realization that Porchay was finally safe, surrounded by the brick bulletproof mansion,
armed bodyguards, and under the wings of Porsche, made Kim lose it.

The overwhelming realization that Porchay was finally secured and protected from their
enemies, from him — undone him.

Undo his sanity and let the bottled-up rage devour him.

The time Kim was waiting for — since the boy ran away, ultimately arrived.

“You. Fucking. Don’t.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Kim? Why are you so worked up for no reason?”

It was just a fraction of a second before his wrath completely blinded him that he realized; it
was the prospect of Porchay abandoning him and being endangered because of him that made
him let the beast out.

“You don’t fucking understand! No one can fucking understand!” Kim snarled through his
lips. He clenched his fists until his claws embedded painfully into his skin.
“Kim? Hey, are you okay?” Kinn said while approaching him. Kim recoiled back, his body
hunching forward. The strain on his muscles ached his body, and Kim felt his thoughts start
spiraling.

He couldn't think properly. A speck of dread seeped inside his head as the whispering demons
came back to torment his mind.

The reins of control slipped through his fingers.

Kinn rushed forward and grabbed his shoulders; it was then that Kim realized his body was
convulsing and shaking.

Kim forced him away until Kinn fell on his back.

“You don’t understand Kinn! You fucking don’t!” He roared into the night.

Gripping his hair, Kim yanked the strands forcefully until his scalp throbbed in sharp aches.
His pinpoint eyes landed on the chairs and tables.

This place was where he used to sit for hours, engaging his father in a battle of manipulative
chess games. The place where he learned all the moves, studied them, understood them, and
eventually committed them.

Hysterically, he laughed.

Since the very beginning, there had been nothing different between him and his father. He
was the exact replica of the horrid man.

Both were sick, manipulative, and cruel bastards.

“Talk to me, Kim. I’m sorry. Please talk to me.”

Kim heard someone beg, but he couldn't see who it was. Dark madness had completely
blinded his vision.

“I’m really sorry, Kim. Kim? Kim!”

Words from three months ago rang in his mind, provoking his sanity to plunge into an endless
pit.

“You created a monster out of me, father.”

“Are you proud?”

Korn Theerapanyakul’s face flashed through his vision.

“If I'd known the dog I fed would bite me in the end, I should’ve killed you the moment you
growled back at me.”
A scattered brain filled his thoughts, and a pair of lifeless eyes belonging to a woman crossed
his mind.

Kim shouted into the night. Desperately, he tried to grasp the last thread of his rationality.

A cold body belonging to a boy brimmed his senses, and haunting words from a certain note
snapped the last reins of his monster — unbound his sanity.

‘Tell P’Kim I forgive him.’

‘And I still love him.’

He couldn't control it anymore.

“Are you real?”

“Can I really call your name?”

“Will you answer?”

No. Please, no.

“P’Kim?”

Kim set the monster free.

Porchay woke up to tender caresses on his hair. Drowsily, he opened his eyes to the faint
humming of a familiar voice.

“Phi?”

Lying in front of him, dressed in white silky pajamas, was Tankhun.

“Morning, little prince,” Tankhun rasped quietly in the dimly lit chamber.
Porchay slowly sat up halfway, the blanket slid to his stomach. His eyes scanned his
surroundings. “Where am I, Phi?”

The chamber was empty except for both of them. It wasn’t dark, but it wasn't bright either.
He could make out the shadows of the furniture, the color of the curtain, and the carpet. But
outside the opened bedroom door, he couldn't see anything. Everything was pitch black.

The bed was huge; even with Tankhun and him, it could fit two more people on it. Porchay
stroked the blanket; soft and heavy, similar to how he liked it.

“You’re in the demon’s lair, little prince,” Tankhun eerily whispered. The man patted the
pillow and motioned for him to lie down again. Porchay complied. After all, he was still
tired.

Behind Tankhun, outside the floor-to-ceiling window, it was dark. Only the chasing droplets
could be seen.

“Where is P’Kim?”

“Outside.”

“Where is my brother?”

“Outside as well, little prince,” Tankhun said, scooting closer to him. “You’re safe, little one.
Don’t worry.”

Porchay turned to his side and tried to get comfortable. “What time is it, Phi?” he asked
hushedly, afraid to wake up the world.

“Almost 3 in the morning,” Tankhun muttered.

He had a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but something squashed the urge. Lying face-to-
face in the dimly lit chamber, Porchay finally saw the man’s face clearly.

“Why are your eyes swollen red, Phi?”

Pulling the blanket close over their chins, Tankhun raised his arm and stroked Porchay’s hair,
“I was watching a very sad drama, little prince.”

Porchay blinked. “Why does your voice sound like this?”

Tankhun’s touch halted for a split second before they continued to caress Porchay’s hair
again. “I just woke up from my sleep.”

Lies, Porchay thought. Something in Porchay’s heart told him that Tankhun was lying. The
man was acting weird. He was deafeningly quiet; his normal regal personality was nowhere
to be found; the bold, unafraid look in his eyes had faded; and his sassy demeanor had
vanished.

He was... dimmer.
And Porchay knew that this man wouldn't sleep till the clock at least struck five in the
morning. Months of living here had taught him that the eldest Theerapanyakul would rather
binge-watch an entire season of drama with his bodyguards than catch some shut-eye.

It was no secret to Porchay that Tankhun was terrified of the night.

Porchay stared into Tankhun’s eyes, but the man didn't return his gaze. He just looked past
Porchay’s head.

“Then... why's your hand shaking, Phi?”

Porchay caught it. Even when Tankhun was feigning to have them under control, his widened
eyes and quivering lips gave it away. Porchay caught the crack in him.

“I heard you went to a beautiful place, little prince.” Tankhun ignored his question, “Did you
have fun playing there?”

Porchay decided to follow along. “Not really, Phi.”

“Oh, little prince, why did you say that? Where did you go?”

“A beach... it was raining, like now,” he mumbled.

The sky heard him, and a bolt of lightning struck the earth, shaking the ground with a
thunderous boom. Porchay flinched and hid his ears inside the blanket. And for a few
minutes, they were left staring in silence.

A yawn escaped his lips; Tankhun's insistent caress was lulling him into another pit of sleep.
Or perhaps, the medicine hadn't fully worn out his system yet.

“Are you sleepy again, little prince?”

Porchay's answer came with another small yawn, “Yeah...”

Tankhun’s eyes melt like a bar of warm chocolate, “Sleep, little one. I’m here.”

Tankhun said, his voice thin, “Next time, tell me where you're going to play, Chay. I want to
go with you.”

Porchay took hold of the man's hand that was gently caressing his hair and set both of their
hands on the sheets in between them.

“Phi?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to know something?”

“Is it a secret, little prince?” Tankhun's eyes twinkled in the night.

Porchay nodded, his eyes teary from drowsiness, “Yes.”

“Then tell me, little child. I’ll keep it for you.”

Porchay slowly blinked, trying to make his muddled mind to wake up.

“Phi?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve never believed you to be crazy.”

Porchay blurted. The yawn kicked in again, and at this point, he didn't want to think anymore.
He decided to let everything out.

His words were slurred: “I... have never thought of you as crazy like everyone keeps saying.”

Porchay tried to look at Tankhun’s eyes over his bleary ones, but all he caught was a pair of
glassy orbs. Porchay's eyes fluttered closed. He couldn't fight it any longer; his mind was one
step away from dreamland.

“You're just in pain... like me.”

He mumbled with closed eyes, “I wish I had been born sooner, so we could be friends and
heal together... So... the first time you were hurt, I could be there for you, Phi.”

“So... you won't be alone and have to cope like this... by yourself.”

Porchay's mind floated in between consciousnesses. But, eventually, after much resisting, the
hand gripping Tankhun finally loosened.

“In this shell that you created... feels so lonely, Phi.”

Deep, steady breaths welcomed the young prince's slumber. His strands were unendingly
caressed, patted, and twirled — for a long time.

By the same trembling hand.

The sky's pitter-patter sang him lullabies; the blankets sheltered his feeble body from harsh
reality; and the eldest master’s sweet humming led him into a peaceful rest.

The noiseless chamber was filled with choking, quivering soft humming.

Silently, the firstborn of Theerapanyakul wept for the broken little prince.

And grieving for his past inner child. The child within him that had been taken away —
killed — far too early years ago.
Choking words left Tankhun’s lips. “Good night, Chay.”

Tears streamed down his cheeks, pooling and seeping into the pillow. “Don’t go playing
around where we can't see you, Chay.”

“What if you trip over your feet and fall, hm?”

Tankhun gasped for breath. “I was afraid we can’t catch you.”

“I was so afraid Kim couldn't catch you.”

Far into the night, a piercing roar broke through the castle walls, scaring the servants, alerting
the guards, and bringing destruction to the place.

While the small prince was sound asleep, the King finally collapsed and crumbled to his
knees, drowning in his long-suppressed anguish and misery.

Bodies thumped on the floor as gunshots rang out.

The mafia’s firstborn sobbed along with the sky until late at night.

“STOP! KIM! STOP!” Kinn's terror punctured the air, his arms caging his brother from
behind.

Hot blood dripped down his side, painting his white button-up shirt scarlet. Kinn was flung to
the ground once again from the force of Kim’s aggressive strength. Hopelessly, he watched in
dread as Kim committed a rampage on the terrace.

The rain had turned into a storm. Thunderous lightning kept the people awake. Shards of
broken glass flew in every direction; destroyed pieces of furniture were scattered on the tiled
floor; and five bodyguards lay bleeding to death.

“YOU DON’T FUCKING UNDERSTAND! NO ONE CAN FUCKING

UNDERSTAND!” The uncontrollable man bellowed, his face littered with cuts and bloodied
knuckles.

There were a dozen of them — guards he recognized and others he hadn't seen before. All of
them combined couldn't control the rampaging beast. His brother — Kim, had totally lost his
fucking mind.

It took five bodyguards half-alive bleeding on the ground to wrangle the gun out of Kim’s
deadly grip, each of them with piercing gunshot wounds implanted in their bodies. It took a
gash on his face, a split lip, a blow to his ribcage, and a fragment of glass lodged in his arm to
stop Kim from reaching for another.
Kinn realized he was waging a losing battle against his brother when he watched — stunned
and silent — as Kim knocked out three bodyguards with his fists.

It was no wonder they couldn’t capture the wilding beast. Kim had taken him down when his
brother was only 14; he had battled against Chan, his father’s chief of bodyguards when he
was only 16. Out of all of them, Kim has mastered hand-to-hand combat.

But still, witnessing with his own eyes the depravity of Kim’s strength shocked him. It
reminded him of the time he saw his brother in action through a footage video, protecting an
oblivious innocent victim. A teenage boy who was too distracted and engrossed in his own
world to notice a man committing homicide behind him. Because of him.

A single fucked up memory resurfaced, causing vileness to grow in his stomach. Kim had
been sent on his first solo mission when he was only 17. To Kinn, it was simply a suicide
mission, an attempt by his father to make Kim to heed his evil plan. To make Kim feel
hopeless and desperate, begging his father for reinforcements. Force the third
Theerapanyakul into submission, crumble on his knees, and understand that he wasn't strong
enough to fight against the tyrant. That Kim will be forever tied to the family’s filthy legacy.

Yet, his father’s scheme backfired miserably. Three days later, Kim came back alive. Despite
being badly bloodied and injured, Kim's desperate call never reached his father's line.

Only an entire line of the enemy was found dead in their compound. Scattered around with
cracked skulls, broken necks, and slit throats. All perished at the hands of a mere teenager.

Kinn still remembered the gruesome scene as something to both terrify and praise. Kim had
done everything on his own. At the age of seventeen.

However, both of them saw Korn's eyes gleam with mirth. It dawned on them that this
messed-up idea was neither a suicide mission nor a carefully crafted plan to eradicate the
enemies. Korn Theerapanyakul was merely manipulating Kim, pushing him to execute the
atrocious deed so he could know for himself the level of deathly wrath Kim could inflict on
others.

His father was just toying around with Kim's inner battle. And for Kinn, that was the most
damning and despicable act done by Korn Theerapanyakul.

That was the first and last mistake the man had made to Kim.

Years later, Kim started a rebellion against his father.

He didn't know what his father had done to Kim or what kind of secret duty Kim had to dirty
his hands with, but one thing was certain. The little brother he used to play chase and tag with
was dead. Kim was nothing more than a human body shell with crimson hands.

A loud bang snatched Kinn out of his reverie. Bodyguards charged at Kim at full speed,
attempting to restrain him from killing one of their partners, but before Kinn could properly
process it in his head, all of them collapsed with a loud crash. Groans and howls of pain
pierced his ears.
Their limbs and legs were twisted in horrifying angles.

Kinn stood up shakingly, his legs throbbing. He needed to call Porsche, or maybe Chan, and
even Pete, to fight against this maddening beast.

Perhaps, if nothing else could stop him, shooting Kim would be the final resort. To prevent
him from blindly slaughtering their people.

“Kinn!”

Kinn felt someone’s hand on his shoulders, supporting his frame. His breath had turned
rough, and something sharp poked the side of his torso — his broken rib.

“Porsche?” Kinn spoke, turning his head toward the man.

“What the hell is happening?! Why's your brother attacking us?!”

“I’ll explain later! We need to stop him! Now!” Kinn said, loudly gasping for air.

As soon as he finished speaking, recognizable faces of elite bodyguards barged through the
terrace's double door. Grave frowns were etched over their brows.

“Master Kinn!” Chan dashed over to him, and Big, Arm, and Pete followed closely behind.

Kinn straightened his posture. Through ragged breath and troubled eyes, he ordered, “Hold
him down!”

They nodded, and promptly, all of them charged at Kim. Capturing the savage beast wasn't
easy, six grown men struggled to dodge Kim's brutal attack.

This person was far gone in madness.

“Shit!” Porsche cried when Kim landed a left hook punch under his jaw. Big and Arm seized
Kim's knees, while Pete and Chan gripped the violent man's arms and twisted them behind
Kim's spine. Kinn and Porsche tried to hold off his brother's shoulders. With their might, they
drove Kim’s aggressive body to the ground, restraining his assault with their weights.

“KIM! STOP!” Kinn shouted over the storm; the man under them thrashed like a wild beast.
Sharp groans and rapid breathing echoed through the rain, shards of glass pressed against
their knees. The terrace was fully destroyed.

“Take them to the doctor!” Porsche bellowed to the other alarmed bodyguards, his eyes
pointing to the dying five men. All of them scrambled and carried them out.

“How the fuck is he so strong?!” Porsche yelled as his body struggled to hold down Kim’s
shoulders. “Oi Khimhant! Wake the fuck up!”

“NO! YOU DON’T FUCKING UNDERSTAND! FUCK! FUCK!”

Kim boomed once more, chanting the same words again and again. He fought with his might,
and from laying on the floor, Kim knelt on his knees. Ferociously thrashing his body to break
free.

“Master Kinn! What to do now?!” Big bellowed as he increased the pressure on Kim’s legs.

Kinn was at a loss for what to do. Just when he thought of summoning the doctor to knock
Kim out or smash the back of Kim's head with his fist, a flurry of white flashed through his
vision.

A harsh slap rang throughout the entire space, replacing the havoc with stunned silence.
Kinn's eyes snapped up, his eyes widening in staggering surprise.

Tankhun was in tears.

“PORCHAY!”

Tankhun screamed, his voice breaking. “PORCHAY!”

In an instant, Kim froze. As if a switch in his body had been turned off, all the fight in Kim
left his body. “...What?”

Tankhun yelled, “All of you, leave us!”

“Master... Tankhun...?” Arm said disbelievingly.

Witnessing his brother cry wasn't a shocking sight; Tankhun had always been a drama freak,
wailing over soap operas and the finales of his favorite dramas. When things didn't go his
way, he'd throw a tantrum.

Yet, seeing Tankhun sobbing, heartbreakingly weeping, over something other than that pulled
at Kinn's heartstrings.

The last time Kinn had seen his brother cry like this, was during their mother’s funeral.

Like a rope being untied, his heart shattered and scattered to bits.

“I said leave!” Tankhun snapped, his bulging red eyes shot at the bodyguards. Fresh tears
streamed down his cheeks.

The hesitation lasted for a few seconds before Kinn nodded and gave his permission. Slowly,
their grip loosened. One by one, the bodyguards left; only Porsche stayed.

Tankhun kneeled in front of Kim, and Kinn anxiously waited.

Tankhun’s hands trembled as he tugged Kim to sit on the floor. Kim’s eyes were glazed over
as if he were looking but not truly seeing.

“What happened to you, Kim?!” His brother's fists pounded on Kim’s chest. “Why are you
like this?!” he wailed.
“You don't understand... No one can understand...” Kim mumbled, his foggy eyes staring
ahead. With knuckles torn open with cuts, Kim rested his wrist on his bent knees.

With a harsh breath, Kinn gripped Kim's rigid shoulders forcefully and turned to face him.
His injured body protested in pain.

“Then tell us! Fucking tell us so we can fucking understand!”

“Kinn.” He felt someone’s hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing it.

Porsche’s voice doused the fire in him, and his fierce grip on Kim’s shoulders loosened.

“Talk to me, Kim... I really can't figure you out.” Kinn pleaded. “Please, let me in.”

Kim croaked out: “Phi...”

Kinn vowed that the moment that one single word left Kim’s lips, his heart was shredded to
nothing.

Kim had never addressed him that way.

For years.

“What is it, Kim? Tell us!” Tankhun cried. His bare hands clenched the sleeves of Kim's
jacket.

The wind suddenly picked up, the trees swung violently, and lightning started to strike again.
As if the climax of their tragic story had arrived.

They waited until Kim’s clouded eyes cleared.

“You don’t understand... I cherish him, I cherish him so much...” Kim rambled, his fists
clenched. “You can never understand how much he meant to me.”

Kim’s bloodshot eyes stared back at them. “If one of you dies, I’d cry for you, I’d mourn for
you, I’d grieve for you, but I knew, I’d get back on my feet and keep living. I’d move on and
keep you in my memories.”

“But,” Kim struggled for air, his hands reaching up and gripping his hair, nails painfully
scratching his scalp. His mind was breaking.

“But, if Porchay dies—” Kim choked, his body rocking back and forth as if the thought
horrified him to the bone.

“But, if Porchay dies — the second he dies, I’d do anything, everything in my power to take
myself out of this world and follow after him.”

“Before Porchay's death can settle in my fucked up head, I would shoot myself rather than
feel that pain.”
Kinn’s knees buckled, and with a grave realization, he sank to the floor.

“I was terrified... terrified that I was too late.” Kim's body shook as his anguish poured out.
“It can never be him, Phi... anyone except him.”

“Ending myself is more like a blessing than a life without Porchay in it.”

The rain had stopped.

Kim didn't really quite remember what happened after. His head was clouded, knuckles tore
open and something warm flowed the side of his neck. It was Tankhun’s voice that brought
him back.

“Kim!” Tankhun’s yelling was piercing, his palms repeatedly slapping Kim’s shoulders.
“Kim!”

He sneered, his head throbbing, “Stop screaming. I heard you.”

Oddly, the atmosphere around them seemed lighter and clearer. As if the dense smoke
between the three brothers had slightly faded.

With hobbling legs, Kim rose from his position, and Tankhun followed. Close behind him, he
heard Kinn’s groan of pain.

He cast a peek down at his brother, who was still sagging on the floor. And a tinge of remorse
grew inside him for a fleeting second. It lasted only for a split second. “Sorry about that.”

“Fuck off, Satan.” Kinn cursed, his hand cradling his side rib. “Fucking maniac.”

His brother tried to stand up only to fall back on his knees, “Fucking hell, Kim. Go fucking
see a therapist. Do something about your temper.”

Porsche slowly slung Kinn’s hand over his shoulder and supported him to stand up. The death
stare he received from the man amused him.

Kinn groaned, “Porsche, if you don’t take me to the doctor now, I cannot promise you I'll be
alive in the next few minutes.” Despite the cool breeze, Kinn’s forehead trickled with sweat.

Porsche rolled his eyes and tightened his hold. “Your wounds are not severe. I’ve had it
worse.”

“I need to take care of your brother,” Porsche said to him while nudging his head in Kinn’s
direction.
“Today’s evening, let’s talk. I have something to discuss.” The man said, his side jaw
reddening. “It’s about Porchay.”

Kim nodded, and abruptly, his heart dropped. “Who stays with Chay now?” He asked in
alarm, eyes frantically looking to the three remaining men.

“Relax! I left him with Pol! And the two bodyguards you hired were there too,” Tankhun said
with an eye roll, his hands crossed while his hips cocked to the side.

“The little prince even fell asleep on me! Gosh! Why are you being so prickly,” he moaned
loudly.

Kim frowned upon hearing that and quickly tried to make his way out. Porchay might be
awake. He might be scared when there wasn't anyone he knew around. Porchay might come
out and look after them. Or maybe, he might be crying because they left him alone.

Kim took another determined step, leaving the others behind him hanging. But, before he
could walk out from the terrace, Tankhun’s grip on his wrist stopped him dead on track.

“Khimhant?”

Goosebumps crept up his arms. Tankhun’s voice was drastically different than it was before.
It was sweet, eerie, and spooky. Like a whisper of a haunting woman ghost.

Kim didn't fully turn around, only looking at his brother over his shoulder. He caught a
glimpse of Porsche and Kinn frozen behind him.

“What?”

Tankhun’s creepy smile, eyes crinkled in cunning delight, squeezing something in Kim to the
core.

“If you hurt Porchay again, brother or not, I swear with our mother's name I’ll come for your
throat.”

Tankhun’s grin was devilish, “I promise you that. Do you understand, little brother?”

Kim yanked his wrist, his tone void of emotions, “You better hold that promise, brother.”

Obsidian eyes bore into Tankhun’s.

“I won’t stop you.”

Kim returned to Porchay.

Chapter End Notes

I read all your comments and couldn't stop thinking about them. Thank you so much. All
my energy to finish this story comes from your encouraging words. Gonna reply to all of
them one by one soon!

One more chapter, and it will be the end of HDTB. I hope you enjoy the longest chapter
by far.

Updates: @fancifulnim (Twitter)

 Promises
Chapter Summary

The lives they were living would never be fitting for a person like Porchay. Regrettably,
there was nothing they could do to free the boy from this madness.

Except for one thing.

In a world full of cruelty and bloodshed, Porsche and Kim would do anything in their
power to preserve Porchay's innocence from it.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Thailand, Bangkok

Theerapanyakul’s Main Building

Sunday, 3:59 A.M.

Kim heavily trudged out of the elevator and dismissed the three standing bodyguards.

Toru and Mike bowed, proceeding to leave the front of Kim’s private space. Pol — on the
other hand — remained. Uneasiness radiated out of the tall man. The proof was evident in his
fidgety hands, which were firmly gripped in front of his torso.

Kim eyed him up and down, his patience running thin. “I hate repeating myself.”

The bodyguard winced, his gaze falling to his own pair of shoes. “I apologize, Master Kim.
Do you want me to call a doctor?”

Kim folded his arms across his chest and assessed his injuries in silence. He'd experienced
much more severe injuries a few years ago. All of these amounted to nearly nothing.

“No,” Kim responded.

“O-okay then,” Pol stammered, his eyes diverting from Kim's stare. “I’ll take my leave now,
Master Kim.”

The bodyguard bowed and fled.

Kim punched in the passcode and strode inside. The front door automatically locked behind
him as it swung shut. Briskly, he made his way to the bedroom; heavy steps resounded across
the silent space.

His never-ending agitation eventually eased when his sight landed on the lump underneath
the blanket.

Porchay is still here.

Walking to the edge of the bed, Kim looked down at a still-asleep Porchay. Rough fingers
reached out to Porchay’s nose, sensing the warm air blowing from the boy’s nostrils. Lifting
the soft duvet, he peered inside Porchay's body, looking for any non-existent injuries.

Kim's tensed shoulders relaxed, and this time, he forcefully swallowed down his paranoia.
Crushing down the telltale signs of controlled hysteria.

Porchay is okay — Kim reassured his disarrayed mind.

He’s only sleeping — he fed the ominous whispers.

As he looked down at Porchay's curled-up form, he felt a tug inside. Porchay was entirely
defenseless when it came to protecting himself. While the face of pure evil stared down at
him, the boy slept soundly.

Harmless, vulnerable, and naive.

The boy, in Kim's opinion, was downright pitiful.

A sinless dwarf in his gigantic, savage pandemonium.

Porchay was dragged by his collar and forcefully thrown into a world full of brutality that he
didn't have the heart to face.

And Kim felt true pity for him.

Kim’s eyes strained in the shadowy darkness, and when his vision caught the graceful sight,
he sharply inhaled. In the dark, cold room, Porchay’s sweater had ridden up, exposing his
slender stomach. Instinctively, Kim outstretched his hand, wanting to caress and touch the
supple flesh.

Yet, as his bleeding knuckles came into view, his movement was suspended mid-air.
Frowning, Kim drew it back, not daring to smear his filthy blood on Porchay's clean skin.

He laid the blanket down and turned around, making his way to the attached master
bathroom.

Reluctance in his footsteps.

Under the bathroom light, two aching muscles stripped the clothes from his haggard body.
Obsidian eyes stared at the reflection in the large mirror and were greeted by a heinous-
looking creature.

Several cuts covered his face, while a larger gash on his right brow sent blood trickling down
his neck. Kim leaned his toned arms on the bathroom counter and sneered at his bare figure.
Black strands fell into his eyes, and sinister orbs pierced holes in the glass.

“Are you willing to let him go?”

Kinn’s voice echoed without warning.

“I need you, Kim.”

Kim wrenched his gaze away from the reflection and turned his body away from the mirror.
Stepping under the shower, he let the gushing, cold water drench his body. A hiss escaped his
lips when his open, bloodied knuckles made contact with the liquid.

“If you hurt Porchay again, brother or not, I swear with our mother's name I’ll come for your
throat.”

Tankhun’s ghostly voice reverberated.

‘Tell P'Kim I forgive him.’

Porchay’s words haunted him.

‘And I still love him.’

“Am I important to you?”

“I trust you, P’Kim.”

“Fuck.” Kim cursed when his head throbbed.

Thirty minutes later, with his wounds treated and bandaged, Kim came out of the bathroom.
A white towel wrapped low around his hips.

Droplets slowly made their way down his chest, traced the shape of his abs, traveled the V of
his hips, and finally vanished in the first few tufts of his pubic hair. Dampened hair was dried
with another small towel as goosebumps crept throughout his skin.

The air was noticeably chilly.

He took a brief glance at the digital clock on the nightstand; 4:39 A.M. was displayed on the
rectangular screen. Kim moved and sat sideways on the edge of the bed, and this time, he
allowed himself the gratification he had denied himself just minutes earlier.
Lifting the duvet from Porchay’s sleeping body, Kim slipped his hand inside Porchay’s beige
sweater and caressed the soft, warm flesh.

Kim’s heart pounded. Greed burst within him.

One hand wasn't enough.

Creeping up slowly, he hovered on top of the boy, his other hand reaching out to wrap around
Porchay’s neck. Savoring the steady pulse thumping under his grip. Under an intoxicated
trance, he closed his eyes and brought his face near. Nuzzling down Porchay’s cheek with the
tip of his nose.

Vanilla.

As Porchay exhaled — deeply, longingly — he inhaled.

And Porchay.

Kim heard a moan echoing in the quiet room, and it took him one second later to realize that
it was coming from his mouth.

Momentarily, he felt concerned. Concerned that the sleeping boy may startle awake from his
slumber.

“Can I sleep?”

Then, Kim recalled that a few hours earlier, when they were expecting a battle, he had given
this boy a sleeping pill upon his request. And it seemed like the medication was still affecting
Porchay's system.

Time passed, the digital number changed, and Kim remained in the same position for long
minutes.

Affections were apparent in Kim's fondling of the supple flesh. Aggressive hands that had
inflicted extreme pain on others were much gentler than delicate feathers. Torn knuckles
tightened on the boy’s neck, and Kim never for a brief moment stopped drinking Porchay's
breath into his being.

Oddly, he found serene comfort in the silent, sinful deeds.

Untangling his fingers curled around the boy’s neck, Kim adoringly stroked Porchay’s temple
with his bandaged knuckles. Inexplicable obsidian orbs fixated on the plump, rosy lips.

“What have you done to me, Chay?”

Kim whispered despairingly into Porchay’s skin, hoping those words would soak into the boy
and carry them to his dream. A rough thumb circled around the bottom lip, tracing the outer
line.
Minutes after teasing, Kim dipped his bare digit into the warmth, running his thumb on the
boy’s gum and soft insides. Coating, collecting, and soaking his rough finger in Porchay’s
fluids.

He pressed his hips into the boy's, his breath heavy.

“How dare you sleep, Porchay, when your man has gone insane thinking about you.”

Impatiently, Kim took out his thumb and shoved it into his own mouth. Desperately seeking
refuge in the intrinsic taste of Porchay.

Just as he was about to repeat his action, the boy stirred in his sleep and turned his body
away. And in an instant, Kim knew. That was all Porchay allowed and offered him to take.

Only a taste.

Though unsatiated, Kim forcefully tore himself away from Porchay’s body and placed the
blanket back.

He stood up from the bed and sighed in resignation. As he looked down, a bulge formed on
the white towel where his almost fully erected cock had been hiding. The outline of the
bulbous' head was noticeable.

Mocking chuckles escaped his mouth.

"Fucking pathetic."

Kim cast a last longing glance at Porchay’s sleeping frame before making his way into the
bathroom. Determined to settle his unfinished business.

Thailand, Bangkok

Theerapanyakul’s Main Building

Sunday, 5:30 A.M

Kim's sore body groaned in the walk-in closet as he attempted to put on black sweatpants.
Arms achingly strained after his aggression, Kim wrapped his badly lacerated knuckles in
white bandages again.

While examining the bandages, he was unexpectedly brought back to the past. A few years
ago, in order to hone his fighting skill and steam his anger out, he used to enter illegal fights
anonymously on the dark side of Bangkok.
In his memory, he could still hear the sound of sandbags being punched. The metal rods
holding the hefty, damaged sacks clanged together as they were fiercely kicked.

The battle arena would always be stained with blood and followed by taps of surrender.

In that unlawful place filled with egocentric and violent men, fights tended to be brutal. As
rules never existed, blood was freely spilled and deaths often occurred.

No. There turned out to be one rule.

Either fought to the bitter end or gave up. The winner never received any tangible prize. Only
honor and recognition. The ones who gave up will be humiliated off the battlefield. Every
step they took was met with curse words and mocking laughs.

The rule was simple: either kill or be killed.

As simple as that.

In those inhuman combats, Kim learned the bitter willpower to survive.

Kim lowered his head as a harsh truth dawned on him. He had never once been defeated by
any man.

The number of people he had intentionally killed and shamed out of the fighting arena
nauseated him.

When Kim left the dressing room, the chilly air chilled his shirtless flesh. Porchay's curled-
up, lanky figure tempted and lured him as he stood at the foot of the bed. From below, he
crawled over to Porchay and straddled the sleeper's body.

Kim slowly manhandled the boy to lie on his back. Porchay squirmed but never opened his
eyes. Sinful stares scrutinized the boy’s face, and for an endless time, his breath was taken
away.

Seductive lips were slightly parted, and a lovely nose exhaled warm air. Doe's eyes were
tightly closed, barring Kim from gazing into those mesmerizing orbs. Porchay’s hair was
spread across the pillow, resembling a celestial halo.

Staring down, Kim was reminded of a resting angel. An angel that he lured, captured, and
imprisoned inside a dark cage. Surrounded by withering flowers, filthy deceits, and a river of
crimson death.

“Are you willing to let him go?”

Never. Kim was far from a saint and closer to an unrepentant sinner. He had long resolved
that nothing in him, not even a fragment of his existence, would set the angel free.

Porchay belonged solely to Kim.

With his weight, Kim pressed Porchay's body into the mattress, placing his arms around
Porchay’s head. One hand went to the hem of the sweater, and Kim slid and bundled them up
until the boy’s lean stomach and rosy nipples were exposed to the cold temperature.

Kim relished the skin-to-skin contact between his naked stomach and Porchay’s. His restless
thoughts were soothed by the shared heat.

“Stop torturing me, Chay,” Kim murmured in anguish, his fangs nipping at Porchay’s chest in
a show of slight irritation toward the sleeping boy.

Porchay had always been cruel to Kim.

As the mastermind of a despicable scheme, Kim admitted that he had exploited a sincere
heart that genuinely liked him. With the goal of digging up information, he had once left
behind the only blessing bestowed upon him.

He once abandoned the boy, sobbing on his knees at the penthouse’s entrance, clutching the
pure heart that Kim had mercilessly torn to shreds.

It was necessary for him to take those drastic measures. After all, he was never born a good
person to begin with.

But Porchay wasn’t much different from Kim.

Kim had been wrongly seduced, allured, and enslaved by Porchay’s magnificent persona. As
a whole, Porchay was the perfect embodiment of an exquisite creature.

How can he resist capturing those luscious lips when Porchay flaunted them in front of the
lustful eyes of criminals?

Criminals like Kim.

Endless lonely nights, Kim had sat in his house, longing to kiss, bite, and lick with unbridled
hunger the pink lips that belonged to Porchay Kittisawat.

Endless nights of arousal — of intense desperateness, Kim had willingly thrown himself into
a pitch-dark delusion. Delusions in shoving his tongue in the cave of Porchay’s warmth.

Wild fantasies of running his wet muscle on Porchay’s teeth and gums, sucking his tongue
out, and exploring every crevice of Porchay's mouth. Until his mouth was stuffed with
Porchay's sticky saliva, natural fragrance, and writhing moans.

He dreamed of it so ardently — achingly — that Kim once believed he had turned lunatic.
When he felt the choking yearning and couldn't turn those fantasies into reality, Kim
earnestly wanted to just end himself.

“You’re torturing me, Porchay.”

Who wouldn't fall victim to the boy’s authentic charm?

Kim had been his first prey.

The first son of Supachai's clan had been the second.

And Kim was forced to play the villain and murder a lowlife man named Surasak in order to
keep his sole absolution from the marriage of convenience.

With this purity, who would not kneel before Porchay?

As his thumb trailed the contours of Porchay’s lips — his heart ached. He yearned for the
boy's lips most fervently that he almost felt tears burning up in his eyes.

Kim lowered his body to Porchay's stomach and buried his face in it. Both hands crept up
into Porchay's shorts, kneading the soft thighs.

“What have you done to me?” Kim's voice was laced with frustration. “What have you turned
me into, Porchay?”

The entirety of Porchay's body was stroked with his rough palms. His nails dug into the boy's
skin, pressing the boy’s flesh into his bones.

The notion of the boy being with someone other than him filled him with rampant hatred.
How many men must he slaughter for falling into Porchay’s trap?

“Don’t look at anyone else, Porchay,” Kim pleaded. “I am here. Look at me.”

How many men must he murder for being foolishly enchanted by Porchay?

His arms lowered the waistline of Porchay’s shorts to the boy's hip. The protruding hipbone
poked out the skin, and the boy’s thin waist became strikingly obvious.

Heatedly, Kim’s mouth succumbed and latched on to the jutting skin. Sucking and smooching
the skin along the seam of Porchay’s pants.

“Should I murder them all? Is that what you want, Chay?”

How can he let people stare into Porchay's eyes when they were his to begin with?

Should he just blindfold Porchay when the boy went outside? Or take him to a foreign
country where he can’t speak their language and lock him up somewhere?

“You want me to do that, Chay?”

The reality that Porchay’s beauty could be noticed by others when Kim was the one who
discovered it made him envious to the core.

Climbing over the boy's body, he nestled his nose into Porchay's neck, taking in the sweet
vanilla aroma. His naked chest rubbed against the sleeper's skin.
“I beg you. Stop tormenting me. I admit I've wronged you, but I know I don’t deserve this
much suffering.”

Kim's torment began the minute Porchay abandoned him to starve for months.

Kim tucked their forms beneath the duvet, bringing the two firmly together. His arms
slithered around Porchay’s torso, squeezing the boy into his chest.

Tenderly, he nuzzled the black hair. “It’s your fault. You made me like this.”

What have you done to me, Porchay Pichaya?

His inner turmoil never found an answer.

“It’s all your fault, Chay. For the rest of your life, I’ll make sure you take responsibility.”

Kim closed his eyes and drifted to an endless dream of Porchay.

The moon abandoned him in the end.

Kim woke up to an empty side.

Scrambling out of bed, panic overwhelmed him in full force.

“Chay?!”

He frantically scoured the private space, wildly looking for the doe-eyed boy.

Kim roared when his eyes caught nothing. “PORCHAY?!”

The bell rang when Kim rushed to find his phone. He dashed to the front door and violently
wrenched it open.

Big stood in front of him, his hair in a sleek, tiny bun. “Master Kim—”

“Where the fuck is he?!” Kim barked as his hands seized the bodyguard’s collared suit.

Within his head, self-hatred churned. He should have gotten up earlier. He should've noticed
when the boy stirred awake.

But no. Kim was completely unaware of anything. What if Porchay fled again? What time
was it exactly? How long had he been gone? What if this time... he was too late...?

Dread settled in his gut.

“He’s in the garden,” Big replied hastily. “With Master Tankhun. They are having a tea
party.”

Kim's fists loosened, and his hands dropped to his sides. “What?”

Big straightened his rumpled attire and said, “Young Master is having a tea party with Master
Tankhun in the garden, Master Kim.” Big repeated. “Toru and Mike are keeping an eye on
him.”

Kim nodded, his mind an adrenaline mess. Without saying anything, he closed the door
directly in Big’s face. He dragged his feet back into the bedroom and slumped on the side of
the bed, his head in his hands.

Humorless chuckles escaped his lips. “Fucking pathetic.”

What a foolish man you are, Kim Khimhant.

The digital clock displayed 17:15 p.m.

The grass shimmered with dew. The garden’s stone pavement glistened under the evening
sun, and the cold breeze carried the scent of fresh air.

Standing at a distance, Kim observed two figures sitting under a parasol, shielded from the
gentle sunlight. Droplets of water trickled down from the tips of the wide umbrella.

A high-pitched laughter escaped Tankhun's lips; his fingers pinched the teacup handle. A
large pair of pink sunglasses perched atop his light brown hair.

Kim looked down at the grass, which was covered in a long red carpet. The lengthy carpet led
its way to the two individuals, who were sitting at a circular, white garden table surrounded
by waist-high flowery shrubs.

He was aware the red carpet was outrageous, but Tankhun and his demand for lavish
treatment never ceased to astound him.

Kim held his breath when his gaze was drawn to the other person. Dressed in a white t-shirt
and an unbuttoned soft pink cardigan, Porchay’s delicate hand reached out for another piece
of pastry from the tiered tray.

Long black hair ruffled softly as the wind blew in between them, and the boy’s thighs
quivered under the chilly waft. The white shorts left his legs exposed to the breeze. One of
the boy’s shoes slipped and lay on the green earth, his sock-clad foot dangling over the grass.

Enveloped by blooming flowers and tender sunshine, Porchay’s angelic existence glowed
more radiant.
As if that place were where he truly belonged.

Kim bit the inside of his cheeks, restraining the urge to scoop Porchay up and take him away.

Far from the watchful gaze of bodyguards lurking in the shadows. Far away from this
enormous castle.

Away from any eyes that could be captivated by Porchay's beauty. Away from any eyes that
might see Porchay in a similar way Kim saw the young angel.

“Oi Khimhant!” Tankhun yelled out, ruining the peaceful atmosphere the garden was in
moments before.

The man energetically waved his hand, motioning for Kim to come towards them. Kim's
boots thudded on the ground, and the red carpet scrunched under his weight.

“You're not following the dress code!” Tankhun's finger pointed to his brown leather jacket as
Kim approached them.

Kim raised an eyebrow and replied, “How am I supposed to know there is a dress code?”

“Look!” Tankhun said and flaunted his glittering pink jacket, nails, and long, striped pink
slacks. To prove his point, the man even raised his legs, showing off his high-heeled pink
boots.

Kim rolled his eyes and turned his gaze on Porchay. His brother continued babbling his
distaste for Kim's moody black shirt and pants.

Porchay was nibbling on a piece of cream puff. His head was ducked down towards his lap.
Kim moved to stand near the boy when something sparkling caught his attention. He peered
down, his shadow totally hiding Porchay.

Two calloused fingers cupped Porchay's chin, tilting the boy's face to face him. Dark brown,
clear eyes met his obsidian orbs.

Kim turned the boy's face sideways and closely inspected the shiny object in Porchay's hair.

It was a little pink hair clip.

Shit.

Kim cursed, his heart tingling with warmth.

He cannot do this.
“Stop ignoring me!” Tankhun criticized, his palm smacking Kim’s shoulder.

Kim glared at his brother, his eyebrow arched. “Don’t you have anything else to do? Like
feeding your children?”

Kim shot back, nudging his head towards the huge pond on the opposite side of the vast
garden.

Tankhun scowled and crossed his arms. “You think you can kick me out of my own party?”

Kim rolled his eyes, “Good, you got the hint.”

Tankhun's face turned red in irritation, his disapproving finger jabbed at Kim’s chest. “You
are such a pain in the ass, Khimhant!” The man shrieked, his palms smacking Kim's shoulder
repeatedly.

If someone told him that this man was the same broken man from last night, Kim wouldn't
believe it. His brother really had an unstable mood swing.

“Phi...” A honeyed voice floated across the air. Porchay's gaze flickered between them.

“Yes, baby?” “Yes, my little prince?” Kim and Tankhun answered simultaneously.

“Umm... let’s not fight?” Porchay said softly, a half-eaten cream puff in his hand was offered
as a peace treaty.

Kim drew a long stuttering breath as large doe eyes peered up at him. His heart tickled and
was filled with tenderness.

Porchay cannot do this to him.

How dare he use those eyes against Kim.

“You’re fucking adorable,” Kim stated bluntly. His fingers tightened on the boy’s chin.

Crimson blushes spread across Porchay’s cheeks, and Kim’s knees slightly jerked in
response.

Porchay is cruel.

This is plain murder.

Kim could hear the other man gagging behind him and muttering curse words under his
breath. He ignored them.

“Thank you?” Porchay replied shyly.

Kim suppressed a groan in his throat. His hold on the boy’s chin was never released. They
continued staring into each other's eyes for long moments.
“I AM OUT!” Tankhun stomped his way away from them, screeching. “POL! ARM! COME
HERE!”

Minutes afterward, a calmness settled around the garden. The sound of a splashing fountain
was heard in the distance, the chirping of birds encircled them once more and no words were
uttered.

For long minutes, Kim gazed into those bright pearls, deeply lost in Porchay’s eyes.

Tranquility suffused the air. The gentle breeze carried Porchay’s scent into his nose, and Kim
gobbled it down his throat. The boy was the first to break the eye contact, and Kim followed
by releasing the youngster's chin. Quietly, he took off his jacket and placed it on Porchay’s
legs.

His greediness eased slightly.

Kim took a step back and sat down in the chair opposite Porchay. His arms rested on the
armrest, and his gaze was drawn to the hair clip.

“Would you like some tea?” Porchay offered.

“No,” Kim said quietly, shaking his head, “I do not drink tea.”

“Oh... um, ok.”

Kim eyed the pink accessory again. “Beautiful,” he commented.

Porchay’s fingers rose to touch the small pink metal, “Oh, this? Phi Tankhun gave it to me as
a gift—”

“I'm referring to you. You’re beautiful, Chay.”

Porchay ducked his head and fiddled with the hem of his cardigan's sleeve.

“You think so?” The boy asked bashfully.

Kim firmly nodded: “You have always been beautiful. All the time, in whatever you do or
whatever state you’re in, you have always been fascinating in my eyes.”

Porchay hid his face behind his palms, and muffled words left his lips: “P’Kim, you’re too
honest...”

“I have promised you to never lie, Chay,” Kim replied. “All the spoken words are the truth.”

Porchay placed his hands on his covered legs and pursed his lips. “What happened to your
hands?”

The boy swiftly changed the subject, his chin jutting toward Kim’s wrapped knuckles. His
index finger tapped on his own forehead. “And your face?”
Kim flexed his arms instinctively, straining his aching muscles. “Last night, I was upset,”
Kim shrugged, “but nothing serious for you to worry about.”

“You said you weren’t going to lie,” Porchay's doubtful eyes crossed his.

Kim was caught off guard by the reply. “I was mad, and I lost control. I got into a fight.” Kim
said, “I punched your brother.”

Porchay's eyes widened, and metal spoons rattled in the cups of tea when his palms bumped
against the circular table. “You had a fight with my brother?”

“It was a mistake.”

Porchay's back slumped on the chair, and his body relaxed. “No wonder his face is bruised.”

Kim raised an eyebrow. “You met him?”

The boy’s hair bounced when he nodded his head, “Yes, this morning. I went to talk to him.”

“No wonder your eyes are puffy,” Kim replied.

Porchay averted his gaze, and Kim squeezed down the urge to ask what they were talking
about. Although he had a strong feeling that his name was part of the discussion.

The silence settled, and Kim let his gaze wander. He spotted Toru, Mike, and Big standing
quite a bit away, watching.

Kim motioned with his fingers, and all of them bowed before leaving both of them alone.

Porchay picked up the half-eaten cream puff, but Kim's voice stopped him midway before he
could put it in his mouth.

“That’s mine.”

“Huh?”

“That’s mine. I stopped fighting with Tankhun, remember?”

“There are more here,” Porchay pointed to the tiered tray.

“No. I particularly want that one,” Kim pointed back to the sweets Porchay was holding.

“I have eaten half of it,” Porchay explained.

“That’s much better.”

The boy was hesitant. “I recall you hate sweet foods, right?”

“I agreed to make peace with that silly man, Porchay. Hand over my reward.”
Porchay eventually gave in and passed the pastry to Kim's outstretched palm. Without a
second spare, Kim ate it without breaking eye contact.

“Delicious.”

And it kept repeating. Whenever Porchay picked up a dessert and bit part of it, Kim would
demand the exact half-eaten dessert in Porchay’s hand. And Porchay, without saying
anything, obeyed Kim.

“Is this your habit?” Porchay commented before munching on his third cookie. Kim didn't
offer any response.

Porchay’s eyes widened in surprise when Kim plucked a strawberry from his lips. He quickly
threw the glistening red fruit into his mouth.

After a few hours, the clear blue sky began to tint with warm orange hues. Flocks of birds
started to return to their nests, bringing their daily journey to an end. Garden lights were
turned on, bathing the landscape in a soft, hazy glow.

Only the two of them remained in the vast flowery garden.

“We should get inside.” Kim voiced when he caught Porchay bunching up his sleeves, hiding
his palms in them.

“You go first. I want to wait for the stars.” Porchay responded with a little smile.

Kim looked up at the sky and noticed the massive dark clouds crawling along the edge of the
skyline. It seemed tonight wouldn't be any different than last night. After all, it was monsoon
season. “It’s going to rain. There won’t be any stars tonight.”

Porchay’s face fell, and his teeth caught his lower lip. “Oh.”

Kim stared, “Don’t do that.”

Porchay glanced up and said, “Don’t do what?”

Kim propped his knuckles under his jaw. “Biting your lips.”

“Why?” The boy queried, tilting his head.

“I feel tempted to devour you. Right here. Right now.”

Porchay stumbled over his words, “O-oh, ok. Um, I understand.”

The boy fidgeted in his seat, “Stop staring at me...”

“I can’t. You’re too beautiful, my love.”

Kim suddenly rose up; the chair slightly creaked under his movement. He walked over to the
boy, and Porchay’s eyes followed him.
Kim stood beside him, his gaze fixed on the shining eyes. Smoothly, he knelt down on one
knee at Porchay’s feet.

He gently took hold of Porchay’s ankle in one hand while reaching for the boy's abandoned
shoe with the other. Silently, his fingers slid down the boy’s sock, leaving a searing kiss on
his ankle bone. Only then did Kim put the shoe back on Porchay’s foot and tie the shoelaces.

However, he was feeling ravenous. Instead of releasing his hold, he continued to trail his
mouth up, leaving burned marks on the boy’s calf up to his knee. Porchay's fingers grabbed
his shoulder when Kim harshly sucked on a piece of sensitive flesh on the boy's trembling
thigh.

“P’Kim...” Porchay whimpered.

Kim paused and unlatched his lips. He adjusted the boy’s sock and stood upright; a hand was
offered to Porchay.

“Come.”

Porchay’s hand tentatively reached for him, and Kim instantly clasped it.

“Your jacket,” Porchay held out the piece of leather clothing. Kim wrapped it around the
boy’s waist, tying the sleeves into a knot; covering Porchay’s bare legs.

“I need to talk to someone,” Kim said. “You go first. I’ll come to you”.

He caught the reluctance in Porchay’s eyes and swiftly, he caressed the boy’s bottom lip with
his thumb. “I’ll be quick.”

Porchay nodded and went on his way, giving Kim one last glance over his shoulder.

Kim withdrew an ear monitor from his pocket and switched it on. “Bambi is en route to the
elevator. Follow him.”

Big’s static voice responded. “Roger, sir.”

Kim’s dark orbs never wavered from Porchay’s figure. Not until he saw three of his
bodyguards circling the boy and escorting him to his destination. He watched keenly until
Porchay’s silhouette was no longer visible to his sight; then, that was when he finally tore his
gaze away.

Kim turned around and faced the garden table. Looking down at the leftover pastries, Kim's
fingers reached for a half-drunk cup of tea.

Bringing the porcelain dish to his mouth, Kim repositioned it until his lips touched the exact
spot where Porchay was sipping.

He drank the cold tea at once.

Delicious.
Kim hated tea.

Thailand, Bangkok

Theerapanyakul’s Main Building

Sunday, 20:01 P.M

“That's a nice red.”

“Shut the fuck up, bastard.” Porsche hissed across him.

Kim settled himself on a three-seater sofa; a low coffee table separated him and Porsche. The
man rubbed his reddened jaw, where purplish bruises dot his skin.

Kim cast a glance over the huge window behind Porsche's shoulder, the city lights below
twinkling in the night. The private chamber they were in was bathed in dim glow, somber air
engulfing them.

Kim folded his arms behind his head, exposing his biceps. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“I said in the evening, not at night, idiot.” Porsche retorted.

Kim ignored the remark, “How's Kinn?”

“He's alive. You Theerapanyakuls are hard to get rid of,” Porsche said as he undid the button
of his black vest. “He will live.”

Kim uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Let's do each
other a favor and get straight to the point. What do you want to talk about?”

“I don't like you with Porchay.” Porsche fired first. "Well, after witnessing how much you
were willing to fight your father for my little brother, I decided I didn't like you rather than
hate you.”

Porsche crossed his legs, “And besides, you helped me get Chay out of the marriage with
Surasak.”

“I won't let him go.” Kim declared firmly. Nothing or no one can persuade him to change his
mind.

Porsche sighed out loud, “I knew you were going to say that. You Theerapanyakuls are so
difficult to get rid of.”
“That's why I've been thinking,” the man began after clearing his throat. “Now that everyone
recognizes Chay as my younger brother and your lover, it's totally impossible to get him out
of this life.”

Kim felt compelled to correct him that they were not lovers. That he was completely clueless
about the direction their relationship was heading. Porchay's answers to his questions
remained unsaid.

“My younger brother doesn't fit with the rest of us, Kim. He's the only pure gem among us,
the corrupted ones. And I'd be forever guilty for dragging him into this nightmare. But I can't
leave, and neither can Porchay.”

Kim grasped his meaning. He had once struggled for years to catch his freedom, yet in the
end, all of those efforts were nothing but vain.

Once involved, forever entangled.

Either being the one firing the bullet or being shot by the bullet.

Kim chose to point the muzzle.

“And this is where I reach my last option. Porchay needs someone — someone powerful,
strong, and fearless enough to stand by his side and protect him from our enemies.”

All of a sudden, the air around them drastically shifted. As if a thin line of suspense had
formed between them.

With a grave voice, Kim asked after silently listening to Porsche talk, “And who's that
someone?”

Because deep down in his bones and flesh, Kim knew. This world would be in peril if that
someone wasn't him.

Porsche finally answered: “You. You are powerful. Two mafia clans are under your
command. Men obey your order. Perhaps, if this organization collapses, yours is powerful
enough to warn others not to touch anyone under your protection.”

Kim didn’t know he had been holding his breath. As soon as the words were uttered by
Porsche's mouth, Kim felt a sense of relief wash over him.

Relieved since he didn't have to abduct Porchay and went against Porsche.

Unaware of Kim's state of mind, the man with honeyed skin continued, “And fucking hell,
you are strong. I saw your fights in my friend’s bar and was impressed, but witnessing you
three months ago? I know I have nothing to worry about if someone tries to lay their hands
on my little brother.”

“They. Would. Never. Dare.” Kim snapped. The mere thought of harm coming to Porchay
triggered something in him.
A part of him that he'd lost control over the night before.

“Good. You don't need me to stroke your pride about being fearless, do you? The fact you
waged war with your father for my Chay already puts you in my top three people with the
biggest balls.”

Kim rolled his eyes as the tension around them somewhat lifted.

“Don't you want to know who the top two are?” Porsche asked with a grin.

Kim rebuked quickly, “No.”

“Of course, I'm number one, and Kinn is number two,” the guy said cockily.

“Disgusting.” Kim scoffed.

A deep silence settled over them as Porsche went over to the minibar and poured two glasses
of whiskey. The man returned and set a glass on the low table in front of him.

“I'm well aware of the tension between you two, but I guess that'll ease with time. Answer
my questions with your most honest answer, Kim. As Porchay's brother, I really need to
know.”

Kim swirled the lowball glass, and the spherical ice cube clinked in the amber liquid. Two
sips in, and he was ready.

Kim straightened his back. “Ask me.”

“Are you certain that you can look after my little brother?”

“Yes.”

“Would you risk your life to protect him?”

“Every day.”

“Suppose you stop loving Porchay one day—”

“Don't you dare finish that sentence.”

Their jaws clamped shut. The tension returned, intertwined with newfound sorrow.

“I would kill for Porchay,” Porsche mournfully said.

“I’ve done it,” Kim replied.

“Would you die for him?”

Kim clicked his tongue and took another sip. “Porsche, that's the barest minimum.”
“Good. Then promise me, Khimhant. Promise me with all you hold dear in this life that you
will look after and protect my little brother by any means,” Porsche urged, his voice heavy
with emotion.

At that moment, Kim felt the weight of Porsche's words bearing down on his shoulders.

This man was letting go of half of his heart.

The man sitting in front of him with eyes straining to hold back tears was letting go of his
child's hand.

To him.

Kim set down the glass, his obsidian eyes blazing with tenacity: “I vow with Porchay's name,
soul, and whole existence. You'd have my head first if any harm were to happen to him.”

Porsche took a long, stuttered breath as if he were suffering tightness in his chest.

“I promise you, Porsche Pachara.”

The man nodded slowly, gulping down his drink in one go; finally surrendering. “Thank
you.”

Porchay's fate had been written and sealed — until the last of his heartbeat.

“Now, my turn,” Kim said curtly.

Kim drew out a gun tucked behind his pants and removed the magazine. He retrieved two
bullets and tossed them toward Porsche. The man caught them in his hands.

“What are these for?” Porsche asked, bewildered.

“I want you to promise me, Porsche. Promise me that if I ever hurt Porchay again, if I ever
lay a finger on him, promise me you will destroy me. As the brother to my first and last
redemption, I grant you the right to kill me.”

Kim stated with all the sincerity he could muster.

For unfathomable reasons, when their eyes met, everything finally made sense for both of
them. For the first time, Porsche and Kim ultimately acknowledged their roles in Porchay’s
life.

The lives they were living would never be fitting for a person like Porchay. Regrettably, there
was nothing they could do to free the boy from this madness.

Except for one thing.

In a world full of cruelty and bloodshed, Porsche and Kim would do anything in their power
to preserve Porchay's innocence from it.
 If Porsche would do anything to give Porchay the entirety of the world, Kim — without any
doubt — would burn the entire world down for Porchay.

At long last, Theerapanyakul's third son and Kittisawat's firstborn reached an understanding.

Both of them would kill and perish for the boy.

“I promise you, Kim Khimhant.”

Chapter End Notes

I have to split the last chapter into two separate parts due to its length. Rest assured that
everything is finished, and the very last chapter will be up by Wednesday night.

Writing is just one part of my life; I have to juggle between studying and working.
Never in a million years did I expect to receive such incredible support. Therefore, I
thank you for taking your time and waiting this long to read my story.

On Wednesday, we'll say our final goodbyes.

Comments and kudos are so much appreciated ❤

 Dawn
Chapter Summary

After what seemed like an eternity, the pouring rain eventually ended.

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Two irrevocable promises for one boy were sealed by two powerful men. In the still-early
night, accompanied by the pounding rain, Kim and Porsche's eyes met each other with one
common ground.

However, in the blink of an eye, the solemn atmosphere was shaken by the arrival of a man.

Tankhun stormed into the private room, shrieking, “WHY AM I NOT INVITED TO THIS
PARTY?!?”

Kim cursed, and Porsche winced.

“We're just chatting; no one's throwing a party,” Porsche expressed flatly.

“Well, I want to join as well!” Tankhun retorted and slammed the door shut. He sauntered
over to them, pink boots thudding on the floor.

The man flopped down on a single armchair with an over-dramatic sigh and crossed his legs.
“So, who are we gossiping about?” he asked, eyes gleaming in delight.

Kim exhaled and prepared to leave, only to be stopped when the door was slammed open
again. Limping in with crutches under his armpits was his brother — Kinn.

“Damn it, Tankhun! At least leave the door open for me!” Kinn yelled as the door banged
shut once more.

“Oops!” Tankhun sounded, puckering his lips and adjusting his bangs.

Porsche assisted Kinn to sit together across from him, and Kim found himself in the presence
of his two brothers and a Kittisawat.

He wanted to leave.

The man with busted lips groaned in pain when his lover — Porsche — accidentally bumped
his side. The head of the minor family apologized, and Kinn's monolid eyes glared at him.
“I was being serious, Kim. You should do something with that temper of yours. Get a
therapist for fuck's sake,” Kinn snarled.

Tankhun swatted Kinn’s good shoulder. “Language! And in fact, all of us need to see a
therapist,” he exclaimed matter-of-factly.

“Actually, I have visited a doctor before, but after that, he cannot treat me as a patient
anymore,” Tankhun said with an exaggerated pout.

Porsche’s frown was skeptical. “Aren’t you guys filthy rich? Just offer them more money, and
they’ll work for you.”

“It's not about money, big guy,” Tankhun tsked, shaking his head. “I went for my first visit,
and the next time I came, the doctor was sitting next to me! As a patient!”

Kim bit his lower lip, keeping back his smirk. Knowing his older brother’s antics, the poor
doctor must have been traumatized by Tankhun as well.

“I did it once,” Kim stated nonchalantly.

Stricken silence fell around them, and everyone gaped at him, shocked.

“DID WHAT?! YOU WENT TO SEE A THERAPIST?!” Tankhun shrieked in disbelief.

Hearing the flabbergast in his brother's tone, Kim cursed himself for opening his mouth. He
slightly nodded, though his eyes looked elsewhere. “Yeah.”

Kinn’s eyes were wide, and his voice was stunned. “For your temper issue?”

No, Kim wanted to say. It would never be that.

The truth was, he was deeply disturbed by the way his mind was occupied with Porchay. He
appointed a psychologist — an elderly woman in her early 60s. Kim tried to keep things on
the surface, providing little detail on the person he seemed to be having difficulty forgetting
and stopping thinking about.

His therapist had diagnosed it as a destructive infatuation, a toxic fixation that he needed to
treat before it got out of hand. At first, he was agitated — agitated by the way his mind
behaved when it came to the youngster. His own dark thoughts always pushed him to the
edge of an abyss.

But, that was in the past. Everything had changed.

Kim relished the feeling of having someone to think about all the time. A certain someone, to
be exact. For some inexplicable reason, it made him feel strangely — alive.

“Yeah.” He caught himself uttering the untruth.

“And what did the doctor tell you?” Kinn questioned, somewhat leaning forward, anticipating
his answer.
A flash of memory raced across his mind.

Dr. Piam offered a polite smile to Kim before she spoke. He did not return them.

“Mr. Khimhant, after a thorough assessment, I advise you to separate and distance yourself
from the root of your concern. The first recommended step is to block any contact with this
person. Everything associated with this individual must be permanently removed and—”

“No.”

“Pardon, Mr. Khimhant?”

“I said no. That's something I can't do. Find another way.”

The woman had pursed her lips; her eyes looked at him in surprise. “I see. Well, what about
starting with this person’s belongings? Perhaps photos? You must have them, correct? It’s a
good stage to start over by keeping them away—”

Kim didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. Before the woman could finish her words, he rudely
stood up and exited the room. Just hearing those words repulsed him.

Kim canceled all of his upcoming appointments. He had fired the woman.

“The doctor said I couldn't be helped,” Kim said, another lie slipped out of his mouth.

Tankhun burst out laughing, while Kinn sighed dejectedly. Porsche looked unwell.

Kim decided he refused to be helped.

Instead of living an empty life, Kim chose to fill it with Porchay. It didn't matter if his mind
was purely possessed by his insane obsession with the boy; Kim had ardently chosen to live
this way.

For the first time in his entire years of living, he felt alive just by thinking of Porchay.

He refused to die again.

Tankhun suddenly squealed and clapped his hands like a seal lion, startling all of them. “Let’s
start a mental support group together!”

The horrified ‘NO’ from the three men rang throughout the entire room.

Tankhun flipped his non-existent long hair and loudly grumbled, “You guys are seriously
negativity in my life.”

Not five minutes later, Kim stood up.

“I’m leaving,” he said, not waiting for the other’s response. He'd had his fill of socializing for
the day and was eager to spend the night with a certain someone.

He walked out of the room, his impatient steps thudding on the carpeted corridor.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Kim questioned as he approached Porchay from behind.

The boy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by cushions and a throw blanket by
the large window. His body faced the tinted glass, overlooking the metropolis. On the boy’s
lap was a brown leather jacket.

Kim stood behind him, watching as Porchay traced the splattered raindrops on the glass
window with his fingertips. The drizzling rain had started sprinkling the earth just minutes
ago.

Porchay remained quiet, his dainty fingers playing chase with the droplets. The 18-year-old
seemed to be completely lost, deep in his own world.

Kim stood straight, hands sliding into his pocket pants, and just waited silently behind the
youngster. Letting the boy play with the water for some time.

After a while, Kim deemed Porchay had enough fun playing about. It was time for the boy to
come back.

He kneeled alongside Porchay and gently grasped the thin wrist away from the window
panels. Porchay’s eyes were glazed over, entirely immersed in his daydream.

“Baby,” Kim called out hoarsely, bringing the slender wrist to his mouth and kissing the
flesh.

Porchay sat motionless. His eyes stared straight ahead, fully buried in his own mind.

Kim delicately placed the boy’s hand down and cradled his face, beckoning the clouded eyes
to look at him.

“Return to me, Chay,” Kim whispered, bringing their foreheads together.

Yet it was pointless. His words hung in the air, failing to penetrate the boy's senses. The
drizzling rain continued to shower the ground as Kim ran wet kisses on Porchay’s cheek and
down to his neck.

He pushed them both onto the blanket; the younger lay on his back and Kim straddled his
waist. Sucking, licking, and biting the boy’s neck with his teeth and tongue, Kim persuaded
the younger to come back to him. Leaving red bruises and damp trails of his saliva.
“I’ve arrived. Return to me, Chay.” Kim voiced heatedly into the boy’s ear and sucked the
right earlobe.

And he was faced with yet another futile attempt. Porchay stayed unmoving; his eyes were
glassy.

The reluctance in him was simmering, but Porchay had been in his cocoon for some time, and
he became worried. Porchay was gone into his space, and Kim couldn't reach him with gentle
words.

He had to do it for Porchay.

Gripping the boy’s neck, Kim began squeezing the youngster's throat with force. While it
wasn't completely cutting the boy’s airway, Kim didn't allow him to breathe properly. Under
his palm, Kim felt the steady pulse increase.

“Porchay.”

Kim's voice was deep and raw.

Another hand entangled itself in Porchay's hair, tugging at the long hair. The boy blinked his
eyes but was still unmoving.

Dread slowly overtook him.

“Be a good boy and listen to me.” Kim used more force, his obsidian orbs punctured holes in
the doe's pearls.

“Come. Back. Porchay.” Kim enunciated each syntax with a firm command. His voice
dropped an octave.

With a choking gasp, Porchay returned to him. His frail arms struggled to break from Kim's
hold.

“P-P’Kim?” Porchay cried.

Gradually, he released his grip. Both of them breathed heavily. One was gasping for oxygen,
while the other inhaled the boy's breath down his throat.

“W-what happened? When did you get here?” Porchay asked after calming down.

A dagger stabbed Kim in the gut, twisting his flesh into an excruciating knot. And for a split
second, he lost the ability to breathe.

Porchay had no recollection of what happened to him.

“Never do this without me around you,” Kim warned.

Porchay panted, “Do what?”

Kim's face contorted in vexation, and he gripped the boy's hair tighter. “This. Completely
shutting down yourself. You weren’t aware of your surroundings, Chay.”

Porchay’s eyes darted back and forth as he tried to remember his memories. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about, P’Kim. I was just... thinking...”

Kim gritted his teeth.

For the past three months, how many times had Porchay endured this alone? How long did it
take for Porchay to come back to himself? What was it that triggered it? Was this his coping
mechanism for his trauma?

Kim realized his suspicions might be correct as he looked down at the boy underneath him.
Years ago, at the age of 15, Kim once sought refuge in alcohol, drugs, and sex to cope with
his pain.

And as much as it brought disgrace to his name, Kim admitted those things worked in
keeping him from going berserk.

Porchay, on the other hand, was incapable of doing any of these things. This young person
wasn't fit to be involved with anything like that. Perhaps, once. But Kim had arrived at the
club in time and dragged the boy out.

Kinn’s voice echoed: “But the doctor just told us a few weeks ago that he wasn't recuperating
as quickly as he had hoped.”

Kim felt fear sinking in as he realized that there might be situations — dangerous situations
— when Porchay’s safety would be jeopardized and the younger may be utterly unaware of
it.

If they had been in dire circumstances, this coping trauma thing would completely put
Porchay's security under serious threat.

And once more, the sinister whispers began to torment his head.

Perhaps Kim should indeed lock him up somewhere. Keep him away from anyone or
anything that may harm him. Hence, he will not be concerned if Porchay were to become
engrossed in his daydreaming since Kim would always be the one — the only person — to
snap him out of it.

The only one who can witness and be in Porchay's most vulnerable position.

“P’Kim,” Porchay's silken voice yanked him out of his trance. “You’re crushing me.”

Kim shifted his weight away from the boy and pulled Porchay into his arms. “It’s okay, I’m
here now.”

He figured Porchay didn't comprehend a single word, but the boy nodded his head anyway.
Kim rose to his feet and took Porchay along with him. “Have you eaten dinner?”
The young man shook his head. “I’m not feeling hungry.”

Kim frowned. “You didn't eat much today.”

Porchay’s eyes flicked to him curiously, quietly questioning how Kim knew about it.

Of course, Kim was aware. Porchay skipped breakfast and ate little throughout the day. A
few pastries and cups of tea in the evening will not suffice to aid his recovery from his sickly
body.

Even if he wasn't present, he knew everything about the boy. Other than being Porchay's
bodyguards, Toru and Mike were assigned to report everything concerning the boy. Even the
trivial matters.

He picked up the jacket and wrapped it around the thin waist. Just like this evening.

Kim chose to ignore the curious stare by wrapping his arm around the boy and walking to the
front door. “You must eat.”

Dinner was nothing but quick.

“Where are we going?” Porchay questioned when he was dragged out of the dining hall by
Kim.

“My place,” Kim replied simply, not offering any explanation.

The issue was that he was wary of staying in this towering mansion for too long. The fact that
his father was living in this place — breathing — and was bedridden or in whatever state he
was in placed Kim under extreme vigilance.

Kim didn't trust all the bodyguards. Only a select few he had faith in; the rest were none.
They were like eagle eyes lurking in corners, scrutinizing him and Porchay's every move.
And he was sick of it. One night was enough.

Despite Kinn's authority over the main family, some still swore their allegiance under Korn
Theerapanyakul’s name. In the view of some bodyguards, what he did to the old man three
months ago was a traitorous act.

For the majority, he was the courageous hero who stood up against the tyrant to save his
young prince from the wedding altar. Yet for some members of the minority, Kim’s action
was a rebellion. A declaration of war against the Theerapanyakul people.

Even though he was born with the same family name.

Kim heard Porchay take a trembling breath when the cold breeze slammed his body. The
drizzling rain had morphed into another never-ending storm. The moon was missing, and the
creeping, darker clouds obscured the stars.

Kim put his arm around the boy's shoulder quickly and led him to the waiting car in the
driveway. The spacious backseat of the Mercedes Benz provided comfort for them, though
from the corner of his eye, Kim noticed Porchay tugging his pink cardigan close to his frame.

“Lower the A.C.” Kim ordered Big. The man in the passenger seat obliged, and soon they
were on their way.

Under the heavy rain, Chan maneuvered the steering wheel with ease. Following in a
different black vehicle were Toru and Mike. Kim activated a button, and a privacy screen
rolled up, dividing him and Porchay from the bodyguards. It will take around twenty-five
minutes to reach his penthouse.

“Still cold?” Kim asked after several minutes of stillness between them. Porchay’s body
startled before his eyes flicked to Kim.

“I’m alright,” Porchay assured with a small nod and looked out of the window.

The empty space between them irked him. Immediately, Kim wrapped one arm around the
boy's midsection and pulled him to his side. Porchay let out a surprised squeak, his widened
eyes darted to Kim’s.

“You're too far,” Kim’s tone left no room for objection.

Another arm stretched over the top of the boy's bare leg, his finger pressing the red mark he'd
created this evening.

The rest of the car ride was accompanied by thumping rain and flashing city lights.

The receptionists greeted them when he arrived. Kim gave a brief nod and attached his body
to Porchay’s side. With an arm around the boy’s back, he guided him into the lobby.

Solid footsteps came to a standstill when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it and
proceeded on his walk, but after the second time the incessant phone calls vibrated, Kim
decided otherwise.

Kim stopped near the elevator, retrieved the black device, and swiped the screen.

“I believe we are done talking.” He said irritatedly.

“You fucker, at least tell me you’re taking Chay out,” Porsche spat.
Kim cast a fleeting glance at the mentioned boy, whose eyes were scanning the interior of the
luxurious property. Kim didn't bother informing the older guy; news spread rapidly
throughout the mansion, and Porsche would be aware of them.

And rather, Kim's instinct told him that if he informed Porsche, the man definitely would not
allow him to bring Porchay home.

“Well, I'm taking him to my place,” Kim informed, albeit it was a little too late for that. But
he didn't care.

Porchay was under his responsibility, protection, and care. Wherever he went, Porchay must
be with him.

Porsche’s reply came with an accusing hiss: “What are you planning to do with my little
brother, Khimhant?”

Kim exhaled and rubbed Porchay on the shoulder. “There's nothing to be concerned about.
I’m just taking him out from the watchful eyes.”

The man seemed to be pondering and digesting Kim's remark as he took his time to respond,
“When are you bringing him back?”

Never. Kim had no intention of bringing him back to that place. Deep down, underneath all
the instincts for protecting and cherishing the boy, there was a dark side to him — a
possessive side that he did his best to conceal from everyone.

His greedy desire to have complete control over Porchay.

To simply hide him somewhere where only Kim could enter and leave, being the only person
Porchay was permitted to interact with and converse with for the rest of his life.

A hidden place where only he knew the location.

“Around tomorrow evening,” Kim lied.

Porsche hummed and suddenly lowered his voice: “Is he with you right now?”

His eyes glanced at Porchay; this time the boy had looked at him with interest. “Yes.”

“Can he hear you? I have something else to say, but your brothers interrupted us.”

“Hold on,” Kim said and muted the phone call. “I have to take this, do you remember the
passcode, baby?” he asked softly, his fingers combing Porchay’s hair.

Porchay threw a brief peek at the phone before returning his gaze to Kim's. Porchay nodded,
and Kim guided him to whisper the number into his ear just to be sure.

The numbers were right.

So he still remembers them.

“Go to my room and wait for me. I’ll be up soon.” Kim's words were accompanied by a
chaste kiss to the boy’s temple.

“Be a good boy and don’t do anything, Chay.” He stressed for one more time, eyes sharply
looking into Porchay's.

He waited until Porchay went inside the elevator, escorted by Big, Toru, and Mike.

“Line clear,” Kim said, unmuting the phone. “Make it short, Porsche.”

“I talked with him this morning,” Porsche cut to the chase as Kim walked over to a secluded
area.

He found a perfect spot in a quiet hallway. “I’m aware of that.”

“He told me a few things,” Porsche’s voice was filled with something akin to bitterness. Like
the man remembered something horrible.

Extremely horrible.

Kim straightened his back, “Tell me.”

Porsche said, “We discussed that incident, and he told me he regretted doing it. But...”

Kim's grip on the phone tightened, and his shoulders tensed. “Porsche, spit it out.”

Porsche took a deep breath before speaking, and once he did, Kim wished he hadn't said a
single thing.

“But Chay also mentioned that sometimes, the urge to do it again crosses his mind. I told him
that we are bringing in a new psychiatrist. He declined.”

Now he understood the reasons Porsche sounded terrified. The recollection of Porchay on the
brink of death, of them almost losing him forever, reawakened Kim's fear.

He leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. Searching for support as his chest felt
heavy. “I’ll convince him if that's why you call me.”

“Thanks for that. I think he’d listen to you.” The man said, his voice dejected. “By the way,
did he tell you?”

“Tell me what?” This piqued Kim's attention.

He tried to wrack his brain to see if Porchay had said anything or from the report Toru had
informed him during his absence this entire morning and afternoon. He uncovered nothing.

“Your father tried to talk to Porchay.”

The crazed wrath abruptly seized him.

Kim’s fist punched the wall — hard. The rage erupted in full force.
“What did he say?!” He snarled harshly into the phone.

“Hey,” Porsche scrambled to respond, “listen, Khimhant. Take a deep breath.”

The man tried to help Kim calm down. “Your father didn’t get to meet him. Kinn interfered
as soon as he saw the bodyguard that came to fetch Chay. Nothing happened.”

Kim grounded his palms on his eyes and breathed out. “When did this happen? Did Chay go
out by himself?” He asked, voice rough.

Where the hell were Big, Toru, and Mike when this occurred?

As if hearing the silent vexation in his mind, Porsche answered: “Exactly after my talk with
Chay. There were only the three of us.”

At the end of the line, Kim overheard Porsche murmuring under his breath. “Chay said he
was going to tell you. I guess he didn't.”

Hearing that, Kim's face distorted in agitation. Anger boiled in his blood.

The urge to take Porchay far away from here seemed to win him over. He should have killed
that old bastard. As long as Korn Theerapanyakul existed, Kim would never be able to settle
down and rest.

“Anything else?” Kim asked in a controlled voice.

“You should return them.”

Kim's jaw clenched. “Return what?”

“Porchay’s belongings.”

His body convulsed for a split second. His arms were covered with shivers.

“I know you have them, Khimhant. Don't even try to deny.”

Kim remained silent, one impulse away from hanging up the phone.

“Kim—” Porsche exhaled shakily. “You and me, we are... still in shock. I can't shake away
my fear since he ran away, and you... I know you are... sad.”

A loud thunder boomed across the sky. It penetrated the building, bringing daunting
memories to Kim.

Sad? Kim was itching to laugh. He was in excruciating pain. In agony. In fear.

So much fear.

Every time his mind went astray, the image of Porchay's head among the raging water
assaulted his brain. That boy, that fucking boy he loved with his entire existence,
unknowingly engraved a scar so deep — so ugly — that Kim believed would never heal.
And it was still bleeding.

While Porsche's voice kept talking in the background, Kim forcibly swallowed down the
lump that formed in his throat. The dark whisper began to abuse his weakened rationality.

“We must be cautious. Chay might be overcome with those emotions again and attempt to
commit suicid—”

“Shut. Up.”

Abruptly, images of Porchay’s cold body, limp hands, and lifeless figure flashed across his
vision.

His pulse increased. His heart darkened.

Porsche appeared to be taken aback by his own words as well. “Sorry, I should find better
words,” the man apologized under his breath. The traumatizing terror still affected them both
greatly.

Kim breathed out harshly. Before Porsche could reply, Kim hung up the phone.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Kim internally struggled to not let the evil whispers consume
him.

‘Tell P'Kim I forgive him.’

‘And I still love him.’

He needed to see Porchay. Alive.

Kim rushed as panic and terror settled in.

The penthouse was void of any light. Beyond the window panels, the city underneath was
soaked and flooded by the storm. The stars never appeared, and all that could be seen were
bolts of lightning striking across the sky.

The sky was weeping.

Striding into his space, Kim's hasty footsteps echoed around the grand penthouse.

“Chay?!” he screamed out.

Only to be met with silence.

He marched further, his heart thundering inside his ribcage.

‘My heart hurts. I want it to stop.’

‘I just wanted to sleep.’

‘I don’t want to live anymore, it hurts.’

Kim banged the bedroom door open, and it bashed against the wall. The room was almost
pitch black, with only a single light from the floor lamp in one corner of the room.

Other than that, it was empty.

“Chay?!”

His panic-stricken call was only answered by the booming thunder. Just when the demons in
him almost possessed his being, Kim picked up the sound.

The sound of the shower running. He charged to the bathroom door and frantically twisted
the handle.

It was locked.

“Chay?!” Kim pounded on the hardwood, roaring Porchay’s name to open it.

No one answered him.

The sound of water... reminded him of waves.

Violent waves.

“Chay?!”

The hysteria was brimming, one heartbeat away from strangling him. Just as Kim reached for
the gun tucked in his pants, the lock clicked and the ashy black wood was opened.

Porchay’s eyes peeked from behind the slightly ajar door; only the upper part of his body was
visible as water dripped down from his hair.

“P’Kim? What’s wrong?” Porchay asked in confusion, eyes wide open.

Kim snapped.

He forcefully shoved the door open and barged into the bathroom. Porchay let out a startled
scream.

Before the boy could scramble to hide his nudity, Kim grabbed his shoulders and pinned his
naked body to the wall.

“I told you—” Kim seethed, claws digging into Porchay’s skin. “I told you to never lock the
door.”
Porchay resisted by pushing on Kim’s chest, trying to put some space between them. “P’Kim,
what—”

“When I said to wait for me, I meant to wait on my fucking bed, sitting still and not doing
anything, Chay.” Kim fumed menacingly and pushed his body against the boy.

The front of his shirt began to get wet.

“P’Kim, you—”

“Shut up.” Kim harshly cut in. “The first thing my eyes should see when I enter this room is
you, Porchay. Not a fucking silence.”

In the back of his mind, in the farthest part of his stored sanity, Kim knew he was acting
insane. And the front part of his brain, the one that was dominated by a dark voice, didn't care
that he was being insane.

Those memories triggered something in him, and he wasn’t able to resist the surging
paranoia.

Helpless and scared, Porchay cried loudly and clawed at his chest when Kim squeezed his
flesh. “P’Kim why are you acting like this?!”

“Should I kill him, Chay? Should I shoot that old bastard in the head?” Kim's voice was
darkly chilling, eyes red with resentment locked into Porchay’s fearful ones.

Tears streamed down Porchay’s cheeks, and a frightened sob escaped his mouth. “P’Kim!
Why are you saying things like this?!” the boy wailed out.

“Because you should have known better!” Kim roared. “You should have told me that
fucking man was trying to get you this morning!”

The boy whimpered pitifully and thrashed to get out of Kim’s grip. “Let go!”

Kim jolted Porchay’s body to him. “Answer me! Why didn't you tell me?!”

“Because you're going to react like this!”

Kim snatched the boy’s chin and forced Porchay’s eyes to meet his dark ones. Coldly —
maniacally — he spoke: “He’s still bothering you, right? Do you want me to kill him, Chay?
I can do it for you — anything for you. You say the word and I’ll put a bullet in his head for
you.”

Porchay’s fists pounded on his chest, “Let go! P’Kim! You’re hurting me!”

“I trust you, P’Kim.”

Kim violently jerked back, his back collided with the countertop. Porchay slid down on the
marble floor, hugging his knees to his chest — sobbing.
What had he done?

“You’ll be nothing but a man who brought lifelong misery to this boy, Khimhant.”

What had he done?

Kim attempted to hold Porchay, arms reaching out to hug his figure. The boy rejected,
pushing Kim away with a broken cry. “No!”

He didn’t back down; Kim forced himself into Porchay’s personal space, bringing the once-
healthy body into his chest. Caging the boy’s struggling arms in his strong embrace.

The younger man thrashed wildly, nails scraping Kim’s neck and fists hitting his chest. “Let
go! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

Kim restrained the wet body against his chest, bounding him in his clutch. “You don’t mean
it, Chay,” Kim said hoarsely, sounding like he was pleading.

Minutes later, Porchay stopped fighting, panting from exhaustion. Kim cradled the back of
his head, bringing the still-sobbing face into his neck.

In the quietness of the bathroom, with thundering rain and bleeding scars, Kim audibly
whispered. Despairingly.

“Do you know how hard I fought to get you out of his grasp?”

Porchay cried harder in Kim’s neck, and his wounded wail penetrated the space. Kim
tightened his arms, eyes blinking up at the ceiling. A stone — so heavy — was put on his
chest that he couldn’t breathe.

Kim searched for his voice, losing all hope in him.

“I’m trying, Chay. I swear I’m trying to be better for you. But — you must help me too. Any
harm that could befall you, I must annihilate them. I could never lose you again, Chay. Not to
flying bullets, neither to my father’s manipulations nor to any man. Please, I beg you. Stop
tormenting me.”

He had no idea how long they had been in there.

Porchay stopped crying and stood up with Kim’s help.

“Out.” The boy mumbled thickly.

Kim breathed out deeply through his lips. “Finish your shower and come out. Don’t lock the
door.”

Porchay turned his back to him, and Kim stepped away. He closed the door, leaving it half
open.
And with that, Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakul, a man with two mafia clans under his
command, went out with a pang of regret heavier than his duties.

Kim sought refuge in a bottle of vodka stored in the room. With eating remorse and a
jumbled mind, he sat on a large, leathered armchair; halfway facing the wide window panels.

He had hurt Porchay.

He must be stopped. It seemed absurd that memories of Porchay in the sea were all that was
needed to turn a sane guy into a raving madman. How was he supposed to make it through
life and be with Porchay if, every time the thought of those tragedies crossed his mind, all he
could do was sink beneath the waves of his own paranoia?

Was he going to snap and snarl at Porchay's face every time the boy wasn't within his sight
and protection?

Kim stared out, his left hand heavy with the burden of the liquor.

The drapes were drawn back, and rays from the city below sneaked into the gloomy bedroom.
With his head leaning back on the velvety leather, Kim watched the city below drenched in
rainfall.

Stillness enveloped him as the storm unceasingly raged its devastation on the people
underneath. Kim unwound his stiff shoulders as he listened to the heavy downpour muffled
by the thick window.

He stripped off his damp shirt and took a swig of the amber liquid. The alcohol burned his
throat and settled in the pit of his bare stomach. Drowning his regrets for brief seconds. His
warm skin was a stark contrast with the chilly air.

He had hurt Porchay.

He heard the careful footsteps thudding slowly behind him. He set the amber bottle on the
side table, next to his gun. The black weapon blended in with the deep brown furniture and
faint lighting.

The magazine wasn’t full; two bullets had been taken by another man earlier this night.

Kim rose to his feet and examined Porchay in his white bathrobe, standing at the foot of his
king-size bed. A smaller towel hung around the boy’s nape.

Despite them being in the same space, Kim felt the boy was too far away. Out of his reach.
Kim hardly swallowed down.

A thunderous lightning boomed across the sky, lighting up Kim’s shadow and room for a
beating moment. He caught the boy flinching, taking a step back.

“I don't have any clothes,” Porchay said, voice shaking.

Kim prayed it was from the cold or the water that dripped down the middle of Porchay’s
chest and disappeared behind the cotton fabric. Not from the fear of him.

Without saying anything, Kim stepped into the walk-in closet and picked the first t-shirt he
saw. He returned and sat on the armchair again. The leather creaked under his weight.

“Come here.” Kim commanded, a deep voice rumbling out of his chest.

He noticed the reluctance in Porchay’s step, and Kim felt something akin to a throbbing hurt
in his heart.

Porchay was scared of him.

The distance between them shortened, and soon, Porchay stood beside him. A thin arm
reached out for the t-shirt in Kim’s hand.

Something churned in his stomach, twisting his guts into a painful knot when Porchay
avoided Kim’s gaze. As Porchay’s dainty fingers almost touched the fabric, Kim pulled it
away from him and placed it on the side table. The gun was hidden underneath it.

“Let me dress you,” Kim sounded, almost like an order.

Porchay captured his bottom lip in his teeth in worry, and Kim sensed envy budding within
him.

He wanted to do that. Desperately wanted to do that.

Shaking his head, Porchay said back, “I can do it myself.”

Kim urged, desperation breaking out of his mouth. “Please.”

“How are you going to dress me?” The youngster in the snow-white bathrobe challenged; his
voice bordering on provocation.

Kim's response didn't come in words. Instead, his hand shot up and grabbed Porchay's waist,
yanking the boy onto his lap. Porchay gasped in shock, both of his hands bracing on Kim’s
shoulders, cushioning his fall.

“Like this,” Kim said in the darkness and changed Porchay’s position to straddle his waist.
He felt the bare, warm skin of Porchay's bottom on his thighs, and for a second, he regretted
not removing his pants.
The small white towel was taken and rubbed on Porchay’s hair. Quietness settled in between
them.

“Don’t do it again,” Kim said, breaking the stagnant tension. Hands never stop drying the
black locks. “Don’t disappear from my sight when I’m looking for you, Chay.”

“What happened?” Porchay queried, his red-rimmed eyes looking at Kim. The tip of his nose
was all red and his head tilted to the side.

Nothing, Kim wanted to say. It was much easier to say. Yet he had sworn to the youngster that
he would never lie to him again.

Kim clenched his teeth, readying himself to speak out about his recurring nightmares. “Your
brother called. He told me about my father seeking you. He said you don’t wish to continue
the treatment. Memories of you at the beach made me snap.

He set the towel down when his hands began trembling. “I can’t forget it. I tried to bury
everything — your lifeless body, your cold hands, and the image of you in the waves.”

Kim shut his eyes and grounded himself. Attempting to stop the flashbacks.

He needed to feel Porchay. Warm, breathing, and alive.

He needed to feel him.

Now.

He did it fast. Kim tugged the bathrobe’s knot around Porchay’s waist and let the white fabric
hang loose. The bathrobe parted, exposing the boy's naked front. Kim dragged Porchay's
uncovered body to his bare chest. Their bodies squeezed together; skin to skin, chest to chest,
and heart to heart.

Porchay was warm. He was alive.

Kim felt the boy tremble on top of him, and he just pulled him impossibly close, preventing
the feeble hands of the boy from pushing him away. Burying his face in the crook of
Porchay’s neck, he breathed in his scent.

It was time for Kim to say it. To face his long-time denials.

“I thought you were dead.”

There. There was Kim’s final impediment. Crumbled and ruined to the ground.

“Memories of you at the beach enraged me, as much as they ruined me. Manipulating your
heart was my first regret, and almost losing you to another man was the start of my misery —
but Chay, witnessing you in the middle of the violent waves was my downfall.”

With a hand wrapped around the boy’s torso and another at the back of Pochay’s head, Kim
pulled him into his arms, hugging Porchay close as if he wanted to bury the boy within
himself.

“You tried to commit suicide, and I'd be forever in denial of the nightmare. Neither my soul
nor my mind could ever take the horror of it. Every time those memories resurfaced, I felt
madness reaching out to me.”

Kim felt Porchay's faltering breaths stroking his Adam's apple as he directed the boy's face to
hide beneath his neck. He didn't want Porchay to see his face. Because Kim knew, anguish
and grief were scarring it.

“Last night was me trying, finally trying to accept everything. I thought of you, and I lost
control. I nearly killed many men and injured others. When your brother tried to intervene, I
struck him. I'm scared, Chay. I can't grasp my senses and stop my rage when I’m in that state.
And that terrifies me to the bone. What if I can't restrain it — the beast — when it happens
again? What if I unconsciously hurt you in the future?”

Was there any future for them?

On the verge of plunging into an endless abyss, Kim prayed for his salvation. “Save me,
Chay. Only you can save me.”

Kim despised himself. Including the whisper and monster nurtured within him.

“No, you won’t,” Porchay said abruptly, his face appearing from his hiding spot. “I believe
you won’t hurt me, P’Kim.”

“Let go! P’Kim! You’re hurting me!”

“I just did it minutes ago.”

Porchay moved on his lap, trying to put some distance between them. Yet Kim's steel arms
around him prevented it from happening. He didn’t care.

Despite Porchay’s flaccid cock rubbing against his stomach, his ribs jabbing Kim’s bare
chest, and the boy’s face being inches away from him; Kim still wanted to pull him closer.
Even though there wasn't any space left between them.

“Aren’t you mad at me?” Kim whispered.

“I am,” Porchay whispered back. “I just don’t have any strength left to slap you right now.”

Kim kissed Porchay's pulse on the neck. “I deserve my one slap. When you have the strength,
you can do it at any time.”

Porchay locked his gaze on him. “Do you ever feel like hitting me?”

“I would rather cut my arms.”

“Are you going to harm me in the future?”

“Your brother would have my head first.”

Porchay granted him a small smile. “I’m going to trust you.”

Kim shook his hand, “It’s not that simple. When I lost control, my rage just—”

“Then, who stopped your beast last night?” Porchay interrupted, his eyes boring into Kim,
curiosity filled them.

Tankhun’s voice screaming Porchay’s name from the night before suddenly echoed inside his
head. The shattering voice, laced with fear and grievance resonated clearly, as though the
man were beside him.

And then it clicked. Everything was aligned and felt right.

Breathless, Kim said, “It was you.”

Porchay’s puzzled eyes induced Kim to continue. He yanked the boy to him and molded their
bodies into one.

“When I was undone, your name was my last lifeline.”

There was no need for Kim to provide further clarification. It was enough if he was the only
one who realized the extent of Porchay's control over him. The profound impact Porchay's
existence had on him.

He would never harm Porchay.

With Porchay in his life, he wasn’t doomed to be a monster forever.

Indeed, he would never harm Porchay.

If just hearing Porchay's name can tame his raging self, how can he hurt the sole remedy for
the beast within him?

For long moments, they stared into each other’s eyes. A wordless atmosphere settled
comfortably around them.

Porchay’s hand reached out to pick up the shirt, but Kim was faster. He only pulled the boy
back into his embrace, relishing the warmth of Porchay’s naked body pressed against his
chest. “A little more.”

Porchay sighed into his neck, and his body surrendered and relaxed.
“Have you ever wished things were different?” Porchay asked quietly over the rain, his
breath fanning Kim's shoulder as his finger stroked the area above Kim's pounding heart.

Kim responded by slipping one arm into the boy's bathrobe and rubbing his back in a circular
motion. “In what way?”

“Everything. From the very beginning.”

Kim heard the regrets in the murmur of Porchay’s words.

If things weren't the same from the very beginning, he wouldn't have had the chance to meet
Porchay, right? Would Porchay's life have crossed his if Korn Theerapanyakul wasn't related
to Namphueng Kittisawat? Would he have encountered Porchay if Porsche hadn't helped
Kinn almost a year ago?

No. It would be impossible; to have their lives tangled with each other out of pure
coincidence was ironic.

“Never.” Kim stated, “If it meant our lives would not cross each other, I’d never dare to wish
for it.”

Porchay continued stroking his chest, and Kim just left kisses on the boy’s flesh that he had
cruelly squeezed before. The flesh had reddened, and Kim felt remorse swelling in his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

Porchay stared up at him, his eyes widening in quiet astonishment and bewilderment. Kim
leaned his face on the boy’s shoulder, muttering his repentance hoarsely on the skin.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” Kim said.

Porchay gently pushed Kim away and gazed into his obsidian eyes. The boy's soft voice
drifted to his ears: “Only that?”

Kim’s forehead crumpled in a frown, a little bit perplexed. “There are many deeds I have to
grieve for. Tell me which ones and I will be sorry.”

Porchay’s lips thinned. “Three months ago, you drugged me.”

Recollection befell his mind, and Kim swallowed down the lump forming in his throat.

Porchay continued, “You kidnapped me.”

And this was the reason why Kim had always felt like a demonic being. For all the sins he
had committed against the boy, he cannot find an ounce of regret in his bones for taking
Porchay forcefully from the altar.

“The man you were going to marry wasn't me, Porchay. If I had to do it all over again, I
would. All of the actions I did three months ago to get you back were done with a clear
conscience. I have no remorse.”
Porchay attempted to rise off his lap, clearly disappointed with his response. Kim's arms,
however, encircled him, holding the boy captive in his embrace.

“I apologize. I apologize for not wishing things were different. I apologize for not regretting
my actions three months ago. I apologize for being selfish and refusing to let you go. I’m
truly sorry that I can't let you go.” Kim coaxed the protesting boy, who tried to get away from
him.

As the youngster realized his struggles were futile, he just resigned to Kim's unyielding grip
and buried his face in Kim's shoulder.

“This is why I doubt we can start over, P’Kim.” Porchay murmured quietly, “While I’ve
forgiven the past, there is still a part of me that resents you for what you’ve done to me.”

Kim let his head fall back; his fingers never ceased seeking to touch Porchay’s skin. “I don’t
mind. As long as I can stay by your side, resent me all you want.”

Porchay tilted his head and met Kim's eyes, and Kim noticed a trace of sadness in them. “I’m
going to hurt you, P’Kim.”

The corner of Kim's mouth curled up slightly, a forlorn smile painted on his face. “I’m not
afraid to be hurt by you, Chay. As long as the pain is coming from you, I’m willing to bear
the suffering.”

Because Kim had long accepted one fact. He deserved every speck of Porchay’s bitterness
and sorrow that would be returned to him. After all, Kim was the one who created it.

“I'm fine if we become friends first, or whatever you want to call it. I just want to be by your
side, Chay.”

“Do friends do this?” Porchay questioned, his hands motioned to their positions.

In Kim's knowledge, friends wouldn't talk with each other in a similar position as theirs.
Porchay was completely naked on his lap, only the bathrobe covered his back from the
chilling air. Kim’s bare chest wasn't making their position any less intimate either.

Normal friends wouldn't be reminiscing about their memories, or rather, Kim’s aggressive
acts toward Porchay from months ago, as if they were discussing the gloomy weather.

With a rainy storm, a hidden metal gun, and a half bottle of vodka on the side; these weren't
looking like situations a regular friendship would be supposed to have.

Still, Kim and Porchay were significantly different from others. They had a much deeper
bond than a mere ‘friendship’.

“We’re a special type of friend,” Kim concluded, “so yeah, friends would do this.”

He hoped the fictitious excuse to keep Porchay in his arms made any sense.
“Do friends sleep together like this?” Porchay queried over the rain's pitter-patter, his voice
muffled by the pillow he was lying on.

From behind the boy, Kim shifted to his side and propped one hand on the mattress,
supporting his head. Porchay’s body was facing the window, his gaze drawn to the soaking
city below.

Kim moved in closer and planted his chest against the back of Porchay’s body. Seeking
warmth after his quick shower.

“They sometimes do this.” He replied back, another arm absentmindedly sneaking into the
blanket and circling the lean stomach with his thumb.

“I've never done this with Ohm before,” Porchay said in rebuttal, his fingers holding down
Kim’s arm when it moved dangerously near the boy’s nipple.

“You better not,” Kim failed to hide the warning in his tone. Porchay’s body tensed, and Kim
just drew him impossibly tight, burying his face in Porchay’s nape in a silent apology.

“A good friend will give me a shirt to sleep on,” Porchay muttered to himself.

Kim smirked and entwined their legs together, savoring the warm contact of their bare skin.
“I gave you one of my shorts. Unfortunately, I’m not a generous person.”

The t-shirt he had grabbed before lay neglected on the side table, with a vodka bottle as its
companion.

Perhaps it was hours later, or maybe just a few minutes of silence passed, but neither of them
could fully shut their eyes. One person was still staring out into the rain, and another was
waiting for the boy to fall asleep.

“That night, we were like this too. In the same position.” Porchay’s voice was carried by the
cool air into Kim’s ears, and the blanket rustled as the boy pulled it higher onto their frames.

The mattress dipped under his weight as Kim sat up halfway and turned Porchay’s body to lie
on his back. Looming on top of him, Kim stared into the doe-eyed boy.

Kim remembered them. Everything from the moment their worlds collided until this precise
second.

From Porchay’s first meeting with him at the university, their frequent and discreet dates, to
Porchay’s first trauma of being kidnapped by Kinn’s crazy ex-lover.

As Kim cradled the boy's face, a spark torched in his chest.

He had committed romantic homicide to defend this boy from the men in the bar. He had
regained the title of ‘betrayer’ from several guards for revolting against his own father. To top
it all, he had once left the boy broken with his own crafted manipulations.

How much time had passed between them? How long must he wait for the happy ending?

Under his touch, Kim stroked the thin face and the slightly protruding cheekbones. The face
that used to be chubby became narrower. The previously healthy body was sickeningly
thinner.

What have you done to Porchay, Kim Khimhant?

“What else do you remember?” His voice was rough as if his throat had been grated with
sandpaper.

“I remember you locked me in here.” Far into the night, Porchay's airy voice brought
something out of Kim.

Lust.

Hungry desire he struggled to contain.

“What else?” Kim rasped, his voice low.

“I remember you asked for my forgiveness.”

“What else?” his face inching closer to Porchay, melancholy eyes stared back into his aroused
ones.

“I remember you said you love me, and you kissed me.”

He waited for Porchay to utter it with heavy breathing. To say those words so they would
feed Kim’s yearning.

“What else, Porchay? Speak.”

Porchay's hand reached up to hold Kim’s. “I remember you tore one of my favorite shirts that
I was wearing. And threatened to punish me.”

Kim’s cock throbbed. His mind was flooded with images from that rough night. The boy’s
whimpers, wet moans, and screams that he hungrily swallowed into his being.

Kim hissed each syllable while staring at Porchay's lips. “What. Else. Porchay?”

In frustration, Kim thrust his clothed hips against Porchay's exposed thighs.

“P’Kim!” Porchay moaned.

“Tell. Me.” Kim gritted his teeth. “What. Else. Did. We. Do. That. Night.”

Kim saw everything in slow motion, like a fallen leaf descending from a branch. Through
unsteady breaths, Porchay took Kim’s hand and ran it down over his body.
Kim’s body trembled as he fought the hunger to ravage Porchay. Holding tight to his senses,
Kim gripped the last of his self-control as his gaze focused and followed Porchay's
movements.

Porchay stopped and rested Kim’s open hand on his lower stomach. Through innocent eyes
and thick lips, the words that came out of Porchay's mouth were dirtier than Kim’s sins.

“I remember you. In here. Inside me, P’Kim.”

And by hearing those words, Kim fully lost every last string of his control.

Kim surged forward, crushing Porchay’s sinful lips with his mouth. The kiss was rough,
filthy, and messy. Kim demanded more, and Porchay —oh, the ever-sweet Porchay — laid
down obediently, his fingers tangled in Kim’s hair, and let the man above him take and
devour everything out of him.

Kim pried Porchay’s lips open and shoved his tongue inside, swallowing the boy’s wet cry
down his throat.

“Ahh! P’-P’Kim!” Porchay lightly tapped on Kim’s chest as he battled to breathe.

“Your tongue. Give me your tongue.” Kim said throatily before diving back into Porchay’s
mouth.

He would cry if this was just another hopeless dream. Kim had been imagining, longing for
Porchay's lips for unimaginable times that he almost believed he had gone lunatic.

Three months ago was the first and last time he had ever tasted this boy’s lips. But when the
morning came, Kim had since then been left dying of starvation.

Porchay turned his head away, gasping for air. Kim took the chance to leave open-mouth
kisses and bites on the boy’s exposed collarbone, sucking crimson marks on it.

“Stick your tongue out.” Kim commanded before capturing Porchay’s mouth again. His hand
slipped at the back of Porchay’s neck, pulling the boy’s face closer to deepen the kiss.

When Porchay hesitantly poked his tongue out, Kim — without wasting a single second —
quickly sucked on it. The wet, obscenity-filled sound echoed around the bedroom while Kim
drank down the saliva and Porchay’s moan into his stomach.

The boy underneath him shuddered and squirmed, attempting to free his tongue from Kim's
lips. Porchay tugged at his hair, breaking their kiss with a loud, wet noise.

His pants felt tight, with almost no space left for his hardened cock.

Porchay panted for air, and Kim went after his nipples. The rosy buds he had been eyeing for
the past few days finally belonged to him and were sucked ravenously into his mouth; coated
and drenched with his saliva.
Porchay cried out when Kim bit the left one between his teeth and pulled it until the hardened
nipple stretched out.

“H-hurts...” Porchay whimpered.

Kim released and soothed the bud with his wet muscle, leaving a peck as an apology. The
duvet lowered as Kim’s mouth trailed down Porchay's body. He smooches down the boy's
abdomen, lapping and chomping on the pieces of flesh, engraving his teeth marks deep into
them.

His wild hands groped Porchay’s soft buttocks, kneading the rounded flesh roughly. Just as
he tried to slip Porchay’s short pants away, two frail hands cupped his face and drew their
faces closer.

“P’Kim,” Porchay called out breathlessly, a hint of panic in his tone.

Kim's brow furrowed as he noticed the boy's eyes were brimming with unshed tears. “Chay?
What’s wrong?” Kim shot his questions, voice worried.

He took hold of the boy's hands and brought them to his mouth, encouraging him to speak
with kisses. “Talk to me, Chay. Did I hurt you?”

Relief settled down in his chest when the boy shook his head, mumbling in a croaky voice,
“I’m just scared.”

Kim wiped Porchay's eyes with his thumb, collecting the salty tears on his fingers, and licked
them into his mouth. “Scared of what, baby?”

“I-I don’t think I’m ready, P’Kim.”

Kim shut his eyes and swallowed down the frustrated groans that threatened to escape his
mouth.

“I'm sorry!” Porchay whimpered, “I shouldn't have led you on—”

“No, baby, no.” Kim hushed him with pecks on the lips. “I understand you need time, and it's
okay.”

Porchay stared up at him, his hair scattered over the pillow. “You're not mad?”

Kim's eyes widened. “I could never be angry at you, Chay.”

“But... your...” Porchay's eyes peeked down at Kim's groin. His fully erected cock strained
his pants; the outline was clearly visible.

Kim nudged the boy's chin, “Don't worry about it.”

It was okay. He can do it next time. Only after Porchay was ready.
Kim hugged him, burying his face in the crook of Porchay’s neck. He hushed the boy’s
sniffles, assuring him with little nippings on the neck.

Kim concentrated on Pochay's scent, trying to divert his attention from his throbbing cock.
“Don’t move, Chay,” Kim spoke, crushing the boy underneath him with his weight. “Let’s
stay like this for now.”

With a nod from Porchay, Kim closed his eyes and trampled out his lust-filled mind.

It took him a long time.

After all, he was a man.

A perverted one who had been starved for months.

“Do friends do this?” Porchay's breath brushed over his skin as he rested on Kim's chest. Kim
picked up on the cheeky tone underneath Porchay's question.

“Screw our friendship. We're wedded now.”

He smirked as he received a little slap on his abdomen. “Never say something you don't
mean.” Porchay chided him.

He didn't need to see his reflection to know the smirk had been completely wiped off his face.
As his nails grazed Porchay’s shoulder, Kim recalled the three other times they had been in
this exact position.

First, on the beige couch at Kittisawat’s old house. Minutes before Porchay’s first
kidnapping. The sunny-side-up egg painted with a smiley face was left untouched.

Second, when Porchay suffered a mental breakdown after the battle.

And third, here. Right now.

Hoisting the boy up to straddle his torso, Kim held his face. “I mean it. Each and every
word.”

The uncertainty that pooled in Porchay’s eyes was evident.

Kim's eyes hardened, and a vow was spoken past his lips: “Carve this in your pretty head, my
love. You may either marry me or never marry anyone. There's no other option in between.”

He spoke passionately to Porchay, and with the widening eyes of the latter, Kim knew his
message had reached the boy. Porchay bit his bottom lips unconsciously, and Kim eagerly
chased after it — leaving a searing kiss in its wake.
“I have sealed my promise.” The boy's cheeks were spreading with flush, and Kim's smirk
returned.

Porchay’s shoulders slumped in defeat, finally accepting the fate written by Kim. With the
boy still straddling his abdomen, Kim shifted his body and leaned on the bed’s headboards;
soft pillows cushioned his back.

“I’m not that easy, P’Kim,” Porchay muttered, his index finger trailing along Kim’s jaw.

Kim captured the feeble hand and kissed the inside of Porchay’s palm. “I’ve never considered
you in that way, Chay. Tell me. What should I do to have you? I would fulfill your every
demand.”

Somehow, in between his spoken words, something arose within him. He couldn't put his
finger on the feeling that he was slowly suffocating. Perhaps it was nostalgia interlaced with
yearning. Similarly, it might be remorse intertwined with hope.

How much longer must he wait for their happy ending? About a year had passed since their
eyes first met, and it felt like they had spent more time apart than together.

Kim glanced out the window; the rain had slowed. Even on the bleakest night, Porchay was
still able to steal Kim’s breath away.

He often pondered how this creature could resemble more of an angel and so little like a
human. Despite being in the worst shape Kim had ever seen Porchay, this boy, wearing
nothing but shorts, still managed to shine brightly.

Ethereally beautiful.

It was almost as though, with a single blink of Kim's eyelids, the boy would completely
vanish from his sight and return to the paradise where he truly belonged.

Staring deeply at Porchay, taking in every perfection of the boy's physical existence, Kim
realized with a sorrowful heart that there would never be a speck in him that was worthy of
this boy.

Even in his viciousness, he yearned for the blossoming petal that fell from the heavens.

Longing to possess, smell, and bottle the only precious flower that fate had spared him the
chance to glimpse at.

How greedy of you, Khimhant.

Was he? Was he greedy for desiring the only good thing that was bestowed upon him? Was
he so repulsive that he did not deserve to own the single embodiment of the divine's
sweetheart?

Indeed, Kim was the epitome of all horrid words combined. Because, at the end of the day,
the fact that he was born with Theerapanyakul’s blood coursing through his veins was enough
to prove what a sinister man Kim was.
Under all the evil whispers, Kim settled on one thing.

In this lifetime and the next, he would be a greedy man.

Everything related to Porchay, Kim would be a greedy man and hoard them all. It didn’t
matter if he was worthy or not.

If every single reigning king had their own sole treasure, Kim had long ago decided that
Porchay would be the lone glory in his majestic shrine.

He won’t let the boy slip from his hold. No one can ever take him away. Not even Porchay
can walk away from him. Over his dead body.

No. Even after death, Kim would rather be awakened as a ferocious soul and haunt Porchay’s
life than let him be with someone else.

One question struck Kim’s deranged mind: What will happen to him after death?

Hell comes to you, Kim Khimhant.

Before his garbled thoughts plunged deeper into the abyss, a faraway voice summoned him
back to the light.

“P’Kim?” When Porchay called him, his name sounded almost holy.

Kim managed to break out of his reveries, his hands rubbing on Porchay’s sides. Strangely,
the younger one’s face had crumpled in sadness. Kim pondered why.

“Don’t make a face like that, P’Kim,” Porchay uttered depressingly. “Please, don’t.”

Kim searched for his voice, finding it hard to speak. “Like what?”

“Like you’re going to cry.”

Kim suppressed the heartache, storing it away in the deepest part of his mind. “You didn’t
answer my questions yet. What should I do to have you, Porchay?”

“Chay, can we start over?”

“Can I fix this?”

“Please, let me fix this.”

They gazed deeply into each other's eyes; one pair was filled with hope, the other with doubt.
Seconds went by, the rain was still drizzling, and the dimly lit room was permeated with
anxious hearts and frigid air.

Even surrounded by silky sheets, thick pillows, and heavy blankets, Kim couldn’t explain the
frozen state of his heart. The longer Porchay took his time to answer, the harder and slower
Kim’s heart became.
When Kim thought Porchay’s profound silence would bring him another round of long
misery, his sweet, honeyed voice arrived as Kim’s salvation.

“Chase me, Khimhant.” Porchay breathed out, his eyes staring back into Kim’s soul.

Somehow, in the moments those three words were uttered, Porchay's eyes were streaming
down with tears.

And somehow, in the back of his head, behind the dark whispers, there was a voice. A new
voice.

A different voice whispered to Kim that this was the beginning of his happy ending.

He couldn't figure out why they were trembling. Yet, for certain, it wasn’t driven by fear and
hatred anymore.

Cradling Kim’s face, Porchay's wet eyes gazed into Kim’s obsidian ones’. “Instead of me
chasing after you, I want you to do it this time. For the rest of your life. I promise to be here,
to live, to heal. And I want you to be with me. I want you to come to me.”

Kim exhaled shakily; his own hands held Porchay’s face. It was Kim who had been
tormented, but why? Why was this boy, this pitiful boy, crying like he was in pain?

Like he felt Kim’s suffering as his own.

“Do you remember the song you sent me?” Porchay asked through his tears, and Kim felt his
heart shattered.

He remembered it like how he remembered to breathe.

How can he forget the song he sang to Porchay, begging him to stay? The song that this boy
had composed and started? The one Kim had produced and finished? The song Kim had
heartbreakingly sung and never received the answer?

Kim nodded, crestfallen eyes fixated on Porchay. Though his heart beat wildly.

“This is my answer, Kim Khimhant. I will stay.”

He yanked Porchay into his body as the sobs escaped. He buried his face in the boy’s neck,
the only place he could find true solace. Consoling their still bleeding, wounded souls, Kim
rocked both of them back and forth.

He felt the boy shake, and his left shoulder started to dampen with Porchay's streaming tears.
Kim's arms slithered around Porchay’s body, creating a cocoon of pouring relief and
newfound hope.

Finally, Porchay was within his reach.

Kim wept into Porchay’s pulse, hoping the words would seep into the boy’s heartbeat.
“For the rest of my life, I will chase you. I'll hunt you down, catch you and court you. And I
promise there will come a day when all the resentment you have for me will disappear and all
that’s left in you is my undying love. I’ll come to you, Porchay.”

Kim’s heart mourned as Porchay’s sob soaked into his flesh.

With a voice that sounded almost like a whisper, Porchay choked out: “I’ll wait for you to
reach me, P’Kim.”

And Kim swore, he will.

One day.

He would let the boy play around for a while. Let the boy have a slight taste of freedom,
adapt to his new world, and mend their broken hearts together.

To live and to heal.

And for Kim, it was time for him to fix everything.

He wouldn't leave, ever. Instead, he will be in the shadow of Porchay, waiting until the boy is
ready to love him as much as Kim loves him.

There won’t be any pent-up suffering or fear of rejection. From this very moment, he no
longer had to wait alone for their happy ending.

“Run fast, my love. For I’ll never stop hunting you down until my last breath.”

Because in this ticking second, in every next step he takes for their happiness, Porchay will
be by his side.

“I love you, Porchay.”

“I love you too, P’Kim.”

When the dawn came, Kim no longer woke up to an empty side.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pouring rain eventually ended.

Questions finally were answered; warmth surrounded him, and the heavy stone had fallen
from his chest.

They both stayed.

It was the beginning of Kim's everlasting time to fix everything.

 Just like before, Porchay's existence rendered him breathless. “Hi, P'Kim.”

Hi,

And just like when his world collided with Porchay's, Kim's once-frozen life never stopped
ticking again.

“My little one, Porchay.”

— THE END —

Chapter End Notes

And with that, my first piece of writing, "Hunting Down The Bambi" comes to an end. I
have said the same thing many times, but if you are reading this message, thank you.
Thank you for your unwavering support from the beginning until the end.

When you leave words to the writer, it helps us in difficult times. At times when we lost
ideas, enthusiasm, and even strength; your comments were my savior.

Finally, may our lives cross on a new journey.

Thank you.
@fancifulnim (Twitter)
End Notes

Hi everyone. Thank you for reading my story. This is actually my first time writing so your
support is much appreciated!

Feed me with your thoughts, it encourages me to write more :)

All the latest updates will be posted here: @fancifulnim (twitter & instagram)

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