Work Text:
The Main Family home was in chaos.
It hit Kim the second he stepped through the front doors—raised voices echoing down the hall, guards moving too fast to be efficient. It reminded him of a raid gone wrong, the kind where no one knew who was in charge anymore, just that something important had slipped through their fingers.
He had only come back to talk things over with Kinn. A short visit. In and out. He should have known better.
A guard nearly collided with him, skidding to a halt at the last second. Kim reached out automatically, steadying him by the shoulder.
“What’s going on?” Kim asked, voice calm in contrast to the energy buzzing through the house.
The guard swallowed. “It’s—it’s Porchay, sir. He slipped his detail.”
Kim froze.
“Slipped?” he repeated.
“Yes, sir. We lost him about an hour ago. We’ve been checking known locations, but—” The guard hesitated, clearly bracing himself. “We don’t know where he is.”
For a split second, Kim felt something sharp and unpleasant twist in his chest. It was gone just as quickly, buried under irritation.
Kim scoffed. “You’re panicking over that?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and walked back toward the exit. The guard stared after him, confused, before scrambling to report back into his radio.
Big, who had been lingering near the door, blinked. “Sir? Where are we going?”
Kim didn’t slow. “There’s a bar. I found him there once.”
Big’s eyebrows lifted slightly. He remembered that night—the flashing lights, the sweat and noise, Kim appearing out of nowhere like a shadow pulled solid. Porchay had been being reckless, a hand already extended with an unknown pill heading towards his mouth.
Kim had put a quick stop to that.
Big nodded. “I’ll drive.”
The city bled neon as they pulled up outside the club. Music thudded through the pavement, bass vibrating up through Kim’s shoes as soon as he stepped out of the car. The air smelled like alcohol and smoke and too many bodies packed too close together.
Kim scanned the crowd with sharp, practiced efficiency. He was already cataloguing exits, threats, angles—until Big cleared his throat.
Quietly. Carefully.
Kim followed Big’s line of sight upward.
And there he was.
Porchay was standing on a table in the middle of the club, dancing like he didn’t know the world could ever hurt him. The lights caught on bare skin, on fabric that barely clung to him at all—something glittering and cropped and far too small to be doing anything it claimed to be doing. His cheeks were flushed, eyes closed, head tipped back as he moved with the music, completely unguarded.
Happy.
Free.
Kim’s jaw tightened.
“He, uh…” Big shifted awkwardly beside him. “He looks happy.”
Yes. He did.
That was the problem.
Because Kim could see it—could see the way people were watching him, eyes lingering too long, hands reaching up like they had a right. The crowd around the table had grown thick, attention sharpened into something hungry.
Kim snapped out of it.
Enough.
He moved through the club with purpose, ignoring the protests when he reached the table. Porchay barely had time to yelp before Kim’s arms were around his waist, lifting him cleanly off the table and slinging him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.
“Hey—! P’Kim—!” Porchay protested, laughing at first, then squirming. “What are you— put me down!”
Kim didn’t respond. He kept walking.
The club noise faded behind them as Big opened the car door. Kim deposited Porchay into the backseat, shutting the door firmly before circling around to the front.
Porchay stared at him, blinking slowly.
“P’Kim,” he said, voice soft and a little slurred.
Kim grunted, eyes fixed on the window as the car pulled away.
Porchay frowned, then leaned forward and grabbed Kim’s face with both hands, tugging until Kim had no choice but to look at him.
“P’Kim, what are you doing here?” Porchay asked, punctuated by a hiccup.
Kim gently but firmly removed Porchay’s hands. “Getting you. You slipped your detail. People are panicking.”
The words barely left his mouth before Porchay’s expression crumpled.
“I don’t wanna go back,” Porchay said, voice rising. “Don’t take me back. Please, P’Kim—” His hands twisted in the fabric of Kim’s sleeve. “I just wanted to have fun. Hia’s going to be so mad.”
Kim ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly.
“Fine,” he said at last. “Big. Go to my place. But I am informing your brother that you’ve been found.”
Porchay’s face lit up like Kim had just handed him the moon. He beamed, leaning back in the seat with a satisfied sigh.
Kim looked away.
At the house, Kim helped Porchay inside, steadying him as he kicked his shoes off clumsily. Porchay wandered toward the couch, then stopped suddenly.
“I need to take my makeup off,” he announced seriously.
Kim retrieved makeup remover from the bathroom and handed it over. Porchay looked at it, then up at Kim, lips jutting out in a pout that should not have been as effective as it was.
Kim stared at him for a long moment.
“…Sit down,” Kim said.
That was how he found himself on the couch, carefully wiping glitter and smudged liner from Porchay’s face. He focused on the task, absolutely not on the way Porchay’s eyes kept flicking to his mouth, or how close they were, or how warm Porchay’s skin felt under his fingers.
When he was done, Kim handed Porchay one of his shirts and a pair of pants.
“Change,” he said.
Kim turned away and made food, the familiar ritual grounding him. When he returned with ramen, the couch was quiet.
Porchay was fast asleep.
Kim paused, then set the bowl aside. He grabbed a pillow and blanket, tucking Porchay in carefully, adjusting the blanket when Porchay shifted and sighed in his sleep.
–
Kim was halfway through convincing himself this was nothing when he was woken by the sound of his door opening.
“Chay?” he asked, half-asleep, the nickname slipping out before he could stop it.
“Phi, you left me out there,” Porchay murmured, already climbing into the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Kim sat up, heart suddenly loud. “Porchay, I—I’ll go sleep on the couch.”
“Please, P’Kim,” Porchay whispered. “I’m so lonely now.”
Kim didn’t need to ask what he wanted.
He sighed and lay back down. Porchay curled in immediately, head resting on Kim’s chest, breath evening out as if this was exactly where he was meant to be.
Kim stared at the ceiling.
It was fine, he told himself.
Porchay wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning anyway.
–
Kim woke up to the unfamiliar sensation of rest.
It took him a moment to understand what felt so strange about it. His body felt heavy in a way it rarely did, limbs loose instead of coiled tight with habit and vigilance. His mind wasn’t already racing ahead, cataloguing threats, replaying unfinished conversations, planning three moves into the future.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling, breathing slowly.
He hadn’t slept this well in a long time.
The realization settled over him quietly—and then he became aware of the warmth pressed against his chest.
Porchay was still there.
Curled into him, one arm draped across Kim’s torso, cheek pressed over his heart like he belonged there. His hair was mussed, lips parted slightly in sleep, lashes casting faint shadows against his skin. He looked younger like this. Softer. Not reckless and bright and defiant like the night before—just Chay.
Kim swallowed.
Carefully, as if defusing something delicate, he shifted. Porchay made a small noise in his sleep, brow furrowing, arm tightening reflexively for half a second before loosening again. Kim froze until Porchay settled, then slowly eased himself free.
He stood there for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of Porchay’s chest.
Then he turned away.
In the kitchen, Kim poured a glass of water, then another. He rummaged through a cabinet and found hangover medicine he hadn’t touched in years. He lined everything up neatly on the counter like an offering.
He told himself it was just responsibility.
The stove clicked on quietly as he set about making breakfast. Rice, eggs, something simple—comforting. He moved automatically, hands steady, mind anything but.
He was cracking eggs when he heard it.
Movement.
A soft shuffle from the bedroom. A pause. Then footsteps—hesitant, uncertain.
Kim didn’t turn around.
Porchay appeared in the doorway, wearing Kim’s shirt from the night before, sleeves too long, hem brushing his thighs. His hair was a mess, eyes a little tired but clear. He hovered there like he wasn’t sure he was welcome.
“Hi, Kim,” Porchay said softly.
Kim glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow lifting slightly before he could stop himself.
Not phi.
Just Kim.
Something in his chest tightened. “Morning,” he replied, voice neutral. “There’s water. And medicine.”
Porchay nodded, crossing the room slowly. He took the glass, fingers brushing Kim’s for half a second before pulling away. He swallowed the medicine obediently, then lingered, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Silence stretched.
It was Porchay who broke it.
“You slept on the bed,” he said, not accusing. Just stating it.
Kim exhaled. “You climbed in.”
Porchay’s lips twitched. “You didn’t stop me.”
Kim turned fully then, leaning back against the counter. “You were drunk.”
“I’m not now.”
There it was.
Kim looked away first. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
Porchay didn’t let him escape that easily. “Why did you bring me here last night?”
Kim’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t want to go back.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The eggs sizzled softly between them. Kim stared at the pan like it held answers.
“Because,” he said finally, “I shouldn’t have let you be there in the first place.”
Porchay crossed his arms. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Decide things for me.”
“I told you—”
“You told me you didn’t love,” Porchay snapped, voice cracking. “But then you go and take care of me last night. I don’t know what to do with this information.”
Kim closed his eyes.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I do. Love you.”
Porchay froze.
Kim laughed once, bitter and soft all at once. “Loving you makes me reckless. Every time you smile at me I forget what kind of world this is.” He looked at Porchay then, really looked at him. “You shouldn’t be in this life.”
Porchay stared back, eyes shining. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do when it can get you hurt."
“I was already in it,” Porchay said. “Because of Porsche. No matter what you think, I don’t live in some safe little bubble.”
Kim stepped closer. “This isn’t a game.”
“I know!” Porchay said, voice shaking now. “I know exactly how dangerous this is. I see the guns. The blood.” His hands clenched at his sides. “And I still choose you.”
Kim’s throat worked. “You’re too young.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I am going to get you killed.”
Porchay took another step forward, close enough now that Kim could feel his warmth again. “No. You’re going to protect me. Like you already do.”
Silence crashed down between them.
Kim’s control slipped—not all at once, but in pieces. The careful distance. The rules. The belief that loving someone meant leaving them.
Porchay reached out, tentative this time, fingers brushing Kim’s wrist. “You don’t get to push me away because you’re scared.”
Kim laughed softly. “I’m not scared.”
Porchay looked at him, eyes gentle but unyielding. “Yes, you are. And that's okay. I am too.”
Porchay leaned in slowly, as if not to spook Kim, giving him ample time to push him away but he never did.
The kiss wasn’t desperate or hurried—it was careful, like he was asking permission. Kim kissed him back immediately, hands fisting in Porchay’s shirt, like he’d been waiting for this all along.
When they finally pulled apart, Kim rested his forehead against Porchay’s.