Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

His brother is sick.

His brother is fucking sick and he's stuck standing guard in this useless fucking meeting that he knows he's not needed in. The room's full of half a dozen of the most capable bodyguards in the whole house, there's no good reason for him to be here aside from the fact that Kinn had asked for him specifically. 

And Porsche can't figure out why he'd even asked for him in the first place.

Probably because he's an annoying fuckhead who relishes in ruining his life and knows exactly which buttons he needs to press to piss Porsche off. Probably because he likes to keep him around like he's some sort of accessory, as prized as the multi-million baht watch that always rests around his wrist, or the family ring that never leaves his right hand. 

He's jittery and unfocused throughout the whole meeting in a way that he's never been before, not even when he'd first started. If an assassin were to break in, they'd probably be able to take out half of the guards in the room before he even noticed anything was awry.

Fuck, he's no use to anyone like this, he's not even any use to his baby brother who needs him, who had sounded so weak and tired through the phone that Porsche thought maybe fighting his way out of this hellhole might actually be worth it.

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth until it's almost bruised, picks at the skin around his nails with his thumb until it's bleeding, and tries not to go out of his damn mind with anxiety. 

He tries very, very hard, he does. But obviously it's not good enough.

"Porsche," a voice calls, a hand appearing in front of his face. The hand then proceeds to snap its fingers, intentionally pulling him out of his daze. 

He comes back to himself with a jolt, instincts almost making him lash out and curl his hand around the wrist in front of him until he realises that it's Kinn and not a threat. 

Well. As much of a non-threat that Kinn could ever possibly be.

"You've been distracted for the past two days, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I'm not distracted, I'm fine-"

"In case you haven't noticed-" Kinn starts, taking a small step away from him and gesturing around the room which is... empty? When the fuck had that happened? "I dismissed everyone three minutes ago."

Well fuck.

"You know, I don't pay you to lie to me. You've been here over a month now, I know how good your skills can be and you've been off the past forty-eight hours." He walks back around to his side of the desk and plops down into the chair, hands folded atop the wood expectantly, like he knows Porsche will tell him solely because he asked him to. "So talk."

He thinks about lying to him, about continuing to insist that there's nothing wrong and excusing himself from the room, about continuing to just do his job without letting him pry into his business, but this is Kinn he's dealing with. If Porsche doesn't tell him, he'll only manage to get the information from somewhere else. 

So, he sighs, and relents. 

"My brother's sick."

"Porchay?" 

"He is my only brother, yes." 

Kinn cocks an eyebrow at that. "Sarcasm isn't cute on you, Porsche."

There's silence in the room for a few seconds, Kinn staring at him with something in his eyes that he can't quite figure out.

"Just bring him here," he says finally, breaking the silence and waving a dismissive hand. 

They're shaking, Porsche realises when his eyes track the movement. Kinn's hands are shaking like he's anxious too, like the stoic act he's putting on is taking up all of his energy and the first traces of how he really feels are starting to peek through the cracks. He doesn't know where the thought comes from, but he wants to comfort him.

Kinn returns back to his paperwork, pen clutched tight in his grip. "Our doctor's still have their hands full with Kim, but I'll have one of the medics look over him."

Porsche almost wants to laugh at the offer, at the way it's so damn easy for these rich assholes to snap their fingers and get anything that they want no matter the cost.

But then he realises that Kinn is being serious and it becomes very not funny very, very fast.

"I took this job to protect him, and now you want me to bring him into one of the most dangerous places in the country?"

Kinn's hand stills, and he puts the pen down with a sigh before his attention returns to him. "Fine, I suppose I see your point." 

Porsche very pointedly does not say 'I told you so'. He doesn't need to, he knows that Kinn can see it on his face. 

"Then take him to one of the hospitals downtown. I'll take care of it." 

This time, Porsche is the one who raises an eyebrow. "You'll take care of it?" 

"Yes, Porsche. I'll take care of it. That's what I said, isn't it?" 

Kinn's cranky, and Porsche knows him well enough by now to know that it means he either wants a coffee or alcohol. And seeing as it's barely eleven in the morning, he opts for the former when he ducks his head out of the room and sends Ken to get him a coffee with a smile that only just borders on smug. 

"I'm a bodyguard, not a fucking barista," Ken growls at him, low in his throat. 

"Ah ah!" Porsche hums, taking far, far too much pleasure in his suffering. "You know what the boss wants, the boss gets." 

And then he's storming off, and Porsche considers it a small victory until he leans back in the room and Kinn's staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. 

"You're annoying when you're not caffeinated-" he explains, shrugging his shoulders under the weight of his boss' gaze, "-figured I'd spare you my poor excuse of one."

Kinn leans forwards, hands clasped on the desk; they've stopped shaking now, not that Porsche was paying attention or anything. "You take far too much pleasure in bossing them around." 

"It is one of the perks of the job, yes," he grins, and Kinn smiles - actually fucking smiles, what the fuck? - back at him. 

There's another silence between them for a minute or so, something brewing in the air until Kinn breaks it. 

"I meant what I said, Porsche. Take your brother to the hospital, you're no use to anybody like-" he pauses, gestures with his hand up and down the length of his body, "-this." 

On any other day, Porsche might have protested, might have snapped back with a snarky comment, but he's not about to tempt Kinn into changing his mind, not when it's for his little brother.  

"Take him to a good hospital, one where he can have his own room, and where he'll get looked at properly," Kinn tells him, and Porsche just nods. "I'll clear everything with my father. It won't be a problem considering how much he seems to like you."

Porsche still hasn't decided whether having Korn's attention is a good thing or not. It's dangerous, sure. It makes him a target, sure. But he knows that he's been treated differently because of it; hell, it's why he gets to order Ken and Big around as much as he does. 

"And take this-" Kinn adds, pushing a small, rectangular piece of paper towards his side of the desk. 

It's black and sprawled with gold writing because of course it is, Kinn's fucking dramatic. Porsche is about to ask why he gave him a business card, when he sees ten numbers scrawled in red pen at the bottom of it - they're barely legible against the black and Porsche would have missed them if he hadn't been looking for something to make sense of the situation.

"What's this?" he asks, because it can't be what he thinks it is. There's no way.

"I know you're smarter than to ask a stupid question like that, Porsche," Kinn hums, and, ah. The urge to punch him in his smug face is back. "It's my private number. I want updates, seeing as I'm being generous enough to give you time off and all." 

Porsche figures he can at least give him that, so he nods and tucks the card into the pocket of his suit.

"Burn that when you're done with it, I don't want anybody else getting hold of it."

He was right, Kinn is dramatic. 

He opens his mouth to say exactly that, but then there's a knock at the door and it's swinging open, Ken carrying Kinn's coffee over for him. 

"Arm has your phone, so you'll have to find him and ask him for it. Tell him I've cleared it."

Kinn doesn't look up when the coffee's placed in front of him, he rarely does, doesn't bother giving anybody else his attention except for Porsche when he brings him his awful coffee. 

Porsche just nods and turns on his heel, already itching to get to his brother.

"Oh, and, Porsche-"

Kinn's voice stops him in his tracks and he turns back to face him. There's something different in his eyes when he meets them, the gaze he turns on him is darker, hungrier, and he watches as Kinn rakes his eyes up the length of his body. It sends a shiver down his spine, makes his legs go weak underneath him beacuse what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-

"Nothing. Never mind," Kinn hums, satisfied, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips like he knows exactly what he's made Porsche feel. 

Porsche nods and leaves the room - pointedly does not run - letting Ken shut the door after the pair of them when he too is dismissed. He ignores his voice when he asks him what that was about and carries on straight down the hall; doesn't bother stopping until he's far enough away, until he's outrun the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his chest. 

He braces himself against the wall, willing himself to calm down, to stop thinking about the way Kinn had looked at him like that.

He doesn't even like Kinn, for fuck sake, there's no reason for his body to be reacting like this. 

It takes the better part of five minutes to calm himself down, to stop himself from thinking about things he absolutely does not want to be thinking about. 

Arm appears just as he's preparing to go and find him - a small mercy to come out of the whole situation - and Porsche falls into step with him, relaying the information and Kinn's orders. 

Once he has what he needs, once he's managed to get everything organised and to inform Pete about the situation, to tell him not to panic at his absence, he leaves, and meets no resistance when he does. There's a car waiting for him outside which he hadn't expected, but makes sense. He could pose a security risk, Kinn just wants to make sure he's going where he says he is, that's all. 

The card with his number on it weighs heavy in his palm when he pulls it out of his pocket, turning it over in his hands a few times. He tries very hard not to think about it when he types Kinn's number into his phone and hits save, absolutely does not stare at it on his screen until he starts recognising the streets they're taking.

His hands definitely don't shake when he types, deletes, and retypes a text out to Kinn, just so he has his number saved too.

[From: Porsche, 12:36pm]

Hey, it's Porsche. This is my number.

It gets read right away and he keeps the chat open whilst he waits for a response. 

He tries to pretend that he's not disappointed when it doesn't come. 

∞∞∞

Porchay's been in hospital for two days. 

Two whole fucking days where he's been poked and prodded with invasive questions and sharp needles, where he's given them so many blood samples and swabs and other tests that, honestly, Porsche feels like he's about to start swinging on some of these doctors when they come back with a simple diagnosis of tonsillitis coupled with a minor peritonsillar abcess. 

The relief floods through him when he hears it, though, and it's enough to keep him in his seat holding his brother's hand instead of deciding which of the staff to throttle first. 

"Does this mean I'll have to have surgery?" Porchay asks, and he sounds so incredibly small.

"It does-" one of the doctors tells him, nodding solemnly, "-but it's a quick and common procedure, and you'll be sedated so you won't feel a thing, I promise." 

His brother's hand starts to shake a little in his own even as he asks, "does that mean I'll have to have a needle?" 

Porchay's hated them ever since he was a kid. Whenever he had to have his vaccinations, he'd have to bury his face in their mom's chest and have her sing to him until it was over. After their parents had... after they had... after their accident he'd had to spend days recovering and being poked at by doctors in a strange hospital, doctors who'd all claimed it was a 'miracle he'd managed to come out so unscathed' and who'd all wanted to clamour around him to get a look at him despite the fact that they were both in fucking mourning.

He's been particularly petrified of them ever since.

The doctor opens his mouth to reply, but Porsche gets there quicker.

"Of course not. I'm sure these nice doctors can figure out a way around it. I'm sure they can use the gas instead," he says, meeting the doctor's eyes when he shoots him a glare. With the amount of fucking money Kinn's paying for this place, the least that they can do for them is this. "Whatever makes you comfortable, Porchay."

Porchay gets a nod and a pat on the shoulder from the doctor, who departs with a quick, "don't worry, we'll take care of you."

His brother still looks scared, so Porsche pushes himself up from the chair and perches on the edge of his bed instead. 

"Hey," he starts, pulling his attention away from the door he's staring at, "I'm going to get a coffee, okay? Do you want something for your throat?"

Porchay nods, but doesn't say anything. 

"You want some ice?"

"And juice. Please."

Porsche smiles at him and reaches out to ruffle his hair. "Ice and juice it is."

He gets his hand smacked away and huffs out a laugh when Porchay tries to straighten it back down, to tame it back into place. Porsche doesn't have the heart to tell him that it wasn't tamed to begin with.

"I won't be long," he says. "You know the drill, if something happens, you call me right away."

And then he's leaving, walking off down the halls to get himself a shitty coffee from the vending machine and some nicer, more expensive looking juice from the canteen for his brother.  

He isn't gone for long, and yet when he comes back to the room he's assaulted by the sight of several bouquets of flowers that definitely weren't there before he left. 

"I was gone for ten minutes," Porsche points out, blinking a few times like he's imagining all the flowers in the room. The sound of his voice makes his brother snap his head up and beam at him in greeting. He's got chocolate clinging to the corners of his mouth and he looks so much younger than he actually is. He looks much happier too. "What the fuck happened in here?"

"Porsche! You didn't have to do this for me!" he says, gesturing wildly around the room with his arms. 

Porsche shakes his head because he's not about to lie to his little brother, and holds the bottle of apple juice out to him. "I didn't do this, Chay. This wasn't me."

"Then who?"

Porchay looks confused even as he drops the bottle on the bed and picks out another chocolate truffle from the box, popping it into his mouth with a delighted little humming noise. They're clearly soft, intentionally chosen to be smooth on his throat, and it unnerves him; sets him on edge. The only people who know where they are and what's wrong with Porchay are the two of them and Kinn, so unless... unless he...

Porsche leans down in front of one of the bouquets by his brother's bed and picks out the card nestled into the centre of the flowers - easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. The paper is black and gold like the one Kinn had given him two days ago, and it's adorned with a fancy 'K' scripted in the centre and Porsche just knows. He fishes his phone out of the pocket in his jeans and resumes his earlier position curled up in the chair he'd dragged over to Porchay's bedside.

[From: Porsche, 3:33pm]

Did you send my brother flowers?

[From: Kinn, 3:35pm]

I have no idea what you're talking about.

[From: Porsche, 3:36pm]

They have your signature on them. I've seen it enough times to know what it looks like.

And besides, nobody else but you knows we're here.

So if it wasn't you then we have a security breach...

[From: Kinn, 3:37pm]

Has anybody ever told you that you're stubborn?

[From: Porsche, 3:37pm]

Many, many times.

[From: Porsche, 3:40pm]

Hey Kinn?

[From: Kinn, 3:40pm]

Yes, Porsche?

[From: Porsche, 3:41pm]

Thank you.

[From: Kinn, 3:41pm]

You're welcome.

His brother hums from where he's managed to sit himself up in the hospital bed, pulling Porsche's attention away from his phone. He watches Porchay dig through the layers in the boxes of chocolates by his bedside, no doubt picking out the best ones. Normally, Porsche would be tempted to wrestle the box away from him, if only so he's not left with all the ones with nuts in them, but this means that he's eating. Sure, he's eating expensive chocolate, but it's still something, and Porsche can't bring himself to do anything to jeopardize that. So he just lets him pick his way through them.

"Kinn sends his best," he tells him after a few minutes of silence.

Porchay hums around a mouthful of chocolate, and doesn't bother to look up from the box. "I still hate him." 

Porsche looks down at the phone in his hands, at the last text from Kinn that stays unopened on his home screen, and nods. 

"Yeah, me too," he says, like a liar. 

∞∞∞

They don't stop texting after that. He gets accustomed to expecting to see Kinn's name show up on his screen whenever his phone vibrates and the few times that it turns out not to be him, he actually feels somewhat disappointed.

And then he shoves those thoughts deep, deep down in his brain with the rest of the shit he doesn't want to touch on and refuses to think about it.

It's just because he's trapped in a hospital bored out of his mind, nothing more. 

The flowers keep showing up, though, because of course they do.

[From: Porsche, 1:02pm]

Did you send more flowers to the hospital?

[From: Kinn, 1:03pm]

Maybe.

[From: Porsche, 1:07pm]

Is there a reason some of them are addressed to me? Are you trying to seduce me?

[From: Kinn 1:07pm]

Oh, absolutely. Is it working?

[From: Porsche, 1:10pm]

You're going to need a lot more flowers for that.

Porsche waits a little while for a reply - the marker on his screen says that it's been read, but Kinn's not typing.

It's strange. Since they started texting Kinn has been notorious for replying almost as soon as the read notification pops up, so to have him not reply for so long makes something unfamiliar twist in his gut.

He's not used to this. To feeling things other than animosity towards Kinn, and it's confusing the hell out of him because he likes this side of him. 

It takes fifteen minutes for him to remember that this is Kinn he's talking to, and then he's almost dropping the coffee in his hands in his haste to free his phone from his pocket.

[From: Porsche, 1:25pm]

That was a joke. Cancel the flower delivery, Kinn. 

∞∞∞

Kinn calls him sometimes too, which is almost more unexpected than the texting.

"How's your brother?" Porsche asks three days into his own brother's hospital stay, phone balanced between his ear and his shoulder as he tries to light up a cigarette. 

"Continuing to be a big baby about everything. We've had three different doctors see him now, and all of them are adamant that there's nothing physically wrong with him," Kinn tells him. "Our father's insisting on flying a specialist in for him tomorrow." 

Porsche hums in acknowledgement and takes a drag from the cigarette. "Maybe you should send some flowers his way, I'm sure he'll appreciate that." 

Kinn makes a sound like he's laughing, and Porsche has to push himself away from the wall he's leaning against to sit on one of the benches facing the hospital entrance before his legs give out. 

"Why would I waste them on my brother when I could be using them to seduce you, hm?" 

Porsche takes another, longer drag of his cigarette and takes his time blowing out the smoke. It's second nature to him by now to constantly be on guard, to constantly be looking around for any signs of a threat or an ambush, but Kinn's voice in his ear is so fucking distracting that he doesn't hold himself rigid, doesn't stay tense or alert. If anything, he feels fucking relaxed which is absurd.

"It's never going to happen, Kinn," he finally says, flicking some of the ash from the end of the cigarette away. It doesn't sound convincing even to his own ears. "There aren't enough flowers in all of Singha Park for it to happen." 

"Are you positive? I'm sure I have enough money to buy you Singha Park if it's what you want."  

"You're insane."

"So I've been told." 

He's smiling by the time he hangs up the phone.

∞∞∞

Kinn calls him on the day of his brother's surgery too. Porchay's only been gone for ten minutes - he's been on the phone with Kinn for nine and a half of them - and Porsche can't help the way he's shifting between sitting on the couch, his leg bouncing up and down anxiously, and pacing the length of the room. 

"Relax," Kinn says, his voice calm through the speaker pressed against his ear and a small piece of him does. "He's going to be fine, Porsche."

The majority of him, however, doesn't, because he doesn't know how to relax right now, even with Kinn's calm voice trying to coax him through it in his ear. "You don't know that, what if something goes wrong? Surgery isn't a simple thing, you know?"

"That's why I'm paying for the best doctors in the country to do it." 

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts. And stop pacing, you'll wear yourself out."

Porsche doesn't want to think about how he knows. 

There's silence between them for longer than should necessarily be comfortable, and Porsche is just about to check the screen to see if he'd accidentally hung up when Kinn's voice rings through the speaker again.

"You know I'd be there if I could."

That makes Porsche feel dangerously warm inside. "It's fine, you have meetings to go to, I get it." 

"That's not why I've stayed away. I can reschedule meetings if I need to."

He doesn't get to ask why, Kinn doesn't give him the chance.

"I do it to keep you both safe," he tells him, and Porsche has to sit down before his legs give out under him again. "You know how many people want to hurt me, Porsche. What do you think they'd do if they saw me visiting someone in a hospital, hm? How much of a target would that make you and your brother?"

"Kinn-"

"Besides, I don't think you'd be able to resist me if I tried to seduce you in person, and I'm not sure how sanitary it would be if I had you spread out in a hospital bed."

It's a poor attempt at steering the conversation away from the seriousness they'd lapsed into and towards the more lighthearted flirting - honestly, at this point can it even be called that anymore? - that they'd been dabbling in for the past few days now, and Porsche appreciates it. Appreciates that he doesn't have to have a mental breakdown about the shift in his feelings for Kinn whilst he's on the fucking phone with him. At least he can retain a small piece of his dignity. 

"Aren't hospitals technically supposed to be one of the most sanitary places?" Porsche replies. He's actually kind of proud of himself for how steady his voice sounds to his own ears when his hands are still shaking. 

There's a faint click on the other end of the line like Kinn's just put his pen down, and Porsche falters a little under the weight of his full attention. They're not even face-to-face yet, how the fuck is he supposed to go back to work normally with this shift in their relationship? 

"Hm. I have no idea, but are you saying you'd let me, Porsche?"

Probably. Maybe. Yes.

"In your dreams."

Kinn laughs, and Porsche feels warmth spread through him.

They lapse into a comfortable silence after that; Kinn listening to whatever Porsche has to say whilst he works.

"Hey-" Porsche starts when he glances up at the clock and realises the time, "-aren't you supposed to be having a meeting with some big American investor today?"

Kinn hums, nonchalant. "I rescheduled it. Which one of the guards told you?" 

"I might be off work, but I'm still Ken's boss. I get updates." Ken gives them to him begrudgingly, but he gets them nonetheless. "Why'd you reschedule it?"

"Because I had better things to do." 

Porsche blinks, once, twice, and swallows hard. Kinn's supposed to be in the meeting now, which can only mean- "You flew a big investor in and blew him off last minute so that you could talk me through my brother's surgery?"

"Porsche, trust me, it's not a big deal, these things get rescheduled all the time."

He's lying. In all the time that he's worked for Kinn, the man had always been insistent on punctuality and reliability. He's seen him walk away from seven-figure deals like it was nothing purely because the other party had kept him waiting too long, purely because time is one of the most important things to him - Kinn doesn't waste it on anything that he doesn't deem worthy. 

He's lying and they both know that he is, but Porsche doesn't think he's brave enough to call him out on it. 

There's rustling on the other side of the line for a few seconds, the sound of metal hitting glass, and then Kinn's mumbling out a brief thank you before he goes silent again.

"Was that Pete?" he asks, grateful for the distraction. 

"Mhm," Kinn hums, sipping at something. 

Pete must have brought him his coffee. It hits him like a blow to the chest when he realises that he actually misses Kinn. Misses bringing him his stupid fucking coffee that he'll never be able to get right, misses watching the way Kinn's expression doesn't get any less displeased each time he takes a sip of it and realises that, yeah, it's still just as bad.

"I bet you're glad you have someone who actually knows how to make you a decent coffee now."

"I don't know, lately I've been finding myself missing that god-awful coffee of yours, I think I'm having withdrawals, is this what stockholm syndrome feels like?" 

And that's it. 

Porsche knows he's absolutely fucked when that comment alone sends his heart sky-rocketing in his chest, makes his mouth go dry and any thought of a reply die on his tongue. He likes Kinn, he can't even deny it to himself at this point, and it's fucking terrifying. 

"Kinn, I-" he starts, not knowing what he actually wants to say, and almost jumps out of his skin when the door to the room is opened and his semi-conscious brother is wheeled in. The nurse gives him a look for being on his phone but pointedly doesn't say anything, most likely because of the ridiculous amount of money that Kinn's paying them to let Porsche get away with, well, just about anything. 

"Is that your brother?" Kinn pipes up, and Porsche nods until he remembers that Kinn can't see him and he feels like a fucking idiot. 

"Yeah, yeah it is. He's fine."

"I told you he would be. I'll let you get back to him then-" 

Panic grips him for a second and he chokes out a small but sudden, "Kinn, wait..."

Kinn does, but he doesn't say anything else - Porsche is only sure he's still there by the sounds of his breathing.

"I just... thank you, for everything."

It sounds like Kinn's smiling when he answers, but maybe that's just wishful thinking on his behalf. "You're welcome Porsche." 

And then he's hanging up - a small relief, because, honestly, Porsche doesn't think he has the will power to hang up on Kinn's voice - and the dial tone rings loud in his ear where he holds the phone against it. 

"Porsche!" Porchay calls, outstretching his arms and reaching for him.

It snaps him out of his stupor, reminds him to stop staring at the blank screen of his phone like a lovesick idiot and to actually use his fucking legs even if they feel like jelly under him. 

"He'll be discharged tomorrow," the nurse tells him once he's walked over to his brother's bedside, re-plugging the machinery back in, the room filled with the steady beeping of Porchay's heartbeat once again. It's comforting, in a way. Much more comforting than the silence had been. "He'll need to rest at home for a while, though." 

Porsche nods in understanding, and opens his mouth to thank her before his brother cuts him off, hand pointing accusingly at his phone. "Was that Kinn?"

His first instinct is to deny it, to say no, that it was Jom or Tem or literally anybody else except Kinn, but that makes him feel too much like he's hiding a secret. Like it's some cliche schoolboy crush that he's not prepared to admit to anybody else. 

He tells the truth, in the end, if only because his brother is very, very high, and likely won't remember it. "It was. He says he's glad everything went alright for you."

Porchay huffs, but doesn't say anything else. His brother will never get to like Kinn, he knows that for a fact, but he thinks that maybe he's learning to put up with him. 

"Is it gross?" he asks suddenly, whipping his head up and opening his mouth wide - he almost immediately gets chastised for it by the nurse.

Porsche laughs and leans in close. "It's super gross, you've got a zombie mouth."

Porchay nods and leans back against the pillow like he's satisfied with that. "Cool."

And then he passes out.

∞∞∞

Porchay gets discharged the next morning as promised, and Porsche only has a minute to worry about how he's going to get them home before the same black car from a few days ago pulls up to the curb and rolls down the window. He absolutely does not think about Kinn arranging for them to be picked up, does not think about him being concerned for their safety. 

Instead, he just helps his brother in and lets him drift in and out of consciousness against his shoulder the whole way home.

There's another fucking bouquet waiting for him on the doorstep when they get there, and his brother doesn't spare it a glance as he steps over it and disappears into the house, leaving Porsche to trail behind him and carry it inside. Porchay had been less than thrilled, to say the least, when he'd found out who the flowers were actually from, and his irritation had morphed into actual anger when he'd laid eyes on Porsche's name written on a handful of the little cards that came with them before he'd had a chance to hide them. 

More and more flowers keep showing up throughout the day, so much so that Porchay starts to get suspicious. 

"Why is your boss sending you so many flowers?" he asks, staring at the bouquets that line the expanse of their kitchen counters - they'd run out of vases after the first few had turned up, and Porsche had threatened to quit if Kinn so much as thought of sending him any. "Is there something going on that I don't know about?" 

Porsche freezes, and hopes that his indecisiveness doesn't show on his face. Hell, at this point, he's not even sure where the two of them stand. Sure, Kinn hasn't held himself back from flirting with him, and he's made it explicitly clear that he wants him, but Porsche still isn't sure how far whatever this thing between them is goes.

"He's my boss, Chay. What could possibly be happening between us?"

It's not technically a lie.

"I don't know," his brother says, and Porsche pretends not to notice that he's staring. "But you talk to him on the phone all the time, and he's sending you flowers. There has to be somethi-"

He's interrupted by the sound of Porsche's phone vibrating against the kitchen table. 

"Is that him?" 

"No," Porsche lies, dismissing the notification. 

Porchay rolls his eyes and hops down from the only vacant part of the counter that he'd been sitting on. He's clutching a bottle of water between his hands tight enough that the plastic bends under his grip even as he takes little sips from it.

"Whatever. You don't have to tell me everything about your life, just please don't lie to me," he says around the straw between his lips. And then he's gone, disappearing up the stairs and into his room.

Porsche groans and bangs his head against the fridge door a few times. Hell, maybe if he hits it hard enough he can stop having all these thoughts about Kinn. Or maybe he can avoid this whole drama and slip into a coma for a few days.

He stops when he feels a headache coming on.

When he feels enough time has passed, when he feels like he's given his brother enough time to cool off, he heads up to his room and knocks on the door twice before letting himself enter.

Porchay's laying on his side and facing away from him. He looks so, so small, and it reminds him too much of when he was little and would throw a tantrum and sulk until he got the comfort that he wanted. 

"Porchay?" he tries, sliding the door closed behind him.

He doesn't get a response, so he walks over to the free side of the bed and sits on the edge of it, facing away from his brother to give him his privacy. 

"Chay, I promise you that there's nothing going on between me and Kinn, okay?" he says, and it makes his stomach twist with guilt. Technically there isn't anything between them, but it still feels too close to a lie and he hates lying to his little brother. 

"Then why is he always bothering you?" Porchay huffs, rolling onto his back so that he can see him instead of facing away from him.

Porsche turns when he hears the rustling, the corners of his lips pulling up into a tight smile. "He's my boss."

"It's more than that, Porsche. I'm not stupid." 

"Alright, so maybe he has some... interest in me, I suppose. But I've already told him it's not going to happen." 

"And he's still bothering you?" Porchay asks, sitting up a little so he's got his back against the headboard, mouth turned downwards into a frown. "That's messed up."

Porsche matches his frown with his own, unsure why he feels the sudden urge to defend Kinn against his own brother of all people. Realistically, he knows that if he told Kinn to stop, then he would. But the problem is he doesn't know if he even wants him to stop at this point. He likes the way it makes him feel whenever Kinn flirts with him, or makes it clear that he wants him, or turns their conversations into some sort of innuendo. It makes him feel good. Being wanted by Kinn makes him feel good, and he thinks a part of him might be getting addicted to that feeling. 

"It's complicated, alright? And nothing that you need to worry about."

Porchay looks like he wants to protest, but then Porsche is leaning over into the drawers of his bedside table and fishing out the medicine the hospital had given him to help with the healing process. 

"Take your pills, dork." 

There's a small, tense silence between them for a while. It's the kind of silence that hasn't settled between them in years. Normally he knows exactly what to say around his brother, can think of something to make him laugh, or tease him, but this... feels different. 

It's a silence he hasn't felt since the day of their parents' funeral.

"If he keeps bothering you-" Porchay starts, breaking it and narrowing his eyes, "-then I'll kill him myself." 

Porsche rolls his eyes fondly at him and pulls him in for a hug. "My hero." 

There's a lump in his throat when he leans back and he has to clear his throat a few times to get rid of it. "Come back downstairs when you've taken them, I'll make ice cream for dinner."

The smile Porchay gives him as he leaves the room is worth everything.

When he gets back to the kitchen he picks his phone up from where he'd left it on the kitchen table and slides his thumb across the screen, unlocking it to bring up his conversation with Kinn. He types, deletes, and retypes the message half a dozen times, and then just stares at it on the screen for a few minutes until he hears his brother skipping down the stairs. He panics, hits send, and turns his phone off for the evening because he's a cowardly, cowardly man.

[From: Porsche, 6:16pm]

I need you to stop sending me things. 

Please, Kinn.

∞∞∞

Surprisingly enough, Kinn actually listens to him. 

For the next few days he's at home with Porchay, nothing else shows up at their door. No flowers, no gifts, no surprises. And Porsche can't quite decide if he's relieved or despondent about it because it also comes hand-in-hand with no more texts from Kinn too.

His brother, on the other hand, is over the moon with the turn of events. Porsche doesn't notice him tensing up whenever there's a knock on the door anymore, doesn't catch the way he side-eyes his phone whenever it rings like he used to. But sometimes, when he's alone, Porsche can't help scrolling through their conversations, trying to decipher what went wrong, - if he's the reason it went wrong - can't help the way his thumb hovers over the 'call' button on Kinn's number like some lovesick teenager with a damn crush.

He's loath to admit it, but he misses Kinn more now; misses the sound of his voice. He even misses being fucking flirted with, misses the way his stomach would churn with heat and the way his skin would prickle into goosebumps whenever Kinn would drop his voice into something more seductive and sultury. 

He's fucked.

And he knows he is. 

It takes three more days for Pete to call and beg him to come back to work, to tell him that Kinn's been in a foul mood for the past couple of days that nobody - not even his brothers - can seem to snap him out of, and Porsche knows that he has to go. 

When he leaves in the evening, he leaves with the promise to call Porchay at least once a day when he has the time to check up on him, and if he asks the sweet old lady three doors down to drop by and check in on him from time to time, well, that's nobody's business but his. 

It's late by the time he gets back to the estate and manages to drop his things off in his room. Pete greets him with a hug, and smushes his cheeks between his hands, making his lips purse. 

"Never leave me again," he whines, and it's all Porsche can do to nod his head up and down until Pete lets him go, satisfied. 

Porsche rubs at his sore cheeks and flips Pete off when he smirks at him. "What's going on with Kinn?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Hell if I know, dude. He's been miserable and demanding as fuck for the past three days, I'm almost relieved to be back with his brother again."

Porsche almost wants to laugh because yeah, no, he'd take a hundred miserable Kinn's over one sadistic Tankhun any day of the week. 

"But I'm sure he'll see the light now that his favourite fighter's back!" Pete calls from the other side of the room. He doesn't give Porsche enough time to chase after him and put him in a headlock before he peers around the corner again. "By the way, my grandma sent more food. It's in the fridge if you want some."

Maybe he can forego the headlock for now, his grandma's cooking is always incredible, and Porsche can still taste shitty hospital food whenever he burps. 

"Save some for me," he tells him. "I'm going to go check on Kinn, see if I can figure out what's up his ass this time." 

"I'll pretend like I didn't just hear you insult our boss!" Pete calls after him, making Porsche laugh as he slips out into the hall and pulls the door closed behind him. 

He gets a few greeting nods from some of the other bodyguards when he passes them, but doesn't bother staying around to make idle conversation with any of them when they look like they want to start one. His feet keep carrying him in the direction of Kinn's suite, even as his head refuses to acknowledge how much he wants to see him. 

"Porsche? You're back?" Ken asks when he finally strolls down the hall towards the suite and, great, him and Big are guarding the door. At least he can order the two of them around. 

"Mhm. I need to see Kinn, so if you'll excuse me-"

"Boss Kinn doesn't want to be disturbed," Big snaps at him, and then, when he reaches for the handle, his hand darts out and wraps tight around Porsche's wrist. "No exceptions." 

Normally, Porsche would have him slammed up against whatever wall was nearest for his audacity, would even be tempted to throw a punch if he was caught in the wrong mood. But this time, he just reaches down, uncurls his fingers from around his wrist, and drops it back down by his side. 

"I've only been gone for just over a week, and you've already forgotten who your boss is," he tuts, and if Big's look could kill him, Porsche would currently be bleeding out on the floor. "Now, move."

Ken holds him back from lunging after him as Porsche reaches for the handle again. He catches a grumbled little 'let him figure it out for himself' before the door clicks closed behind him.

The room is dark, so he knows that Kinn's not working; he prefers to work with the lights on, bright and blinding, because he's a psychopath probably. It reassures him that he isn't interrupting when he walks further into the room, converse squeaking against the expensive flooring.

And then all the air is knocked out of his lungs.

Kinn has some expensive looking boy draped half in his lap, has his head tipped backwards against the back of the couch. The boy's mouthing kisses down his neck and across whatever skin he can reach on Kinn's chest where he has his shirt partly unbuttoned, toned skin peeking out from between the fabric.

And Porsche...

Porsche feels sick. 

Sick and so fucking stupid he almost wants to laugh. 

Of course Kinn wasn't serious about any of it, of course it was just one big, fucked up game to him.

"Boss-" Big's voice calls from behind him like the tattle tale that he is, and Porsche wants to roll his eyes so fucking badly, but finds that he can't will his gaze away from Kinn, "-I'm sorry, boss, I told him not to enter."

There's a hand on his bicep trying to tug him away and Porsche actually lets himself be pulled a few steps back - anything to get out of here, to be as far away from this room and this family as possible - but then Kinn's tilting his head down and meeting his eyes and he tenses, locking up.

"Porsche?" Kinn asks, cocking an eyebrow and pushing the boy out of his lap and onto the couch instead. "You're back?"

"I-" Porsche starts. But he doesn't get any further, his words get stuck in his throat and he just stands there fucking gaping at Kinn who looks... happy? pleased? to see him.

He sucks in a breath and forces himself out the hold Big has on him, wrenching his arm free with a tug so rough that Big actually looks like he wants to take a swing at him. 

Fuck, Porsche wants him to. What he wouldn't give for a good fight right now. 

But then Kinn's clearing his throat and commanding all the attention back and Porsche remembers how to find his voice.

"I quit," he says, letting that land hard and heavy in the room. 

Three sets of eyes fall on him then. 

He doesn't see Big or Kinn's pretty boy looking at him, but he can feel them. Feel the way the atmosphere in the room has turned tense and on edge. Like they're all bracing for the impact his words have yet to make.

Kinn looks at him with something between concern and confusion in his eyes and it's too much, it's all too much and Porsche wants to run, wants to get out of here and go back home to his brother where things are safe; where things are good. 

"Get him out of here," Kinn says, gesturing at the half-naked boy on the couch. He's looking past him at Big, so Porsche realises that the order mustn't be for him. He's proved right when Big, ever the obedient bodyguard that he is, darts forwards and escorts the boy out with a gentle arm at his elbow, the door slipping shut behind them with a quiet click. 

And then he's alone with Kinn, and that feels much, much worse. 

"What did you say?"

He stands firm. "You heard me. I said I quit." 

Kinn rises to his feet, stalking towards Porsche like a fucking predator. "Did something happen to your brother?" 

He sounds so damn concerned and it makes Porsche snarl. He takes a few steps back when Kinn works on closing the distance between them. "Please. Don't pretend like you give a shit."

He ignores him because of course he does and keeps closing the distance until Porsche's back hits the wall and he feels trapped. 

"Kinn, don't-" Porsche warns. Fuck, his voice is shaking and he hates it, hates how fucking weak he becomes around Kinn. 

"What's wrong with you?" he asks, stopping a few paces away and Porsche mentally curses himself for letting his emotions get the best of him, for the outburst he'd just had that he now can't seem to run away from. If he'd just left, just managed to stumble out an apology and walk back out that door, he wouldn't be in this mess right now. He wouldn't be standing in front of Kinn feeling like the whole world has shifted under his feet and he can't quite catch his balance. 

"Nothing-" 

"Stop trying to lie to me," Kinn snaps, and there's something dark in his eyes. "You can't just barge in here and try to quit, that's not how this works." 

Porsche scoffs at him, defensive in a way he hasn't been around Kinn since the days he'd first started. "Why? Because you think you own me or something? Screw you." 

"I do own you, remember? You signed your life away to me."

"Yeah, well now I'm unsigning it and you can go and fuck yourself."

Kinn moves faster than he can (when had his reflexes become so fucking slow around him?) and presses him back against the wall by his shoulders, his hands curled in the shirt that Porsche is wearing. 

"What gave you the impression that you can talk to me like that? I'm still your boss," he snarls, fists tightening around the fabric. "Whatever fucking problems you have at home, you don't bring them in here and take them out on me." 

Porsche glares back at him, something dark and dangerous flitting across his own eyes this time. "I don't have problems at home. Like always, my problems start whenever I'm here, whenever I'm around you." 

Kinn actually has the gall to look taken aback at that, as if he's the one who just walked in on Porsche minutes away from trying to fuck another guy whilst flirting with him and not the other way around.

"Leave," he demands, voice stoic and devoid of emotion. He watches Kinn's fingers rub at his forehead like he has a headache, as if he has any sort of right to when Porsche is the one who feels like he's going out of his damn mind. "Don't come back until you've remembered who you work for." 

Porsche laughs, but it has no real humour in it, and it makes him feel sick. "Gladly. You want me to call your little groupie back in here on my way out? Or will you have someone bring you another one." 

And then Kinn whirls on him again. He shoves him back against the wall with enough force that Porsche's head rebounds off the plaster and he swears he can hear ringing in his ears. Though, maybe that's just from the adrenaline that's been coursing through his veins for the past three minutes.

Either way it stops him from thinking. 

"You forget your place, Porsche. Don't make me remind you of it." 

Porsche smirks and leans in a little closer, because apparently he has no self-preservation instincts. "I'd like to see you try. We both know that I can take you." 

There was a time where Kinn might have taken him up on that offer, where he would relish in going toe-to-toe with him until they were both dripping with sweat and bloody, but now he just looks concerned. 

"What's going on with you? Why are you acting like this?" he asks, like he has any fucking right to be concerned about him.

"I'm not acting like anythi-"

"You are," Kinn interrupts, cutting him off. "I'm used to you being belligerent and mouthy by now, it's actually part of your charm-"

"Fuck you."

"But I'm not used to you acting so... abrupt. And harsh."

"There's nothing wrong with me," Porsche lies, struggling against the hold Kinn has on him. He has to leave. He has to be anywhere except here. "Let go of me, just go back to fucking your little boy toy already." 

Kinn narrows his eyes, and Porsche doesn't like the glint of realisation he sees flit across them. "Is that what this is about? You're jealous?" 

Porsche has never had the urge to swing at someone more than he has right now. His blood boils in his veins because Kinn's right. He is jealous, has been jealous since the moment he stepped into the room and saw someone else on that couch. It churns in his gut and makes him feel nauseous with it. 

"Why the fuck would I be jealous? You're the one who's been trying to seduce me, remember? Not the other way around." 

Kinn blinks at him, eyebrows furrowed slightly like he wasn't expecting the conversation to take this turn. "You're the one who told me to stop, Porsche."

Porsche glares at him. "No I didn't, what the fuck, Kinn? I never told you to stop."

Kinn's looking back at him with so much sincerity that it makes Porsche doubt himself, and for one brief, fleeting moment, he thinks of his brother. Thinks of how much he hates Kinn, how much he hated seeing Porsche be sucked in by him. But then he remembers that Porchay is his brother, that he would never do something that malicious to him, and the fact that he even thought something like that makes him feel sick with guilt.

"Yes you did. You told me to stop sending you things and I listened to you because I'm not the pushy dick you seem to think I am." Kinn's voice gets softer, his hands going slack in his shirt like all the fight is draining out of him. "Tell me the truth, Porsche, is that what this is really about?"

Porsche leans up from the wall, holds himself a little straighter, and plants his hands into the centre of Kinn's chest, pushing him back just a step or two when he meets resistance. He needs some room, he needs to get out, he can't fucking breathe and Kinn is so, so close that it's driving him insane. 

He tries again, pushes Kinn a little harder and sends him successfully stumbling a few steps away this time, giving him enough room to duck out of his hold and start to walk away, heading for the door because he needs to go.

"Porsche, wait-" he hears, and then there's a hand curling around his wrist and Porsche has to close his eyes and remind himself to breathe. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

Repeat.

Kinn's hand on his skin feels too much like a brand, too close to a claim, and it sends his thoughts into overdrive. It's equal parts frustrating and intoxicating and he feels like he's being pulled in two different directions, like he's both on fire and drowning at the same fucking time, and every option he has seems to send him stumbling into Kinn's arms, or forcing him as far away as he can manage to run.

There's no in between in their game of push and pull and Porsche is terrified because he feels things for Kinn that he shouldn't, that he doesn't want to feel, things that he knows aren't reciprocated. He knows at the end of it all, he'd just end up being another notch under his belt and it fucking hurts. 

So he draws in a breath, steels himself, and clenches his jaw as he turns around, prepared to whirl on Kinn. 

He freezes, though, when he gets his eyes open and realises that things are so... vibrant. That they're not just shades of black and white and grey anymore, that they're...

No... no. 

It hits him like a bullet train when he remembers that there's a hand still wrapped around his wrist and it makes it hard to breathe. This isn't how it's supposed to happen. This isn't what his mother told him about, this is... fuck, this is Kinn. 

When he finally manages to tear his gaze up from the hand curled around his wrist, Kinn's looking back at him with wide eyes and he knows he's not alone in this. That Kinn see's it too. 

It doesn't make him feel any better.

He can't quite figure out if it would be any easier if he was alone in this - unrequited and one-sided soulmates aren't exactly unheard of, even if they are uncommon - instead of being stuck with the knowledge that the two of them are fucking soulmates, but Kinn doesn't want him as anything more than a fuck. A conquest. 

He's never admitted it to anybody, not even his little brother, but he'd thought often about meeting his soulmate, of how it would go, of the joy and giddiness that comes with it. He remembers pestering his parents over and over again to tell him the story of the first time they'd met when he was a kid. His mother used to tease him about it, to say that it was his favourite fairytale, his favourite bedtime story, because no matter how many times he'd heard it, he never got bored of it. Especially when the two of them would tell it to him together.

The way they'd used to look at each other like they were each other's entire world... he wants that. Not whatever this fucked up thing he has with Kinn is. 

"Porsche-" Kinn says, forcing him to come crashing back to reality.

The room feels too small, too stifling, and Kinn's hand around his wrist burns - he wouldn't be surprised if he looked down to see a fucking brand there - so he wrenches it away, clutches it to his chest and does the only thing he can think of. 

He runs.

He runs and runs and doesn't stop even when he hears Kinn's footfall behind him, hears the way he's calling out his name after him. He doesn't stop until his feet carry him to the elevator, until the doors are closing on him before Kinn can reach him.

The last thing he sees when he turns around is Ken and Big standing at the end of the hall and Kinn's fist making contact with the wall near the elevator and then-

And then the pain blooms up his own wrist and he feels nauseous all over again. He doesn't get stopped when he tries to leave the building, and he doesn't know if he's grateful that Kinn decided not to have him apprehended and brought back to him, or if it hurts like hell that Kinn decided not to have him apprehended and brought back to him. 

He doesn't realise where he's walking to until the streets start to become more and more familiar, until the people who he'd grown up watching nod to him, a passing greeting, and when he does realise he just... keeps going.

He keeps going to the one place in the world that he feels safest, to the one place in the world where he wants to be.

He goes home.