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“Can I pick you up for lunch?”
Jenn tucks the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he tries to put on his jacket. The clock near the doorway tells him that he’s going to miss his train if he doesn’t get going in two minutes. “I promised P’Kin I’d help her find a new coffee table today. We’ll be in IKEA, if you want to meet us there.”
There’s a sigh from the other end. “That’s twice this week already.”
“Why are you keeping track?” Jenn laughs and grabs his keys, his bag. He has to double back for a scarf; he keeps forgetting that it’s colder outside. He’d never get used to how ruthless Korean winters are. He wraps the scarf around his neck and scuffs through brittle red-brown leaves in front of the building. “Shouldn’t you be working instead?”
“I should, but—” Jenn almost stumbles when he hears, “—I missed you.”
He feels his cheeks getting warm and hides his smile into the folds of dark cashmere. The elderly lady from the third-floor spots him from afar and waves at him. Her grandson trains in his club’s junior program and the kid’s the fastest eight-year-old Jenn had ever seen, always up for doing more drills even when the rest of his friends have given up. Jenn waves back and turns his attention back to his phone. “We just saw each other at Minlee’s party last weekend.”
“It’s been three days.”
“Only three days,” Jenn corrects. The light flicks to green and he hurries across the road, taking a left turn towards the train station. “I have to go, but I’ll call you when we’re done, alright?”
“Promise?”
Jenn laughs at that, murmuring his goodbyes at the platform as the train rolls in. He meets P’Kin near IKEA Gangdong and goes on a quest to find the perfect table for her new apartment. He doesn’t ask why she’s moving again because her answers vary every single time – the last reason she gave him was something about the feng shui of her master bedroom. His Korean is good enough now that he doesn’t need his phone to translate the words as he wanders from one showroom to the next. It would vibrate though, at odd intervals, and he finds picture attachments instead of just texts. They’re nothing extraordinary, mundane everyday things: a dog looking curiously into a fountain, the interior of a restaurant followed by a plate of steak, a blurry image of a portrait and an angled shot of a bouquet of pink and purple lilacs.
Jenn’s smiling down at the last picture when another text chimes in.
It says: Look up.
And when he does, he sees P’Jane standing in front of him, holding out the bouquet.
“I’m here to save you from Kin,” P’Jane says, smiling at Jenn’s surprise. His hand catches Jenn’s and he cradles it like he’s afraid of bruising Jenn if he holds on too tightly. “We should go before she finds us here.”
Jenn laughs and his heart is light as it always does when P’Jane is near, fluttering inside his chest with pleasant anticipation.
.
P’Jane has his jacket draped over the back of his chair and he’s wearing a wool turtleneck that shows off his arms a little too nicely. They’d dropped P'Kin off after lunch (she tracked them down, somehow, and Jenn suspects that she’s part bloodhound) and found a nice little café just off the corner of P’Jane’s office. The staff had grinned at them, in that familiar way they do for regulars they actually like. Their usual table is right at the back, hidden away from the main area and the evening crowd. He tells P’Jane about training, about upcoming matches and their team’s prospect at acquiring several new players at the trade deadline. Jenn feels good enough about the day that when P’Jane tangles their fingers while they share a slice of cheesecake, Jenn lets him.
And then has to fight the urge to blush when he hears delighted noises from the counter, where he knows the staff are watching them.
P’Jane just smiles fondly and squeezes Jenn's fingers.
In the evening, they find themselves in a club downtown. P’Jane says that he doesn’t do this often, but one of the girls from the office mentioned that it’s a nice club, and Jenn is charmed when he says that he thinks Jenn might like it. Jenn pulls him to the dance floor before the night is over and it becomes warm very, very quickly as P’Jane presses his body against him. They’re not dancing so much as they’re swaying in one place, P’Jane’s hands heavy and possessive on his hips. The rest of the undulating mass knows better than to come between them even when the beats get faster, more frantic.
What happens after is something else entirely. Once they’ve escaped the club, P’Jane, very carefully, takes Jenn’s hand into his own as they make their way back to the car. The shared silence throughout the ride sits like river stones in the pit of Jenn’s stomach; cool and smooth and pleasant. P’Jane keeps smiling and when they reach Jenn’s dorm building, he stares at Jenn intently before leaning in. There’s a question in his eyes, an unspoken ‘I’ll stop if you ask me to’ as his mouth touches Jenn’s.
Jenn closes his eyes and lets him.
.
“JP spoils you, doesn’t he?” P’Kin’s nails are a different colour today. She drums them against the surface of the table, tap tapping away to her own little beat as she teases him, like she always does when she comes over for coffee at random hours during the day. Her position as one of P’Jane's top consultants apparently affords her the privilege to leave the office whenever she wants, which she abuses often. She reminds him of Cherry, all stubborn sharpness, and it makes life a little less lonely. “Are you two—” her eyebrows arch and her mouth tilts into a smirk, “—together now?”
Jenn sips his Americano, determined not to be tricked into revealing something he shouldn’t. Whatever it is between him and P’Jane is so new and bright and shiny that he doesn’t want to ruin it with expectations. It’s only been a couple months since they made proper acquaintance – Jane Patrick walking into Siheung City FC clubhouse as a potential investor, Jenn recognising a fellow countryman in a foreign country. And then the discovery that their names are similar enough that it brought laughter to the other players, the manager patting his shoulder and going, “So we’re gonna have to call you Little Jane from now on.” The quietly amused expression on P’Jane’s face as they make eye contact, which Jenn had to look away from.
When an unknown number called him that same week, introducing himself as “just Jane is fine” and putting forth an invitation to dinner, Jenn only hesitated for a few seconds before he said yes. It doesn’t end at just one dinner because P’Jane is persistent and Jenn is not impervious to a handsome, older man giving him full attention.
Jenn can’t hide the smile on his face at the memory and P’Kin notices, as she always does.
She taps the back of his hand with one deep red fingertip, and her grin is a sharp sickle cutting across her face. “Aren’t you lucky, little lamb.”
.
It’s summer and it’s so hot that it makes Jenn think about the sea. He pictures a vast blueness in his mind and a stretch of golden sand that goes on forever, cool breeze skimming the sweat off his skin. It would be nice to go on a vacation, find a whole new city near the coast where he can just sink into the saltwater for hours.
He’s tossing and turning in bed, sticky with sweat, when P’Jane texts him, ‘Goodnight, my Little Jane. Wish you’re here with me.’
He stares at the screen and feels a smile tugging at his mouth. It’s ridiculous how P’Jane always knows how to make him feel better. Jenn curls around the phone, clutching it like a talisman, and drifts into a dreamless slumber.
The next morning, P’Jane shows up with a melting ice cream cone and a cooler box in the back of his car. Jenn slides into the passenger seat and takes the cone held out for him, their sticky fingers pressing together for a few seconds. He notices P’Jane’s eyes lingering heavily as he licks at his fingers and it sends a delighted little thrill down the length of his spine, as the car leaves the parking lot of the building.
“I thought it’d be good to get away for a bit. I told the club to give you a few days off.” The traffic light turns red. P’Jane leans across the centre console and kisses the corner of Jenn’s mouth, licking at the trace of ice cream there. Jenn stiffens, but doesn’t flinch away. His breath stutters though, because P’Jane’s face is too close and his dark eyes tells Jenn a lot more than anything he’s ever said before. “I booked us a room for the weekend. Private beach.” He pauses, a measured stretch. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Jenn swallows thickly and shakes his head. A part of him thinks that this is moving too fast, that they don’t know each other well enough yet to warrant an overnight trip that includes the implication of a private beach, of just the two of them in a hotel room. But then he thinks about seeing P’Jane shirtless, wet and glistening with seawater. Jenn’s mouth goes dry and the heat rippling under his skin has nothing to do with the temperature outside.
“No, I don’t mind. That sounds great, P’Jane.”
.
Jenn learns what P’Jane looks like, bathed in the reds and golds of the setting sun, a glint of silver on his chest from the necklace Jenn barely notices before. The sea behind them has gone the colour of hammered copper, but Jenn’s too busy making desperate noises to appreciate it. Because P’Jane’s hand is curved over his waist, thumb tracing idle circles against damp skin as he thoroughly kisses Jenn. He’s settled between Jenn’s legs, and his hair is pushed back off his face, dark and dripping. The towel is gritty with sand beneath them and Jenn doesn’t care at all.
He chases after P’Jane’s lips, the whole world narrowing down to the taste of salt and sun-warmed skin, and sinks into the sound of P’Jane’s pleased laughter.
.
Three matches into the season, a rough tackle sends Jenn crashing down and onto an ambulance heading straight for the nearest hospital.
Grade 3 ACL tear.
Surgery, and then nearly a year of rehabilitation.
The doctor is kind when she tells him that. Jenn looks at his knee, iced and bandaged, and doesn’t quite hear the rest of her explanation. He's vaguely aware of P'Jane's hand on his shoulder as he feels a piece of himself fractures along an agonising fault line.
The day he’s discharged from the hospital, he moves in with P’Jane. It’s easier for his rehab, P’Jane had said. So I can look after you, Jenn. Let me do this, alright?
Jenn has yet to refuse P’Jane anything, so he packs a bag of essentials and gets rolled into P’Jane penthouse apartment. He finds that he’s out of practice when it comes to relationships. His previous ones were not serious enough for any of them to even think about cohabitation, and Jenn’s afraid that he’ll fuck things up when they’ve just started learning about each other.
His fear proves to be unfounded, because it’s different, living with P’Jane.
He makes sure Jenn eats right, starting with breakfast and ending at supper. P’Jane wakes up early and makes omelettes, toast, coffee, tea for him. There are also tarts laid out on the table because sometimes, Jenn likes something sweet for breakfast. Jenn finds himself sitting at the counter, chin in one hand, as he watches P’Jane move around the kitchen. Knife on one side, cold cuts and eggs on the other. Tomatoes, red and juicy in a bowl. Chopping board. Pepper, basil, milk for the omelette. Toasted bread. Butter. Little bit of cinnamon and some other spices he tosses together. P’Jane takes his hand and puts him to work. His arms are wound loosely around Jenn’s waist as Jenn takes to the task of assembling their breakfast: toasts with cinnamon on the plate first, then the omelettes, then tarts.
P’Jane congratulates him with a kiss on the back of the neck and goes to get some yoghurt and fruits.
Some evenings, they sit at the piano and P'Jane would play beautiful music Jenn doesn't recognise. He takes Jenn's fingers and presses them to the ivory keys, sounding out one hesitant note at a time, and gives Jenn an encouraging smile when he finds a simple melody on repeat. It's during one of those quiet moments when P'Jane takes out a necklace and loops it around Jenn's neck, with a tenderness that Jenn feels he doesn't deserve.
"This key," P'Jane says, pressing a thumb to the silver pendant. His fingers brush against Jenn's chest, making his breath hitch. He can't look away from P'Jane, from the weight of his gaze. "I've never given it to anyone before." The warmth inside Jenn’s chest branches out everywhere as P'Jane leans in to kiss him. "You're special to me, Jenn. I want you to know that."
The necklace sits, cool and smooth, at his sternum like a quiet promise.
Slowly, slowly Jenn gets used to being loved. P’Jane sends flowers when he’s away on business trips. They share a favourite Thai restaurant; one they visit whenever Jenn is homesick. P’Jane takes the time out of his very busy schedule to come to Jenn's physical therapy sessions. Sits at the corner of the room and watches Jenn attempts one shaky step after another, getting him water and praising his effort at the end of every long day. He’s there when Jenn wakes up from a nightmare of no longer being able to play, of his knee fucked up beyond repair, and holds Jenn until the tears dry on his cheeks. He accompanies Jenn on a trip to a nursery, where Jenn buys five succulents at once and lines them up on the windowsill with the best natural light. He gives each a different name and tells them about his dates with P’Jane, about the way P’Jane holds him and kisses him and leaves him light-headed with want. He tells them about looking at P’Jane and wondering why someone so wonderful would choose him.
P’Jane, who looks like he’s just walked out of a GQ magazine. Who owns a company, who could’ve chosen to spend his time on anyone but a crippled, mediocre football player. Uncertainty and fear twist up Jenn’s insides, but the succulents keep his secrets.
P’Kin has taken it upon herself to introduce Jenn to people as P’Jane’s better half whenever he waits at the office. He protests but they laugh at him, at the amused look on P’Jane’s face when he checks up on Jenn. His succulents get more friends once P'Kin finds out about them and P’Jane takes part in naming the new arrivals, as if they’re his children as well.
Jenn allows himself to fall deeper and deeper.
It’s the first time in life that he wants someone so, so badly to be his.
.
Jenn keeps up with the news from back home. It’s a habit, perfunctory. He scrolls through his feed as he waits for P’Jane to get out of shower, idly skimming headlines until he sees a name he recognises.
Puttivong Setasuk, the Thai rising star in Moto2: His journey towards breaking into MotoGP and beyond.
Jenn can’t remember clicking on the link, but he must’ve done so because he’d been redirected to a major news website. There are a few paragraphs about the races, but Jenn’s eyes are fixed on Putt’s picture prefacing the wall of text. He’s photographed in his racing suit, leaning against a polished, expensive-looking motorcycle. The suit he’s wearing makes him look taller. His hair is longer, chestnut-brown, and the youthful roundness to his features has all but disappeared. This older version of Putt looks calm and confident, but Jenn’s mind conjures a younger, different Putt. The inside of Putt’s parents’ place, alcohol bottles littering the table because they had been drinking, reminiscing. Having a good time. One bottle becomes two becomes three. Becomes more.
And then—
Putt’s hands on his waist, grabbing and touching him. Pulling at his clothes, even when he’d told him to stop. Over and over again. Putt’s voice inside his head, still so clear after all these years:
“You always do whatever everyone else wants you to, why can’t you do it for me? Jenn. At least, just this once, please? I won’t ask for anything else, Jenn—”
“—don’t feel like going out. Vongole for dinner, how does that sound?” P’Jane’s pushing up the sleeves of his sweater, but his smile falters when he comes closer to where Jenn’s perched on the sofa. “—Jenn? Hey, what’s wrong?”
P’Jane carries him back to their room, careful with the knee, and Jenn lets him, because his head is suddenly full of Putt’s voice and the night he’d lost his best friend to a drunken decision neither of them ever talked about after. He’s sitting at the edge of the mattress, and his head is cradled in P’Jane’s hands, fingers flicking over the nape of his neck until his skin prickles with the desperate need to erase the memories. At least for tonight. P’Jane pauses when Jenn reaches out for a kiss but goes along with it after a few seconds. He arches up into P’Jane, frantic like he’s running out of oxygen, reflexively spreading his legs wider when P’Jane moves between them. As P’Jane’s mouth moves over Jenn’s collarbone, leaving a warm, glistening trail of saliva, Jenn slides his hand down P’Jane’s spine and works his fingertips under the waistband of his jeans.
“Are you sure—”
He makes a choked-off noise and drags P’Jane down to him.
Jenn doesn’t want to focus on anything else but P’Jane’s hands. P’Jane’s hands on his waist, P’Jane’s hands roaming over his thighs, P’Jane’s hands on the back of his neck, on the underside of his chin, clasped tightly in his own as P’Jane lays him down on the bed. P’Jane’s weight impresses itself on the mattress and over Jenn, anchoring him in place as he’s being opened by P’Jane’s fingers. P’Jane slides into him slowly, taking his time. Jenn’s body gives way in excruciating increments that comes with being filled. The sense of displacement is so thick he’s choking on it. He can’t see straight, the room swimming before his eyes. Putt’s face is overlaid upon P’Jane’s in the flicker from one heartbeat to the other.
He gasps, tears streaking down his cheeks, and P’Jane stops.
“You okay?” His voice quivers and his eyebrows furrow with worries. A thumb brushes at the tears, pressing at the dampness of Jenn’s skin. “Did I hurt you?”
There’s a low ache in his belly he doesn’t know how to explain in words. He needs P’Jane to slam his hips against him, needs P’Jane deep inside him, filling him up and settling the helplessness rattling through his bones. He needs to be fucked out, fucked so hard and rough he can’t catch breath, can’t think of anything else.
So he shakes his head and keeps his eyes on the swing of P'Jane's necklace.
P’Jane is heavy on top of him, stretching Jenn’s body drum-tight with the thickness of his cock inside him. But he’s gentle. It’s sweet the way he watches Jenn’s face every time he fucks into him, like he’s collecting every gasp and flutter. He’s so careful with the way he moves Jenn that Jenn wants to stroke the sweat-dark hair off his face and tell him it’s okay, that he won’t break, hasn’t done so far. Instead, he spreads his legs a little wider for P’Jane, lets P’Jane get in deeper and it’s worth it for P’Jane’s smile, for the small grateful noise he makes. P’Jane kisses his shoulder, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. P’Jane kisses him until Jenn’s mouth is slippery and hot. Aching.
P’Jane exhales, low and breathy, spine arching as he pushes in deep and fills Jenn up again and again, leaving no room for anyone else.
.
P’Jane doesn’t ask him and guilt is a steel pin bored right through Jenn’s heart, even as he curls up against P’Jane in the aftermath. Cheek pressed to P’Jane chest, counting his breath in tandem with the steady, reassuring beats of P’Jane’s heart. His fingers find the padlock pendant and he traps it between his palm and warmer skin, pressing even closer so he can forget the rest of the world exists.
“Whenever you’re ready,” P’Jane murmurs, kissing the top of Jenn’s head as he pulls the blanket over the both of them. “You can tell me anything, Jenn. I’ll make it right.”
.
The party is already in full swing by the time they get there. He’s recovered enough that he can walk without crutches, and P’Kin tells him to come because she’s missed him. Jenn keeps to P’Jane’s side at first, before excusing himself when their conversation veers into the part of P’Jane’s business he doesn’t understand. He sees P’Kin speaking to P’Jane’s lawyer near the bar, a small woman who smells like roses and sends Jenn links to articles about P’Jane’s business endeavours. Jenn pauses to talk to a few people he knows from P’Jane’s office, before drifting from one room to another in the spacious mansion.
He’s admiring the painting on the wall when the man approaches him. They stand side by side in front of a beautiful depiction of picnic scene; a man in an elaborate suit courting a fair maiden underneath the shade of a large tree. A dog sits on its haunches on the checkered red-and-white cloth laid out on the ground, right next to a basket with its lid closely shut. Perhaps waiting impatiently for when its master and mistress deem it proper to start their feasting.
Jenn is thinking about secretly planning a picnic to surprise P’Jane that weekend when he hears,
“You’re Jennalee, I presume? Jane Patrick’s… friend?”
He turns to the man, noticing for the first time that they’re alone in the room. Jenn doesn’t recognise him, but he smiles anyway. Must be one of P’Jane’s associates if he’s at the party. “Yes, I am.” He inclines his head slightly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
“My name’s not important.” The man shrugs. He’s older, hair streaked with grey where it’s slicked back against his skull, and there’s a drawling menace to his words that Jenn finds unsettling. “You see, I’m here to return a favour.”
Jenn knows there’s something wrong with what the man’s saying, but he can’t quite understand what is going on. “P’Jane is at the front—”
“He’s not the one I want.” He grabs Jenn’s arm, bruisingly tight. Jenn sucks in a breath, tries to shake him free, but stops when he feels something sharp pressed against his rib. The man’s grin widens. “Took me a while to find you away from your watchdogs, kid.” He gestures at a large French window at the other end of the room, which opens to the dimly-lit garden. “Now. You either come with me quietly or I take you with a few pints of blood missing, your choice.”
Neither of them notices P’Jane’s presence, until he’s suddenly there and has a hand over the man’s wrist, keeping the knife steady. He swings and his fist connects with the man’s cheekbone, snapping his head to the side. The man goes down to his knees, grunting with shock and pain, and the sound gets cut off by the crunch of P’Jane’s foot coming down against his face. He falls back then, out of sight behind the couch, and a moan tells Jenn that the man is still alive when P’Jane brings his foot down again. And again. And again, until the sharp crack of bone becomes a wet mushy sound that echoes inside the room. Jenn sways and falls on his ass, stays transfixed at the sight of P’Jane staring down with narrowed eyes at whatever’s left of the man.
“Jenn, you should wait for me outside,” P’Jane tells him, his voice low and steady. “Go on. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Jenn can’t really move from the floor, not when he knows exactly what lies beyond the couch and why P’Jane is wiping his hands the way he is, deliberately removing all traces of blood from the palm and the back. He drags the sole of his right shoe over the man’s trousers before stepping back. His eyes are cold, but he still manages to glance over and smile at Jenn; how he does that is beyond Jenn and he can’t reconcile this P’Jane with the man who’d softly kissed him like he meant the world.
Jenn clenches his fists and remains in that same frightened, mute silence as his lawyer walks in on them, closing the doors behind her. She makes a beeline for P’Jane, and he talks to her in a low voice, until she interrupts him by saying, “I think Jennalee needs you right now.” Her smile is kind when she looks at him. “I’ll handle this.”
P’Jane kicks at the foot peeking from the side near him and levels her a look that she returns with a delicate shrug. He shakes his head as he strides to where Jenn is. Goes down on his knee, gently tilting Jenn’s face to one side and then the other. He’s using the same hand he’d just cleaned and there’s a warm, metallic tang to his skin that forces Jenn to stifle a shudder of revulsion. The concern in P’Jane’s eyes does nothing to make Jenn feel less terrified and he endures the inspection with his heart beating frantically inside his throat. Lets himself be guided to his feet by P’Jane’s hands.
“Are you alright?” Jenn can’t trust his voice. He nods, wordlessly, and tries not to retch. His eyes drop to P’Jane’s shoes and he regrets it instantly – the blood speckles against polished leather are bright under the fluorescent light. “What did he say to you?”
P’Kin falls upon them before Jenn can answer.
“What happened?” Her eyes widen as she takes Jenn’s arm, pulling him away from P’Jane. She looks him over, before she turns to scowl at P’Jane. Jenn is grateful for her presence, wants her to take him away from this room because she’s safe, she’s always helped him before, right until he hears her say, “Did he find out already? Honestly. After all that work to keep him away from your business.”
P’Jane’s hands clench into fists at his sides for a half-second, before relaxing. He rolls his shoulders and straightens his neck like he’s easing out a crick. Jenn can’t help but watch the play of powerful muscles under smooth skin, but it just reminds him of the violence he’d just witnessed. P’Jane closes the distance between them and takes Jenn’s wrists in his hands, thumbs resting on the quickening thump of Jenn’s pulse. His expression is contrite and Jenn swallows the urge to rip his hands out of the loose grip. P’Kin steps away from them and ambles over to the lawyer, putting their heads together in a hushed conversation.
The body is still there, behind the couch.
Jenn wonders if there’s going to be a funeral. If it’s going to be open casket.
His eyes start to burn with unshed tears.
“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out,” P’Jane exhales, but his face is devoid of regret. Like this is just an unfortunate event that changes nothing between them. He kisses Jenn’s forehead and puts a hand to his back, leading him towards the doors. “I have some things to take care of. Kin will get you home.”
.
Jenn’s already in bed by the time P’Jane comes back.
He can’t sleep. When he closes his eyes, he keeps seeing the downward arch of P’Jane’s foot over and over again. Keeps hearing that gruesome squelching of bones fracturing, flesh ground down to a pulpy mess.
He threw up in the bathroom twice.
Jenn feels the warmth of another body shifting close behind him, before he feels P’Jane's hand slide over his waist, pulling his t-shirt up enough to rest on bare skin. He doesn't move, doesn't give any indication that he's awake. P’Jane's breath puffs against the nape of Jenn's neck for a moment, then Jenn feels the press of his lips at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. That makes him shiver and he can feel P’Jane smiling into the skin. P’Jane's hand slips lower on his belly, fingers brushing the waistband of Jenn's shorts. He can feel the weight of P’Jane's cock, thick and hot against him.
Jenn's stomach clenches and he draws in a shuddering breath.
The kisses turn languorous and they leave his skin wet and aching. P’Jane rocks his hips forwards, rubbing into the cleft of Jenn’s ass. He slips Jenn’s shorts off him, until they’re pressed skin to skin.
“You shouldn’t have to see that tonight,” P’Jane says in a low whisper, as if that’s enough to comfort. His hand rubs the raised bumps of Jenn’s vertebrae on his way down and then he’s palming Jenn’s ass. He tugs at the rim of Jenn’s hole, the blunt tips of his fingers pushing insistently to get inside. P’Jane’s breath is hot against his ear, prickling goosebumps all over his skin. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” The fingers ease in to the first knuckle. The dry stretch is painful, but Jenn arches into it all the same. “Nobody will get close to you again.”
P’Jane drags his fingers free and Jenn can breathe again, in fractured gasps that offer him no respite. He’s reeling from the heat in P’Jane’s words, like he’d missed a step and is pitching headfirst down a very long flight of stairs. There's slickness with the next push of fingers into him and then he’s being fucked open, clenching around each drag of P’Jane’s fingers. They scissor and curl inside him, making Jenn’s legs jerk where they’re spread open to accommodate P’Jane’s presence. He’s sobbing by the time P’Jane lines up his cock and sinks right in and up. A sharp keen is wrenched free from Jenn’s throat and his spine goes taut, and he’s scrabbling at the sheets as P’Jane gives him time to get used to the stretch. He feels huge behind Jenn, all-encompassing. Everywhere.
A strange panic at being trapped tugs at him, but he’s too out of his head for it to properly take hold of him. P’Jane ducks his head and his mouth moves firmly over Jenn’s throat, laying open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. He waits until Jenn stops shaking long enough to pull back, scant inches, before rocking forward again. His shallow thrusts lengthen, but he doesn’t rush. He fucks Jenn in his own time, screwing deep and hard, all while whispering Jenn’s name, cycling through inflections that sound too terrifying to be love. P’Jane’s nails dig into him, so hard that Jenn thinks P’Jane’s searching for bone to get hold of.
Tears blur his vision, but he’s pushing back with every press of P’Jane’s cock inside him. He feels empty without and he’s vaguely aware of the sound of laughter, the hand tilting his face to the side so P’Jane can kiss him in the mouth.
Slow and gentle, while his cock fucks the air out of Jenn’s lungs.
“You’re perfect,” P’Jane croons, pushing back sweat-matted hair from Jenn’s forehead. He kisses the tears on Jenn’s cheeks. “My Little Jane.”
.
Jenn starts noticing the little things after that, paranoia feeding him its own special hell by the inches. The inconspicuous car parked near the hospital and clubhouse. Another car around the corner of their building, dark-tinted windows giving nothing away. How P’Jane always knows where he is and has no problem coming over unannounced, like he’s carved out a space right into Jenn’s life and has no intention of leaving.
He doesn’t even think about breaking up. His mind fractures little by little with each kiss, each hungry look he sees on P’Jane’s face.
When P’Jane fucks him, Jenn opens his mouth and asks for more.
.
“I understand it’s kinda hard to accept what we do.” P’Kin has taken to keeping Jenn company when P’Jane is called away for business, the way she never does before. She doesn’t say it, but they both know she’s only there to keep an eye on him because apparently P’Jane can read the fear accumulating in the space behind Jenn’s strained smiles. He isn’t sure if she’s even his friend anymore or if she’s an extension of the cars with the dark-tinted windows. They’re drinking coffee in the kitchen and P’Kin has brought scones and blueberry jam. There’s a vase with lilacs on the table, a card that reads ‘I’ll be home soon. Love, JP’. Jenn doesn't look at them. “But you’ll get used to it. He’s crazy about you, y’know? Lucky.”
Jenn keeps his head down and tears apart a scone with his fingers.
He wonders if P’Jane is somewhere out there, signing death warrants with the carelessness of a seasoned executioner.
Nowadays, he can’t differentiate the terror of being with P’Jane with the agony of leaving him.
.
Siheung City FC renews his contract. The manager tells Jenn that it’s unfortunate he’s been sidelined so long because of the injury, but they believe in him. And they still want him around once the new season starts. They have this conversation in the clubhouse after hours, once the rest of his teammates have walked out. He’s still not cleared for training, but he’s been coming over every few days. Just to get away from the apartment and the reminder that he’s now trapped in a gilded cage of his own choosing. His manager doesn’t quite meet his eyes when he tells Jenn about the contract. Jenn wants to ask if it’s because P’Jane had told them to do so, but he doesn’t think he wants to know the actual answer. He signs on the dotted line, hears the manager’s relieved sigh, and walks out without saying anything else.
He sits in the dressing room and looks at his phone.
Jenn’s finger hovers over the icon of the chat group that had gone quiet years ago, when Jenn told them that he’s leaving Thailand to sign up with a K3 League club. He’d ignored their questions, especially Gap’s. He let their calls go on and on and on, until they stopped calling and texting. He’d blocked Putt even earlier. Back then, he didn’t know how to explain to them about what happened between him and someone they’d all known for more than ten years. The words were too ugly, the wound too deep and fresh. And in the end, Jenn made the decision to bury everything in silence. Because that was easier than the alternative.
He scrolls his contact until he finds Gap’s name.
He types the letter, one by one: help me.
He’s calculating the time difference between South Korea and Thailand when his phone vibrates with a text from P’Jane.
I’m outside. Waiting for you. It’s cold so don’t forget your jacket. :)
Jenn stares at the message. Deletes the words he’d written and switches off the screen.
.
"I'm thinking about going back," Jenn says, running a hand through his hair. P’Jane glances at him from where he's making breakfast, the spits and crackles of sausages filling in the temporary silence. "My family— I haven't seen them for a while."
It's an excuse, a poor one at that. He’s convinced P’Jane sees right through it.
"I'll go with you."
Jenn feels his breath stick in his throat. "You don't have to."
"Jenn." P’Jane's voice drops low and it stops the word of protest in Jenn's mouth. There's a hint of a threat in there somewhere, sweet and sharp at once. "I'll go with you."
Jenn's fingers curl into the tablecloth, rippling the once-smooth surface as he tries to stop the world from spiralling out of control. P’Jane must've sensed something wrong, always so attentive when it comes to Jenn that nothing escapes him. He turns off the heat, moves the skillet to the side before making his way to Jenn. Right into his space, nudging Jenn's legs apart.
His fingers curl under Jenn's chin, tender like an apology, and he bows to press a kiss to his lips. "I just want you to be safe. I love you, Jenn.”
Jenn closes his eyes. He doesn’t scream.
.
It’s small mercy that P’Jane agrees to give him a few hours to see his family. His parents are surprised by the sudden visit, vacillate between delight and disappointment when he tells them that he’s not back for good. They were not happy when he first told him about joining a football club instead of helping out with the family business, but they still send care packages with tonics and herbal mixtures every other month. His father asks him if life has been treating him well and he lies. His mother asks why he’d lost weight, so he lies to her as well. Jean is usually the only one who can tell when he’s lying, but she’s away on a school trip, and he’s glad she isn’t there to see him like this. Jet has classes at the university and will probably be back after dinner, so the house is emptier than usual.
Jenn has missed this, the simplicity of home. Of being a son, a brother, and nothing else.
“Did you find anyone you like over there?” His mother hands him a plate of rice and returns to the stovetop to take the basil chicken off the heat. “You should think about settling down soon. Your cousin’s getting married this year and you know how your aunt gets; she’s already bragging about getting grandchildren—”
“Excuse me.”
Jenn barely manages to stop himself from flinching at the familiar voice. His mother steps out of the kitchen, smiling towards the entrance as she always does for anyone who walks through that door. Jenn sets the plate down, slowly. Breathes, slowly.
No. Not here. Please. Please not here.
Then he turns.
P’Jane has taken several steps inside the shop, standing there in his crisp, white shirt and dark pants, a couple of paper bags in hand.
The sight hurts like splinters of glass, pushing their jagged, deadly edges into the softest parts of him.
P’Jane’s greeting is formal and respectful, hands together and head inclined as he smiles at Jenn’s parents, almost apologetic for intruding. “I’m sorry for being late,” he says, setting the bags on the counter. “I had to pick up some gifts Jenn prepared for you.”
His parents exchange a look, delighted and confused in equal measure. His mother’s already reaching for the bags, saying something warm and flustered about not needing to bring anything, about how Jenn hadn’t mentioned that they’re expecting a guest. His father is ushering P'Jane in, saying that he's just in time for lunch. Jenn looks over their heads at the smile on P’Jane's face, his velvet dark eyes pinning Jenn in place: patient, expectant.
Go on. Tell them who I am.
P’Jane holds out a hand and his smile widens.
And Jenn. Jenn reaches out to accept it because there’s nothing else left to do.
“Ma, Pa. I’d like you to meet P’Jane.” The grip on his hand tightens, and Jenn hears the snap of teeth closing around his jugular. “My boyfriend.”
.
end
.