Chapter Text
Hanahaki Disease is a condition in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough) or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.
Chay knew, with a feeling of dread in his heart and petals in his mouth, that it was time to tell his brother. Despite all his knowledge and love for Porsche, he couldn't imagine what his reaction would be. This new Porsche, he thought, at least wouldn’t be lonely if Chay was gone. He had friends, colleagues, a lover, and their mother with him. Porchay was sure he would be alright—eventually.
If the positions were reversed? If Porsche was in his place, then Chay would have been truly alone. Without his brother, there wouldn’t be a Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat.
He would cease to exist.
His brother had called him, angry and disappointed, demanding to know why Chay had missed his university interview. Chay had choked up—both from emotions and the white rose petal lodged in his throat. After fumbling for a while, he finally said, "Hia."
Porsche had immediately stopped mid-rant, taking a sharp breath, probably due to how wobbly and desperately pathetic Chay sounded.
"Chay," Porsche called, his voice suddenly dangerous and panicked. "What's wrong?"
Porchay had broken down then. A wail escaped him, and he started bawling with an alarmed Porsche still on the phone.
"Hia, I need you. Can you come home, please? I really, really need you right now."
"I'm coming. Are you in danger?" Chay could hear him running and yelling at people, probably ordering them around. His brother was such a hellion.
"No, I’m fine," Chay replied. For now. "Don't bring P'Kinn. I—It's bad. I just need you right now."
His brother was silent—so silent that Chay found it worrying. He thought Porsche might not agree, but then he breathed a sigh of relief when his brother grunted a reluctant yes. Porchay wondered when his brother had changed so much that his first instinct was to notify his lover of any potential danger regarding him. But he kind of understood—if you were in the mafia, your first instinct would be to reach out to the person who was in the thick of things to help resolve the issue.
Unfortunately, even Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun, the fearsome second son and heir of the Theerapanyakun crime family, couldn't help him with this.
His little brother could—but Chay would rather die than have Kim be with him out of pity.
Which he would, you know? Die. Hahaha.
It wasn't funny, but Chay chuckled anyway. His chuckle quickly turned into a cough and—oh god—it was only going to get worse from here. He spit up some petals into his hands, then threw them into the trash can.
The room was dimly lit, the golden glow of his bedside lamp casting long shadows across the cluttered desk. Open textbooks and sheets of half-written lyrics were strewn across the surface, abandoned in his growing exhaustion. The faint scent of flowers lingered in the air—sweet yet suffocating—mixing with the faint bitterness of the tea leaves he had yet to brew.
He walked toward the kettle he kept in his room and placed a tea bag in his favorite cup. The cup was chipped at the rim, an old thing Porsche had bought him years ago from a night market. He traced the crack absentmindedly, waiting as the water began to boil.
Beyond his window, the city buzzed—car horns, distant laughter, the occasional roar of a motorbike speeding down the street. Life continued as if nothing had changed. As if he wasn’t standing here, coughing up flowers, waiting for the only person who had ever made him feel safe.
And while the water boiled, he waited for his brother.
Chay jumped a little when the door to his room burst open, and Porsche entered. His brother looked dangerously handsome, all sharp lines and power, the dark suit fitting him like a second skin. The mafia look suited him, exuding control and danger in a way that Chay knew he could never pull off.
Bet P’Kinn would like to pull that off, Chay thought with a snort. His amusement was short-lived as another cough wracked his body, a violent shudder that had him gripping the edge of his desk. The petals came next, sticking wetly to his palm.
His brother’s worried gaze pinned him in place, but Chay barely had the energy to acknowledge it. Instead, his eyes darted past Porsche, noting the three bodyguards standing stiffly in the doorway, their dark suits a stark contrast against the opulent interior of the mafia compound. The room—ridiculously luxurious with its silk-draped bed, gold-accented furniture, and a massive window overlooking the sprawling estate—had always felt foreign to Chay. No matter how much he lived here, it would never be home.
Still, he’d gotten used to it. Just like he’d gotten used to the fact that they were still living at the main Theerapanyakun family house, even though Porsche was the head of the minor family. Chay didn’t quite understand why they were still here, but he hadn’t questioned it.
At least, there were some small comforts in the cold, unwelcoming mansion. P’Tankhun, for one. Despite his eccentricities, he was a delight, bringing warmth in his own bizarre way. Arm and Pol were equally entertaining. And then there was P’Kinn, who, despite his intimidating reputation, had always been kind to Chay the few times they’d spoken.
Macau, too, had been a surprise. They weren’t exactly friends yet, but Chay felt like they were getting there. The younger boy was loud, brash, and completely different from him, but there was something oddly endearing about his energy. They had met by chance when P’Vegas and P’Pete had visited the Major family home for business. Chay had treated them with the same courtesy he extended to the other members of the Theerapanyakun family, despite Porsche’s constant warnings about Vegas. He wanted to form his own opinions, no matter how much Porsche growled at his cousin or how P’Tankhun once threw holy water at Vegas for patting Chay’s head in response to a polite wai.
The memory made him want to laugh.
Instead, he turned his attention back to Porsche, who was already moving. Without a word, his brother grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand and handed it to him. Chay hesitated before peeling his hand away from his mouth, the petals sticking slightly to his fingers, and took a few gulps. He passed the glass back, watching as his brother’s expression hardened.
But Porsche wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was fixed on the petal in Chay’s hand.
Oh.
"C-Chay," Porsche finally stuttered, and Chay felt something inside him break. His brother—his strong, unshakable brother—sounded so small. So lost.
"I have Hanahaki," Chay confessed, though they both knew Porsche had already pieced it together. He ignored the sharp inhale, the trembling exhale, pushing forward before he lost his nerve. "I’ve had it for a while. A few months. I was working on it. I—I thought I could make it requited."
The words hurt. The admission hurt even more.
There were a lot of things Chay could admit about his relationship with Kim. Yes, he had been naive. Yes, he had believed in something that wasn’t real. But it wasn’t just foolishness—Kim had given him hope. And having that hope crushed so brutally had been nothing short of devastating.
He wasn’t sure what Kim was trying to accomplish now, calling, texting, writing songs and sending them to him like they meant something. But Chay was too exhausted to believe it was anything but guilt.
Misplaced guilt. Pity.
And Chay didn’t need that. He might be pathetic, but he still had some self-respect.
"It’s not possible. I tried," Chay explained, voice raw. Tears blurred his vision, but he forced himself to keep talking, to make Porsche understand. "Hia, I did my best, a-and i-it wasn’t enough. I asked him if he ever loved me, but h-he didn’t."
‘If not, why would I tutor you?’
‘I’m sorry.’
Porsche’s entire body went rigid. "Who is he?" His voice was low, dangerous.
Chay’s stomach dropped. "Hia."
"Tell me who he is, Chay."
"No."
"Chay—"
"What are you going to do?" Chay challenged, dreading the answer.
Porsche’s jaw clenched. "I’ll—"
"Hia." Chay cut him off sharply, forcing his brother to meet his gaze. Anger and fear swirled in Porsche’s dark eyes. Chay softened, his voice quieter but no less firm. "You can’t hold a gun to his head and make him love me. It doesn’t work like that. I’d rather die than do something like that."
Which… well.
He was going to die, wasn’t he?
Porsche’s expression crumbled. The rage drained from his face, leaving him looking—god—so helpless. Like a lost child.
"What do I do?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
Chay couldn’t hold back the sob that tore from his throat. He collapsed against his brother, and Porsche’s arms were around him in an instant, holding him so tight it hurt. Chay buried his face in his brother’s chest, letting himself be twelve years old again, letting himself cry until his body shook.
They clung to each other, taking comfort in the only family they had left.
Eventually, Porsche spoke again. "T-there are surgeries. To get it removed."
"The one that turns you into a sociopath?"
"It causes a lack of empathy, Chay." Porsche sounded exhausted. Older than his years.
Chay nodded slowly. "I understand. I hate it, but I understand. We don’t have a choice. But Hia, it will change me. I’ll lose feelings for him and maybe a part of myself."
"But you’d still be alive." His brother’s voice cracked. "Chay, I—I don’t think I can survive without you."
"Hia."
"Please, Chay."
Chay had never been good at saying no to his brother.
"On one condition," he murmured. Porsche’s head snapped up, surprise flickering across his face. "I don’t want anyone to know about this. I don’t want their pity. The thought of lying in a room while people come and stare at me, at how I look, and pity me—I c-ca—" His breath hitched, panic clawing at his chest.
"Shhhh." Porsche cupped his cheeks, grounding him. "I won’t. I’ll make something up. We can go somewhere else, okay? The beach. I was thinking Palawan. We have connections there, and it would be discreet. Yeah? You love beaches, right? It’d be like a vacation."
Chay stared at him. His brother understood.
He swallowed. "What will you tell P’Kinn?"
"I’ll make something up."
P
Porsche thought the universe must truly hate him as he made his way toward Kinn's office in a daze. He had to wash his face five times just to look presentable, to hide the evidence that he had been crying his eyes out. The gods above clearly despised him—why else would they go after Chay and not him instead?
After a brief knock, he entered the office. Kinn looked up at him with a smile that immediately faded. Porsche barely had time to register the way Kinn’s expression shifted from warmth to concern before his lover was already moving toward him.
"What's wrong?" Kinn asked, closing the distance between them and taking both of Porsche’s hands in his own.
Porsche had already explained to Chay that he needed to tell Kinn and Tankhun that Chay was sick. Otherwise, under no circumstances would Chay allow Porsche to leave with him without telling the truth. Kinn’s possessiveness aside, Porsche was also the head of the minor family, which complicated things even more. Chay’s strict instructions had been clear—no one else could know the real reason for their departure.
"Chay is sick," Porsche said, watching as Kinn’s eyes widened in worry. "The doctors suggested a private practitioner in Palawan. I’m taking him there for medical attention and a change of scenery."
"Is it serious?" Kinn asked urgently, already reaching for his phone to make calls. Porsche caught his wrist before he could do anything.
"Porsche," Kinn warned, his tone low with concern.
"Kinn," Porsche said tiredly. Lying to his boyfriend once had been hard enough; doing it again just felt unbearable. "It's treatable," he said cautiously, measuring his words carefully. "But it affects him mentally as well. So, I’m thinking a change of environment might help. I can’t remember the last time we went on a vacation. I think it’d be good for both of us."
Kinn’s expression darkened slightly, his gaze searching Porsche’s face. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. The thought of Chay being sick and Porsche taking him away without much explanation sat uneasily with him.
"What does he have? Do we know?" Kinn pressed, his sharp eyes narrowing.
Porsche bit the inside of his cheek. They had discussed this.
"Thalassemia."
Kinn’s eyes narrowed further, processing the information.
"It's a blood disease," Porsche explained quickly. "The treatment will help, but he’ll feel fatigued and weak."
Kinn frowned, his expression turning thoughtful. "I did think he looked a bit pale recently," he muttered. "Tankhun was also whining that Chay was leaving their series marathons earlier than usual. Macau complained that Chay doesn’t come out to play with him anymore."
Porsche almost sighed. Since when did his brother acquire such a dedicated group of well-wishers? Then again, it wasn’t surprising. Chay was a ray of sunshine, effortlessly drawing people toward him like planets searching for their orbit.
"How long will you be gone?" Kinn asked.
Porsche bit his cheek harder. "A month."
He winced as Kinn’s head snapped toward him in disbelief. "That long?"
No. A lot longer. Maybe six months. Maybe more. But he wasn’t about to tell Kinn that, not when he looked at him like Porsche had just asked for both his kidneys instead of a short break.
"Yeah," Porsche said, forcing himself to hold Kinn’s gaze.
Kinn sighed. "He won’t like that."
Porsche frowned. "Tankhun will understand."
"Oh no, he won’t," Kinn muttered bitterly. "But I wasn’t talking about him."
"Then who?"
Kinn hesitated before shaking his head. "Never mind that. Do you want me to come as well?"
Porsche blinked at him in disbelief. "What?! No! We can’t both be gone."
"For the minor family business—"
"Vegas," Porsche interrupted immediately, bracing himself for the glare he received in response. "You know there isn’t anyone better for the job."
Kinn didn’t reply, but his scowl deepened, his lips pressing into a thin line. It was clear he hated the idea but also knew Porsche was right.
Porsche knew things would only get worse once the truth finally came out.
He and Porchay weren’t coming back for a while.
Porchay stood outside, gently rubbing circular motions on Tankhun’s back as the older man sobbed hysterically against his shoulder. The warm night air carried the faint scent of gardenias from the estate’s carefully maintained flowerbeds, but it was overpowered by the overwhelming scent of Tankhun’s cologne and the salt of his tears.
Porsche, standing nearby with his arms crossed, shot his younger brother a look—equal parts exasperation and concern. Chay knew exactly what that look meant. His brother probably thought that Tankhun should be the one comforting him, not the other way around. But the oldest Theerapanyakun sibling had a heart too fragile for such a burden. Chay couldn't help himself; he ran his fingers through Tankhun’s soft brown hair, cooing to calm the frantic man, who clung to him like a child.
“Oh, my baby Chay,” Tankhun sobbed dramatically.
Chay chuckled, amused by the theatrics, but the laughter was cut short as a violent cough tore through him. His entire body jerked with the force of it, his lungs burning as something thick and sickly-sweet caught in his throat.
Tankhun immediately pulled back, his eyes going wide and wild. “Water! Don’t just stand there, you useless cunts! Get my baby water!” he screeched at the guards hovering nearby.
If Chay weren’t so preoccupied with suppressing the tickle in his throat, he might have laughed at Tankhun’s over-the-top reaction. But instead, he swallowed hard, desperately trying to force down the telltale petals. He knew how much Porsche had pleaded on his behalf, how many strings he had pulled, how many deals he had struck in hopes of making the Hanahaki disease go away. His brother had even warned him that if the symptoms persisted, they’d have no choice but to run.
Chay didn’t want to be a fugitive.
Falling in love with his idol—who just so happened to be a mafia prince—getting kidnapped, finding out his brother worked as a bodyguard for said prince’s older brother, and then discovering his supposedly dead mother was alive had already been more adventure than he could handle.
A cold bottle of water was pressed into his hands, breaking him from his spiraling thoughts. He glanced up to see P’Arm offering a reassuring smile. Chay gratefully took a sip, feeling the icy liquid soothe his burning throat. A firm, steadying hand rubbed gentle circles on his back.
He blinked in surprise when he saw who it belonged to.
P’Kinn.
Kinn was watching him intently, his usually sharp eyes softened with genuine concern. Even after Chay managed to swallow the petals, Kinn didn’t look any less worried.
Warmth bloomed in Chay’s chest—an affection separate from the aching, withering love that had taken root in his lungs.
He knew Kinn only cared about him because he was Porsche’s little brother, but it still meant something. It meant his brother had chosen wisely. If Kinn cared this much about him, then Porsche was in good hands. That thought alone made Chay unbearably happy.
Without hesitation, he spread his arms and wrapped them around Kinn’s waist, squeezing tightly. “Thank you, P’Kinn. I’m fine, please don’t worry.”
Kinn held him just as tightly.
“It doesn’t work like that, Chay,” Kinn murmured against his hair. “I’ll always worry about you. You and your brother have that effect on people.”
From behind them, a very offended “Hey!” rang out from Porsche.
Chay snickered along with Kinn.
“Can I have a group hug?” Chay asked, his voice small and sweet as he rested his chin against Kinn’s chest.
There was a chorus of chuckles, followed by a delighted, “Awwwww, my baby!” from Tankhun before Chay was surrounded.
Porsche. Tankhun. Kinn. Arm. Pol.
Their arms wrapped around him, warm and solid, pressing in from all sides like a protective barrier against the cold reality of his sickness.
Chay would always remember this moment.
Later, when they were on the plane, Porsche was securing their luggage in the overhead compartment when he turned to Chay with a thoughtful frown.
“Are you sure you didn’t want to say goodbye to Macau?”
Chay tilted his head, confused. “Why would he care?”
Macau had barely messaged him lately. Probably because Chay couldn’t go out and meet him as often. He had likely gotten bored of Chay’s basic ass.
“Your ass is cute,” Porsche had once said sternly, his attempt at cheering Chay up so ridiculous that it had been both embarrassing and hilarious.
“Thanks, Hia,” Chay had responded solemnly before bursting into giggles.
Now, Porsche pursed his lips as if weighing his words carefully before sighing and motioning for Chay to sit.
“If you’re sure,” he said. “I think he’d care.”
Chay let that thought settle in his mind.
People always cared. That was his so-called superpower—invoking kindness in even those who lacked a moral compass.
Oh.
With a small smile, he pulled out his phone, hesitating for only a second before typing a quick message to Macau. Then, he switched it to airplane mode. It was past two in the morning, anyway. If Macau wanted to reply, he’d do so later.
If he would reply.
Chay was a coward.
“Chay,” Porsche’s voice was soft, serious. Chay looked up to see his brother watching him intently, concern etched into every line of his face. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”
Chay didn’t think even his brother could make such a promise. How could everything be okay?
Before boarding, he had coughed up more petals in the airport bathroom. Porsche had been there, rubbing his back, crying silently. His brother had looked so haunted, so utterly helpless. It had been almost comical—how Porsche had looked like he was the one with Hanahaki.
And then there was Kim.
Chay’s heart clenched painfully.
He didn’t blame Kim for the disease. No, that was his own foolish heart’s doing. But he did blame Kim for giving him hope. For using him. For discarding him like trash.
Still, Chay understood why he had done it.
Kim had wanted to protect his family.
If their situations had been reversed, Chay knew he would have never used an innocent person to shield his brother. But he understood.
It didn’t make it hurt any less.
The memories that once made him feel light, giddy, and stupidly in love now felt like knives in his chest. He had adored Kim. Worshipped him like a star he could never reach. And Kim—Kim had let him.
Had he laughed at Chay’s naivety?
Had he pitied him?
The thought alone was unbearable.
No.
Porchay never wanted to see Kim again.
The price of love was too high for him to pay in this lifetime. Even the flowers blooming in his lungs—symbols of loyalty, purity, and innocence—felt like a cruel joke now.
There was only one love he knew to be true.
His brother’s.
So even though he didn’t believe Porsche’s words, Chay still smiled.
Because he trusted him.
Everything would be okay.
Even if it wasn’t.