Chapter Text
The day is sun-bold and stiflingly hot beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows when Tankhun sweeps into the room.
Big inclines his head, along with the other bodyguards, but Tankhun waves them away, not interested in formalities.
"I hear you're going to Japan," he says without preamble, addressing Kinn and Porsche where they sit around the boardroom table, papers fanned out between them like a legion of kites.
Porsche puts down the tablet he's holding, a smirk breaking across his face, and Kinn looks up from the document he's reading.
"Good morning to you too," Kinn responds mildly, his tone conveying a distinct lack of surprise that his brother knows their travel plans not an hour after they've been made.
Big isn’t surprised either. Tankhun has some secret and unstoppable way of finding out everything that goes on in the compound, however insignificant. Big had assumed it was Pete feeding him information, but then Pete resigned to be with Vegas, of all people, and Tankhun’s influx of knowledge continued unimpeded.
"I'm assuming this is a business trip? Or is it for pleasure?" Tankhun asks, throwing them a deviously coy expression as he floats into a seat.
"Does this look like pleasure?" Porsche asks, nodding at the papers.
Tankhun tuts. "Don't be rude to your elders. How long will you be gone?"
"Eight days, including travel time," Kinn responds, sliding several papers into a folder. "Longer if the deal takes more time to close."
"Finally, some peace around here," Khun sighs dramatically.
Big almost rolls his eyes. Tankhun is responsible for at least 80% of the disturbances in the compound and everyone knows it. There have been multiple occasions when bodyguards have been called out of bed because Tankhun wanted someone to come clean his pool or drive halfway across the city to get him Kuay Teow Neua.
Once, Tankhun wanted Pol to fill an inflatable swimming pool with popcorn for their movie night and the two of them ended up setting off every fire alarm in the building. Ken had looked about as murderous as Big felt as they stood outside in their sleepwear at 2am.
"I'm surprised you don't want to come," Porsche muses, breaking into Big’s thoughts. Big looks up in time to see Kinn shoot Porsche a warning look, as though his words will give Tankhun ideas.
They often do.
"Please, I have far too much to do here," Tankhun blusters. “I don’t have time for galavanting.”
Judging by the swift glance Kinn and Porsche exchange, neither of them believes Tankhun’s valiant words, but they let it go anyway.
Surprising, since Porsche often calls Tankhun out on his bullshit (in Big’s eyes, one of Porsche’s only redeeming qualities).
But Big assumes that, like him, Porsche has noticed the happy gleam in Kinn’s eyes when Tankhun ventures out and expands his limited circle of haunts. Big finds Tankhun insufferable at the best of times, but he sees how much it pleases Kinn when his brother is ebullient and full of fire.
Even though it's been months since Big finally—grudgingly—accepted Kinn's love for Porsche, a small part of him still feels happy about the things that make Kinn happy. Kinn won't ever love him in the way that he loves Porsche, but that doesn’t mean Big can’t take pleasure in seeing him happy.
It took him a while—many long, angry hours of quietly mourning Ken, and even more quietly mourning the relationship he never stood a chance of having—but he came to terms with everything. And now he feels oddly content. At peace.
Perhaps he’s always destined to be the onlooker in relationships, not the participant.
Big zones back into the conversation in time to hear Kinn say, “this deal would secure a connection between the Nishikawas and us, strengthening our standing against the yakuza.”
“Plus, we’ll be in a better position economically if we can convince old man Hayate to buy our wine and our whisky, and stock them in their spas and restaurants.”
“Porsche,” Kinn says, with a hint of fond exasperation, “you can’t keep calling him that. Especially not to his face.”
“What?! He doesn’t mind it, he laughed last time we spoke to them.”
“Yes, but others in their family might see it as rude.”
“Please,” Tankhun interjects, “if it wins you the contract, let him say it.”
Porsche preens and Kinn rubs a hand over his forehead, outnumbered. Once, Big would have jumped to Kinn’s defence, backing him up, but now his mind is elsewhere, on other things.
Or on other people, to be exact.
Big isn’t sure when it started, but these days, whenever he’s not engaged in other things, his mind seems to return to Chan, a spirit called home.
While they were both recovering from their injuries, Chan became a daily fixture in Big’s life. They had the same physiotherapist, which probably helped, but Chan also started visiting Big in his rooms, arriving with a crutch under his arm to bring Big books or reports.
He seemed to sense that physically, Big was on his way to gaining full mobility, but mentally, something was holding him back.
That something was Ken. Or, more accurately, the ghost of his friendship.
Feelings of betrayal wrapped him in a tangled web of vines and dragged him under until he could hardly breathe, chest tight with the weight of a lost friend turned enemy. Someone he wasn’t allowed to grieve.
He kept telling himself that he should have noticed Ken’s behaviour sooner, should have sensed that he was keeping something from them.
But he didn’t notice anything, and Ken’s betrayal almost cost them everything.
Day by day, though, with every visit from Chan, those charred self-loathing thoughts, sharper than daggers, began to be replaced by other things. Chapters from Chan’s books and discussions about daily reports. The calming burr of his voice and the familiar planes of his face.
Gradually, anger, sadness, and humiliation became acceptance, repose, and easy camaraderie.
Chan seemed to know exactly what Big needed without him ever saying it. And Big has absolutely no idea how to thank him for that. Or whether he even should.
Something shifted between them during those days and he doesn’t know if he should draw attention to it or bury it at the back of his mind. What if he’s the only one who feels the change? What if Chan thinks things are exactly as they were? What if he doesn’t notice anything different?
“Big.”
Big looks up in time to hear his name called, but he realises Kinn isn’t talking to him; he’s answering Tankhun’s question about which bodyguards will accompany them on the trip.
“We’ll take Nat and Remi too, and Arm if you can spare him?”
“Absolutely not,” Tankhun says haughtily. “We’re on episode eight of Strong Woman Do Bong Soon and he can’t miss the next one.” Then his gaze turns sharp and thoughtful. "You should take Chan."
Big feels himself go tense and forces his muscles to relax, slowly, one by one, so that it's not immediately visible to anyone else in the room that his whole body reacted to the sound of Chan’s name.
Thank fuck Khun Kim isn't here, or he'd have noticed straight away.
Chan’s name has started to do strange things to Big. It’s a dawn chorus and he’s a bird taking flight. The syllable is round, warm and sturdy, and it settles in his stomach like the wick of a Catherine wheel, just waiting for one spark to set it spinning.
Tankhun darts a quick glance at him, as if searching for a loose thread to pluck out and unravel the truth with, then he turns back to Kinn, interrupting him mid-sentence.
“Take Chan. He’s one of our best. And it’s not like he’s guarding father any more.”
Big expects Kinn to flinch at that but he simply looks thoughtful for a moment and then nods. Time has clearly started to heal the wounds of their father’s betrayal and subsequent death.
“Fine, we’ll take Chan, too,” Kinn agrees.
Khun looks smug, eyes flitting to Big once more before dancing away. Big wonders, unsettled, if he knows something. The thought is ridiculous; there’s nothing to know, he and Chan are a superior and a subordinate. Colleagues. Nothing more.
He takes a second to mull over whether he could throttle Tankhun with one of his own silk scarves and still keep his job. Likely not.
As if sensing the way Big is plotting his imminent demise, the oldest Theerapanyakul rises in a swirl of skirts.
“Let me know when you leave, and send me your flight schedules.” He heads for the door, turning back to call over his shoulder, “you better bring me some of that plum wine back. The good stuff, not the cheap bottles. And dango too.”
Just like that, he’s gone, and the bubbling tea kettle of energy in the room leaves with him. In his absence, the air is calmer if a little less exciting.
Kinn sighs and turns back to Porsche.
“We should pack. I’ll let Chan know about the change in arrangements.”+
Porsche nods, looking grateful and Big wonders how it was so easy for Porsche to dole out instructions to him when they were bodyguards, but so hard for him to do it to Chan now.
Then again, if he was suddenly in a position to be giving Chan orders, he’s not sure he could do it either.
“Our flights are booked for Tuesday at 7. Big, do you need time to pack?”
“No, Khun Kinn, I’ll do it tonight,” Big responds dutifully.
Kinn sends him a brisk nod, looking pleased, and the part of Big that still craves validation from the other man, even if he no longer craves the warmth of his touch or the soft brush of his lips, floats a little bit.
“Don’t forget to check your shifts are covered for next week, too” Porsche says, throwing Big a his usual easy smile. Big gives him a look that says, just because you’d be so disorganised, doesn’t mean I would be.
“In the meantime, let’s have lunch before we go over our proposal in more detail” Kinn finishes, collecting the remaining papers from the table.
Big bows. “Yes, Khun Kinn, Khun Porsche.”
Porsche makes a face at the honourific and Big feels a small thrill of petty delight that he’s annoyed the minor family head. He resists the urge to smile.
“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Porsche complains as he follows Kinn out the door, scowling back at Big. “Keep doing it and I’ll get Chan to put you on Tankhun’s detail.”
“Of course, Khun Porsche,” Big says, smirking.
~*~
The next few days pass like mist, gliding by smoothly until it’s the day of their departure. At midday, they congregate in the foyer and Big’s heart does an odd little stutter when he sees Chan, dressed in his usual crisp black shirt and trousers, not a single crease in his suit jacket.
Chan nods to him and gives a respectful incline of the head to Kinn and Porsche, before informing the two men that the cars are ready.
Tankhun makes a brief appearance to dab his eyes melodramatically with a tissue and proclaim that it won’t be the same without them. When Porsche tells him they’ll bring him sweets back he instantly perks up and whispers, at maximum volume, that Porsche needs to make sure Kinn takes a well-earned break.
For once, Big agrees, though he’d rather cut his own hair off than admit to that. Kinn has been working hard recently, always up early sipping espressos while reading documents when Big arrives, and often staying up late, scrolling through his iPad as Big leaves.
Big knows Kinn wants to restore the family reputation to something more honourable; something that holds majesty, but won’t step on the necks of anyone who doesn’t wear the crown.
After Korn muddied the waters and left a legacy of blood feuds and violence, Kinn wants something slightly less fraught. Big thinks it’s because of Porsche. In fact, he’s certain it is.
Before Porsche, Kinn seemed at ease with the thought of dying; as though he knew it was his birthright and had long since accepted that old age was just a concept and not something to strive for.
Now, he seems to have realised that there’s more to live for than to die for, and he wants to protect Porsche from meeting an untimely end, too.
Big has never had a partner he wanted to protect so desperately that he’d do anything to ensure their safety. But when he sees the way Kinn and Porsche look at each other, he thinks that perhaps…he can understand where Kinn is coming from.
As they convoy to the airport and check in their suitcases, Big watches the two mafia heads joke and smile and just be together. What must it be like to find someone whose soul fits yours so closely that you can hear the echoes of their heartbeat against your own?
He looks at Chan, walking just ahead of him, and wonders—
No.
It’s stupid to wish for things that will never come to pass.
~*~
They board the plane and find their seats in business class, and Big tries to keep his expression neutral as he looks around. Business class is…luxurious.
The seats are spacious cream recliners, with soft white cushions placed carefully against each backrest. Pale wood tables inlaid with gold trims branch off from the armrests and curve around the seat to form a booth.
The chairs are paired together but facing in opposite directions with opaque screens between them that can be raised or lowered depending on the passengers.
Big has been on the Theerapanyakul’s private helicopter several times, but never on an actual plane before.
When the family business has crossed international borders, the other parties often travel to Thailand as a show of good grace—or fear. The few times Kinn has gone abroad, Big was either on rotation with Khun Kim or recuperating from an injury.
This time, he’s fully healed from both wounds Tawan dealt him, and ready to do his job. But as he finds his seat—in the window and just behind Kinn and Porsche—he’s startled by the tension that creeps up his stomach.
What if something goes wrong? How is he supposed to protect Kinn and Porsche if one of the engines fail? Or if there’s someone hostile on board the flight?
They did a full sweep of the plane once they’d boarded and found nothing dubious. Arm had also hacked into the airline’s databases several days ago and checked the passenger list. No names had flagged as suspicious.
But Big still feels ill at ease that he had to leave his guns in his checked-in luggage. It’s far easier to stop an adversary with a bullet than using hand-to-hand combat.
Before his thoughts can boil over into a hot torrent of worry, a shadow falls over him. He looks up to see Chan placing his bag in the overhead compartment.
Chan is…sitting next to him?
Chan closes the overhead locker and glances down. Their eyes meet.
“You look worried,” the older bodyguard says mildly, quirking one eyebrow.
“No, sir, it’s fine,” Big says quickly, looking away and adjusting his seatbelt.
There’s a rustling sound and when he glances back, Chan is settling into the seat beside him, eyes still on him.
His gaze is assessing and knowing at the same time, the weight of a heavy blanket mixed with the comfort of a cool sea breeze on a hot summer’s day. There’s something about Chan’s presence that has a calming effect on Big.
Maybe it’s because, apart from Kinn—and possibly Porsche, if he’s feeling generous—Chan is the only person Big trusts.
With the truth and with his life.
But it’s only the truth that he lays down now.
“I’ve never left the country before,” he mumbles, looking at the floor as a blush of colour spreads across his cheeks.
“I see.” Chan sounds thoughtful and Big’s eyes dart back over to him of their own accord.
There’s no judgement in Chan’s expression or tone when he says, “so you’ve never flown on a plane before?”
“No, sir,” Big says after a pause and Chan nods.
“Well, you’re in for an interesting few hours either way. Hopefully there won’t be any turbulence and you can enjoy the sunset.”
He looks away and starts arranging the things in his booth so Big turns his gaze to the window instead of watching Chan’s hands. He finds the point in the sky where the sun is beginning to set, blending the blue of the day into the silky pinks and oranges of the evening, and holds that in his gaze as they taxi onto the runway and take off.
~*~
They’re four hours into the six hour flight when the first burst of turbulence rolls through the cabin. Big almost drops the dossier he was reading on Hayate Nishikawa as his heart lurches towards his lungs.
Is this what Chan was talking about? Turbulence?
He half-stands to check on Kinn and Porsche, but drops back into his seat when he sees Remi standing by Kinn talking to him in low tones.
Another jolt rocks the aircraft and then the whole plane begins to shake, tossed around by writhing ribbons of wind.
The seatbelt sign flashes on and Big refastens his seatbelt as fast as he can. The click of the clasp echoes like the toll of a funeral march.
Remi returns to his seat and Chan makes a gesture to him that Big can’t see, but he knows from years of working with the older man that it’ll be Chan getting a status update on Kinn and Porsche.
His suspicions are confirmed when Chan turns back looking satisfied and reclines into his seat, closing his eyes. They must be fine, then.
Big has no idea how Chan can look so calm when the plane is being tossed around like a coin in a mischievous god’s palm, but he looks perfectly at ease with his arms folded loosely across his neat shirt, chest rising and falling slowly.
Another shudder rolls through the plane and a baby starts crying somewhere behind them. Big’s cup of water goes flying off his fold-out table and lands on the floor, spilling the liquid into the carpet by his feet.
The pilot’s voice comes on over the tannoy and asks everyone to stow their tray tables and refrain from leaving their seats.
Big does as requested and tries to quell the shaking in his hands.
“Sir,” he asks, managing to keep his voice level as the plane heaves again, “is this normal?”
“Yes,” Chan responds, eyes still closed. “It’s unlucky for it to be quite this severe, but turbulence happens on a lot of flights. It’s not dangerous.”
“Right,” Big responds quietly, wishing that the jerky motions didn’t unnerve him so much.
He stretches out one arm along the rest next to the seat divider and fists the other in the dark fabric of his trousers, closing his eyes like Chan, in the hope that he can channel some of the other man’s apathy.
It doesn’t work.
As the plane continues to judder and list, and people begin to cry out with each jagged movement, Big feels his heart rate speed up.
Logically, he knows that planes are built to withstand a lot worse than this and that the plane probably isn’t moving as much as it seems. But a small part of his mind wonders whether his first trip abroad will also be his last.
The aircraft makes another dramatic dip and he must make a noise—or something—that alerts Chan to his distress because in the next moment, he feels a warm palm land gently on top of his hand.
He blinks his eyes open to see Chan’s hand covering the back of his own. The head bodyguard’s eyes are still closed, but he’s moved slightly in his seat so he can reach through the divide.
For a few heartbeats, Big is so surprised that forgets everything else. Chan is—not holding his hand, exactly, but he’s touching him. Reassuring him through physical contact.
Something warm glimmers to life in Big’s chest and he feels every nerve ending light up where Chan’s skin sits against his own.
Then embarrassment flares through him, hot and acidic. He shouldn’t need reassurance over something so simple as turbulence. He’s twenty-nine, he’s part of the mafia, he isn’t—
“Big.”
Chan’s voice cuts through his thoughts, solid and warm.
“Breathe.”
And so, he does.
He inhales a slow lungful of air like it’s the sweetest of nectars and then measures his own breathing against Chan’s, watching the other man’s chest, until their rhythms are perfectly in sync.
A sense of calm slowly suffuses through him as the plane gradually stops shaking and the seatbelt signs eventually go dark.
Big looks over at Chan and is relieved to see his eyes are still closed. He knows he should thank the other man, but he feels awkward about it.
His loss of composure was unprofessional; Chan might reprimand him for it and Big really doesn’t want to see disappointment in his dark gaze. He hates feeling like he’s let Chan down.
But the other man’s eyes remain closed and Big isn’t sure if he’s sleeping or not, so he keeps quiet, not wanting to disturb him.
He looks over the front of his booth to see that Nat is with Kinn, and Porsche is standing in the aisle stretching his legs, talking to Remi. Good. They’re fine.
This realisation propels the adrenaline from his body like a receding tide. Big tries valiantly to stay awake, but he feels his eyes growing heavy. He tries to keep himself alert by checking their flight path, but eventually he loses the battle with consciousness and drifts off, arm still outstretched in front of him.
Chan’s hand stays on his for the remainder of the flight.