Chapter Text
Tin sat passively amid the smoky glass-lined waiting area of Tul’s office. Even though Tul set the appointment, he had kept Tin waiting for close to half an hour. He ignored the whispers of people passing by in the hallway, just as he always did. They had been talking about him since he was 15 and arrested abroad, thanks to Tul.
It was rare for Tin to make an appearance in the office, so he anticipated the chatter. Can offered—no demanded—to go with him. As much as he would have liked to see Tul with a bloody nose courtesy of Can, Tin knew the best way to deal with his brother was one-on-one.
Tul’s assistant rose from her desk. “Mr. Medthanan, your brother will see you now,” she said with a smile Tin decided was filled with just the right amount of pity mingled with slight disgust for the problem-child of a rich family. He nodded and walked through the giant, wooden double doors.
Seated at his oversized desk carved with the Medthanan Holdings logo, Tul offered Tin a smile that mirrored his assistant. “Sorry to keep you, waiting, Tin,” he said, motioning for him to sit in one of the plush side chairs. “Work has been busy today.”
Tin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the photo on the desk of Tul with his latest new car. "Another red Camaro, I see," Tin muttered. His thoughts drifted to Mrs. Kirakorn's desk, still covered in photos of her children and drawings from when they were little. For my family, he told himself, a mental image of the Kirakorns giving him courage.
Tul waited until his assistant closed the doors for the slight sneer Tin knew so well to kick up in the corner of his small mouth. “I’m glad you decided to make the trip to the United States,” he added.
Tin didn’t answer. He’d allowed Tul to think he was planning on leaving, even booking a trip for him and Can to visit Pete in New York. Can jumped around at the idea of seeing Pete and Ae, and he promised to learn English before they left. That had been two weeks ago, and Can had yet to open the English app he downloaded.
Reaching into his briefcase, Tin pulled out a large manila envelope and tossed it onto Tul’s desk. “Apparently the Pirniwat Foundation does a background check on all its potential employees,” said Tin. The sneer on Tul’s lips deepened and Tin knew he was imagining the layers of lies he had sculpted around his brother over the years. Tin shook his head. “In this case, he decided to do a very deep investigation—including affidavits from the people you hired to take me to the party when I was 15, the business deals you foiled over the past year, the defamation of my character to colleagues—in short, your entire campaign to keep me from trying to claim the throne that I never wanted.”
Tul hesitated a moment before grabbing the envelope. He ripped it open and dumped the contents. Documents and photos poured onto the desk. Tul snatched one up. His eyes widened as he scanned the paper.
“You went too far this time, Tul,” said Tin, dampening his anger as best he could.
Tin thought back to the night Tul summoned him to the Medthanan mansion…a place he’d never once thought of it as a home, let alone his home. An eerie quiet surrounded the tasteful and expensive décor. No servants moved sedately to the entryway to greet him, no carefully chosen music from the all-home speakers drifted past the oatmeal-colored walls. There was nothing to mask the blankness of the place—a museum dedicated to crafting the lie of a harmonious family.
Glancing down at his phone, Tin looked again at the message Tul sent demanding he come home, along with the threat of exposing his relationship with Can to his father. The moment he saw it in the crowded bar, the noisy celebration fell away, and a ring of panic sang in Tin’s ears. The fear had nothing to do with their father seeing the photos, and everything to do with Tul’s people getting that close to Can. The violation of the moment ripped into Tin. It was one thing for Tul to strip away any illusion of safety for him, but to try and bring Can into his torment was too much. Tin decided he was done.
A sound drew him toward the kitchen. Tin figured he could ask one of the workers to direct him to wherever Tul lay in wait. As he entered the kitchen, he was confronted with the odd image of his brother in front of the chopping board. “Hello, Tin,” he said in a low voice. The thin slice of the knife hissed through the soft fruit before hitting the board with a thud. The sound echoed through the empty house. “Congratulations on your success today.”
Tin sighed. “You can dispense with the false niceties, Tul,” he said. “I came to tell you to stop having people follow me. I’m through being part of whatever game you have in your slightly sickened head.”
The chop of the knife slammed into the board once again. “I don’t know what you mean, Tin,” he said, carelessly flicking a piece of fruit off the board.
“I mean, enough, Tul,” Tin said, straining to keep a handle on his anger. If there was one thing Tin knew, one of his brother’s joys was seeing Tin lose his temper.
“I quite agree, Tin,” he said, stabbing a piece of fruit and lifting it to Tin. “I think you’ve had enough.”
Tin balled his fist, fighting the urge to smack away the knife, no matter what it did to his hand. Then he glanced down to the fruit thrust near him. The ground seemed to fall away as Tin recognized the light, green fruit. Cantaloupe.
His gaze shot down to the cutting board, where a sea of slightly misshapen pieces lay in a pool of juice. Tin felt his nostrils flare as the bile rose in his throat. “Tul,” the name staggered from his mouth. To haul off and hit Tul now would mean Tin would lose everything. His brother would have all the ammunition he needed to brand Tin a danger to himself and the rest of the family. Tin clenched his jaw.
Tul raised an expectant eyebrow, then shrugged. Pulling the piece of fruit off the end of the knife, he said, “Sad to think of something this delicate ending up in such a way.” Tul popped the piece of fruit in his mouth.
Tin’s fists shook with anger. Never, in all the time Tul schemed against him and humiliated him, did he think about physically hurting his brother. But this…this…Tin felt his fragile hold on his anger teetering as Tul placed the knife down on the board. He reached over to a colorful basket and plucked up another piece of fruit.
“It’s an interesting, rag-tag little family you’ve adopted,” he said, tossing the fruit in the air. Tin’s eyes took in the flash of yellow, and he watched in horror as Tul caught a shiny lemon in his hand. Ley. He’s going after Ley as well, Tin realized. His mind raced as he thought of all the ways Tul could get to her, and what that would do to the Kirakorns.
The knife flashed and Tul sliced the lemon in two with one sweep. Tin blanched at the finality of the metal hitting the board, and he could not pull his eyes from the lemon half that rocked against the wooden block.
“I hope you are not worried about your reputation rubbing off on them,” said Tul. “They seem like such a nice, quaint, hard-working family.” Tin closed his eyes, trying to remember to breathe. Nice. Quaint. Hard-working. These were all phrases Tul used when he meant weak, poor, and dirty.
It wasn’t going to stop, Tin realized. It was never, ever, going to stop. His brother wanted him isolated and alone. And even when he went to New York, or wherever Tul finally decided, he would be followed there as well. No way out, he thought. No scars that show. Tin opened his eyes and looked down again at the remnants of cantaloupe and lemon. There was no way he could protect them. No way to keep them safe.
As Tin opened his eyes, Tul tossed the knife down on the fruit. Around the handle, he had managed to affix a garland of flowers. Malai. He could feel his heart breaking. The woman who had been more of a mother to him in the past few weeks than his own had ever been was now in danger. Because of me. Tin imagined Ley clapping her hands in delight, Malai telling him to eat, and Can…Can. Without a word, Tin turned and walked out of the house.
Now Tin faced the man who threatened his family, his real family. “You made a mistake, Tul, when you went to the presentation yourself,” said Tin, seeing the same look of horror on his brother’s face that he must have displayed that night.
Oddly enough, Tin found no pleasure in watching his brother sink into his own mire. He brushed a small fleck of dust from his suit. “You must have been desperate, thinking I was so close to success,” Tin said. “Instead of sending one of your people, you had to be there yourself. You just had to show Mr. P the pictures with your own hand. It was your vanity that undid you.”
Tul’s hand clenched into a fist, crumpling the sheet of paper he gripped. “Do you really think I won’t send those pictures to father?” he whispered, anger choking his usually sedate tone.
“I already did, along with a copy of the report,” said Tin. The shock registered on Tul’s face as Tin continued, “In effect, I submitted my resignation to the Medthanan family. I thanked him for supporting me all these years, and I let him know I hoped my services as the second son were no longer required.” He leaned onto the edge of the desk. “And if you even think of threatening anyone I care about, I’ve let father know I’ll release that report and the photos to people outside the family.”
With a resounding crash, Tul sent the contents piled on his desk to the floor. “This isn’t over,” Tul growled over the mess he alone created.
Tul’s assistant burst through the door. “It is over, Tul,” said Tin calmly. The woman looked frantically from Tul to Tin, but Tin remained unmoving. “It’s all over now. All of these years, I allowed you to let people think the worst of me. I’m not sure what it gained you, but I’m taking myself out of the game now.” Tin turned to go, but he stopped at the door next to the open-mouthed assistant. Tin reached into his pocket and handed the assistant his phone. “You can keep that. My boyfriend bought me a new one.”
Tin exited the office to find the Kirakorn family waiting for him along with P’Type and P’Gun, all wearing expressions that ranged from worry to rage. Can, who was taking up the mantel of rage perfectly, stormed over to him. “What did that asshole do?” he demanded.
The assistant collapsed against the door as Tul pushed her out of the way and charged up to Tin. “I decide when this is over, you son of a whore,” he screamed and shoved Tin into Can.
Can lunged at him, but Tin held him back. “We’re leaving with dignity, Can, remember?” he asked. Can shrugged Tin off his shoulders, and opted instead to glare at Tul. Tin took one last step toward his brother. “Find someone else to torment, Tul,” he said, before adding in a low voice, “And if you even think of hurting Can or any of the Kirakorns, I will unleash a hell upon you so thick that you’ll pray to Sun Wukong to make it cease.”
Tin turned around and, with his Kirakorn family behind him, walked out the Medthanan empire without looking back.
***
“I thought we were leaving with dignity, Can,” said Tin with a sigh.
Can laughed and jumped into the giant bed in the middle of the room. “I just flipped him off in a dignified manner,” said Can, flopping himself onto the bed and sighing, “Joy.”
Tin shook his head. “How can you move like that after eating so much dinner?” he asked. “You are like a bottomless pit for food.”
Can shrugged. “I can’t help it if everyone else gives up so easily,” he said.
Tin checked again to make sure their boarding passes were on his phone. “Yeesh,” groaned Can. “Isn’t that itinerary tattooed on your brain already?”
Tin raised an eyebrow. “Have you studied any of your English? We leave tomorrow morning to see Pete.”
“And Ae,” Can added in a voice worn with the repetition of reminding Tin that another person would be there as well.
“Yes, him too,” said Tin, trying not to envision two weeks with that feisty man glaring at him.
Can dismissed Tin with a wave. “I know all the important words. Big Mac, deep dish pizza, spaghettifrieshotdog,” he listed the words while ticking them on his fingers.
“Those are all things to eat, Can,” said Tin with strained patience.
“Yeah, the important stuff,” said Can.
Tin placed the phone back down on the desk and double-checked that their passports were in the carry-on satchel. “What if you get lost? How will you find your way back to Pete’s apartment?’
“And Ae’s apartment,” Can reminded him.
“Yes, him too,” said Tin absently as he laid out his new—old—watch on the table.
“Ha!” Can laughed. “Like you would let me leave your side.”
Tin ran a finger along the Bulgari watch. As a thank you for the factory contract with Mr. P, P’Type, P’Gun, and Manager Go hunted down the pawn shop to retrieve Tin’s watch. P’Gun had his girls give it to Tin, so he could not protest. Tin bit his lip as he stared at the first thing he ever truly owned. It wasn’t the most important thing in his life now—not by a long shot—but it was good to have it back.
Can climbed under the covers. When it came to gifts, the bed was the first thing Tin bought with his paycheck from the Pirniwat Foundation. Before he did, he’d had a long—and extremely uncomfortable—talk with Malai. Tin set out his intentions, and promised no “funny business” with Can until he was ready. The two finally dissolved into laughter when Ley leaned in and pointed out Can would probably need a formal presentation to understand their conversation. When his mom asked Can about the single bed, Can just shrugged. “I sleep better when I’m next to Tin.” That seemed to settle the matter.
“I’m sad we can’t stay longer in New York, but I want to get back for Ai Yo and P’Pha’s wedding,” said Can. “You’ll have to teach me how to tie the tie.” The tie was the second thing Tin bought for Can. He apologized for it being a boring, blue tie without any unicorns, but Can didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Can seemed more excited over his present of the simple silk than Tin was over his phone. That was until Can told him, “This phone will be yours. Toss that one in your brother’s fat face. But keep the photo of us in the park.”
Sitting on the bed, Can waved a hand for Tin to join him. “Time to sleep, Kirakorn,” said Can. He hadn’t referred to Tin as a Medthanan since the day he cursed and lunged at him for thinking of leaving. Tin hadn’t heard from his family once since he left Tul’s office, though his father’s lawyers sent him a non-disclosure agreement. He still hadn’t signed it, but Tin let his father’s people know he would renegotiate it when he felt the time was right. Mr. P smiled when he had heard the news. “Guess those boys forgot they sent you to all those fancy schools. You’re smarter than they thought,” he had winked and slapped Tin on the back, while Suriykar had pinched his cheeks.
Tin sat on the bed and pulled off his slippers. “Did you pack the underwear your mom got you?” he asked a yawning Can.
“I’ll get to it tomorrow,” Can mumbled sleepily. Tin set the alarm on his phone an hour early to make sure he had time to “help” him pack. He leaned back and Can scooted closer to him. “Do you know how they say hello in New York?” he asked, giving Tin a light kiss on his cheek.
Tin smiled as he gazed into the warm, chocolate brown eyes of the man who meant so much to him. “I have no idea, but I’m guessing it could be a bit like this.” Tin lifted his chin and brushed his lips softly against Can’s. He responded by gently pulling Tin’s top lip between his, and caressing it with a feather-light touch of his tongue. Tin sucked in his breath. “You’re getting really good at that,” he whispered.
Can leaned away. “I’ve heard a kiss isn’t a kiss...,” he winked. “Sleep, now,” He ordered in a sweet tone, and snuggled up against him.
Tin seriously doubted he would be able to get much sleep after that. He looked up at the ceiling and silently prayed for strength as Can flopped one arm over him. “Geesh,” said Can. “You are stiff as a board, Kirakorn. Relax.”
A splutter of coughs came from Tin in response. He wondered if Can even knew the impact of what he was saying half the time. Taking a deep breath, he did his best to relax. Can reached over to his phone and popped on the cello suite that was now his favorite.
“When did Bach write this stuff?” he asked Tin.
Tin shut his eyes tight and tried to concentrate on the tripping of bow to cello in the composition. “Um, around the early 1700s, I think,” he said.
“Man, that’s old!” Can said, adding a low whistle. “Still sounds good, though.”
Tin laughed lightly. “Yeah, it does.” He maneuvered his arm free from the covers and wrapped it around Can’s shoulder.
“What instrument do you play? All rich kids have to learn something, right?” Can asked. Tin wanted to cringe at the question, but knew the lack of recrimination in his voice meant Can was just curious.
“I, uh, play the piano pretty well,” admitted Tin before adding, “and I play the violin pretty horribly.”
Can looked up at him. “Why do you play the violin so horribly?”
Tin shrugged. “I’m sure I could have played it better, but I enjoyed how much the screeching bugged my brother.”
Can laughed out loud. “You’ll have to play it for me someday, so I can imagine a rich, mean asshole covering his ears and cringing.”
“Okay, my ling Sun Wukong,” he said, giving Can a small hug. “I’ll do that.” Tin wondered if Can actually did possess some divine powers. In the span of a few months, he had gone from desperate and alone to on the verge of a successful career with a new, loving family to boot. “Thank you, Cantaloupe,” he whispered in his ear.
“For what?” Can mumbled.
“For joy...and watches...and marshmallow beds,” Tin said softly. And for loving me, and letting me love you, Tin added to himself, knowing the time wasn’t quite right, but it would be soon...so soon.
“Hmmmmm,” sighed Can. The music swelled again as the suite changed course. “Now shut up, listen to the Yo-Yo, and go to sleep,” he said.
Tin smiled and pulled Can just a little closer as he drifted off to sleep.