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Being a good person was hard.

Or rather, being a good person was hard when you’ve never had a solid concept of ‘good’ with which you were able to hold yourself and others accountable.

Vegas had grown up with ‘good’ being a highly subjective and highly situational concept that existed far more in the abstract than it did the physical. To him, ‘good’ was whatever his father deemed okay and acceptable. Necessary even, for the running and prosperity of the Minor family. All bets were off when it came to ‘good’. Blackmail? Good. Torture? A okay. Murder? Sure, go for it. Really, Vegas thought, it was unsurprising he turned out the way he did when his actions were always measured by that one concept that he really thought shouldn’t be as open ended as it was.

When he took a deeper dive into the refuses of his psyche, Vegas found that his daily life and routine since he’d recovered in hospital, and subsequently tried to get his shit together, had become an unpleasantly philosophical experience. Especially pondering upon the meaning of ‘good’.

The standards were so vastly dependent on the context in which it was used.

Calling Venice a ‘good boy’ meant that he’d managed to make it through the day without shitting his way through a diaper and onto their bespoke cream suede couch. (Don’t judge him for the shockingly low standards. Life with a baby was hard, and a win was a win).

Calling Macau a ‘good boy’ generally came with an undeniable tone of mockery and usually indicated that his brother had achieved something momentous like getting out of bed before 1pm or completing the most basic of household tasks. Vegas’ favourite way to use ‘good boy’ on Macau was as he did his walk of shame to collect the absolute hoard of cups from his room to take to the kitchen to be washed.

Now, calling Pete a ‘good boy’… well, that was a vastly different situation Vegas would rather not categorise anywhere near thoughts of family members. He’d just about scraped himself out of one coma, so he’d rather not induce another. He couldn’t pencil that one in his diary without the certainty he’d double book himself. No time for comas these days.

Whatever the true and philosophical meaning of ‘good’, Vegas was faced with it head on this unsuspecting night as he drove home from the Main family compound. Admittedly, doing good deeds hadn’t historically been high on his bucket list, but even he acknowledged that leaving Porsche’s little brother on the side of the street at night, soaking wet from the rain, with a metaphorical sign over his head reading: ‘TAKE ADVANTAGE OF ME’, would generally be frowned upon as a dick move.

It was definitely Porsche’s brother too. There was no mistaking it. Vegas once made it his business to know every person in the Main family house. Those doe eyes and that baby face were pretty recognisable. He was like a cherub. This kid was the same age as Macau, and yet he managed to look so much younger.

From his place in the traffic jam, Vegas had a good view of how he stood on the pavement with his arms folded over his chest to keep himself warm. His eyes were red-rimmed and there may have been a tear or two rolling down his cheeks as he sniffled. All alone. Isolated.

Fuck’s sake, Vegas thought to himself. He was going to have to save the day, wasn’t he? He was going to have to scoop this kid up off the side of the road and bring him back to the compound just as he’d had the relief of leaving the fucking place.

This good person thing was hard.

Vegas grappled with the dilemma of whether or not to leave him. On the one hand, he had absolutely no problem pissing Porsche off. He also had even less of a problem pissing Kinn off. However, there was always the other hand of this argument. If he pissed Porsche off, he’d upset Pete, and that simply wasn’t conceivable. It was an ethical minefield that he’d been navigating since he decided to give this whole love thing a go. Alongside his journey of self-discovery and positive atonement, Vegas really hoped his therapist would be proud of him for this one.

With a defeated groan, he pulled the car out the traffic to park just in front of where the kid was standing. Surely being a good person means he can park on a double yellow, right? He hoped so. If he had to contest a parking ticket for being an upstanding citizen, he’d actually kill himself.

Vegas rolled down his tinted window, and the kid must have recognised him because he immediately seemed to take a few paces back on instinct. His eyes widened with the unmistakable essence of fear.

Vegas was glad he hadn’t lost his touch, what with his whole falling hopelessly and pathetically in love with a newly acquired baby thing.

“Hey.” He called over the sound of the rain. The kid’s eyes darted around nervously.

“Hey.”

“What’s got you so bummed out?” Finding a bit of bite, the kid set his face sternly.

“Nothing! Leave me alone!” He spat with all the ferocity of a hissing kitten. Vegas didn’t even twitch.

“Look, kid, it’s late and I’m about half an hour away from passing out behind the wheel.” That part was true. Turns out, being shot four times hurt like a bitch. Who knew.

“Go home then, and stop bothering me!” It would be just his luck this kid had some backbone. Vegas should have seen that coming from the little brother of the man who gave a mafia boss a wasabi-spiked drink on his first day.

Vegas thunked his head back against the headrest and groaned.

“I’m trying to be nice here. Get in the car.”

“No!” Little shit.

“Look.” Vegas gritted out. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt because you’re like, twelve.”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Even more embarrassing for you when I call your precious big brother and have him deal with this if you don’t shift your ass and get in this car.”

At mention of his big brother, the kid paused to think. It gave Vegas time to ponder the absurdity of this whole situation too. What was Porsche actually doing to be so inattentive as to not notice his Disney princess-esque little brother out in the middle of the street, devoid of bodyguards or anyone else for that matter. Vegas actively refused to believe that Kinn’s dick was that good. Not to brag, but he’d managed to get Pete to change allegiances. It was proof that his dick simply couldn’t be matched.

“Fine.” The kid stropped.

With clenched fists and a tight jaw, he trudged around to the passenger side door to fling it open like a brat, plop his dripping wet ass down on Vegas’ nice leather seats, and then slam the door as hard as he physically could. Once settled, he gave Vegas what must have been the wickedest side eye he could muster.

“If you don’t take me straight back, I swear –“

“You’ll what?” Vegas deadpanned. It struck him again how, man alive, this frail little thing was the same age as Macau. How was that possible? Is this what normal kids uncorrupted by organised crime looked like?  Compared to Macau, he was woefully naïve. To anyone else, watching Porsche’s sweet baby brother attempt to threaten him would be like seeing Bambi try to take on the fucking Predator.

Whatever threat the kid was trying to make died then and there on his lips. Vegas put the car into gear and found a place to pull out back in the traffic going in the opposite direction back to the Main compound. Hopefully they’d leave all this constipated tension and girly backtalk behind them too.

Vegas chanced a glance over to the passenger seat where his hitchhiker was turned towards the window with the most miserable expression he’d ever seen on a person. His brow was furrowed, clearly with something on his mind that Vegas couldn’t give a shit about.

“Seatbelt, kid.” He ordered.

“My name is Chay, not kid.” Vegas rolled his eyes.  

“Alright, Chay. Put your damn seatbelt on.” He took the not strictly necessary opportunity to lean menacingly over the centre console to make his point just a little more robust. He found vague amusement when Chay’s teeth practically started to chatter.

“The seatbelt is non-negotiable.” He said in a low voice.

The last thing he wanted now was for him to get into an accident with Porsche’s darling brother not wearing a seatbelt. The dust had only just settled over the last colossal bullshit the collective families just went through. Chay’s windshield shattered body on his hands would definitely be the catalyst for Vegas getting finished off for good. Eight weeks ago he wouldn’t have cared, but now he has a lot more to lose. He couldn’t leave Pete with all of Venice’s night feeds… because that’s not what good people and good boyfriends and good big brothers and good proxy fathers do.

Chay fastened his seatbelt begrudgingly, and the car was plunged into silence again. Bangkok in the rain should have been a nice ambience for the journey home, but the awkwardness that lingered pungently in the air left it particularly difficult to enjoy. Just to really top it off, Vegas took a corner and ended up straight into the line of another traffic jam. Inside, he seethed. Whatever deity was up there must have decided that he hadn’t suffered enough.

In an attempt to dispel some of the weird energy emanating largely from the seat next to him, Vegas leaned forward and flicked on the radio, hoping it would fill in the gaps all the teenaged brooding had missed.

… gloomy and wet evening tonight in our city’s capital. And so, for our listeners we have something to brighten the mood. The radio debut of WIK’s new single. The upcoming star –

Chay moved like a man possessed and slammed the off button almost as quickly as Vegas could ascertain as to where the fuck he got that kind of audacity from.

“Hey! You even consider that maybe I was listening to tha –“

Chay was turned even further towards the window this time. He was curled up on the seat as if he could make himself disappear by just becoming small enough. His shoulders jumped in a staccato rhythm and the most pathetic hiccupping sob practically echoed around the car to punctuate the fact that he was definitely crying.

Oh God.

Oh fuck.

Vegas had no idea what to do in this situation. He was an emotionally stunted adult with anger issues who needed a fully qualified professional to talk to him about his feelings. And even that sometimes didn’t work. There was no hope for him here. He was as far out of his comfort zone as he could possibly get.

He tried to wrack his brain for any ideas as to how he could fix this, but nothing really sprung to mind. When Venice cried, all he had to do with put his own foot in his mouth, or turn on an episode of that Australian dog cartoon that Vegas could honestly credit with fixing at least thirty percent of his daddy issues. When Macau cried, he needed space. That was how he coped. And Pete… well there was absolutely nothing that Vegas did to cheer Pete up that was applicable or socially acceptable here.

Vegas began to panic a little as the sobs grew in both their frequency and intensity. His lips tightened and his eyes darted around in his ever more desperate search to find something… anything to help.

Why was he like this? What had he done to deserve this?

It was then he should have shut his stupid mouth and let Chay cry, but alas he was betrayed as the words were slipping out faster than he could catch them.

“…Do you want to get bubble tea?” Mentally, he slapped himself across the face and cursed his entire bloodline. That was bad even for him. It had only come to mind because that’s what Macau always did when he was feeling school stress. He drank tea and procrastinated.

He was just about to tell Chay to forget it, when a small and weak “yes, please.” came back at him.

Shocked, Vegas looked over and was met with the biggest, wettest, most pitiable brown eyes he’d ever seen in his life.

It was also the moment that the feelings he’d been gaining since the start of his ‘good person’ road to redemption began to simmer somewhere in the depths of his chest. He knew that feeling, as foreign as it was. Knew it like a memory and no longer like hindsight. It was the feeling he’d gotten when Pete begged in front of him that he was hungry and wanted to be taken care of. The same feeling as when Macau had told him he was glad their father was dead, so he’d never have to see his big brother beaten half to death again. And alas, the very same feeling as when he’d been shown that squirming day-old baby, and subsequently agreed to take on the responsibility even though he couldn’t get out of bed yet.

Was this that empathy thing he’d been hearing so much about?

He hoped not. He had a reputation to uphold.

Another sob rang out.

Fuck it, he was getting Porsche’s little brother bubble tea. Maybe that would stop this madness.

It took a little time, but Vegas eventually spotted a sign for a place he’d seen Macau order from. It had a small car park that was mostly empty, so he parked as close to the entrance as he could to avoid soaking himself and Chay more than necessary. It was absolutely pelting down, so Vegas hurried Chay along as if he were an inconvenient duckling. Opening the door for him and ushering him inside.

The interior of the place was nauseating. A sickly combination of bright pastel pink and blue, made to look like an American style diner. The bubble gum vibes were already making Vegas’ head hurt, but luckily for the pair, it was mostly deserted save for a few drunk girls and students needing a sugar kick before their exams.

Fine. He’d get the kid a bubble tea then they’d be on their way. Order restored and good karma earned.

Vegas made a beeline for the counter and looked the dead-eyed teenager behind the till up and down. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

“I’ll take two bubble teas.” He made to pull some cash out when the dead-eyed teenager let out a sigh that sounded suspiciously like it was calling him an idiot without the need of words.

“What kind?” Vegas’ eyes flicked dangerously back up from where he was counting out the cash (fully legal and non-counterfeit tender. Good person point number two of the night). He didn’t even try to hide the sneer because he was well known as a man who loved repeating himself.

“Bubble tea. What part of that instruction was unclear?”

“What flavour?”

“Bubble tea flavour.”

“What kind of bubble tea flavour?” Vegas snapped.

“The type that gets me away from your incompetence the fastest.”

The cashier stared at him with an injection of venom that on any other day Vegas would have found mildly impressive. Alright, dickhead, bring it on.

Vegas was just about to jump back in for round two, when he felt the pointy shunt of Chay’s elbow in his side and a muttered “you’re so embarrassing.”

What the fuck?

The audacity of kids these days was astounding.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll have one milk tea, less ice, less sugar, and extra pearls please.” Chay turned back to Vegas, and his puffy-eyed misery of a face was indicative of someone who was already having a shit day and was done with this interaction.

“Fruit tea or milk tea?” Vegas was just as done as Chay was.

“Fruit.” Chay turned back to the counter.

“One strawberry fruit tea with lychee jelly, less ice.”

Before Vegas could even think about paying for whatever concoction Chay had just rattled off, his wallet was being snatched out of his hand and his very exclusive, invitation only, club member black card was being tapped on the reader. Not for the first time that night, Vegas was left not quite believing what he was seeing. He snatched the card and wallet back.

“Either you have balls of steel or you’re extremely stupid.” Chay tutted.

“Honestly, you rich people are so frugal.”

Was this really the same kid that had been trembling at the very sight of him an hour ago? What the hell happened?

They lingered around the counter for a few more minutes before the teas were hastily pushed in their faces by the less-than-impressed teenager and Vegas mentally thanked the heavens that his time dealing with that douchebag was over.

Chay made a beeline for one of the booths in the corner, taking off his sweater and swiping away a few stray tears that had slowly begun to make their unwanted appearance yet again. Now, don’t call him a master of perception, but Vegas was beginning to get the slightest inkling that something was on the kid’s mind that was proving more difficult than expected to shake.

Vegas sat himself down, tentatively took a sip of his tea, decided it was passable, and said the next logical thing.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’ve ended up looking like a kicked puppy, or should I just guess?” That… came out harsher than expected. But no one could accuse him of not being honest.

No legacy was so rich as honesty, after all.

Chay shot him a dirty look as he punched a hole in the top of his drink with his straw.

“What do you care?” Vegas could tell he’d tried to put some presumptuousness into saying it, but couldn’t quite muster the will to fully commit. He just sounded miserable. But Chay had a point. Vegas shouldn’t care, and he didn’t, but he’d always loved sticking his nose in other people’s business and wasn’t about to stop now.

“Fine. Wallow in self-pity and pout all night. That’ll really help.” He replied snidely as he sipped at his tea.

Chay’s shoulders shrugged, and he folded his arms protectively against himself.

“It’s stupid…” Vegas’ eyebrows raised. Interesting.

“You’re twelve, of course it’s stupid.”

“Eighteen.”

“Whatever. But I haven’t had my fill of teen drama for the week, so better make it good.” Chay rolled his eyes.

“… It’s boy trouble.”

Ah.

That was actually a bit more interesting than Vegas had expected. Boy trouble meant exploitation of feelings and messy emotional fights. Both things Vegas was pretty good at if he did say so himself. It was time to put his aged wisdom into practice. Help out the younger generation and all that. Plant seeds of a tree under the shadow of which he would never sit, or some shit. If Porsche wasn’t going to give this brotherly advice, then it may as well be Vegas dropping the know-how. Besides, Chay could hardly trust the word of someone who had willingly dated Kinn. Vegas was saving him from himself.

“We’ve all been there, kid.” Vegas watched carefully for his reaction, and noted when Chay’s mind seemed to wander and his lip curled.

“Your family sucks, you know that?”

“Really? I thought the four holes in my chest were a professional courtesy.” Chay at least had the good grace to look sheepish after that.

“Yeah… I guess you’d know.” Vegas took another sip of tea, moving the straw around to target the lychee jelly to maintain the balanced ratio of his drink. He then set the cup aside and leaned forwards on his elbows.

“So now I’m curious. What kind of boy trouble leads you to the correct conclusion that Theerapanyakuls’ suck?” Something in Chay seemed to let go of the tentativeness he’d been showing Vegas. He sighed and resigned himself to the upcoming admission.

“Kim.”

Wait what?

“Kim? Like my woe-is-me, tortured thespian artiste cousin Kim? What the hell have you got to do with Kim?”

Vegas thought it a valid question. Honestly, what did anyone have to do with Kim? He definitely didn’t seem to want anything to do with them, which Vegas understood and even respected to a certain degree.

“Nothing anymore.” Chay replied with a kind of melancholy that definitely said there was way more to the story.

“Oh, come on, kid. You’re gonna leave me at that!?” Chay huffed indignantly and snatched his tea from the table. He looked up from under his eyelashes.

“Don’t laugh”

“Cannot promise anything.”

“Try not to laugh.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Chay nibbled at his straw to dispel some of the nervous energy, not quite believing he was divulging this highly sensitive and soul-destroying information to Vegas of all people.

“We were dating.”

Vegas nearly goddamn choked.

“I said don’t laugh!” Vegas thumped himself in the solar plexus a few times. Damn. If only his old man could see Uncle Korn’s chance at grandchildren now. He’d laugh for a week.

“You? You were dating Kim!?” Chay had the nerve to kick Vegas’ shin underneath the table.

“Don’t make it sound like I got my innocence swiped!” This kid had balls, Vegas thought. No one who wasn’t his brother kicked him like that, and why did it make Vegas like Chay all the more? Was this really Porsche’s brother?

“Sorry! It’s just that the last I saw of little prince Theerapanyakul he was off brooding in his gilded marble fortress writing songs or some shit!”

“You make him sound like a psycho.” Vegas stared incredulously.

“Kid, I get a bad rep, and I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Kim is a fucking psycho.”

Having given Vegas a minute to process the new information, Chay sat back in his chair.

“He started to tutor me at school, and then one day he kissed me and… it just sort of went from there.” Vegas hummed.

“That’s so cliché I think I might puke.” Upon hearing this, Chay’s expression darkened.

“Yeah, well, he was only using me to dig for information, so he got the last laugh. He dumped me and said he never cared. How’s that for cliché?”

Holy shit. Vegas knew Kim was a cold-blooded bastard, but that was actually pretty cruel. It was made even worse by the fact Vegas knew it was a rich judgement to pass coming from him. He mentally admitted that he did have to metaphorically put his hands up and take a minute to turn attention to his own hypocrisy. He’d done his fair share of relationship and feelings manipulation in his time, but Tawan definitely deserved what was coming to him. Sweet innocent little Chay though? That was low, even for Kim. That was akin to adopting a kitten, giving it a taste of a forever home and then dumping it in the trash. Even Vegas had more moral integrity than to involve someone not from their world in their bullshit, and that was saying something.

“So now you’re starting your Theerapanyakul hoe phase?” Chay pouted.

“I tried, but I couldn’t. How did you know?”

“You’re a Theerapanyakul by association, so it must have rubbed off. No pun intended. It’s almost tradition at this point to have a horrible breakup followed by a desperate attempt at filling the void. Only makes sense you’d get there eventually.” Chay seemed to consider this.

“Does it count as a hoe phase if I didn’t have sex?”

“Did you have thoughts of a hoe phase?”

“I was a mental hoe. A hoe in theory, but not in practice.” Vegas hummed.

“What’s stopping you from the practice?” If only Porsche could hear them now. He’d have an aneurysm.

Chay then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped around a bit before turning the screen towards Vegas.

“A few weeks ago, I got this from an anonymous number… and honestly I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell Porsche about this. He doesn’t know anything about what happened with me and Kim.” Vegas had to halt the smugness rising from within him at that delicious tidbit. Chay was sharing this with him first as if he were a lessdangerous option than the brother who loved and looked out for him since birth. Ten big brother points right there.

Vegas scootched in with interest and pressed play.

It was Kim.

Kim with a guitar.

Kim with a guitar singing out the heart he apparently had with the sappiest lyrics Vegas had ever heard in his life.

This song is for Porchay, Kim said before the video cut off.

It was heartfelt and so so vulnerable. More so than Vegas thought Kim capable of. If Vegas had not made the transition to being a good person now, it would have been oh-so-excellent blackmail material… but not anymore. It was almost a shame to see it go to waste. It seemed Kim actually cared, and cared deeply. Truly felt something, perhaps even love, for this boy. It was kind of beautiful.

“Well, that was the most fucking pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.” Vegas snorted, not ever putting himself in the position of admitting that he was rather taken aback by Kim’s gesture and its genuineness. Chay huffed half-heartedly.

“I just… don’t know what to do. He texts me. Promises things. Tankhun told me that he killed all those people in Yok’s bar just to stop me from getting hurt.”  Vegas didn’t miss a beat.

“Told you he was psycho.” Chay didn’t rise to the bait. He just looked up diffidently and said: “I’m being serious.”

Vegas had an instinctive response, and that was to tell Chay to kick Kim and his sorry ass song to the curb. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. Being fooled twice could be deadly in their world. However, with the instinctive response also came the sensible one too. The one that crawled out from the caverns of his heart and whispered in his ear to remind him where he’d be if Pete hadn’t given him a second chance and single-handedly turned his life around. If Pete had run from him as he probably should have.

Vegas could still see his face clear as day in his mind’s eye. See him begging for him to not kill himself. Hear him sobbing as Vegas drifted in and out of consciousness.

His Pete.

The best thing that ever happened in his life.

“Do you really want my opinion?” Chay nodded.

“I hate to tell you this, but if Kim has gone to this truly nauseating length to prove that he cares, then he cares. He won’t piss about. If he was really just using you, he’d have left you for the dogs a long time ago.” Chay seemed taken aback by this answer, obviously expecting something more along the lines of ‘get over yourself’.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?”
“Because Kim and I are more alike than we care to admit. I know what I’d do if I was playing someone, and it’s not write them a love confession.” Chay’s lips upturned into a gentle smile.
“Like you would with P’Pete, right?” Vegas rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, you fall in love once and your reputation is in tatters.” Chay giggled, and it was the most disarming sound Vegas had ever heard in his life. He wondered briefly if Chay had ever considered a career in spying. He’d get any secrets out of anyone with that laugh. This kid could tell him to go to hell and Vegas would consider it.

Chay leaned a cheek on his palm, eyes all gooey and adoring.

“How did you start dating Pete?”

Nope. Absolutely not going there.

“I’m irresistible. It was only a matter of time before he recognised it.”

Chay shook his head good-naturedly, and Vegas let out the mental breath he’d been holding when he allowed the subject to drop. Chay glanced down at his phone, one-sided chats with Kim open, staring expectantly up at them.

“So you think I should text him?”

Vegas picked up the phone immediately and Chay practically leapt up to grab it, but wasn’t quite fast enough.

“Give it back!”

Vegas fended Chay off easily with one hand as he typed with the other.

hey dickhead its vegas

nice of you to ghost a literal child

hes giving you another chance

don’t fuck it up

you owe me

It was only after he was finished that Vegas relented and gave the phone back, Chay reading over the texts with horror, typing a hasty follow up to explain what just happened. Vegas smirked. Young love.

“Feeling better now?” Chay looked mildly annoyed, but it was mostly for show. Even then he couldn’t help but let a small smile slip. Vegas swore that somewhere an angel got its wings.

“Actually, yeah I do.” He looked up. “Thank you.”

Vegas was taken slightly by surprise. It was so weird to have someone thank him for anything. It was nice actually. Ten more good person points for the metaphorical chart.

“Don’t sweat it. Besides, you’re definitely going to be Korn’s favourite now.” Chay raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“I am?” Vegas nodded with certainty.

“Oh yeah. Kim has been practically feral for years. Korn has been hoping and praying for someone special to put a collar on him. Bring his favourite son back to the family and he’ll literally write you a cheque and give you a medal. They do that kind of thing around here.” Chay laughed, but it had a nervous quality to it. He fidgeted with the empty cup of his bubble tea, eye-contact failing him.

“Do you think he could get me a university place?” Vegas furrowed his brow in suspicion.

“Did you not get into university?”

“I kind of threw away my application after the breakup.”

Vegas picked up his empty plastic cup and threw it at Chay’s head. It bounced off with a small doink.

“Get your shit together. He’s not worth your damn education.” Chay pouted, his emotions an open book. He was so easy to read. Vegas liked that about him. It was refreshing. He had nothing to hide and Vegas didn’t have to pretend.

“University place, yes or no?”

“Trust me. Bring Kim to the next family dinner and you’ll have a place at Chulalongkorn University, a private escort to bring you there, and all the fees paid in advance.”

.

For the next half hour, the two of them absently chatted about anything and everything. Vegas found his heart warming to Chay. He was a good kid. It was a happy coincidence that he and Macau went to the same school, so Chay had an invitation extended to the Minor family household whenever he liked. Porsche’s permission for him to go was another story, but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. Chay was the kind of person Vegas wasn’t exposed to much. Young, sweet, a little naïve, but well meaning.

Way too good for Kim in Vegas’ humble opinion, but who was he to interfere with young love?

They talked as Vegas drove in the rain until they were back at the main compound. Approaching the gates, Vegas made it explicitly clear that this was not a kidnap, hostage, or ransom situation before Chay was quickly ushered inside by a more-than-suspicious Arm. Before he was at the main doors, Chay looked back over his shoulder and waved.

“Thanks for everything! Tell Macau to come round soon!”

Goddammit, Vegas couldn’t take all this sincerity. That kid was a gem and Vegas knew that if anything were to happen to him, he’d be among the first committing unspeakable acts just to make him happy again.

Maybe this good person thing had something to it.

.

Arriving home after the experience he’d had was nothing short of a godsend.

Vegas took a quick shower and undressed before it was his favourite time of the day. The time he got to cuddle in close to Pete and hold him for a whole seven hours. It never got old.

Vegas slipped in under the covers and wound an arm around Pete’s waist, listening as he made a quiet noise to acknowledge his presence.

“You’re home late.” He said softly into the darkness of their bedroom, reaching back to rub a thumb over the top of Vegas’ bare thigh.

“Sorry. I was doing my good deed for the day.” He spoke into the shell of Pete’s ear. He felt Pete smile.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you would’ve been proud of me.”

“I’m always proud of you, Vegas.”

What was everyone’s problem today? Why was he getting so much damn love? How rude of everyone to make him start feeling things and turn him just a little mushy on the inside.

“Do I get anything more about this good deed?” Pete asked through a yawn, obviously ready to return to his dreams.

“Mh. I found Porsche’s little brother on the side of the road.” Pete startled, and Vegas held him tighter to settle him.

“Do I need to call Porsche?”

“Nah. I dropped him home. It was just boy trouble.” Pete turned over and placed a warm palm to Vegas’ cheek, rubbing softly.

“Teenage right of passage.” He placed a kiss on his lips. Vegas smiled because how could he not?

“I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Lots of juicy gossip.” Pete chortled.

“I like this side of you.”

Vegas liked this side of him too.

Pete sunk down into the bed and Vegas was content to just hold him. It was difficult to believe that all this change within him had been bought around in just a few short months. He supposed it just goes to show what a person could become if surrounded by the right people.

On the nightstand his phone lit up. It was a message.

Kim T.                                                              00:37

Every day I wish that the person who shot you had better aim.

Thank you.

Vegas smirked.

This good person thing was totally worth it.