Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1
Pete adjusted his plain black shirt for the fifth time, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. His heart pounded so loud he was sure the two men walking beside him could hear it.
Ken and Big. The infamous bodyguards of the Theerapanyakun family.
They didn’t say much. Actually, they hadn’t said anything beyond “follow us” since Pete arrived at the compound. Both of them walked stiffly, faces blank, eyes sharp and always scanning their surroundings like they expected bullets to fly at any moment.
Pete swallowed hard, wondering if this was what it felt like to march to your doom.
“You’ll need to stay alert at all times,” Big finally spoke, his voice low and serious, like he was narrating a documentary about war. “No mistakes. One slip, and it could cost you your life.”
Pete nodded, throat dry. Why did I agree to this?
Ken side-eyed him, expression unreadable. “You don’t talk much. That’s good. Less talking, more working. You’ll learn fast, or you’ll regret it.”
Oh god. Oh god. Pete could feel the anxiety creeping higher. Every step deeper into the estate felt like stepping into the lion’s den.
“This is the east wing. Stay out of that room. That’s Khun Kinn’s office. You don’t want to get on his bad side,” Big said, voice grim.
“This is where the family meets. Never interrupt them unless called,” Ken added, as if Pete might run in screaming at any moment.
Pete’s mouth opened to say I won’t, but no sound came out. He just nodded again.
And then - it happened.
A shriek echoed down the hallway.
“I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH MY SHIRT, YOU TRAITOR!”
Pete froze as a blur of something colorful zipped past the hall intersection ahead. A man in a silk robe - floral, bright pink - ran full speed, arms flailing like he was being chased by demons.
“Khun Tankhun!” Big barked in alarm, instantly breaking his cold façade as he and Ken bolted after the man.
“GET BACK HERE!” came another shout, and a bodyguard who looked like he had run out of patience years ago thundered after them.
And standing there, doubled over with laughter, was Porsche. The bodyguard Pete had heard rumors about - the one who somehow charmed his way into the mafia family and Kinn’s heart.
Porsche clutched his stomach, tears forming in his eyes. “Oh my god - Pete, right? Welcome to the circus!” He snorted, waving a hand toward the chaos unfolding as Tankhun leapt over a sofa like some action hero in flip-flops.
Pete blinked. His anxiety was still there, but now it was tangled with sheer confusion. “What… is happening?”
Porsche wiped his eyes, grinning. “Oh, you’ll get used to it. This is just a normal Tuesday. Tankhun’s probably fighting over a shirt again. Or snacks. Or both.”
Ken reappeared, panting slightly, looking like he regretted every life decision that led him to this job. “This… this wasn’t in the briefing…”
Big was right behind him, glaring murderously at the empty hallway Tankhun had disappeared down.
Pete just stood there, wide-eyed. This is the mafia family?
Porsche clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, rookie. Let’s finish your tour before Tankhun recruits you to help him escape. First lesson? Never let him see you hesitate. He’ll make you his partner-in-crime in a second.”
Pete gave a weak laugh, still dazed. For Rain, he reminded himself. For Rain, I can survive this.
Even if this job might just drive him insane first.
Porsche led Pete down the hall, still grinning and shaking his head at the mess Tankhun had left behind. Pete, on the other hand, tried to calm his racing heart, his mind still struggling to process the scene he’d witnessed.
“So… where are we going now?” Pete asked, his voice cautious.
Porsche smirked, hands in his pockets. “To meet the boss. Don’t look so nervous. Kinn’s not as scary as he looks. Unless you cross him. Or mess with me. Or let Tankhun burn the house down. You’ll be fine.”
Comforting, Pete thought dryly.
They stopped at a sleek wooden door. Porsche didn’t bother knocking. He just swung it open like he owned the place. “Babe, the new guard’s here!”
Pete straightened instinctively, hands behind his back, trying to look as professional as possible.
Kinn sat at his desk, dark eyes focused on some document - until Porsche walked in. Then, like someone had flipped a switch, his entire face softened. The cold mafia heir that Pete had expected melted into a man who was very obviously down bad for the grinning bodyguard now perched on the edge of his desk.
“Porsche, how many times do I have to tell you not to barge in like that?” Kinn said, but there was no heat behind his words.
Porsche leaned in, eyes sparkling. “You love it.”
And Kinn… actually looked flustered. The Kinn Theerapanyakun - the man feared across the city - was flustered.
Pete stared, trying very hard not to let his shock show.
Kinn cleared his throat, remembering Pete’s presence. He stood and walked around the desk, straightening his jacket and trying to regain some dignity. “You’re Pete?”
“Yes, sir.” Pete bowed his head slightly.
Kinn studied him for a moment, sharp eyes returning. “Porchay said you’re capable. I trust his judgment. We need someone reliable.”
Pete nodded, listening intently.
“You’ll be assigned to Tankhun.”
Pete blinked. “Ah… Khun Tankhun?”
“Yes,” Kinn said, pinching the bridge of his nose like just saying his brother’s name gave him a headache. “He needs someone to keep him safe, and someone who can… handle him. Which means chasing after him, stopping him from adopting stray animals, keeping him from burning down the kitchen, and - Porsche, stop laughing!”
Because Porsche was already snickering, nearly doubled over. “Oh, Kinn, you make it sound like Pete’s applying to be a babysitter, not a bodyguard.”
“Same thing,” Kinn muttered under his breath.
Pete hesitated. “I’ll do my best.”
Kinn nodded, his expression serious. “Good. Tankhun’s a lot, but he’s my brother. His safety is your priority. Don’t hesitate to call for backup if needed. And…” His eyes flicked to Porsche, who was now happily swinging his legs on the desk like a kid. “…learn from Porsche. He knows how to survive the madness here.”
Porsche winked at Pete. “Rule one: if Tankhun asks if you want to ‘go on an adventure,’ say no. Every. Time.”
Pete felt both reassured and terrified at the same time.
Kinn walked back toward his desk, lightly brushing his hand against Porsche’s as he passed. The small gesture didn’t escape Pete’s notice. For all the power Kinn commanded, when Porsche was near, it was clear who had Kinn’s heart in a chokehold.
“Welcome to the family, Pete,” Kinn said, sitting down again. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”
Porsche burst out laughing again, and Pete finally let himself smile - just a little.
For Rain, he thought again. I can do this. Probably.
Pete hadn’t even had a moment to breathe after his meeting with Kinn. His mind raced - Tankhun duty, Kinn’s intense stare, Porsche’s teasing grin. He barely had time to think when a voice called out behind him.
“P’Pete!”
Pete turned to see Porchay jogging over, eyes bright, smile wide. Rain’s best friend. The kid Pete had always thought of as sweet, a little loud, but kind-hearted. Porchay was the one who’d helped him get this job, who vouched for him.
“You made it!” Porchay grinned. “I was hoping you’d take the job. Rain was so worried, but I told him – P’Pete can handle anything.”
Pete managed a small smile, his tension easing a little at the familiar face. “Yeah… I’m here. Thanks to you.”
Porchay nodded enthusiastically, then grabbed Pete’s wrist. “Come on! I’ll introduce you to P’Kim. You’ll meet everyone sooner or later, but P’Kim’s important.”
Before Pete could object, Porchay was already pulling him along.
They turned the corner - and there he was.
Kim Theerapanyakun.
He stood leaning against the wall, dressed in black from head to toe, dark eyes cool and unreadable. His gaze lifted lazily to them as they approached, sharp as a blade, calculating in that way that made Pete instinctively want to stand straighter, speak less.
“P’Kim!” Porchay beamed, still holding Pete’s wrist. “This is P’Pete! Rain’s cousin. The one I told you about.”
Kim barely glanced at Pete at first, his expression unchanged, gaze cold and distant like Pete was just another speck of dust in the hall.
Pete dipped his head slightly in greeting. “Nice to meet you.”
No reply. Just that silent stare that seemed to see everything and care about none of it.
But then - Kim’s eyes shifted. Just slightly. Just enough to flick toward Porchay’s hand, still clutching Pete’s wrist, and then back to Porchay’s face.
And in that instant, Pete saw it. The ice cracked. The hard stare softened at the edges. Kim straightened a little, his posture less guarded, his gaze lingering on Porchay a second longer than necessary.
“You’re dragging people around the house again, Chay?” Kim’s voice was low, but there was a warmth there that hadn’t been there a second ago.
Porchay laughed, unbothered. “I’m helping him! He just started, you know. Don’t scare him off with your scary face.”
Kim’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile - but not quite. “I’m not trying to scare him.”
Pete watched the exchange quietly. The cold, dangerous Kim from all the rumors… didn’t look cold at all when he looked at Porchay. In fact, Kim looked like the only thing worth paying attention to was Porchay.
Porchay, oblivious, tugged Pete’s arm again. “Come on! I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
Kim’s gaze followed Porchay for a beat longer before turning back to Pete, cool once more. “Good luck, Pete,” he said quietly. “You’ll need it.”
Pete nodded, feeling like he’d just walked between a storm and the eye of it. This family, he thought, is nothing like I expected.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The next morning, Pete stood in front of the mirror in his small room at the compound, adjusting the crisp black suit that marked him as one of the Theerapanyakun bodyguards.
It felt… weird.
The material was heavier than anything he was used to wearing. The jacket felt stiff across his shoulders, and the whole ensemble made him feel like he was pretending to be someone else. Someone older, tougher - someone who actually knew what he was doing.
For Rain, Pete reminded himself as he smoothed the jacket down one last time and headed out.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
His assignment started immediately.
Tankhun.
Pete met him in the garden, where Tankhun was lounging dramatically on a daybed, tablet in hand, a ridiculous sunhat perched on his head even though the sun wasn’t particularly strong.
Flanking him were two other bodyguards - Arm and Pol.
Pete had heard of them. Arm was the one people called the “brainy one” - glasses, polite smile, always with a book or his phone in hand, probably reading something educational. Pol was solid and quiet, loyal to a fault.
“Ah, Pete!” Tankhun spotted him instantly, waving him over like they were old friends. “Look at you! So serious. I like it.”
Pete gave a respectful nod. “I’m here to keep you safe, sir.”
Tankhun grinned, clearly delighted. “Good! Now, come sit. We’re in the middle of something very important.”
Pete hesitated, then took the spot Arm motioned to - right beside him.
Tankhun shoved his tablet into Pete’s hands. “Tell me. Do you think this is too much?”
Pete blinked at the screen. It was open to a webstore page for… a neon pink bulletproof vest. Bedazzled. With rhinestone cats on the front.
Pete blinked again. “Um…”
“Absolutely ridiculous, right?” Arm said dryly, pushing his glasses up. “We were just telling him.”
Pol nodded, finally speaking. “It’s too flashy. People will aim at you just to prove a point.”
Tankhun gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been wounded. “Pol! Rude! It’s fashion and safety. What’s the point of being safe if you don’t look fabulous?”
Pete tried very hard to keep his face neutral. “I think… maybe we can find something that’s both safe and… less of a target?”
Arm smirked, clearly enjoying this. “See? Even the new guy thinks it’s a bad idea.”
Tankhun pouted, snatching his tablet back. “Fine. But only if you help me pick something else later, Pete. You have potential. I can tell.”
Pete nodded, feeling slightly dizzy from trying to keep up.
Before he could recover, Tankhun perked up, waving the tablet again. “Okay! Back to business. Arm! Show him the drama.”
Pete blinked. “The… drama?”
Arm sighed in that long-suffering way of someone who had clearly given up arguing. He tapped at his phone and turned the screen to Pete. “Khun Noo wants us to study this K-drama because he says it’s the perfect plan for his next undercover mission.”
Pete leaned in.
It was… a romantic comedy. About a woman who went undercover as a bodyguard for a celebrity to win his heart.
Pete choked on air. “You want to do this?!”
Tankhun beamed. “Isn’t it brilliant?! I can go undercover and find out all the secrets. Maybe even fall in love along the way. Who knows!”
Pete looked at Arm, who just shrugged, smiling faintly. “Every week. A new idea.”
“And I’m supposed to… help with this?” Pete asked cautiously.
Pol patted his shoulder solemnly. “Welcome to the team.”
Pete sank back on the bench, half-dreading, half-curious what the next request would be.
Rain, he thought, you so owe me for this.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Pete quickly learned that being assigned to Tankhun wasn’t so much a job as it was an unpredictable adventure.
After the K-drama undercover bodyguard idea was (thankfully) forgotten - thanks to a distraction in the form of a stray cat passing by - Tankhun’s attention turned elsewhere.
It started small.
“Pete! Hold this parasol while I walk to the other side of the garden. No, no, higher! We must protect the hair.”
Then it escalated.
“Pete, I need you to pretend to be a paparazzi so I can practice dodging them. Quick - chase me with your phone camera! Make it look real!”
Arm and Pol watched all of this in silence, only exchanging occasional pitying looks in Pete’s direction as he obediently ran around with a confused frown and a phone in hand.
And just when Pete thought maybe – maybe - Tankhun had gotten bored and he could finally catch his breath, it happened.
Tankhun gasped dramatically, clutching his tablet to his chest like he’d just been struck by inspiration. “Pete. I need you to cook for me.”
Pete froze. “I’m sorry… what?”
“I was watching MasterChef. And now I want a proper meal. Something worthy of a judge like me.” Tankhun tapped the tablet screen as if that settled it. “Arm can’t do it. Pol can’t do it. I want you, Pete. You have the right energy.”
Arm gave Pete a look of pure sympathy, like a man witnessing a friend’s final moments before the firing squad. Pol just shook his head silently as if to say, Don’t fight it. Just go with it.
Pete blinked, speechless. But what choice did he have? “Yes… sir.”
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Pete stood alone in the massive, spotless kitchen, staring at the neatly organized rows of spices and fresh ingredients.
Cook for Khun Tankhun, he thought, sighing.
He rolled up his sleeves. Fine. Let’s keep it simple.
Tom yum. A classic. Something he could do with his eyes closed. Tangy, spicy, comforting. Besides, maybe the food would distract Tankhun for a while.
As the pot began to simmer, Pete found himself relaxing. The familiar rhythm of chopping herbs, squeezing lime, stirring the broth - it all soothed him. The stress of the day faded a little.
And then… he started humming.
Before he knew it, the words slipped out.
“I'm so mature, collected and sensible…”
He swayed a little to the rhythm of his own quiet singing, spoon tapping against the pot as he stirred.
“Except when I get hit with rejection…”
A small smile tugged at his lips, the words slipping out naturally, carried by the steam rising from the pot.
“To turn me down, well, that's just unethical…”
Pete’s voice grew stronger, filling the empty kitchen as he sprinkled in the last of the coriander, the song chasing away the tension of the day.
“I'll turn into someone you're scared to know…”
And with that line, his voice fell quiet, the weight of the words hanging in the still air. The spoon stilled in the pot. Pete blinked, realizing he’d let himself get way too comfortable.
He sighed, setting the ladle down, and glanced toward the door, half-expecting someone to have overheard his mini concert.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Vegas strolled through the Theerapanyakun compound, his long strides casual, his smirk in place as always. He had just finished dropping off some documents for Kinn - nothing too important, just minor family business. As usual, he couldn’t resist teasing his cousin on the way out.
“Don’t miss me too much, Khun Kinn,” Vegas had said, winking as he handed over the papers.
Kinn only rolled his eyes, muttering something about “annoying minors.”
Chuckling to himself, Vegas decided to wander. It had been a while since he stepped foot in the major family’s compound. A walk sounded good - maybe he’d find something entertaining to break up the boring paperwork of the day.
And that was when he heard it.
A voice - soft, playful, surprisingly good - floating from somewhere down the corridor. Vegas paused, brows lifting as the words reached him, sung clear and bold over the simmering hum of what sounded like cooking.
“But if you need my love, my clothes are off, I'm comin' over to your place…”
Vegas blinked.
My clothes are off?
His smirk froze for half a second as he registered the lyric. A slow, amused grin curled at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, well…” he murmured, tilting his head toward the sound, curiosity piqued. Who the hell is singing that in this house?
“And if you don't need my love, I didn't want your little bitch-ass anyway…”
Vegas nearly snorted out loud. Bold, he thought, eyes glinting with mischief. Real bold.
Without thinking, he followed the voice. His steps quieted as he neared the kitchen. And then he saw it.
The voice belonged to a guy - small, soft-looking, dressed in a plain shirt with the sleeves rolled up as he stirred a steaming pot. The black suit jacket that marked him as a bodyguard had been tossed aside on a nearby chair. His hair was a little messy, probably from the heat of the kitchen. And he was dancing - not wildly, but with a gentle sway, moving to the beat of his own singing.
“Yeah, I'm a busy woman, I wouldn't let you come into my calendar any night…”
Vegas leaned against the doorframe, lips parted slightly, utterly caught off guard by how adorable the scene was.
Who is he?
“But if you want my kisses, I'll be your perfect Mrs. 'til the day that one of us dies…”
Vegas’s smirk returned - slower this time, softer - as he imagined that line applied to himself. My clothes are off, I'm comin' over to your place... He chuckled under his breath, not entirely innocent thoughts creeping into his head.
I wouldn’t mind if that were directed at me. Not at all.
He stayed there, watching, something unfamiliar flickering in his chest. The guy didn’t notice him - too caught up in his cooking and his song. Vegas couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Whoever he is, Vegas thought, I want to hear him sing that to me again. Preferably while those clothes actually are off.
And with that, Vegas found his next dangerous distraction - one he was already planning to pursue.
Vegas stayed completely still, hidden in the shadow of the doorway, his body tense but his eyes soft as they stayed glued to the figure in the kitchen.
The guy - this soft, pretty, adorable guy - had paused, spoon in one hand, the other on his hip, lips pursed in a thoughtful little pout as he stared at the pot like it held the answers to life itself. His brows furrowed, head tilting to the side. It was such a small, innocent thing, but it made Vegas’s heart stutter.
Oh no.
Vegas pressed his tongue to his cheek, feeling his chest ache with a kind of warmth he wasn’t used to. He came here for paperwork, maybe a bit of mischief - not this.
And then the guy shrugged, lips quirking in a tiny smile like he’d made peace with his decision. He reached for a jar of spice, shaking some into the pot. And as he stirred, he kept right on singing, voice light, unbothered, completely in his own little world.
“So much to shave and lipstick to reapply…”
Vegas swallowed. His eyes followed the gentle sway of the guy’s body as he moved with the rhythm of his cooking.
“Maybe for you, though, I could accommodate…”
Vegas bit his lip to stop a grin from spreading too wide. Accommodate? Oh, baby, say less.
“I'm flexible, so just tell me what you like…”
And that was it. That line? That was the one that made something burst in Vegas’s chest. His heart pounded so hard he was almost sure someone could hear it echo down the hall.
Flexible?
His thoughts derailed completely, swept away in a tide of wicked possibilities. His type. His exact type. Pretty, soft, fun, and now - flexible?
Vegas gripped the doorframe, forcing himself to stay hidden, to just watch for a moment longer. His gaze traced the way the guy’s lips moved with the next playful words.
“Tantric yoga, baby, namaste… If you don't want me, I'll just deem you straight…”
Vegas’s grin returned in full force, sharp and delighted, his mind already racing. Oh, I want you, sweetheart. I want you singing that to me. And I definitely want to test that flexible claim.
He stayed there, invisible for now, watching the boy dance around the kitchen like he had no idea someone had just fallen hard for him at first sight.
Who are you, Vegas thought, and how soon can I make you mine?
Vegas stayed rooted in place, hidden just beyond the kitchen doorway, watching like a man possessed. His usual cocky grin had softened into something else - a quiet kind of wonder as he watched the guy hum along to his cooking, so at ease, so completely unaware that he’d just turned the dangerous, sharp-tongued Vegas Theerapanyakun into a goner in under five minutes.
The boy spun lightly to grab something from the counter, loose strands of hair falling into his face, the faintest blush rising on his cheeks from the heat of the stove. He looked… soft. Soft in a way that made Vegas’s chest feel too tight.
You’re trouble, Vegas thought, his heart thudding. And I want all of it.
The boy stirred the pot again, still swaying, still singing those lyrics that had Vegas’s mind running wild.
But then - it happened.
The boy glanced up. His gaze flicked toward the doorway. Toward him.
Vegas’s breath caught, heart skipping a beat. For the first time in years, he panicked. His body reacted before his brain did - he stepped back, pressing himself against the wall, out of sight.
Shit.
He stayed there, heart racing, holding his breath, listening hard.
Nothing. No footsteps. No voice asking “Who’s there?” Just the soft clatter of a spoon against a pot and the faint hum of music under the boy’s breath.
Vegas waited a few more seconds, just to be sure. Smooth, Vegas. Real smooth.
Slowly, carefully, he peeked around the corner one last time - just for a glimpse. The boy had gone back to cooking, blissfully unaware that he’d almost caught the most dangerous Minor heir spying on him like some schoolboy with a crush.
Vegas let out a slow breath, his grin returning, sharper now, tinged with determination. Alright, he thought. You win this round. But next time, I’m not watching from a distance.
He straightened his jacket, brushing imaginary dust from the sleeve, heart still pounding.
Time to figure out how to meet you, beautiful. Properly. And soon.
With one last look at the boy - dancing softly as he added the final touches to his dish - Vegas turned and walked away, plans already forming in that dangerous, brilliant mind of his.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Pete wiped his hands on a cloth, surveying his work with a small, satisfied smile. The tom yum sat steaming in the bowl, the broth rich and fragrant, dotted with bright red chilies and fresh herbs. A perfect balance of heat, tang, and comfort - at least, he hoped so.
He took a breath. Okay, Pete. You survived the singing, the kitchen, the spice decisions... Now time to survive Khun Tankhun.
He carefully set the bowl onto a tray, adding a neat spoon and napkin. His heart was still beating a little faster than normal - not from nerves about the food, but from that strange prickle he’d felt earlier. Like someone had been watching him.
Pete had glanced toward the doorway at one point, but nothing had been there. Just his imagination, maybe. The compound was huge; noises echoed everywhere.
Shaking it off, he straightened his jacket, lifted the tray, and squared his shoulders.
You can do this. You can cook, you can bodyguard, you can do whatever ridiculous thing Tankhun asks - for Rain.
He stepped out of the kitchen, tray balanced carefully, and made his way back toward the garden where Tankhun and the others waited. The sun was lower now, casting golden light across the lawn. As Pete walked, he could already hear Tankhun’s excited voice.
“Where’s my meal? I feel faint from the anticipation!”
Arm’s quiet chuckle. “He’s coming, Khun Noo.”
Pol’s low, steady voice. “Don’t faint. We’ll have to carry you back inside.”
Pete bit back a smile as he approached, the absurdity of his new life fully sinking in. He’d cooked for a mafia heir, sang pop songs while stirring soup, and was about to be judged like he was on a cooking show.
What’s next?
Whatever it was, Pete had the feeling his new world was only going to get stranger - and more dangerous - from here.
Pete stepped onto the garden terrace, tray in hand, and immediately Tankhun lit up like he’d just been presented with a crown instead of a bowl of soup.
“There it is!” Tankhun gasped, clapping his hands together. “My masterpiece! My first-ever bodyguard-made meal! Oh, Pete, you’ve outdone yourself already, and I haven’t even tasted it!”
Pete set the tray gently on the small table in front of him, offering a small, respectful bow. “I hope it’s to your liking, Khun Tankhun.”
Arm shifted behind Tankhun, crossing his arms and watching with a subtle smirk. Pol stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable - but Pete caught the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Tankhun smoothed his hands down his shirt, sitting up straighter. His face turned serious - or at least what he thought was serious. He picked up the spoon with great ceremony, raising it like he was about to knight someone.
Arm coughed into his fist. Pete wasn’t sure if it was a real cough or an attempt to cover a laugh.
Tankhun dipped the spoon into the tom yum, slow and dramatic, as if the entire world depended on this one taste. He lifted it to his lips, pausing just long enough to build suspense. His eyes flicked around, making sure everyone was watching.
Pol rolled his lips inward, fighting a smile. Arm looked down at his feet, shoulders shaking slightly.
Finally, Tankhun tasted it.
There was silence.
Tankhun froze, spoon still in his mouth, eyes wide. Pete waited, hands at his sides, trying not to fidget. Was it bad? Too spicy? Too bland?
Tankhun slowly lowered the spoon, staring into the middle distance like he was contemplating the meaning of life.
Arm’s voice was soft, teasing. “How is it, Khun Noo?”
Tankhun blinked, as if returning to the present. His lips quirked up into a grin, hands flying to his chest. “It’s a symphony! A spicy, sour, perfectly balanced symphony of flavor! Pete, you’ve fed my body and my soul!”
Pol couldn’t hold it anymore. He let out a low snort, turning his face away. Arm just burst into quiet laughter, shaking his head.
Pete exhaled, relief flooding him. He couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad you like it, Khun."
Tankhun took another bite, still making exaggerated faces of delight. “Like it? Like it?! Pete, you’re my official bodyguard and my personal chef now. I’ve decided.”
Arm, wiping at his eyes from laughing, muttered, “That’s how it starts.”
Pete bit back another grin, bowing again. Whatever it takes, he thought. As long as he’s safe and happy.
And as Tankhun continued to dramatically critique each spoonful like he was judging a five-star restaurant, Pete thought:
Okay. I can survive this. Maybe.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Vegas walked the quiet hallways of the major family’s compound, expression as blank and unreadable as ever. His movements were smooth, measured - no trace of urgency, no flicker of emotion. Just another day. Just another stroll.
But inside, his mind was racing.
He reached Kim’s office, paused just long enough to give the illusion of courtesy, then pushed the door open without waiting for a response. Kim glanced up from his laptop, eyes sharp, immediately studying him.
Vegas didn’t let anything slip - no smirk, no glint of mischief. Just that calm, polished mask he wore so well as the Minor heir.
“Vegas,” Kim said evenly, watching him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Vegas stepped inside, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets. His voice was casual. Unbothered. “Did Kinn hire a new bodyguard recently?”
Kim’s gaze sharpened a fraction. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the desk. His eyes didn’t leave Vegas’s face, reading him like he always did - hunting for the tells most people couldn’t see.
But Vegas gave him nothing.
Kim nodded slowly. “Yeah. We brought in someone new. Why?”
Vegas tilted his head slightly, the picture of nonchalance. “What’s his name?”
Kim’s eyes narrowed a little more, suspicious of the question but not the tone. “Pete.”
Vegas let that settle, nodded once. “Pete,” he echoed, tasting the name, filing it away.
Kim waited. But Vegas was already turning toward the door.
“Okay,” Vegas said smoothly, hand on the handle. “That’s all. See you around, Kimmie.”
Kim didn’t stop him - just kept watching as Vegas slipped out of the office, that unreadable calm never cracking.
The moment Vegas was out of sight, his mask melted into a slow, satisfied grin. His stride quickened, energy coiled tight beneath his skin.
Pete.
Now he had a name. And with a name came a plan.
The game had begun.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Vegas shut the door of his office behind him, the click echoing through the quiet room. He dropped into his chair, fingers already flying across the keyboard of his laptop, pulling up the internal files he definitely wasn’t supposed to be snooping through.
Pete. Pete, Pete, Pete.
He searched the bodyguard roster, his grin growing the moment the right file popped up on the screen.
Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham.
Vegas leaned back, eyes drinking in the name like it was fine wine. He whispered it under his breath, letting it roll off his tongue, savoring it.
“Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham,” he repeated, smirking. “Even the name’s cute.”
He clicked through whatever basic info the file had: orphan, excellent physical fitness scores, skilled in combat, recommended highly for discretion and loyalty.
Vegas rested his chin on his hand, grin widening. “Perfect.”
He scrolled further, hoping for a photo - even if it was just the ID shot. His heart sped up with every useless document he scrolled past.
There has to be more.
The door opened without a knock. Phayu walked in, looking at him with a mix of confusion and suspicion.
“Hia?” Phayu said slowly, watching Vegas’s face. “What’s going on with you?”
Vegas snapped his laptop half-shut, but too late - Phayu had already seen the screen and the name on it.
Vegas tried for casual, but the grin wouldn’t leave his face. “Nothing. Just… work.”
Phayu blinked. “You’re grinning like you just won the lottery.”
Vegas pressed his fingers to his lips, trying to hide the stupid, unstoppable smile. “Maybe I did.”
Phayu narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. “Since when does work make you smile like that? What are you up to?”
Vegas exhaled a soft laugh, leaning back, unable to stop himself. “I met someone.”
Phayu’s brows shot up. “Here?”
Vegas nodded, eyes gleaming. “Pete. Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham.” He said the name like it was the most beautiful thing in the world.
Phayu stared at him like he’d grown another head. “...Who?”
Vegas sighed dramatically, pushing his laptop open again and turning the screen toward Phayu so he could see the name. “An angel. A bodyguard. New hire. I saw him cooking and singing like no one was watching, and I-” He cut himself off, shaking his head, grin turning soft and dangerous all at once. “I’m gone for him. Completely gone.”
Phayu gawked at him. “You met him once.”
“Didn’t even meet him,” Vegas corrected, smirking wider. “I watched him. That’s all it took.”
Phayu groaned, rubbing his face. “Hia, don’t be weird.”
Vegas clicked on another file, hunting for more info, ignoring his brother’s protests. “Too late. I’m already planning how to make him mine.”
And as he kept scrolling, looking for anything - anything at all - that would bring Pete closer to him, Vegas felt it solidify in his chest.
This isn’t just a crush.
This was an obsession in the making.
_________________________________________________________________________________________
Vegas waited. He didn’t rush. He didn’t storm in. No, he played it smart.
He timed it perfectly - catching Pete alone, away from the watchful eyes of Tankhun, Kinn, or the other bodyguards. Just a quiet hallway, the afternoon light spilling in through the tall windows. Casual. Normal.
He rounded the corner, hands in his pockets, expression calm, smooth. The perfect picture of nonchalance.
And there Pete was.
Pete had just finished some small task - maybe returning something to the supply room - and was walking back, sleeves rolled up slightly, hair a little messy from the heat. Vegas’s heart stuttered again at the sight.
He’s even cuter up close.
Vegas slowed his steps, letting it look like coincidence.
Pete noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned slightly, polite but cautious - like any good bodyguard would be when spotting someone unexpected.
Their eyes met.
For a second, Pete didn’t seem to recognize him. Just another face in the compound. Another stranger.
Vegas smiled — soft, easy. “Hey.”
Pete hesitated, polite but wary. “Hello-?”
Vegas stopped a few steps away, tilting his head. “I’m Vegas.”
Pete blinked.
And then realization hit him like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened slightly, and he immediately straightened, bowing low out of instinct, out of training. “Khun Vegas! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-”
Vegas reached out, a small laugh in his voice as he waved it off. “No, no - you don’t have to do that with me.”
Pete straightened, flustered but doing his best to hide it. “I - Yes, Khun. I mean, thank you.”
Vegas grinned, eyes warm but glinting with that familiar mischief underneath. “Really. Just Vegas is fine.”
Pete nodded, trying to stay composed, though he still felt off balance from the unexpected encounter.
And Vegas? Vegas was savoring every second. Finally, he thought. Up close. Perfect.
He stuffed his hands deeper in his pockets, rocking back on his heels, pretending like he didn’t want to stare. “So, Pete… how’s your first week going?”
Smooth. Subtle. Just enough to start weaving himself into Pete’s world.
Pete straightened his posture, hands clasped politely in front of him, trying to ignore how his heart was beating just a little faster. Vegas. He’d heard the name plenty - the Minor family’s heir, sharp, dangerous, unpredictable. And now he was standing here, looking… surprisingly casual. Surprisingly normal.
Pete kept his voice steady. “It’s been good so far, Kh - uh, Vegas. Everyone’s been kind. I’m just doing my best to learn quickly.”
Vegas tilted his head, his grin softening. “Kind, huh? You must be seeing the best side of this family.”
Pete couldn’t help a small smile. “Maybe I’ve been lucky.”
Vegas’s gaze softened, but the glint of interest - of something deeper, something focused entirely on Pete - never left his eyes. “I’d say we’re the lucky ones. Getting someone like you on the team.”
Pete blinked, caught off guard. He felt his ears heat just slightly, but he kept his composure. “I - thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”
Vegas shrugged, pretending to look down the hall, as if he wasn’t watching Pete’s every reaction, memorizing the way his eyes shifted, the curve of that polite smile. “I’m just being honest.”
There was a quiet beat between them, the hallway hushed except for the faint sounds of the compound beyond.
Vegas took a slow step closer - not enough to cross any lines, but just enough to make it feel more personal, more intentional. His voice dropped a fraction, warm but low. “You settling in okay? No one giving you a hard time?”
Pete shook his head. “No trouble at all. I’ve been treated well. And I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
Vegas’s grin returned, lazy but genuine. “Grateful? You make it sound like we’re doing you a favor. Pretty sure you’re the one doing us a favor - especially Tankhun.” He winked, tone playful. “I hear he’s already attached.”
Pete chuckled softly despite himself, feeling the tension ease just a little. “He keeps me busy, that’s for sure.”
Vegas let the sound of Pete’s laugh settle in his chest like a reward. There it is, he thought. That’s what I want to hear again.
He took a small step back, giving Pete space again - keeping it light, easy, like this really was just a friendly chat. “Well, if you ever need anything… or if anyone does give you a hard time…” He let that linger for effect, grin sharp but charming. “You know who to find.”
Pete bowed his head slightly in thanks, still polite but more at ease now. “I appreciate that. Really.”
Vegas tucked his hands deeper into his pockets, backing away slowly. “See you around, Pete.”
And as he turned the corner, that grin of his stretched wider, heart beating fast with satisfaction.
That’s the start, he thought. The first thread. And I’m not letting it go.
Pete stood there for a moment after Vegas disappeared around the corner, the hall suddenly feeling quieter, emptier. He let out a slow breath, trying to steady the weird flutter in his chest.
Okay. That was… fine. Normal. Totally normal.
But no matter how much he told himself that, he couldn’t ignore the heat still lingering at the tips of his ears, or the way his heart kept thudding like he’d just finished a sprint.
Vegas had been… nice. Too nice? No. Just smooth. The kind of smooth that set off warning bells for any smart bodyguard. And Pete was smart. He knew Vegas’s reputation - sharp, dangerous, not to be underestimated.
So why the hell did that smile look so soft?
Pete shook his head, trying to clear it, refocus. Focus, Pete. You have a job to do. You’re here to protect Tankhun. That’s it. That’s all.
But as he turned and started walking back toward his duties, one thought refused to leave him:
Why does he smile like that?
________________________________________________________________________________________
Vegas shut his office door behind him and let the mask slip.
His grin spread like wildfire, unstoppable, warm, and wicked all at once. He leaned back against the door, hands sliding into his pockets as he replayed the encounter in his head.
The way Pete smiled. The way he laughed. Vegas felt his pulse quicken again just thinking about it.
He pushed off the door, crossing to his desk, pulling out his phone. He wasn’t planning on messaging anyone - not yet. He just stared at the screen, smirk still in place, mind already racing ahead.
Okay. Step one: subtle introduction? Done. Step two? Make him comfortable. Make him curious. Make him think of me, just enough to wonder what I’ll do next.
Vegas sat, drumming his fingers lightly against the desk.
He’s polite. Cautious. But I saw it. That spark. That laugh. I want more.
He opened his laptop again, scanning for upcoming schedules, shared assignments, anything that might place Pete near him.
A lunch break. A cross-training session. A briefing. Anything would do.
And as he scrolled, that grin of his stayed in place.
Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, he thought, savoring the name. I’m not done with you yet.