Chapter Text
The tension in the Major Family compound had been building for weeks, but tonight, the dam finally broke. What started as a sharp disagreement over security protocols and outside threats quickly devolved into a screaming match that echoed down the long, cold corridors of the main house.
"You don't get to make these calls without me, Porsche!" Kinn roared, his face flushed with a lethal mix of exhaustion and terror. He slammed his hand against his desk, the heavy mahogany rattling. "Every single move you make affects this entire family. Affects me."
"I am trying to protect the people I care about!" Porsche yelled back, stepping right into Kinn’s space, refusing to back down. His chest heaved, his eyes flashing with raw defiance.
"You treat me like I’m some asset you need to lock away in a cage. I’m your partner, Kinn! Not your prisoner!"
"Then start acting like it!" Kinn barked, completely consumed by the suffocating weight of his leadership and the agonizing fear of losing the man in front of him. "You're reckless, you're impulsive, and one of these days, your pride is going to get you killed!"
"At least I have a soul left!" Porsche snapped, the words biting, venomous, and entirely unfair. "Unlike what you and your twisted family was-"
SMACK
The sound was deafening in the sudden, dead silence of the office.
Porsche’s head snapped to the side, the force of the blow jarring his entire frame. The sting across his cheek was immediate, a sharp, blooming heat that turned his skin a stark crimson. His breath caught in his throat, completely trapped.
Kinn froze, his hand still hovering in the air. The fury that had consumed him vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold, paralyzing horror. He looked at his own palm, then at Porsche, his voice trembling as the reality of what he had just done crashed down on him.
"Porsche..." Kinn whispered, his voice cracking, the terrifying mafia boss entirely gone. He took a frantic step forward, reaching out with trembling fingers. "Porsche, I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean... God, Porsche, please."
Porsche didn't move for a long, agonizing second. He slowly turned his head back, his dark eyes wide, staring at Kinn as if looking at a complete stranger. There were no tears, just a hollow, devastating emptiness that cut Kinn deeper than any blade ever could.
"Don't," Porsche whispered, his voice dangerously quiet, devoid of all the warmth Kinn had spent years trying to be worthy of.
He stepped back, dodging Kinn's outstretched hand. Kinn tried to grab his wrist, desperate to pull him back, to beg, to explain the panic that had blinded him. "Porsche, wait, please listen to me-"
"Get your hands off me," Porsche commanded. The sheer coldness in his tone made Kinn drop his hand instantly.
Without another word, Porsche turned on his heel. He wasn’t storming out but was walking with a rigid, deliberate calm that was infinitely more terrifying.
Kinn followed him out into the hallway, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. "Porsche! Stop! Let's talk about this, please!"
But Porsche wasn't listening. He didn't pack a bag. He didn't grab his jacket. He just kept walking, his jaw set, his eyes locked on the path of exit. The bodyguards stationed in the corridors looked between the two of them in stunned, uncomfortable silence, wisely choosing to stay completely out of the crossfire.
By the time Kinn reached the main courtyard, the engine of Porsche’s bike was already roaring to life, a loud, aggressive growl that sliced through the midnight air.
"Porsche!" Kinn shouted, running down the steps, completely discarding his pride, his status, everything.
Porsche didn't even look back. He kicked the bike into gear, twisted the throttle, and tore out of the compound gates, disappearing into the dark, chaotic neon labyrinth of Bangkok, leaving Kinn standing alone under the cold rain.
The roar of the motorcycle engine was the only thing keeping Porsche grounded as he tore through the rain-slicked streets of Bangkok. The freezing downpour drenched him to the bone, but it did nothing to cool the agonizing, brilliant heat radiating from his left cheek.
The physical sting was nothing compared to the suffocating vacuum in his chest. His vision blurred, a chaotic smear of neon streetlights and heavy raindrops, as the tears he had tightly locked away in the compound finally spilled over.
In a quiet, upscale neighborhood away from the chaotic glare of the Major Family's territory, the engine of Porsche's bike finally sputtered and died. He didn't even bother to kick the stand down properly, letting the heavy machine tilt precariously as he stumbled off it.
His limbs felt like lead, heavy and entirely unresponsive. He dragged himself up the steps of a modest, elegantly lit townhouse and pounded frantically on the dark wood door. His hands were trembling so violently he could barely form a fist.
Inside, the door clicked open. Big stood in the entryway, dressed in a comfortable throw-shirt, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to absolute shock in a fraction of a second.
"Porsche?" Big gasped, his protective instincts instantly flaring. He reached out, catching Porsche by the shoulders before the younger man's knees could buckle. "What the hell? You're freezing—"
Big's voice cut off entirely as the porch light caught the left side of Porsche’s face. Even beneath the rainwater and the dark strands of hair plastered to his forehead, the stark, angry crimson imprint of a hand was unmistakably mapped across Porsche's jawline.
"Big? Who is it?" Tae’s voice drifted calmly from the living room, but the moment he walked into the hallway and saw the state of their friend, his breath hitched. "Oh my god. Porsche."
They didn't ask questions. They didn't have to. Big practically lifted Porsche over the threshold, shutting the storm out behind them. Tae immediately rushed to the linen closet, returning seconds later with a thick, oversized fleece blanket, wrapping it snugly around Porsche’s shivering shoulders.
They guided him to the living room couch, but Porsche couldn't sit still. The shock had completely hijacked his body. He sat on the edge of the cushions, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle, his teeth chattering so loudly it echoed in the quiet room.
"Hey, look at me. Breathe, Porsche," Tae murmured gently, kneeling directly in front of him. He carefully reached up to brush the wet hair out of Porsche’s eyes, but the moment his fingers brushed near the bruised cheek, Porsche flinched violently, a low, broken whimper tearing from his throat.
That was the breaking point. The rigid, stoic wall Porsche had held up in front of Kinn crumbled into dust.
A heavy, agonizing sob ripped out of his chest, twisting his posture until he was bent double, clutching his head in his hands. The tears came down in a frantic, unstoppable torrent, his shoulders shaking so violently it looked painful. He was hyperventilating, choking on his own breaths as the reality of the betrayal completely consumed him.
"He-he hit me," Porsche choked out, the words fragmented, raw, and thick with disbelief. "Kinn... he actually..."
Next to him, Big froze. A cold, dangerous stillness washed over the former bodyguard. He knew Kinn. He knew the terrifying, unyielding authority of the Theerapanyakul head, and he knew how explosive the tension between Kinn and Porsche could get. But this? This crossed a line Big never believed Kinn would dare to violate.
Big’s hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. The pure, protective loyalty he felt for Porsche—not as a boss or former rival, but as the man who had saved this family’s soul, The man who had given him the opportunity to find his fated love, flared to life, hot and furious.
"Tae, get the first aid kit. We need ice for his face," Big commanded quietly, his voice dangerously low as he stepped closer to the couch.
He sat down heavily beside Porsche, not forcing him into a hug, but resting a solid, grounding hand on Porsche’s trembling back, offering a silent, unyielding fortress of safety.
"You're safe here, Porsche," Big said, his voice dropping into a firm, protective rumble that cut through the panic. "He isn't stepping a foot inside this house. I promise you."