Chapter Text
On a normal day – on a regular, boring, the-boss-doesn’t-know-I-exist kind of day, Porsche would say he’s just adequate enough at his job. Sure, nothing about being an assistant for a global investment firm is the stuff Porsche’s dreams are made of, but it pays the bills – pays the bills in a way his late-night bartending never had. And considering the ‘bills’ are keeping his brother, Porchay, in school and with the family roof over his head, Porsche figures he can deal with a little boredom and the discomfort of the borrowed suits he acquired from his friend, Tem, about one size too small. His point being, he gets by – well even – on most days. Today is not one of those days.
It's not his fault really. Porsche is never called on to assist in the Executive departmental meetings. The only one at fault here is Pete – Pete who had promised he’d be back in time after being called away to help manage some sort of catastrophe with the minor branch but had not since returned. Porsche plans to give his friend and colleague a very colourful talking to and a swift kick in the ass – make that balls – when he’s back. First, however, he needs to deal with this…
“Fuck!” Porsche yelps, looking frantically from where he’s just spilled their boss’s coffee all over the paperwork set on the table in front of him – no doubt important paperwork – to the senior partners and staff spread around the boardroom table. The senior partners and staff Porsche has just cursed in front of… Double FUCK. “I mean…” Porsche looks back to their boss – Kinn – words cutting off at the sight of a small smile on his face as he shakes his head slightly, sliding his chair back so the scalding coffee won’t drip onto him. “I’ll get – I’ll get something to clean it up,” Porsche stutters, not entirely sure if the way his trademark confidence has so swiftly deserted him is due to making an ass out of himself in front of all the managing partners or being the sole focus of him. Just… Kinn.
“That would be good,” Kinn responds, voice dry. His mouth tugs up in one corner as he looks up from where he’s attempting to rescue some of the paperwork. Porsche’s finds himself momentarily frozen at the sight, eyes caught on the slanted curl of Kinn’s lips.
“Um…”
Kinn seems to have noticed – God, Porsche really hopes he hasn’t noticed – and one of his eyebrows rises to match his smirk. That’s what it is. A smirk.
Without another word, Porsche swings around, darting as quickly as he can from the boardroom while maintaining any shreds of dignity he might still possess. He curses himself as he hurries to the staff kitchen to retrieve a cloth and towels.
In and out he’d told himself. He’d supply the coffee, hand over the paperwork Pete had left in preparation for the meeting and get the hell out of that room before anyone had noticed him at all. But then Kinn had looked up as he’d approached. And he’d smiled. And well, he looked –
It’s just that Porsche doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kinn smile. And small and subtle as it was, it had been there. A smile, directed at Porsche. And while Porsche once being crowned national Tae Kwon Do champion might give someone a different impression, at the best of times, he wouldn’t call himself coordinated. Locking eyes with Kinn while carrying both paperwork and hot coffee had apparently left him bereft of the ability to walk like a normal human being. He’d tripped. And well, then the rest…
When Porsche makes it back to the boardroom the meeting has carried on. Kinn has moved so he sits slightly left of centre, coffee-soaked papers to his right. A slow trickle of liquid continues to drip to the floor. Porsche frowns with irritation as he moves as silently as possible to clean the mess left.
There is a stack of napkins directly next to the breakfast items laid out at the center of the table. Anyone could have reached for them in an attempt to help stem the flow of coffee across the table. No one has of course, leaving Porsche to clean the spill and carrying on with their meeting as though he doesn’t exist. It’s what he wanted – to be invisible to them. It’s just… they’re dicks, ok? Rich, pompous assholes who would never stoop so low as to attempt to help a subordinate – someone beneath them. Porsche doesn’t care that working for them makes him a hypocrite, he never plans to forget it. He doesn’t belong here, surrounded by people who would no more help someone in need than make their own coffee. He does need their money, however, and if he has to clean up a few coffee spills along the way, he’s comforted in knowing they’re quite literally paying for it.
Porsche becomes aware of eyes on him as he’s sweeping the last of the soggy papers into the garbage bin. It feels less like being watched than it does having heat applied to the side of his face. It’s as disconcerting as it is uncomfortable. Porsche risks a glance up to see it’s none other than Kinn once again watching him. The drone of another man’s voice carries on in the background, running through some sort of monthly statistics report, but it’s as easy for Porsche to ignore as apparently it is Kinn. There’s something about the expression on Kinn’s face that reflects amusement, like he’s entertained by watching Porsche fumble through cleaning up the mess he’d caused. The sight sparks a corresponding feeling of fury in Porsche’s veins. He’s not here for Kinn’s amusement – like he’s some kind of… Jester, here at the beck and call of the rich and powerful to be used and abused as they see fit.
Porsche frowns. Holding eye contact with Kinn, he tips his chin up just slightly while raising his eyebrows. He knows exactly what his expression suggests. He’s been told by his ex-boss and beloved as-close-to-a-mother-figure-as-he’s-got Yok on more than one occasion. It’s the ‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ expression Yok has insisted is going to get him knocked flat on his ass one of these days… or fired… or both. There is no world in which Porsche should be directing such a look at his boss, but he’s already made an ass of himself, his hands are dripping with residue coffee, and it’s not even 10:00AM. He’s fed up, is all.
To Porsche’s surprise – and mild alarm – this does not result in censure or a firm telling off from Kinn. Instead, Porsche’s boss smiles… again. And it’s not the subtle, small smile from before. He smiles with teeth. It wide, bright, genuinely joyful… and it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, disappearing behind the hand Kinn’s brings to his mouth, blocking the expression from view before he redirects his eyes, looking back in the direction of the man speaking.
Porsche blinks.
Did that… happen? There’s no time to consider the strange moment. Porsche does one final wipe of the table, keeping his head low as he straightens to his full height. He risks one last glance at Kinn, eyes lingering on the sharp cut of the other man’s jaw before he turns and flees from the room.
He manages to stay relatively unnoticed for the rest of the morning, tucked into his corner cubicle, filing paperwork Chan had asked him to complete last week. It’s not like the Office Manager ever checks Porsche’s work anyways, preferring to remain as hands-off as possible, but it gives Porsche something to do that doesn’t involve potentially running into their boss.
Up until today, Porsche had been quite successful in avoiding all contact with the upper partners and their boss since he began work at the firm nearly two months ago. Minus that initial encounter with Kinn on his very first day, when Porsche had accidentally taken the elevators reserved for senior partners and management (because of course there was a separate fucking elevator) and he’d mistaken Kinn for one of the asshole lawyers Pete always complained about who occupied the lower floors of the high-rise. It hadn’t been Porsche’s finest moment, but in his defense (and yes, he had used this defense when explaining the situation later to Pete’s very obvious horror) Kinn had hardly endeared himself. Sure, Porsche had gotten in the wrong elevator, but that didn’t mean Kinn needed to be such a shithead about it. And ok, so maybe those had been Porsche’s exact words, and maybe he’s still not sure how he wasn’t fired before ever stepping foot in the office, but he’d chalked it up to Kinn not knowing who he was – the fake name Porsche had provided bolstering this theory. He’d been riding the high of that anonymity until this very morning, in fact.
He can’t help himself when he hears Pete has returned, however, and risks venturing across the length of their offices to the staff kitchen to find him. A very colourful retelling of the mornings’ disaster later, a few choice threats should Pete ever decide to leave tasks of importance in Porsche’s hands again, and their conversation has sunk back into its usual comfort and banter.
“Yok’s tonight then?” Pete asks, smiling widely as he leans against the counter opposite Porsche. “You can drink until you forget.”
Porsche raises an eyebrow. “Who said you were invited?”
“Yok.” Pete’s smile widens. If that’s even possible.
Porsche sighs. He normally loves the way his friends from work have been adopted by his friends from Yok’s, except when it leaves him absent his go-to threat of exclusion.
“Fine. But you’re buying me a drink. Or five.”
Pete laughs but doesn’t disagree. “I don’t know how you haven’t been fired. I don’t know how I haven’t been fired. I recommended you.”
“Must be the looks,” Porsche responds with a wiggle of his eyebrows that makes Pete laugh again. “Anyways, would it be the worse thing? We could say, ‘Fuck it’. You could help me open my bar on the beach. Finally.”
“Right,” Pete snorts. “With what money?”
Having no appropriate response or solution to the question, Porsche veers towards a different tactic. “What do you care, anyways? You’re the favourite. They don’t even know who I am.” And thank fuck for that, Porsche adds silently.
“Thought you said he smiled at you?” Pete asks, his own smile taking on just a touch of mischief.
There’s no need to clarify who ‘he’ is. Porsche keeps his voice as disinterested as he can manage when being baited so obviously. “Probably just did it to mess with me.” It doesn’t sound quite like the right reason, the memory of Kinn’s smile, genuine and maybe even a little cute flashing through Porsche’s mind, but it’s the best explanation he has. “Whatever. He can smile all he likes, he’s still a dick.”
“Porsche…” Pete’s tone serves as a warning but it’s hardly the first time it’s been directed at Porsche. Pete’s been with the firm far longer and he’s known for his professionalism. Telling off the boss on the first day of work and spilling hot coffee on him two months into the job, are not things Pete has any experience doing.
“Come on Pete,” Porsche sighs, rolling his eyes for good measure. “You know I’m right. They’re all like that. Egos gotta be big ‘cause their dicks are so small.”
It doesn’t get the laugh Porsche expects. Instead, Pete’s eyes widen. And he’s not looking at Porsche. He’s looking just beyond Porsche’s shoulder.
A feeling of dread seeps into Porsche’s every pore just as a voice speaks from behind him.
“You wouldn’t be talking about me, would you?”
Porsche turns slowly. He keeps his eyes low, fixing them first on the shoes, perfectly polished and gleaming in the artificial light of the kitchen, before, with a steadying breath, he raises them to meet the eyes of the man stood before him.
Kinn.
Because of course it is.
“No,” Porsche answers immediately, tipping his chin up in a way he knows mimics how he looked at Kinn in the boardroom. A challenge. There’s a sound behind him, a mumbled apology and excuse, and he doesn’t need to look to know Pete has deserted him. And well… if Porsche is about to be fired, he doesn’t plan to go out meekly. “Little self centered, isn’t it?” Porsche hopes Pete is listening and he’s just managed to give him a heart attack. All he deserves for abandoning Porsche. Again. The traitor.
Kinn exhales an amused sound, a faint smile appearing. It’s not what Porsche expects. But then, he supposes Kinn hasn’t at all been what he expected at any point on this bizarre day. “Not when I own the place.” Ok… maybe that is what Porsche expected.
He rolls his eyes, not hiding the gesture from Kinn. “Doesn’t mean everyone is talking about you.”
Kinn’s eyebrow twitches. “No, I suppose you’re right.” There’s a mirrored challenge in his own eyes. “They’d know better.”
Porsche just barely represses the urge to roll his eyes again. “Because you’re the boss?”
Kinn doesn’t pause in providing his answer. “Because my dick is totally proportionate to my ego.” There’s a ringing silence in Porsche’s ears as his brain takes in the words that have just come out of Kinn’s mouth. He’s fairly certain his mouth has dropped open. Kinn tips his chin slightly in suggestion as he turns, nothing about his expression indicating he’s said anything unusual. “Follow me.”
Too stunned to come up with a witty retort, Porsche finds his feet following as he’s led out of the kitchen and in the direction of Kinn’s office. Maybe Kinn wants to fire him in private? It would seem likely, if Kinn hadn’t just made a dick joke.
Kinn walks to his desk as they enter. Lifting a folder found there, he holds it out to Porsche. “I need this agreement signed by the end of the day. Take it to the minor firm yourself. See that it’s done.”
Porsche raises an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me?” He means it more in the context of being fairly certain Kinn should be firing him instead, but once the words are out it’s clear just how insolent they sound.
Kinn’s eyebrows rise with genuine surprise. He doesn’t look put off though. Nor does he look particularly angry to be faced with Porsche’s impertinence. “Because you’re free.”
“Who says?” Porsche is playing with fire. He knows. But he can’t help himself. The more slack Kinn gives, the more Porsche wants to take. There’s something – something he doesn’t quite understand – driving him to see how far he can push Kinn, something delighting in the way Kinn seems to enjoy Porsche’s total lack of appropriate deference and formality.
“You have better things to do?”
“Maybe,” Porsche sniffs, falsely haughty, and sees Kinn’s lips twitch. “My job’s important.” It is absolutely not. “I have all kinds of things to do.” He absolutely does not.
“Mmm,” Kinn hums, what’s coming to be a familiar look of amusement written across his face. “More coffee to spill in laps?”
“You making a request?”
And Kinn laughs. It’s quick. An exhale more than anything else but it’s genuine, and it sends a flurry of feeling through Porsche’s chest, leaving him feeling unusually warm and more than a little discomfited. It’s over just as quickly as it happens, Kinn’s attention dropping back down to the folder on his desk as he clears his throat.
“Don’t let him make any changes to the contract and –” He’s interrupted by a knock on the door. It’s opened before Kinn has a chance to beckon the person in and a young man appears.
He smiles at Kinn before he notices Porsche. His smile falters, his eyes narrowing. He looks Porsche up and down before his attention returns to Kinn, his smile just a little false now. “You ready, Kinn? You’ve kept me waiting.” There’s a teasing quality to the way he speaks. Familiar. Personal.
Kinn smiles, closed lipped but warm. “Yes. Of course.” He barely glances at Porsche as he moves around his desk. “Get it done,” he directs as he passes. He presses a hand to the lower back of the young man as he meets him in the doorway to his office, directing him out. He spares a glance back over his shoulder at Porsche. Their eyes lock, only for a split second, before he’s gone.
* * * *
Porsche is tempted to needle Pete into taking over the task he’s been assigned by Kinn. Pete is far more familiar with the minor firm, and everyone knows the rumours concerning Pete’s relationship with the head of the firm, Mr. Vegas, Kinn’s cousin and sometimes nemesis. Or so Porsche has heard anyways, the intricacies of their business rivalry nothing Porsche has ever been all that interested in finding out more about.
Despite having a prior relationship with Pete, having met over a year back during a Mixed Martial Arts competition and hitting it off immediately, Porsche’s friend has been sadly restrained when it comes to sharing office gossip – at least gossip that potentially involved himself. Arm and Pol, Porsche’s colleagues and occasionally competent IT and Security specialists respectively, had made up for what Pete lacked and Porsche had been up to date on all seedy office goings-on by his third day on the job. Arm had insisted there was something there between Mr. Vegas and Pete, while Pol had gone for the much less censored assertion that ‘No one needs to deliver that many packages to the minor firm unless the package is their dick.’ Porsche had attempted to pester Pete for more information, but it had gotten him nowhere.
But as much as Porsche would like to use this as yet another opportunity to weasel information out of Pete, some sense of self preservation tells him that dick jokes aside, Kinn’s tolerance for Porsche’s antics might meet an end should he not do as he’s been assigned. Which is how he finds himself standing uncomfortably in the entrance to the minor firm’s office where a number of people mill about but no reception desk seems to exist.
A few strategic questions later, and maybe some mild judgement – Are these people even working? And if not, how does Porsche get a job here instead? – Porsche finds himself walking down a narrow hall to a closed door that reads, Vegas Theerapanyakul.
Porsche inhales a deep breath and knocks, waiting for the sound of a voice beckoning him into the office before he enters. He stops short the moment he does. The office is not at all what he expected. The day is apparently to be one of endless surprises. While Mr. Vegas’s office is smaller than Kinn’s, that particular difference is the least noticeable. Porsche had seen Kinn’s office all of once and only briefly but from what he remembers it was expansive and modern. Lush. Mr. Vegas’s office is just as lush but in an entirely different way. All space available is filled. There are bookshelves lining one wall, the books themselves looking well used. Oversized leather furniture fills the space that his large, dark wooden desk does not. There’s a selection of what looks to be art but unlike the art Porsche had noticed in Kinn’s office which he remembers as modern and quite beautiful, this art seems to be an odd blend of religious symbols and… is that a dick?
By the windows four plush and well-worn leather chairs surround a glass coffee table. In one of them, watching Porsche with a vaguely amused smile, is Mr. Vegas.
“That’s for me?” He gestures to the folder Porsche holds.
“Oh, uh,” Porsche shakes himself out of the perplexed stupor he’d found himself in at the sight of the unusual office and moves to hand the folder over, “yeah – I mean, yes. Kinn – Mr. Kinn asked that I get it signed for him today.”
Mr. Vegas raises an eyebrow as he smiles, and Porsche isn’t sure why the expression is so unsettling. “Is that so? You personally?”
Porsche shrugs, not entirely sure what the other man is looking for as a response. “I guess. I was there.”
“Sure,” Mr. Vegas hums, looking down to the papers as he spreads them in front of himself on the glass table. “You’re the new assistant?” He doesn’t look up as he asks, gliding a finger along the paperwork as he reviews the details.
“Not that new.” Porsche doesn’t mean for the words to be anything more than a polite correction, but they come out more insolent and petty than he intends. He’s already got an apology on his tongue when Mr. Vegas looks back up with eyebrows raised. “Sorry, I just meant –”
“That you’re not that new,” Mr. Vegas repeats, voice relaxed as he leans back in his chair to look at Porsche. “One month and twenty-six days, right?” He stands, approaching with an agreeable smile. It’s as friendly as it is vaguely threatening, information Mr. Vegas has no reason to know offered with the most pleasing of dispositions. Everything about him reads as a contradiction.
“How did you know that?” Porsche can’t imagine the head of the minor firm would insist on being updated about the comings and goings of random assistants, but the alternative is Mr. Vegas seeking out information about Porsche in particular. Neither explanation makes any sense.
“I make it a point to know Kinn’s business.”
I’m not Kinn’s business. The words are almost out of Porsche’s mouth before he checks himself. The backtalk he’d indulged in this morning might have amused his boss (Porsche still isn’t sure if that really happened or if it was some sort of fevered hallucination) but he has no reason to believe the head of the minor firm will allow the same sort of impertinence without repercussions.
Porsche bites his tongue and nods, moving his eyes pointedly back to the papers Mr. Vegas has left deserted on the table.
Not satisfied with the lack of response, Mr. Vegas continues, “And how do you like it? You settling in?”
Porsche shifts uncomfortably on his feet, determined to be polite but eager to complete his task and leave.
“Yes, or, um…” He waffles, uncertain how honest to be. But he can’t quite ignore the approachable quality in the way Mr. Vegas speaks. “Not really,” he admits, looking away from Mr. Vegas to dart his eyes around the room. “It’s not really like what I’m used to.”
“What are you used to?”
Porsche’s attention returns to Mr. Vegas, surprised and confused by the continued questions.
“I was a bartender,” he admits after a moment’s pause.
“Ah,” Mr. Vegas smiles, wide and unreserved. “I would expect that to come in handy with Kinn. He loves his alcohol.”
“In those meetings, I would too.” The words slip out before Porsche can think better of them, but Mr. Vegas is chuckling softly and returning to the paperwork at the table. Porsche allows himself to relax.
“You’re cheeky,” He comments as he begins signing the necessary forms. “I can see why Kinn likes you.”
Porsche feels his face transform with surprise. “He doesn’t like me. I mean –” He shouldn’t be speaking for Kinn anymore than he should be speaking in a context that implies Kinn feels anything at all for him, but he can’t help but correct Mr. Vegas’s strange assumption. “He just… He doesn’t like me.” Prior to this morning Porsche might have said Kinn simply didn’t know him at all. A spilled coffee, overheard insult, and generous amount of backtalk later, on the topic of Kinn’s feelings towards him or lack thereof, Porsche feels quite certain of his disdain.
Mr. Vegas looks up with a smile, closed mouthed and just a touch patronizing. “He wouldn’t have sent you if he didn’t like you.”
Porsche’s eyebrows pull together. “What do you mean?”
“He sent you to piss me off,” Mr. Vegas says the words easily, looking back down to a page before him. He crosses something out and scribbles in the margin. Nothing he’s saying is clarifying anything for Porsche.
“Why would me being here piss you off?”
“You’re friends with Pete, aren’t you?” It’s not an answer to Porsche’s question but it is an effective distraction, as Porsche finds himself answering without giving the diversion much thought.
“We’re friends,” he confirms. He watches Mr. Vegas cross out something else on one of the pages set before him. “Kinn said not to make any changes.”
“It’s fine,” Mr. Vegas dismisses easily. “And do you like it?” At the blank look on Porsche’s face he clarifies, “Being friends with Pete.” It’s a bizarre question.
“I guess.” Porsche isn’t sure what Mr. Vegas gets out of this line of questioning, but he can’t help but recall those rumours… “I mean, he’s –” He shrugs. “You know him.” Porsche isn’t sure if the comment is a step too far or Mr. Vegas has simply tired of the conversation, but he stands, shuffling the papers together and back into the folder they’d been supplied in. He steps forward to hand it over to Porsche.
“Best get this back to Kinn. He’s not a man who likes to be kept waiting.” His expression is utterly unreadable.
“Oh, right.” Porsche takes back the folder, suddenly unsure of his footing in the conversation. “Ok. Thank you.” As he reaches the office door, Mr. Vegas speaks once more.
“And Porsche?” Porsche looks back to see Mr. Vegas’s watching him, a waxy sort of smile on his face. “You’re welcome here any time, if it doesn’t work out… with the major firm.”
Porsche purses his lips, offering an awkward nod in return, unsure whether to interpret such a comment as an olive branch or an insult.
“Ok.”
It’s only as he’s leaving the building, somehow feeling both confident and unsettled, that it occurs to him: He never told Mr. Vegas his name.
* * * *
By the time Porsche arrives to Yok’s the party is already in full swing. That’s what Porsche gets for making sure Porchay was tucked happily into bed before allowing himself to leave and join his friends. His friends who he notices are scattered amongst a crowd of other people Porsche doesn’t recognize, all of them obviously having enjoyed at least a few rounds.
Porsche shakes his head in amusement watching as his friend, Jom leaps from the couch onto Tem’s back. Rather than join them, Porsche moves to the bar, leaning against the counter as he scans the space for Pete.
“Oh! So, he decides to visit me. I thought he forgot all about me!”
Porsche turns back to the bar with a wide smile, not at all surprised to see Yok behind it doing her best to give him a reproving look.
“I’ve been busy. New job and all. You know I love you best, Yok.”
She tuts but accepts the kiss he bestows on her hand. “New job you left me for.” She’d never held it against him, but Porsche knows there’s some truth to the sadness imbued in her tone.
“No one could ever replace you. You know that.”
She gives in immediately, as Porsche knew she would, smiling and laughing as she pulls away her hand and lightly smacks him on the cheek – a love tap more than anything else. “Ok, ok. What do you want then? Before your friends drink me out of house and home.”
Porsche grins, putting a little extra cheek into it. “Whatever they’re having. Get me caught up.” She sighs but with a smile and affectionate shake of her head goes about setting down an assortment of shots.
“For your friend too?”
Porsche looks at her confused to see that her attention is no longer focused on him.
“If you don’t mind,” Kinn answers from Porsche’s side, offering Yok a charming smile. She responds in kind, giggling as she prepares the shots before she’s called away to the other end of the bar and disappears with a twirl.
Porsche stares at Kinn’s profile agape, utterly and totally bewildered.
“What are you doing here?”
Kinn reaches for a shot glass, spinning it slowly in his fingers, before he turns his head to Porsche with an eyebrow raised.
“Am I not allowed to be?”
Porsche huffs. That wasn’t an answer and they both know it. “How do you even know about Yok’s?”
Kinn looks away for a moment, back down to the shot glass he fiddles with. He reaches to push another until it sits more directly in front of Porsche.
“All the assistants talk about it. Thought I’d check it out for myself.”
Porsche highly doubts Yok’s has been the talk of the office the way Kinn implies, but the explanation does somewhat hold up. Pete, Pol, and Arm have all enjoyed the messy fun that is Porsche’s former workplace, and with the latter two being the biggest loudmouths of the office, it stands to reason the subject of Yok’s has made it to the boss’s own ears. And yet…
“Haven’t seen you party with the assistants before…”
Kinn looks back to Porsche, his mouth pulling up in a slanted smile. “Been looking for me?”
Porsche rolls his eyes, turning back to the bar. He reaches for the shot glass Kinn has set in front of him. Bringing it to his mouth, he tips his head back and downs it quickly. He concentrates on the familiar burn of the alcohol making its way down his throat before he looks back to Kinn.
“So?”
Kinn’s focus is caught somewhere on Porsche’s throat, and it takes a second before his eyes trail back up. He raises an eyebrow in question.
Porsche tips his chin to indicate the shot glass held but otherwise untouched between Kinn’s fingers.
“Partying with us, or not?”
Kinn glances around Porsche like he’s searching the bar, though his eyes don’t stray far enough to do so. “Us?”
Porsche shrugs, not taking his eyes off Kinn. “The others are around.”
Kinn’s eyebrows jump. “Not sure they’ll want to party with the boss.”
“You’re still here,” Porsche points out. With me, he doesn’t say, not entirely sure why it is Kinn has sought him out.
“Guess I am.” Kinn backs the shot, placing the empty glass back on the bar top with a thunk. “Little pedestrian.” He looks back to Porsche. “Shots,” he clarifies. “Thought you were a bartender. Can’t say I’m impressed.”
“Was,” Porsche points out. “And I’m not here to impress you.” It’s only as he’s saying the words that Porsche realizes he just might want to impress Kinn. It’s an odd impulse he refuses to give much thought to.
“Make me a drink.” It’s not a question, not quite a demand either. Caught somewhere in the middle, it leaves Porsche’s response just as mixed.
“I’m not working…”
“Are you refusing?” There’s nothing but challenge in Kinn’s eyes and it lights a fire in Porsche’s gut, as though someone has taken a match to the alcohol he’s consumed. He’s never felt anything like it.
Porsche turns back to the bar, quickly downing the two additional shots left by Yok, though more alcohol is unlikely to do anything to stem the fire, before he moves to round the bar, placing himself behind it and opposite Kinn.
Kinn grins as he watches, looking far too smug for Porsche’s liking.
“You should be careful who you order around,” Porsche points out as he begins mixing Kinn’s drink, hoping Kinn doesn’t notice he’s being overly generous with the amount of liquor. “You’re not the boss in here.”
Kinn looks pointedly down at the drink Porsche is preparing. “You sure?”
Porsche exhales a slight laugh, nodding his head just slightly in acknowledgement as he sets the drink down in front of Kinn.
“Not sure this is the example you want to set as a boss,” Porsche points out. “Drinking in front of employees…”
Kinn raises the glass to his lips, holding eye contact with Porsche as he takes a generous sip, rolling it in his mouth before he swallows. “You called me a shithead on your first day. Not sure you’ve ever seen me as a boss.”
Porsche’s eyes widen with surprise. “You remember that?”
Kinn’s eyebrows bounce in answer. He takes another sip of his drink. “Some employees might apologize if they found out they’d called their boss a shithead.”
Porsche shrugs, the thrum of alcohol in his bloodstream lending a confidence that doesn’t feel entirely false. “Some bosses deserve to be called a shithead.”
Kinn laughs, a burst of sound on a breath before he drops his eyes back to his drink, the crinkle of humour around them still visible. Porsche presses his lips together to hide his own smile, reaching for the vodka and refilling two shot glasses for them both.
“Hi.” A woman has appeared next to Kinn. She stares brazenly at Porsche, biting her lower lip as she smiles. She’s attractive, the sort of woman Porsche would have gladly enjoyed in the back alley of this very bar. His own take on a smoke break. “We were wondering if you could serve us.” She indicates where a couple of her friends openly watch the exchange at the other end of the bar, giggling amongst themselves. Nothing about the way she speaks leaves anything left unsaid. It’s as blatant a proposition as Porsche has ever gotten.
“No.”
It’s not Porsche who’s spoken. It’s Kinn.
Both Porsche and the woman look to him surprised. Kinn doesn’t look up from his drink as he speaks, swirling the alcohol in the glass. His words ring with an authority that brooks no argument.
“He’s not working.”
“But…” The beginnings of the woman’s attempt to clarify cuts off as Kinn looks up. It takes little more than that: Kinn looking at her, his eyes steely and with a quality that dares her to argue with him because he’s already certain of the outcome. She bows to him awkwardly and with a quick apology, turns and hurries off to rejoin her friends.
“That was rude,” Porsche points out after a moment of ringing silence between them. He doesn’t sound like he minds in the least.
Kinn doesn’t acknowledge the comment, reaching for the shot glass. He indicates that Porsche do the same.
“Drinking with employees now?” Porsche teases as he reaches for his glass. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
Kinn watches him for a moment, something contemplative but unreadable in his eyes. “No.” He tips his head back, downing the shot in one gulp. Porsche watches the way his throat bobs as he swallows before he brings his own glass to his mouth and does the same.
* * * *
“No, no, no,” Porsche giggles, reaching to snatch the bowl of nuts back from Kinn. It takes three tries, but that’s not his fault. The bowl keeps moving. “That’s not how you do it.” He grabs a cashew. Tossing it up in the air, he opens his mouth wide to catch it. It bounces off his nose instead and he hears Kinn quietly laugh.
“An expert, clearly.”
Porsche giggles again, reaching for another nut. He accidentally tips the bowl and a number more spill out. He ignores the mess, turning back to Kinn. “I had it before. You messed with my mojo.”
“Mojo?” Kinn is smiling again, bright and wide. Porsche likes it when he smiles. He doesn’t look so much like a boss when he smiles like that. He’s not all that bad looking. “Is that right?”
Wait… did Porsche say that out loud? Kinn is smiling even wider now.
“Open your mouth.”
Kinn’s smile drops, and he immediately shakes his head, raising a hand in warning between them. “No. Do you know how many people’s hands have touched those nuts?”
Porsche snorts. “Don’t slut shame the nuts.” It has the exact effect Porsche intended and Kinn laughs. Porsche aims for his slightly open mouth and throws the nut, it bounces off Kinn’s cheekbone.
“Hey!” Kinn objects, wiping at his face. He tries to frown. He probably thinks he looks scary. Porsche doesn’t think he’s scary at all. He’s kind of cute, actually.
“Open up!” Porsche demands again, smiling cheekily as he leans forward to get closer. They’re not separated by much room as they sit next to one another at the bar, but everything around Porsche seems to be wobbling a little bit now and he thinks he has a better shot of aiming if he doesn’t leave anything to chance. “C’mon Kinn…” He adds a little whine to his voice as Kinn leans away from him, a hand rising to clasp to Porsche’s wrist and keep him at bay.
Out of balance on his stool with one hand held hostage by Kinn, Porsche steadies himself by placing his other hand on Kinn’s thigh, leaning even closer. He grins widely. He remembers how his mother used to tell him his smile could start wars. He’d never understood the comment as a child, but he thinks of it now. He wonders if Kinn would wage war for him. It’s a silly, stupid thought. Porsche laughs again.
“Please…” He wiggles in Kinn’s hold, voice mocking as he brings the hand holding the nut closer to Kinn’s mouth. “Kiiiiinnnnnn…” The other man’s grip on his wrist is strong but he allows the movement. Porsche focuses on Kinn’s mouth, eyes narrowed with determination, his fingers can almost touch. If Kinn would just open his mouth… Kinn’s lips part. Porsche grins victoriously, pressing the nut between plush lips until Kinn accepts it, mouth closing as he chews. “Yes!” Porsche crows happily, bringing his hand down to Kinn’s other thigh as he steadies himself.
Kinn is watching him with a patient smile as he chews. He shakes his head, exhaling an amused sound. “Has anyone ever told you…” His eyes scan Porsche’s face, tracing his features before meeting his eyes once more, “when you’re drunk, you are so…” He trails off, leaving the thought unsaid.
Porsche snickers, oddly delighted by the way Kinn speaks. He falls forward, headbutting Kinn’s chest lightly before he raises his head, closer than before. “So what?”
Kinn’s smiling. His face blurs a little bit as Porsche looks at him but it’s pretty – a pretty smile. “So… nutty.”
It takes Porsche a second but… he did not. Porsche throws his head back as he laughs, reaching to shove Kinn’s shoulder, punishment for unspeakable crimes against puns. Cheesy puns.
“That was so dumb,” Porsche says with a snort.
Kinn is laughing too though he does it quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to notice. “Perfect for you then.”
“I’m not dumb!” Porsche squawks. He’s not really offended though. Everything Kinn says sounds like a compliment. He’d complain some more anyways – it’s fun to complain to Kinn – but he’s interrupted by hands landing on his shoulders, pulling him away from Kinn as he’s turned roughly in his stool.
“You idiot!” Pete yells. Why is he yelling? “We thought you bailed!”
“I didn’t bail.” Porsche swats Pete’s hands away, adopting a pout. “You bailed!”
“I didn’t bail,” Pete argues. “I’ve been here the whole time.” He’s definitely drunk. So much drunkier than Porsche. Drunkier? Drunker? Drunkest. He’s the drunkest.
“I’ve been here the whole time,” Porsche argues.
Kinn clears his throat next to Porsche, drawing both of their attention to him. Pete gasps with surprise.
“Mr. Kinn! What – I mean, um, I didn’t – uh, hello?”
Kinn nods. “Pete.”
Pete wobbles back and forth on his feet. He looks scared. It makes Porsche giggle. “Um… how are you?”
Kinn smiles a little, like someone told a joke. Pete didn’t even say anything funny for Kinn to smile like that. Porsche pouts. “I’m ok.”
“Good.” Pete’s eyes dart around them. He looks panicked. It makes Porsche feel dizzy. “I, uh – pee! I need to pee!”
“Me too!” Porsche shouts, maybe a little more excitedly than the announcement required. But he really does have to pee. He hops off his stool, grabbing Pete’s arm, mostly so Pete will wait for him but also because the floor doesn’t seem so steady under his feet. He turns back to look at Kinn before Pete can steer him away. “Save my seat, ok?”
Kinn nods. He doesn’t look as happy as before. “Sure.”
Porsche looks at him for a second longer, wishing not for the first time tonight that he could know what Kinn was thinking. “Don’t steal my nuts,” he adds. It makes Kinn smile and something like relief rushes through Porsche’s veins, making him feel a bit lightheaded.
“Ok.”
Porsche eyes him, adopting the most serious expression he can manage with the world spinning around him the way it is. “You promise?”
Kinn’s smile widens. “Promise.”
“Porsche,” Pete whines, tugging his arm in Porsche’s hold.
Satisfied he’s secured a promise from Kinn, Porsche lets himself be dragged away, keeping his eyes on Kinn until he disappears behind a swarm of bodies.
Pete rounds on him right as they reach the bathrooms. “What are you doing with Mr. Kinn?”
“What?” Porsche squirms a bit. He really does need to pee. And the more he thinks about it, the more desperate the situation becomes.
“Mr. Kinn! You’re drinking with him?!”
Porsche didn’t know Pete’s voice could go that high. “I don’t know. Yes?” He wiggles a little more. Maybe Pete will notice and let him go pee.
“But… why?” Pete’s mouth is hanging open. He looks ridiculous. Porsche snorts.
“I don’t know. It was fun. Can I pee now?”
Pete sighs, falling back against the wall. He looks like he’s aged ten years in ten seconds. “Yes. Fine. Go.”
“You don’t have to pee?” Porsche asks, wondering why Pete doesn’t look like he has any plans of entering the bathroom.
“No.” Pete shakes his head. “I said it to get away from him.”
“What? Why?” Porsche questions, perplexed. “Kinn’s nice.”
“Nice,” Pete repeats, his voice sounding a bit strange. He presses a hand to his face like he suddenly has a headache. “Just… go. I’m too drunk for this.”
Porsche might make fun of him a little more if it weren’t for the fact that he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t pee in the next five seconds. He dashes quickly into the bathroom to relieve himself. Pete is nowhere to be seen when Porsche exits, but a familiar face appears as Porsche moves to re-enter the general bar area. It’s not a face he ever would have expected to see here.
“Mr. Vegas?”
“Porsche. Hello.” He smiles… warmly… like it’s not at all strange they’ve run into one another.
“Uh… you’re here to see Kinn?” Porsche asks. It’s the only plausible reason he can come up with for Mr. Vegas appearing in Yok’s, and even then, it doesn’t make much sense. The alcohol Porsche has consumed through the night has left his thoughts feeling delayed and sluggish, and yet he suddenly feels strangely sober.
Mr. Vegas shakes his head. “No. I’ve always heard good things about this place.”
“Oh.” Porsche doesn’t know what to make of that. “That’s… oh. Ok.”
“Are you having a good time?”
Porsche feels weirdly unprepared for this conversation, but he nods, doing his best to string together words that will not give away that he’s spent the evening doing shots with his boss. “Yes.” He darts his eyes behind Mr. Vegas and around the hallway, unable to maintain eye contact with the man in front of him for longer than a second at a time. “It’s – it’s been good.”
“Perhaps you can introduce me to the bar’s owner,” Mr. Vegas continues. “I understand she’s looking for investors.” Porsche is in no way sober enough for this conversation.
He nods, throwing in a hum he hopes sounds interested and moves to pass the other man. “I better –” But he trips. He could swear Mr. Vegas’s foot appeared in his way, but his vision is too hazy to be sure. All he knows is that he’s walking and then he’s not, flailing arms in the air as he tumbles forward until suddenly his forward momentum is interrupted and he finds himself in Mr. Vegas’s arms.
“You alright?” Mr. Vegas smiles, steading Porsche as he holds him close.
Porsche attempts to pull back, but Mr. Vegas holds him tightly. “I’m – I’m fine. Sorry.”
And then Mr. Vegas is reaching for Porsche’s hair, smiling as he brushes it back into place with gentle fingers. “There. Much better.” Porsche shivers uncomfortably, struggling until Mr. Vegas releases his hold and Porsche is able to stumble back a few steps.
“Um, thanks.” Porsche shuffles sideways until he’s got a clear path to the rest of the bar. He nods awkwardly at Mr. Vegas in departing. “I’ll see you.”
Mr. Vegas nods, looking far more relaxed and at ease than Porsche feels. “Sure. See you around Porsche.”
Porsche can feel the other man’s eyes on his back as he turns, and he doesn’t relax until he’s enveloped by the crowd packing the bar. He couldn’t say what it is about Mr. Vegas that makes him feel so ill at ease. He wonders what it is Pete sees in him – if Pete sees anything in him. He wonders why Mr. Vegas seems so interested in Porsche if there is any truth to the rumours about him and Pete. Porsche wonders if he even wants any of these answers.
By the time he makes it back to the bar, the shot glasses have been collected, his spilled bowl of nuts tidied and set on a coaster. One of the small signs that reads ‘Reserved’ has been left on Porsche’s bar stool. Kinn is gone.