Chapter Text
The last job Chay has expected himself to be taking up after the whole ordeal with Kim is this one.
But despite the shame that chases him out the door at the end of each night, he leaves with fistfuls of cash shoved into his pockets and enough rent to appease his landlord for another week and then another. There's a small part of him that can't help but feel dirty though when he hands the elderly man the money, watches his innocent, wrinkled hands close around it – hands that have worked hard and honestly for all their life.
Chay is working for his money, too, but the word 'honest' would contradict every sensible person's opinion on his nightly trips to the part of Bangkok that's safely tucked away from the view of the public and especially the government.
What's a kid like him, fresh out of the comfort of his big brother's sheltered upbringing, supposed to do when someone offers him wads of cash in exchange for a banality?
Simple: He accepts, no questions asked.
If affording food and a safe place to live, away from that whole mafia estate, takes removing a few articles of clothing on a stage, so be it. Maybe it's this whole fuck-up of a system that makes Chay think like he does, but that's how it is.
He doesn't want to depend on Porsche for the rest of his life just because he has personally botched any chance of being accepted into a respectable university in a fit of childish depression, either. Porsche has sacrificed so much for him, and Chay has thrown it all away. So it's definitely time he takes responsibility for himself and stops living off of his older brother.
As of right now, he's doing surprisingly well for himself.
Better than Kinn and Porsche have expected after Chay's announcement that he wants to move out. Better than he himself has expected when he's arrived in a completely different part of Bangkok all alone, knowing not a single person yet feeling strangely at home all the same.
He has settled nicely in a cozy one-bedroom apartment in one of the outer city rings, not too far from the little café he works at during the day, with only a quick trip to get him back and forth. He's a bit more withdrawn now, only ever smiling at his neighbors in greeting when he passes them by, and his social circle is reduced to his co-workers at best.
To everybody, he's the shy, quiet young Omega living by himself, never bringing an Alpha home or causing a ruckus – the only way most neighbors are reminded of his existence from time to time is his occasional guitar play.
It's kind of exhilarating to think nobody knows where Chay goes as soon as the first sliver of dusk appears on the horizon. He sucks the flavor out of his secret each and every evening with delight when he's on his way to his nightly shift at the club. That sense of drunken power kind of helps with the embarrassment he's sometimes overcome with when he counts the cash into the drawer of his nightstand in the morning.
There's talk around the neighborhood that he's rich, this young Omega who has appeared out of the blue, even though one wouldn't be able to tell by simply looking at him.
He leaves every morning for work in torn jeans and worn sneakers sporting frayed laces and a mended patch on one side. He always takes the bus at the same time, and every day he returns home around early afternoon carrying takeout bags and quietly disappearing into his apartment.
What hints at the wealth behind his unassuming façade is the way he leaves again at nightfall, dressed in a black leather jacket, low-cut shirts covered in lettering made of glitter, skin-tight pants and high-heeled black boots, an elegant bag slung around his shoulders. His fingers always glint in the light from the streetlamps with silver rings, his eyes are framed by a dust of black kohl, making them look even darker and softer. At night, he wears costly jewelry, expensive watches, and flaunts the newest phone as he waits for the bus.
His parents send him money and he spends it all on drugs and clubbing, some of the gossiping old ladies say when they meet before the house after grocery shopping. He's the bastard son of a rich man in the center of Bangkok, and returns home only at night when his father's wife is asleep, they say. He's a well-to-do family's child who has committed some sort of felony that's forced him to move into one of the poorer districts to hide from the law, they say.
Yes, Chay is definitely a frequent subject of their mindless, judgmental chatter, but none of it is true.
The only reason why he can permit himself some secret luxury is because of his reckless trips to the illicit red light district at night, past the glass doors of a building shrouded in darkness by the absence of street lanterns.
When the offer has first been extended a few days after he has moved in, slipped beneath his front door in the dead of night, Chay's first instinct has been to burn it.
You're exactly what our club is looking for. If you want to earn some good, easy money, come to the address below whenever you feel like it to have a little chat. Of course you will be well-rewarded for your time. We have customers who would pay a fortune just for a glimpse of a desirable young Omega like you.
He has decided he definitely wants nothing to do with shady people who would label him a 'desirable young Omega', and for a few days, Chay has kept pushing the proposition away. Their sender has been respectful enough not to pester him again.
Then, money has started to get tight, what with rent and groceries and all the bills to pay, and Chay has refused to go running back to Porsche for money or a place to stay. So that has been his first (albeit hesitant) prompt to at least consider the proposal – if only for the promised payment. The next evening, Chay has found himself sitting behind a wall of glass in a private room at an expensive, high-end strip club, watching the stages before him with flushed, burning cheeks. But just the compensation for his first experimental visit at the club has lasted him two weeks, and it hasn't been long until he's returned there and signed his first contract.
That has been two weeks ago.
Slowly, Chay lowers himself down onto the bench in front of the vanity. His hair glistens in the faint light of the velvet-padded room, and he turns his head a little to see if he has to adjust anything for the upcoming show. His cheekbones are covered in a dust of glitter, highlights shining prettily underneath the muted ceiling lamps. He's kind of proud over how fast he has managed to pick up on how to present himself best.
The first few times, one of the other Omegas has done his makeup for him – an annoyingly hyped guy called Nin, one of the regulars' favorites. Chay doesn't think of Omegas like that, but he can see why Nin is popular. Hair and eyes as soft and sweet as molten chocolate, body just as delectable. He really knows how to dance, too, but that's something where Chay can keep up. They're on equal grounds when it comes to that. The only reason why their wages are a few million baht apart is the fact that Nin takes customers up to the private rooms after his shows, all smiles, hip sways and teasing, feathery touches.
Chay is still in his first month of work here, and the contract he has signed assures him that those first four weeks are solely for dancing. Nothing more. His shows take place on the highest stage, the one out of reach for customers, so nobody can touch him or try to drag him down from it. After the first month, he has to decide. Either he accepts another month of work that includes customer service, or he quits.
Chay knows he'd be rich enough to rival Kinn within a week.
The Alphas lust after him like no other dancer, intrigued by this out-of-reach Omega, young and graceful and not at their disposal – yet, he's not working officially yet, many of them try to tell themselves. Their offers and checks are always being shot down by the manager, who personally takes Chay back to his room after each dance so he can make sure no customer is loitering in the hallways to harass him.
They love him, they all want him. They send tips and flowers to his room, boxes of chocolates and candies, page-long letters. Some of them beg him to make an exception during his first month, offer him millions to keep them company up in the private section of the club for only an hour, half an hour, just ten minutes.
Chay, as cruel as it might sound, loves to see them beg and drool after him. That's what Kim gets for rejecting him. He isn't some naïve little Omega, too pure and sweet to be loved, to be desired. There are people who would kill to take by force what he has offered Kim willingly, and it makes him feel powerful. In theory, at least. There's a deep-rooted sense of abhorrence within him at the thought of actually having one of those disgusting Alphas all over him.
He knows it's going to happen eventually if he wants to keep his job here, but the thought makes him sick. So, he pushes it away and hopes it won't come closer if he doesn't let it.
"Chay, are you ready? We're about to open."
Nin peers in through the door with a smile too flashy for the privacy of their rooms. Most dancers drop the bubbly, seductive façade they put up for the customers as soon as they're in the safe confines of the backstage area, but this guy is just a different breed, Chay guesses. Nin really seems to love this kind of work.
"Yes, I'm good to go," he responds and stands up from his vanity. "I'll be right out. Big audience tonight?"
"The regulars, one or two newcomers. Young, though. Won't cause trouble. Probably just horny teenagers with too much money wanting to see some skin," Nin comments and steps into the room.
As per usual, he's wearing decidedly less clothes than Chay, and his skin is glittering like he's coated in tiny diamonds. For a moment, Nin leans over him to scrutinize his makeup, dabbing at the highlights on his cheeks, then he smiles contently.
"Looking good, nong, looking very good. Oh! Did you hear the big secret already?"
Judging from the fact that Nin is the gossipiest person Chay knows, the 'big secret' is probably already common knowledge, but he indulges him and shakes his head, making the older Omega's eyes glow conspiratorially as he moves closer.
"I heard the suite upstairs has been booked!" he whispers with an excited wink.
Chay can't help raising his eyebrows at that, sceptical pout drawn tight across his lips. It's an unbearably cute expression, Nin has crooned the first time he's actually seen it on him, only to earn himself a purple bruise, yellowing at the edges, on his upper arm. Chay doesn't want to be cute anymore, for nobody. Kim has beaten that out of him very thoroughly.
"And what's so special about that?"
Nin laughs like it's the most ridiculous question he's heard anyone ask in a long time – which it probably isn't, because Chay knows Nin overheard the conversation between two of their colleagues in the hallway outside a few days ago too (the question about if it takes 18 months for twins to be born has stuck with him ever since and he pulls the memory out when he needs a good laugh or a reminder that at least he isn't that stupid). Nin taps his nose with a giggle.
"Only special guests can afford the suite. Just an hour up there costs more than all our wages put together! So better put on a good show, nong! Most customers like that hand out tips by the bucket when they leave. Well, to be honest—" He pauses for a moment. "You only really have to be present. One time, Red sprained his ankle before he went on stage, so he sat out for the night and yet he still got tipped. Most rich guys are either nice or extravagant like that. They love to show off that they could pave Bangkok with gold if they wanted to. One time—"
Fuck, Chay thinks with a slight twitch of his eye. Now he has triggered Nin's gossip mode and from painful experience, he knows it's hell to get him to stop again. His only hope now is that their manager will show up any second and order them to get on stage since the customers are already waiting. But the boss seems to be taking his sweet time tonight. He's probably in the suite then, sucking up to this ominous special guest.
"… after all, we're one of the only clubs that don't just provide dances," Nin continues and fiddles with Chay's costumes by the wardrobe. "Oh, this is cute, nong, you have to wear it sometimes—"
Chay just nods along without really listening. He has laid out a small selection of clothes for himself earlier, but eventually has ended up in the black three-piece cami and garter set again that he's had on for his first show. It makes him feel safer – and it suits the black thigh-highs he has worn under his jeans on the way here. While Nin goes through his clothes, still chattering away, Chay tightens a few of the delicate black belts on his thighs.
"… so of course I had to go see if I could sneak a peek at him. Looked like a real snack. Young, too, maybe your age. Wouldn't mind getting my hands on that," his colleague continues and carefully puts one of the fishnet tops back onto its hanger.
"Who?" Chay asks apologetically, feeling guilty for spacing out so much.
"Nooong, pay attention! The special guest, of course!" Nin pouts and squeezes Chay's cheeks. Then, he stops for a moment and regards the younger Omega with pursed lips. "You haven't started working officially yet, have you?"
Chay shakes his head and Nin winks.
"Then tonight may be the night! I bet whoever catches his eye and goes upstairs with him tonight can retire in the morning. A man like that can settle you for life with one single tip."
He sighs longingly just as their manager arrives, strutting down the hallway and knocking sharply on the doors in passing.
"How about some of you finally get out there? Chay, the high stage is ready. Whenever you are too, get up there."
"Coming!" Chay calls back and hastily adjusts his hair in the mirror.
"Good luck, nong! Do your best and earn a lot of money!" Nin giggles and squeezes his hand before he slips out of the room to get in line with the others.