❤️‍🩹 Punch didn't hurt as much as the one which broke my heart ❤️‍🩹 KIMCHAY AU

30. Waking up 🫂

(HI 🥺💗✨️ hope that you are doing great ✨️ sending you warmth take care💗 love you💗)

Porsche could only make Porchay change his clothes. He couldn't push him to wash his face or to get some rest, he put away the bloody mess behind the curtain not leaving the room and then sat back on the same spot. Porsche couldn't do more but he found the greatest argument for him to accept : "what would Kim think if he sees you covered in blood?". He would be worried, he would be terrified, he would want to check Porchay, he might try to move. The boy understood only because it meant that he was able to do something for Kim, only this, only him.

Kim was still sleeping. He was quiet. His eyes were closed but his chest was moving up and down. Porchay loved it, he was squeezing his hand but from time to time he was also putting the other on Kim's heart to be sure that it was still beating.

The feeling was reassuring and suffocating. Everything went well but until he would open his eyes, Porchay wouldn't believe anything, at all. He had hoped too much in life and it had ended badly.

Porsche didn't try to talk much. When he arrived slowly, struggling with the crutches, Porchay's face was brighter for some seconds and a tiny "Hia" came from his tired voice. He sat down next to his little brother and he got it, he knew. Nothing should be talked about, not now, not until Kim would be able to hear them too.

Porchay was like a sword, the one dancing, bound to fall soon and depending on the result his guts would be protected or cut away. He was on the edge, exhausted, his chest felt heavy, he was feeling that a whole ocean might have been able to develop itself inside. The river of his tears followed the flow to the ocean of his despair.

Porsche pushed his chair closer and put his arm on his shoulder, letting his head fall on Porchay's one. He had no doubts that the boy would appreciate this and he was, he just couldn't give energy to his brother now, he just couldn't leave his eyes from Kim, so he appreciated the way Porsche was the one to come against him.

"Hia..."

"Tell me Chay..."

"Do you think...that everyone we love...might end up in his type...of unwelcoming rooms?"

Porsche took his time to answer, he couldn't jump on the reassuring sentences when he just heard something new and astonishing : "love". The older brother wasn't unaware of their relationship, he wasn't ignoring that they were loving each other, it was obvious. The way they looked at each other, the way they moved around each other, the way Kim was trying to never live Porchay alone, the way he had tried to keep them inside the house. The moment they shared Porsche surely had no idea about because the intimacy of a couple was something to not totally be revealed. But here he heard it clearly, he heard it and he felt it. The sorrow in his voice, the word pronounced like the shelter of his last hope. A way to send a message to Kim, that he should wake up because hell was closer than they had thought it would be.

They were inside of a mafia house, they were living with cruel and less interested in human humans. They were with killers and criminals, they knew about this, they were conscious of the danger of that place and even of them. Yet, they loved, they loved and there was no explanation. They weren't less inhuman or softer, they stayed the same but they loved and were loved. Emotions in a place couldn't be ordered around and they forgot the place they were at, and they loved. They loved but this sensation was even more perilous, for themselves and because of their enemies around. But Porchay loved, he kept those words close to his heart and he tightened their hug.

The "unwelcoming rooms" were something Porchay never experienced but felt. He didn't have to witness the cold ground bringing down the lifeless body of their father. He didn't have to go to the morgue because their uncle couldn't be found and they needed to identify the corpse sooner. Porsche had no clear memory of it, not even of his father's death. It was blurry. But Porchay didn't have to smell the awful chemical atmosphere of the hospital when they took a look at the boy to see if he had been hurt too. Porchay didn't know anything about this but he sure had felt it, he sure absorbed the emotions Porsche and his uncle had.