Part 21

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Phukong was on Sarawat as soon as he saw him shuffle lifelessly through the front door, his tall frame bumping clumsily against the doorframe.

"What happened to you?" He asked, ogling Sarawat's puffy lips and red eyes while the other man was taking off his shoes. "What the hell man, did you cry?" Sarawat glared at his little brother that had sprung up from his seat on the leather couch, coming closer to inspect his blotchy face. Sarawat's pout twisted into a sneer, making the little scar on the side of his upper lip stand out more than usual.

"Fuck off," he spat and shouldered past Phukong, feet padding over the wooden floor and steering into the bedroom. He threw his leather jacked in the direction of the bed, seeing it bounce at the foot of it and then slid down to the floor with a thump. He followed suit and just slumped down on the mattress, elbows on his knees and head cradled in his hands. Sarawat was fucking drained.

Everything felt just so stupid and irrelevant and so not worth fighting over in the face of him actually losing Tine. Fuck those fans that were against Tine, they were nobodies and should not be empowered enough to drive a wedge between them. Sarawat, or rather Boss, had actually thought that the official dating statement would reduce most of the backlash, since everyone liked sweetheart stories and besides, his fan base had always been supportive even if the tabloids occasionally liked to paint him black. It was no secret that Sarawat preferred men, even if it had never been officially confirmed. Subsequently all the hate mail that Tine was receiving was strange, the intense negativity almost uncalled for. There had to be a driving force behind it, an instigator. And that worried Sarawat.

"I told you," Phukong piped up suddenly from the doorway, making the other man jerk his head up. "Nothing good will come out of you reconciling with Tine, there'll be a long way down once everything falls apart."

Sarawat threw him a piercing look, and here he thought that he was being dramatic.

"I'm not sure you should be giving me advice," Sarawat drawled, arching his eyebrows and jutting his chin out.

"But this isn't about me," Phukong supplied, mirroring Sarawat's haughty expression. "I know how you like to bottle things up, so I'm sure you haven't told him anything." Sarawat stilled, cold dread tickling down his back. He swallowed dryly, big eyes glued on his brother's broad frame. "Phi, you need to tell Tine or he will keep blindly barging into your life like a bull in a china shop every fucking time."

"That's history, it's not relevant anymore," Sarawat rasped, looking down at his callused hands. It was better to reset than to drag all the old emotional baggage with him into this new relationship.

"Bullshit! Tine is fucking dense and flakey. The way he dropped you, when you needed support the most was just cold. And for what, an ex-girlfriend that he broke up with again just after a few weeks?" Phukong stared Sarawat down, two equally intense gazes colliding, before adding in a more subdued voice, "How do you know it won't happen again?"

Sarawat locked his jaw, the muscles on the side of his face splaying. He was angry with Phukong for pushing this issue but also angry with himself for not being able to easily rebuff his accusations.

***

Tine was staring forlornly at his laptop screen with hazy eyes, pretending to work while his pale hands slapped aimlessly at the keyboard. The fight was playing on repeat in his head, like a grainy video on a loop. Had he acted too rashly, walking out on Sarawat like that? Tine shook his head, making his desk chair squeak from the force of the frantic movement. No. He bit his squishy lower lip, the wheels in his head turning. Sarawat had been hard on him too.

Furthermore it felt as if the fight had actually been about something else too, something beyond the hate mail. The pure desperation that Sarawat had radiated made Tine pensive, wanting to reevaluate all the conversations that they had had up till now. What was it that made Sarawat so insanely worried?

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