TL Chapter 9

"Just take him with you, then."

Jae Dream bloody fucking sells me off all the time!!!

A short, simple sentence that had rung out half an hour ago, making the beautiful Aston Martin—adorned with a doll of a young man with red lips and big eyes, its owner, who now wore a thoroughly sullen expression, the kind that didn't want to pout and be called a total fag by anyone—but... that guy Dream sent, he kissed me last night, dang!

“Why make a face like that?” The driver was utterly unflinching, acting completely normal, to the point where Dear wanted to shout through the car, Phîi just kissed me last night, take responsibility, damn itttt.

“A face like what, Phîi Porsche?” Since his childhood neighbor older brother wanted to act like nothing had happened, he turned to look instead, trying to put on a confrontational expression, his two hands also holding the bag of snacks the other party's mother had sent along tightly.

A question that made Purin raise an eyebrow slightly before his lips curved up.

“Like... a dog abandoned by its owner”

“I am not a dog!!!” Dear answered, feeling a bit suspicious that he was being called a dog, until he had to protest in a sulky voice, lifting his face to use his big eyes, trying to glare fiercely at the person who looked good even just wearing jeans and a dark t-shirt like this, and driving one-handed again.

Yeah, Phîi is cool, huh? Just his driving posture makes my heart tremble. I don't like it at all. Why is it that every time I'm near Phîi Porsche, my emotions are like a woman's in the novels Jae Dream likes to read, damn.

The listener merely laughed softly as he steered the luxury car to join the queue for the expressway. Even though he'd been driving back and forth like this for over half a year, he never liked it because he hated traffic. Sunday evenings were even worse. So, he'd solved the problem by rarely coming back to sleep at home. Even when he did stop by to see his family, it was usually on an evening when he had to go to the company the next day. But today, he had a passenger along.

Hmm, it's good, not lonely.

Pat

Again. He was patting Dear's head again. I'm not a dog, hey.

Dear could only tell himself this in his heart, as that big hand patted his head again and shook it back and forth. He didn't understand at all why Phîi Porsche liked to treat him like a little kid all the time. His thoughts had to stop abruptly when a deep voice spoke up.

“Then come be my puppy.”

He wasn't quiet now because he was annoyed at being called a dog again, okay? But his cheeks flared hot suddenly, forcing him to turn his face away. He didn't want to admit that his heart felt all fluttery for some reason. Plus, the words of his Sailor Moon partner (well, both their names meant 'moon') rang in his head again.

Or should I flirt, damn?

Then it was as if his feelings moved before his brain, forcing him to lift his face and make his eyes wide and clear, like when he wheedled his father or mother. Then he broke into a wide smile, speaking in a whiny voice like when he wheedled his older sister to buy him something.

The mannerism made the person looking over—who had inadvertently turned—catch his breath for a moment.

“Y'know, Phîi Porsche, puppies need a lot of warmth, hey! They get attached to their owner. The owner has to give them food three times a day, and they have to eat together too, okay? Play with them often. And also, puppies at this stage need their owner to raise them well, give them lots of warmth, teach them a lot... so when they grow up, they won't be a dog lacking warmth...”

Âi Dear, hey, don't let Âi Shin-jang hear this. He'll curse me out, calling me a slut for sure, damn. Right now, I'm basically telling Phîi Porsche to give me lots of warmth, eat every meal together, take good care of me. Right? Huh?

The thought made his cheeks hotter, but Dear tried to lift his face, shrug his eyebrows, and squint his eyes, as if to say, 'If you're gonna take me as your puppy, can you even do it, huh?' Until the listener, who had fallen silent for a bit, glanced over. As the car moved the luxury vehicle from the far-right lane to the middle lane, the speed slowed down a bit.

Smack

“Heyyyyyy!!!!” Dear, who was about to move back to sit properly after leaning his face in, shouted loudly throughout the passenger cabin when the other's hand shot up and quickly locked onto his neck, pulling him close. He could only open his eyes wide, shocked nearly to death as the car tilted slightly.

“What are you shouting for, Dear? I got scared and might crash into the car in front. What then?” Phîi Porsche said in a scolding voice that made the shouter look a bit crestfallen. He hurriedly protested that it wasn't his fault at all.

“Then why did you hug my neck, damn it?!”

“Oh, well, didn't you say puppies need warmth? I was afraid my dog had problems, so I had to give it some warmth.”

Snap

Damn ittt, Jae Dreammmm, Phîi Porsche is teasing meeeeee!!!

At the end of the words from the person afraid his dog had mental problems(?), Dear snapped his head up and saw the handsome face bending down to give him a wide smile for a brief moment before turning back to look at the road as before. But those sparkling eyes that had made his heart itch since they'd met a week ago, not to mention the smooth lane change while already handling the situation, made him realize immediately... he’d been tricked by Phîi Porsche.

That scolding voice just now... you were smiling, weren't you, damn? Yeah, I'm never quicker than you anyway!

“Oh, has my puppy gone quiet?”

What was he supposed to say? He was locking his neck and pulling him into his chest like this. Don't come and crush me, hey. Possessive, hear that, owner? I'm possessive of myself, hey!

The person who claimed to be possessive of himself instead let the other party crush his head playfully. He didn't want to admit at all that Phîi Porsche's chest was warm. Very warm. So warm that he inadvertently nuzzled into where he'd been pulled. Moreover, that faint perfume, reminiscent of sunlight, attacked his senses again. Finally, he could only allow himself to be held captive and crushed until his head was a tousled mess for several minutes before Purin released his hand.

“Yeah, what do you want to eat? Let's find something to eat before going to the condo. I don't want anyone saying I don't take good care of my dog.”

So, you're really determined to make me your dog, huh? Just you wait. Dogs get possessive of their owners, don't you know?

But the person who should have turned to complain loudly instead accepted his new status with resignation. Well, having a rich owner with a heart like an auntie... anything goes. It's worth it, damn. This is just me being greedy for food. It has nothing to do with liking him. Nothing. Nothing at all.

“Som tam... I want to eat som tam.” He managed to voice his desire. He'd been craving it since earlier when he'd turned on the TV and seen a show where foreigners were making Thai food. And the way those foreigners pounded the som tam wasn't Thai at all. So now he wanted some authentic, original stuff. Phîi Porsche turned to look at him with a slightly surprised expression before smiling.

“At your command, Khrap.”

Don't talk like that, hey. Don't you know... it makes me shy.

While handing over his own music disc for the other to choose from—in case he wanted to listen to something—Purin told himself that the reason he took extra special care of this junior was because he was an utterly endearing childhood neighbor younger brother. And another reason was because a friend had entrusted him to... probably.

Take good care of my younger sibling. If anything happens to him, you're dead, Khun friend.

That was all... really.

“Auntie, Khraaaap! Make a spicy crab som tam, please, Auntie!”

Inside the som tam shop—which Dear had just discovered was only a block away from his condo—the young man hurriedly rushed straight to the shop owner, who was pounding with satisfying force. The pok-pok-pok sound of the mortar and pestle echoed throughout the shop. Even though it was nearly half past six, customers were packed in, with only a few tables free.

“Can you handle it?”

“Oy, Auntie! With a face like this, I can eat spicy, Khrap!” When the aunt asked with an endearing look, the listener interpreted it as being looked down on, so he hurriedly replied, puffing his chest out a bit more. Since people liked to tease him for having a Khun-chai's face, but this Nai Daranpat could handle spicy, damn it! Even if his throat wasn't a steel pipe, when it came to food, he never missed.

“Hey, Dear, can you handle it? Auntie's spicy is really spicy, you know,” said the person who had just found parking and followed him in, protesting a little. Dear turned to look at Phîi Porsche, then back at the auntie shop owner, who looked like a true Isan native, really. And her pounding style indicated she was probably the real deal.

“Ooh, this handsome young man! Come, come, go sit down first. Order anything, just tell the staff, handsome young man.” And then, as soon as the auntie turned and saw Phîi Porsche, that was it—her face lit up as if she'd met her favorite likay hero. The good-looking, handsome man smiled in acceptance and led the way inside. Dear couldn't help but ask.

[[Translator's Note: ลิเก (likay) is traditional Thai folk theater.]]

“Do you come here often?”

“A few times. Sometimes the subordinates from the factory invite me, and I come along,” Purin said casually, pulling out the menu tucked nearby and handing it over. The listener nodded emphatically; he'd only found out a few days ago that the reason Phîi Porsche lived in a condo wasn't following some Thai novel trope of choosing a place near work to please his family's 'hero' status, but because the main factory was around here. The main office building was downtown, about the same distance from the family home. So Phîi Porsche had chosen to buy an apartment around here.

"I do not go to the company often. There are many seniors, and with them many issues. I am starting by learning the work at the factory level first, and it will not be too late to move into management at the company afterward."

That's what he said, huh.

“So, what'll it be?”

“Phîi, is it very spicy here?” Purin nodded in confirmation to the question, making the person who was about to order spicy hesitate for a moment. He then turned to order from the young woman who was probably the shop owner's granddaughter. After finishing, he turned to ask the 'master' if he wanted anything else, making Purin look up.

“Then I'll have another plate of grilled pork neck, Khrap.”

“But I already ordered grilled chicken, Phîi Porsche.”

“Come on, I want to eat it.” He couldn't protest why the order was redundant, but well, Phîi Porsche was paying, right (probably), which made the other party smile at him. Purin then turned to order drinks, completely unaware that what he'd ordered... was for this big-eyed junior himself.

“Heh heh, can you handle it?”

“D...damn... I can... I can handle it...”

After all the food was on the table, and Phîi Porsche nodded for him to start eating, Dear scooped a large mouthful of the delicious-looking som tam into his mouth. The flavor was perfectly blended. Even though it was very spicy, the kind of spice that satisfied the eater made the young man break into a bright smile, scooping away. He formed the sticky rice into balls, sending them into his mouth without pause. But by the third or fourth mouthful, the self-proclaimed spice-handler was almost crying, his nose and eyes running.

Especially when faced with the question accompanied by the two heh-heh laughs he absolutely hated, the person whose face was now deep red gritted his teeth and said.

“Want some water?” Purin said and poured Coke into a glass for the clear-faced junior, whose white skin on his cheeks was turning an intense, quite spectacular red—perhaps closer to... pitiful.

Gulp

No need to ask. The moment the glass was full, Dear grabbed it and sucked greedily, sticking out his deep red tongue and waving it around. The auntie shop owner, whose customers were now starting to trickle out, stepped over with concern.

“Can you handle it, dear?”

“I can, I can, Khrap, Auntie. M-more... is this medium spicy?” he asked between gulps of water, lifting his sweat-drenched face to look at the person who nodded. But he'd ordered medium spicy, right? This was spicy... fucking-level, understand?

“Huy, then for 'very spicy,' how many chilies is that, Auntie?” He'd heard that while poking around his food—at first, he hadn't seen the scary fresh color because he'd only found green bird's eye chilies all over the plate. Damn, it clearly deceived the eyes into thinking it wasn't spicy.

The question made the auntie walk back, grab a tray of garden chilies, and take a whole handful.

“This is very spicy. And this... is medium spicy.”

Sob, is that half a handful your medium spicy, Khrap? At my house, medium spicy is five chilies. Serves you right, Âi Dear. Serves you right for not believing Phîi Porsche's warning.

He could only tell himself, tears welling, because his pride was stuck in his throat. He'd said he could eat it, so he had to be able to eat it, right? Plus, Phîi Porsche was still looking over with smiling eyes that further hammered home the need to finish it. But inevitably, the teaser (he now knew Phîi Porsche was a damn teaser) slid the plate of grilled pork neck over to him—after the grilled chicken had been dipped into the som tam to counteract the spice—along with a wide smile.

“Here, in case you want some.”

Damn it!!! Annoyed, hey! Annoyed at Auntie, annoyed at Phîi Porsche, annoyed at the som tam, annoyed at that crazy foreigner who made som tam when—

“Ooy, spicyyyy! Spicy, hey!”

After paying for the meal, the person who was spicy to the point of a headache cried out to himself as if shouting would help relieve the burning. His pale hand held a tissue, dabbing at his completely sweat-damp face—his nose was running too, hey—until the person who had unlocked the car almost shook his head in amusement.

“Phîi Porsche, Phîi, I'm gonna run and buy a Coke first, okay? I can't take it anymore.”

Gulp

“You've had three bottles of Coke today. You'll get a stomachache later. I have water in the car.” But before he could run off, Purin grabbed his wrist in time. Perhaps it was the seemingly concerned gaze that made the listener nod emphatically, quickly moving around to his side of the car to look for the small water bottle often given as a bonus at gas stations. Finding it, he grabbed it, opened the bottle, and chugged a big gulp immediately.

The mannerism made Purin, who had taken his place in the driver's seat, look on with pity. Well, Dear's face was deep red now. His skin was extremely white, so the flush was more pronounced than on others.

“It doesn't stop the spiciness, damn it, Phîi,” the person who lowered the water bottle said with a pleading expression, his eyes brimming with tears from the spice.

Well, I told you it was okay if you couldn't eat it. But you were stubborn and finished the whole plate. No wonder you're in this state. Plus, he was still sticking his tongue out, waving his hand in front of his face.

Purin was silent in thought for just a moment before shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought. But the person beside him kept mumbling 'spicy' nonstop, sniffing hard until... he decided.

“Dear, stay still, okay.”

Huh? Stay still? What...

The spicy person could only stand still, stunned. Before he could even finish thinking why Phîi Porsche told him to be still, a big hand grabbed and locked onto his neck. Then that handsome face—that could make his heart tremble every single day—leaned down and pressed against his mouth quickly (again).

The third kiss. This time, it wasn't just a firm press. It wasn't just a light nibble. Purin was inserting the tip of his tongue through the part in his brightly red lips, which were now an even more intense red. A warmth that was almost hot swept in deep, touching the soft tongue and making its owner startle violently. He meant to pull back but was hindered by the big hand pushing his neck forward to receive the even heavier kiss.

A kiss that, if it were anyone else, Dear swore he'd punch their mouth bloody. But because it was Phîi Porsche.

Because it was Phîi Porsche.

The thoughts of the person who slowly closed his eyes. A small hand clutched the other's shirt tightly as the hot tongue glided over his own soft, intensely hot tongue, clinging and entangling until the sound of exchanged saliva echoed throughout the passenger cabin. The handsome face tilted further, finding the angle to press the kiss even tighter.

Every part of his mouth cavity was swept by the hot tongue, like a magic spell transforming the torturous spiciness into... a sweetness that seduced his heart.

It was warm. It was hot. But above all else... it was sweet.

From an initial intention of merely helping the younger brother in front of him, upon touching that sweetness, Purin shifted the angle again. Both hands held the other's neck firmly as he ground the kiss even more heavily, in a way that the little one himself responded to clumsily—until the sound of their lips meeting echoed loudly. It would probably have continued like that if not for...

“Mmm.” A soft moan escaped Dear's throat, making its owner's eyes fly open. He never thought he could make a moaning sound like an innocent young girl in this life. Purin froze for a moment, withdrawing his lips when he felt that just now... it had gone far beyond his initial intention.

Purin looked down at the young man breathing heavily, his intensely red lips smeared with clear fluid. He couldn't help but lift his thumb to wipe it away gently before pulling back. The handsome face turned away as if collecting himself for a brief moment.

“Is the spiciness gone?”

“Uh.... uh-huh... ha... it's gone, Khrap.” If before, he was in torturous spice, now Dear's face was burning hot, and he couldn't do anything either. I admit, I've dated women before, but it was puppy love. At most, lips touching lips. Plus, we never lasted three months before breaking up. Therefore, that damn good kiss just now... experiencing the real thing was also my first time.

And the spicy sensation from before... he admitted, now... only a stinging sensation remained, and... the warmth of the tongue tip that had touched and fondled everywhere.

“Hmm, good then. Next time, if you can't handle it, don't force it.” Purin turned back again, his handsome face displaying the same older brother smile as before. A big hand shook the other's head gently with endearment before he turned to start the car.

The mannerism made the listener blurt out a question.

“Phîi... Phîi Porsche, do you use this method to cure spiciness for everyone?” Would that be too forward, damn, Phîi? And like, it stabs in my chest, huh, thinking you might do this with other people.

The question made Purin fall silent for a moment before shaking his head.

“No....” Then he turned and gave a wide smile after starting the car. The answer that made the listener turn to face the window, definitely not turning back to make eye contact, sounded out.

“Well, no one has lips as red as yours, little one.”

“Phîi Porsche is damn crazy.” The same words escaped his mouth again as he pressed his lips together tightly. An answer like that means you kissed me because of my lip color again, right?

“And also this....”

“Yeah, I know my lips are soft. Just drive, Phîi. Turn away, damn it. Turn, paaaiiii!!!!” This time, he shouted loudly through the car, damn it, making the teasing older person burst into loud laughter. The strange atmosphere that had arisen vanished in the blink of an eye, even though the person laughing heartily was asking himself in a stressed voice.

What the hell have you done again, Purin?

A question Purin himself had no answer for, either.

***

In the early morning, when no student was diligent enough to be at the university yet, a tall figure in a dark shirt, jeans, and a shop shirt over it was standing annoyed next to his motorcycle—a veteran bike he'd used for years that had decided to be stubborn and die right in the middle of the road, even though his classroom building was just two buildings away.

“Stalled, damn it.” A low, gruff voice –that friends told him not to use at night because it sounded scary, like a bank robber– mumbled irritably. Looking down at his watch, seeing it was almost half past six, he didn't want to risk standing around as a target. He could only grab his phone and call a close friend.

“What is it?” His friend's voice was extremely sluggish, as if he didn't expect to be awakened for another 2 hours. The caller made an irritated face.

“My bike's busted, damn it. Come help me.”

“Like I can help you. I study controls, damn it, not mechanics!!” The reply from the other end was utterly heartless. This side was getting even more irritated.

“Come help me properly, okay? It's almost half past six. The first-year kids will see everything, damn it.” Words that seemed like they should make the person on the other end agree to get up and talk properly. Letting first-years see the wretched state of a Head wák third-year wasn't appropriate at all.

“And who told you to go to uni so early, damn Âi Oat? Don't break the concept of the Phîi wák. Go to class late.” Sai-Fah said annoyedly. Who said being a Phîi wák was easy? Aside from during cheer meetings, where they had to act like they were being chased by the mafia for debt, they had to hide from first-years everywhere, heads tucked away. They even had to hide in the department room at lunch, having friends bring food up, because it was almost a rule that Phîi wáks shouldn't show their faces during normal hours. Otherwise, it wouldn't be mysterious.

So, they had two choices: either arrive at the crack of dawn like Âi Oat, or be late, like when the teacher was already teaching, like Âi Sai-Fah here.

“So, are you gonna help me or not?”

“No, damn it. It's just past six. Push your bike under the building. No kid will see. Later

tonight, I'll have someone from home come tow it to get it fixed.” The answer made the Head wák curse at his friend irritably before hanging up. He stuffed his phone into his bag, feeling it was utterly useless. Spending that time arguing, I could've been the beloved junior pushing it under the building already.

The image of the large-built senior who had taken off his shop shirt and removed his backpack, slinging them over the bike seat, made those first-years—who shouldn't be around at this hour—furrow their brows together.

That black-shirt Phîi wák, right?

Dear, who couldn't sleep (again) because of that heart-shaking kiss, could only stand hesitating after getting out of the car. That fierce-looking senior with a shadow of stubble like a great bandit was definitely the wák who had scolded him last Friday. But his annoyed demeanor with his phone and the motorcycle left Dear unsettled.

Help... don't help... help... don't help...

Ooy, Âi Dear, forget it. What's there to be afraid of with just a Phîi wák?

Finally, the good person (who never realized how much his friends worried about him) walked over bravely yet fearfully, following the person with the motorcycle—a minibike that wasn't as big as a sports bike but wasn't as small as a regular motorcycle either.

“Uh, Phîi, Khrap.”

And then, Âi Sai-Fah, where'd you say the kids weren't coming yet?!

The person grumbling curses at his friend secretly sighed, then immediately put on a fierce face, not caring that he himself was with his bike in a less-than-presentable state. He turned with a snap to look at the person who had addressed him.

“What?!”

“Uh... shall I help, Khrap?” Even though the junior in front of him flinched slightly, he tried to offer a smile. Oat narrowed his eyes a bit, then remembered.

“Khun... Daranpat.”

“Uh... Khrap, I'm Daranpat, Khrap.” Dear could only hurriedly accept the address. I admit, I couldn't help but be afraid. Well, on Friday, he went off until some of the girls were crying, you know? And now I'm facing that uneducated psychopath (as Âi Shin calls him).

“Do you have business?” Even though he was secretly taken aback by the smile and the big eyes looking directly at him, in his position as a Phîi wák, he could only ask in a stern voice. The person in front of him glanced at his minibike.

“Shall I help, Khrap?”

“No need. You go study.” Oat said in a voice even sterner than before, as if pressuring the junior not to bother with him. But the listener clearly looked hesitant. Perhaps it was because he saw his shirt, already soaked from trying to start the bike for nearly twenty minutes, that made that stubborn head shake back and forth.

“Let me help, please, Khrap. I have class at nine.” Dear still insisted on helping. It was clear the senior in front wasn't too pleased, judging by his thick, furrowed brows.

“I'm a Phîi ra-bìap, you know,” the large-built person emphasized again, as if indirectly warning that messing with a Phîi wák—or, more nicely, a Phîi ra-bìap—would make life difficult. But that only made the kid in front blink rapidly and lift a hand to scratch his cheek.

“Uh.... is there a rule against helping a Phîi ra-bìap, Khrap?”

If he'd made a face just a bit more annoyingly provocative, Oat was sure he would have yelled at him for disrespect. But the innocent manner and the eyes looking straight back made the listener sigh heavily and throw both his bag and shop shirt into the young man's face, who received them almost too late.

“Just help carry that, then.” Even though he was secretly annoyed at having things thrown at him, the listener nodded emphatically and offered a friendly smile. He walked around to the other side of the motorcycle, which the large-built senior was steadily pushing along. I want to help more than this, you know, but I don't know how.

The smile made the recipient turn away. Just as he thought the senior would be silent as a log, suddenly, that stern, scary-sounding voice spoke up.

“You have class at nine. Why are you here so early?”

"Ah..."

Too lazy to be shy in the morning, so I ran out early, that's all. Answer like that, and he'll surely think I'm crazy.

“Uh... ah.... I... woke up early, Khrap. Heh heh.” He said this with his head bowed. It seemed the other party didn't really want an answer, other than to break the silence. The rest of the way was spent in complete silence, making him feel that this Phîi wák was scary even when he wasn't speaking.

“Here, Phîi.” Once they reached the building, Dear placed all the things he'd helped carry onto the leather seat. He raised his hand in a respectful wai as a junior should, then turned to leave, seeing the senior in front wasn't saying anything.

“Daranpat.”

“Khrap?” He turned back, confused, before noticing the corner of the mouth—which had been a straight line the whole time, covered in stubble—curve up just a bit.

“Thank you.”

The words made Dear quickly bow and then walk towards the adjacent building. He couldn't help but feel that the senior was also... not as fierce as he looked.

Ooy, these Phîi wáks, these Phîi ra-bìap... What's there to be afraid of? It's all an act. My friend Jae, who likes to scream and say they're cute, was a wák before too. They just create situations for the juniors to bond, create relationships between seniors and juniors to build connections. Too lazy to reveal it, but you'd know each one is crazier than you think.

“Probably true, like Jae Dream said.” He shrugged, not caring much.

Unlike the person busy with his own motorcycle, who looked up. A smile that was extremely rare and the kind friends said sometimes made his quiet demeanor scary rose uncontrollably.

Daranpat, huh?