Chapter Text
That Monday already gave indications that it would be another day of struggle for Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat, when the loud noise of a thunder woke him up that morning. It made him wake up with a jolt, at the same time that the shrill alarm of his cellphone rang. Outside, the heavy, dark clouds foretold a chaotic day, and when his warm-sheeted feet touched the cold porcelain floor, a shiver ran through his body.
The shower didn't last even 10 minutes, and breakfast was made and hurriedly swallowed in the kitchen of the house he shared with his older brother Porsche- who at the moment was practically living at work, since he became a bodyguard for a rich businessman from Bangkok’s city. Or so his brother described his most recent boss -. But of course, in his rush, he forgot the salt and burned his tongue, drank the cold milk straight from the box, spilling a little on his black knit blouse. Finally, ended up wearing his shoes without socks, to not miss the bus that would take him to college, almost forgetting the black coat and the umbrella on the door.
"I hope nothing happens on the way. The traffic sucks when it rains" - he thought as he fixed his freshly cut straight black hair, when he arrived at the bus stop.
He fervently hoped that nothing worse would happen that day, because despite waking up on time, he wanted to be at college as early as possible. His heart sped up just picking up his cell phone and rereading the message from his friend Nuea, a colleague in the journalism course at Chulalongkorn University, with whom he was also an intern at the Bangkok Post, the country's main news newspaper. He could still remember the pride in his brother's voice and the look on his face when Chay had announced he'd passed the difficult selection process. There were three weeks between interviews and then writing columns as a test, to finally hear the long-awaited yes from his supervisor.
Our parents are as proud as I am of you, Chay. I'm sure you will be the best there and everyone will hear from the great columnist Chay Pachara, you can wait. It will show that people of humble origins like ours can also win. I love you.
Remembering that moment still filled him with pride and put a smile on his face, but when looking at the message,it took some of that feeling away, and nervousness and anxiety attacked again:
Chay, I finally got the number!!!! 662-687-909 ! And you can trust your daddy here, that the source is TOTALLY reliable. Trust me, that's the correct number. Now get to our classroom early. We need to think about what you're going to say to get this interview. And no need to say thanks, just buy me a drink at The Cave ;)!
Taking a deep breath, he glanced out the window and saw that the rain was finally starting to fall, but the traffic still wasn't that bad and luckily, he didn't live that far from the university.
Chay wasn't a superstitious person, but his mother used to say that rain meant blessings, so he hoped she was right about it. He really hoped Nuea had gotten the number right. His chance to be hired at the newspaper in the future depended on that interview. He had already fought hard to get a full scholarship there, and he wasn't going to fail in his last work for the semester.
As he passed one of the main avenues in the city, he saw the reason for his torment for the last eight days, staring at him from a billboard. Kim Theerapanyakun, artistically known as WIK, wore a white T-shirt with the word HUMAN written in bold black letters and black leather pants, two hoops shining in one ear, as he held a red guitar propped up on one of his crossed legs. The dates of his next show announced that, in two weeks, Bangkok would have another show of his.
The smile was discreet and charming and a dimple appeared in the left corner of those beautiful lips, but it was the eyes that captivated the young student from the beginning. They were dark and mysterious, protected by long, full lashes, and seemed to hold secrets capable of imprisoning anyone who dared to try to unravel each one of them.
He didn't know why, but from the first moment he heard about the singer when he was 17 years old - today he was 20-, despite not considering himself a fan, he caught himself listening to his songs and feeling something when he looked into those eyes... His chest felt tight, as if the air was missing for a few minutes. At that time, he already knew his sexual preference well and although he still tried to be with some girls, it was boys who attracted him the most. And he was even more sure, when he looked at the picture of that singer in a magazine 3 years ago.
"But every pretty face hides something, and you especially don't you, WIK?"
The Theerapanyakuns were one of the oldest families in Thailand, and they came to have connections with the royal family at some distant point in history. Currently, they’re one of the most respected and richest in the country, owned several businesses, including restaurants, hospitals, supermarkets and even music and film production studios.
They were like a great octopus whose tentacles extended to different enterprises and corners of the country. There was no escaping that name. Word has it that the patriarch, Khun Korn, even maintains ties to the criminal underworld, but that's not something Chay or even his small circle of friends at Bangkok Jornal believe. Either way, Kim was the only one who wasn't meddled with running the family business, that being a role played by the two older brothers, Tankhun and Kinn AnnakinTheerapanyakun. However, Nuea was the only one who still had doubts about that.
“Think about it, man, someone so rich who owns so much... Rich people, I'm surem always try to find a way to cheat just to get more money and pay less taxes, I don't know.”
“Yeah, but it's one thing for you to commit a tax crime, it's another to mess with the Mafia, Nu .”- and he always rolled his eyes when his friend insisted with some pointless argument.
Anyway, he at least agreed with his friend's talk about rich people and their mania for always trying to earn more and make things easier for themselves. Chay would hear conversations from veteran journalists who covered this kind of tax stuff in the paper, and some commented on how the Theerapanyakuns received advantages in some negotiations with the government, when they opened a new business in some cities in the country.
Other than that, Kim's brothers were always on the front pages of newspapers and magazines. Kinn for the different men he was seen with every other month and Tankhun, the eldest, for the extravagant way he dressed and for the famous parties he used to throw and which always attracted famous people from all over the world. Of those two brothers, some life’s details and business were known, but Kim was the most reserved of them all. He was never seen with anyone in an awkward or intimate situation, he was always the epitome of politeness, courtesy and elegance, wherever he walked or was seen.
And it wasn't for lack of trying to investigate the boy's life. Ever since his editor-in-chief P'Athee had called him into the conference room and given him the assignment to write a column on the famous and elusive WIK, Chay had pored over articles after articles, and looked over all the sites available on google about the famous singer and youngest son of Korn Theerapanyakun. All he had gotten was the basic stuff typical of a magazine article for hysterical teenagers: zodiac sign, color and favorite music, movie and fun childhood stories with his brothers. Nothing that really said who Kim was.
And it drove him crazy.
"No one is that perfect. He must have some crack in that cold facade. And I'm going to find it out."
—-----------
When he finally arrived at the university, he quickened his steps to one of the rooms on the third floor, which were still empty at the time, and found Nuea pacing back and forth peering through the windows, as if looking for him.
Smiling, he entered the room clapping his hands, and startling his friend, who screamed as he turned to face him.
"Porchay, you idiot! Are you trying to kill me? After I took the risk to go after that number?"
"Hahahahaha, sorry, Nu, but I couldn't resist." Patting his friend's shoulder reassuringly, Nu shrugged his hand off with a pout and annoyed expression, and took a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of his battered jeans, handing it to his classmate:
"It's here. And you won't believe how I’ve got it!"
His friend's excited expression made him suspicious, as he opened the paper and stared at the number written in a handwriting that was not Nuea’s
"How did you get that number? Or rather, from whom?" he felt his shoulders tense, because if there was one thing similar between the two of them, it was how stubborn they were and how much they spared no effort to get what they wanted. It was that incessant curiosity and enormous willpower that would make them two good journalists, according to P'Athee.
They were once able to arrange an interview with a CEO of a North American company for their supervisor, after countless phone calls and emails, until Porchay discovered that the man was on good terms with an economics professor at their University. Then, after three weeks, they finally got the story. The veteran journalist bought himself and the rest of the interns dinner in celebration.
Chay didn't know if his friend had harassed anyone at this point, or worse, stolen the number.
"Connections, my friend. Remember that colleague of mine, Prachan, who is being tutored by the professor who also taught WIK?"
He had a vague recollection of a tall young man with dyed blond hair who had gone out to bars with them at night, two or three times.
"Yes... A blond guy?"
"That's the one! I said I needed to write a story about WIK, a case of life or death in the internship, but I didn’t know how to get in touch with his people, so I needed his personal contact. And since Professor Thorn still keeps in touch with WIK because of that social project, he just had to take a look at the man's cell phone and try to get the number for me."
That made the boy's heart stop and then beat 10 times faster in his chest. Trembling hands gripped Nuea's shoulders to shake him.
"What the fuck? Have you LOST YOUR MIND?? WE AGREED THAT WE WOULDN'T DO THAT TYPE OF THING!"
Nuea turned his face towards the door to see if anyone had heard Chay's scream but, luckily, it was still empty.
" Shh, man, keep your voice down. He did it. That's what matters, and he only asked us to do one thing in return: convince the newspaper to write an article about the festival they want to do here at the university, organized by music students. He didn't ask for money or anything illegal in return. Everyone wins. And you'll be able to write your article. You should thank me! He tried his best to get in touch through the right means."
"But what if we can't write that story later, so what?" - He wanted to hit Nuea's head against the wall, or perhaps his own, because he thought he could count on the common sense of the person in front of him.
"He's not going to be so stupid to tell the professor what he did. The guy is desperate for attention because if the event goes well, he wins. And I doubt you'll get a no from the boss, after you write the best story anyone has ever read about WIK. It will be two weeks of shows, you'll be able to charm the guy, I know. Nobody can resist the charm of the Kittisawats, isn't that what you say?"
He didn't know whether to punch his friend after he still gave him a naughty wink, or give in to his logical reasoning, because the worst was that he was right. But there was still the matter of Kim himself wanting to talk to him, let alone answer the phone, coming from an unregistered number. Although, people get calls from strange numbers every day.
His hands released Nuea and held the paper again, his heart racing again, his hands getting cold, breathing faster. That number was what he needed the most at the moment and what could guarantee him a great future. The bridge between him and WIK.
"But... But then h-how do I talk? He can say no, hang up on me and block the number, and then bye-bye articles. And what do I call him? From WIK? From Khun Theerapanyakun, from what? Damn it? , I hate to be nervous like that!"
He bit his lip as he was now pacing back and forth. I wish I could call Porsche and ask for advice, but I couldn't. But Nuea's low, calm voice made him stop and look at him again:
"Hey, Chay, be you. Call it whatever you feel like it at the time, but remember you've made it to so many places. You're good at what you do, and you work in the place you've always wanted to. One more step, man. The moment you go up, it's over. And there won't be one person who's going to stop you from achieving that.
His throat tightened, and at that moment, he could only hug his emotional friend. His eyes watered as he could only whisper:
"Thanks.. I know you root for me, and sometimes I wonder if you hit it right in the head, but I know I can count on you."
"Always my bro. But if we're cell-sharing one day because of this job, I'll take the top bed."
A laugh escaped Chay's mouth as they parted, and patting Nuea's shoulder, he couldn't help but comment:
"You watch too many American shows, Nu. If you have bunks in prison, we're lucky."
-------
That morning classes dragged on, with a torrential rain falling from the sky above Bangkok, mercilessly. Meanwhile, the phone number of the city's most coveted artist couldn't get out of his head. It was impossible to listen to the Journalistic Reporting Techniques teacher's class, while the only thing that echoed in his mind were those numbers and the image of the billboard he had seen earlier.
As soon as the last class of the day was over, he ran for the door, closely followed by his fellow intern, and together they made their way to a more secluded area of the university, so that Chay could finally make his first attempt. They only had two hours until their shift at the Jornal began. And they would still have to get out of there in the rain.
Taking a deep breath, with trembling fingers, Chay dialed in the numbers, and waited. Nuea watched, arms crossed, leaning against one of the cold walls.
With each ring, he felt more nervous, but he tried to focus on his goal.
Nothing. Mailbox.
Second attempt.
Nothing. Mailbox.
Third attempt.
Same thing. Again.
By now he could feel the anger and frustration taking over his body.
"Either he's ignoring me or he's not near the phone." He glared at his cell phone screen as if the device itself had offended him.
His friend sighed, walking over to him and pulling him by the arm.
"Let's grab a bite to eat and try to get to the office on time. He might be working right now, Chay. After all, he's got a series of gigs to do. Let's go. You try there, or wait for him to call back."
He could only snort and think to himself, " Yeah. Like he's going to do that. It's easier for me to make the rain stop."
----------
He hated and loved being right.
The afternoon passed and soon he left and went straight home, as he was not in the mood to join his colleagues on another outing to some random bar. He had spent the entire afternoon looking at his cell phone.
Porchay got home, took off his clothes on the way to the bathroom, and stood under the warm water for a long time, until his stomach rumbled. Wearing an old sweatshirt with a picture of Bowie and a pair of old and frayed but comfortable fabric pants, he went to the kitchen and started preparing dinner. He ate it staring at his old family photo, the smiling faces of his late parents, and Porsche, and suddenly his chest swelled with courage. He had to try again. For them.
He left the KHAO PAD to cool on the table and took out his cell phone, re-entering the fateful numbers, which he had now memorized in his head.
"You’re gonna answer me, or you're gonna have to change the number, with so many calls you're about to get. If that's your number, WIK."
He was ready to call all night if need be.
He took a deep breath, already expecting to have to make the second call when the ringtone was interrupted and the low, melodic voice spoke on the other end of the line, making everything stop for a moment.
"Whoever it is, I hope you have a good reason to pull me out of my last rehearsal session."
"Ah... SHIT. He picked up. Think, Chay, THINK."
He swallowed hard, but calmly spoke the only thing that came to his mind:
"Is the chance for someone with real talent to write something about you that doesn't sound like a ridiculous and superficial article in a Teen magazine, a good reason enough, Khun Kim?"
His tone might have sounded a bit cocky, but he had a feeling this man had his share of cockiness too ?
The awkward silence lasted for a few minutes. Porchay thought he would hang up on him, but the sound of a breath being released on the other side told Chay he was wrong.
"You know that doing what any newspaper would do, which is getting my number in some illicit way, doesn't convince me that you would be the right person. Don't you think , journalist?" - The sarcastic tone was like a punch to his pride, and made him close his eyes and turn his back on the family photo.
"point for him."
"My methods for finally getting in touch may not have been so original, but I don't intend to repeat the same mistake in my writings. It would be stupid if at the beginning of my profession I copied the mediocre writing of these Bangkok gossip newspapers. I want to you to give me a chance, and I'll give you one, to show who you really are."
The low, melodious laugh on the other side gave him an odd feeling in his stomach. One hand tightened on the sweatshirt that covered the area, and an alarm sounded in his head.
"Don't you dare feel anything for that sound. Don't be an idiot. You need to convince him to say yes."
" And why do you think I would be interested in showing thousands of people I don't know, who I really am? I don't need that. I don't even want to. Singing is my profession, what I love to do. Just that, mr. Journalist."
That made him frown, finding the artist's words strange, and he let indignation set the tone for his words:
"What do you mean? You once said that your songs were a way to open up and communicate with the public. That part of you was in those lyrics!"
A sigh sounded from the other side.
"Yes. And I also said that singing gave me the freedom I wanted. Congratulations, you did your basic homework, but I meant just that. Part of me. I have no obligation to reveal or share more. And if you think I'm going to help you write an intimate article about my psyche and my real self, I think it's time to end the call and show you that you're wrong."
"What? Who does he think he is?"
"I'm a journalist, not a psychologist! And all I want to write is about your story, about your shows, about your artistic side, because clearly your true self is far from nice. It's clear to me that this side of you is an illusion."
He knew he was being rude, but he couldn't help but say what came from his heart. Chay was always honest with everyone he talked to. Sometimes too honest, according to his brother.
Again silence reigned. He noticed his agitated breathing and tried to calm down. He'd probably screwed up, but he wouldn't give up now, or later. He needed to show that arrogant man that he was different and capable.
"What's your name and what newspaper do you work for?" - The tone was neutral, giving no indication of what the person on the other side felt at the moment.
It was all or nothing.
"Ah...Porchay Pichaya kittisawat, and I work at the Bangkok Post"
“Hmm…Porchay Pichaya kittisawat”- the sound of the letters of his name in that voice sent a different shiver down his spine, warming his body. He held the cell phone tighter to his ear.
"Well, Porchay of the Bangkok Post, I think you should remember to be polite to anyone who you want to do an interview with. But I think I've helped enough for today, I feel like we've learned a lesson, you and I."
"What lesson?" What was he talking about, for God's sake?
"Me, to never answer unknown numbers again, and you to not be rude to your future interviewee. Not that in that case there will be a future for us."
Porchay felt like WIK was going to hang up on him, and he couldn't allow it, not without showing this man that he wasn't one to give up easily.
"If you hang up now, know that I won't give up. You know the Bangkok Post. We are a respected newspaper, and I went through one of the most difficult admissions processes to be part of it, so challenges don't scare me. And the moment you hang up, you’ll become my biggest challenge, Khun Kim."
Once again that magnetic laugh sounded from the other side. He almost dropped the phone when he heard his last words:
"You're interesting, Porchay. I'm going to enjoy making you dance."
The call ended. Chay stared at the screen in disbelief at what he'd just heard.
"What did he mean by that?" Those words seemed to carry more weight than they appeared. He felt like he had just committed himself to something bigger than he could handle. But there was no turning back. It was his future at stake, and not even a singer born in a golden cradle would stop him.
"If you're going to make me dance, whatever that means, know that I'm the one who is gonna set the pace, Kim."