Chapter Text
*
Fuck, that was good. Gently setting down his chopsticks, Rain absentmindedly rubbed his belly, which felt almost uncomfortably full, in the best way.
P’Phayu had ordered sushi—the good stuff—that cost an arm and a leg and practically melted in your mouth—the kind of sushi made by an actual Itamae in a sushi bar.
“You’ve ruined me.” Rain jokingly grumbled.
Phayu, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, stared. An eyebrow rose questioningly, and Rain flushed when he realized how dirty that sounded.
Scratching the back of his head, he elaborated, “I was referring to the sushi. Seriously, I’m never going to be able to eat the prepackaged knockoffs from the grocery store ever again.”
He wasn’t lying, either. His bi-monthly treat evaporated in a puff of smoke the instant he tried one of over a dozen different rolls. Dragon rolls, Rainbow rolls, Spicy Salmon, Spicy Tuna, and Crispy Mango rolls—that one might be his new favourite.
“You’re welcome?” Phayu has the audacity to chuckle, as though he hasn’t royally blown Rain’s mind and tastebuds.
“I should probably say thank you,” Rain admitted.
For letting me borrow your shower…and for feeding me.
“For expanding my horizons and saving my wallet.”
With a shy smile, Rain nervously picks at the cuticles of his thumb before scanning the apartment. It’s a reasonably sized space with an open floor plan. Despite its minimalist aesthetic, it feels warm.
An acoustic guitar rests beside the bookshelves that run the length of the room. Various scale model cars dot the shelves, and a stack of car magazines is on the coffee table—the latest issues going by the covers, Rain notes. He’d flipped through them at work whenever he was in charge of restocking the magazine racks. Mostly out of curiosity but also because they tended to have a lot of helpful information on various topics.
A king-sized bed occupies the far wall, and for a moment, Rain stares. He hadn't noticed it until now, but the bed was the room’s focal point. Red silk lines the jet black duvet like a ribbon of blood.
The contrast is so stark that Rain very nearly says what he’s thinking, aloud.
This is a total fuck pad.
“Would you like a beer?” Phayu asks, jolting Rain out of his thoughts. He takes Rain's plate and stacks it on his own, patiently waiting for him to answer.
“Ah,” Rain shakes his head, “I don’t drink. But please, go ahead.”
If Phayu is surprised or even offended by Rain’s answer, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he suggests, “How about a coffee instead?”
Warmth bloomed in Rain’s chest. “I’d like that.”
Focusing on the empty take-out containers scattered across the table, Rain cleared the table with practiced efficiency, stacking empty containers and putting them back into the plastic bags they had arrived in, while Phayu placed the dishes into the sink.
*
It’s a little after nine when Rain yawns, his eyes crinkling shut as he covers his mouth with his hand. “Sor—” Another yawn escapes, “—ry.”
“It’s alright,” Phayu smiled, mug cradled in his hands. “It’s late.”
Rain had been fighting sleep for nearly thirty minutes, but Phayu didn’t have the heart to move from the sofa, let alone suggest calling it a night. Talking to Rain is easy. Comfortable. Rain isn’t the type of person to beat around the bush. He speaks his mind with a vibrancy that would put a golden retriever to shame. It’s refreshing, and Phayu will admit to being enamoured. Ever so slightly.
“Mn.” Rain agreed with a hum, stretching awkwardly as he tried not to jostle his arm. “I should probably call it a night.”
The pout on his face is full of regret when he finally sighs, arm dropping into his lap listlessly as he stares at their reflections in the windows opposite the sofa. The overhead lights dimly light the garage bays beyond the tempered glass, and Phayu knows the mechanics have long since called it a night.
“Sleep here tonight?”
Rain's eyes widened comically as he whips his head around, looking at the bed and then Phayu.
“Here?” Rain’s voice cracked before raising an octave as his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “With you?” There’s an undercurrent of hesitancy in his question that gives away how nervous he really is.
It isn’t difficult to imagine what must be running through Rain’s mind as he tries, and fails, to avoid looking at the bed. Phayu knows without a doubt that, while his offer is completely innocent, it sounded like a proposition and, going by the flush on Rain’s cheeks, had been taken as one.
As much as he enjoyed teasing Rain, he didn’t want to scare the man off. Not when Rain looks like he’s on the verge of running.
“Just to sleep. I’ll take the sofa.”
The words are barely out of his mouth before Rain protests, “I couldn’t!”
He looks horrified at the thought of kicking Phayu out of his own bed.
“You are under no obligation to stay, Rain. I only offered because I know how cold it gets in the shop at night. If you want to stay the night up here, you are more than welcome to the bed or the sofa. But if you aren’t comfortable with that, there’s no pressure. Okay?”
“You know that I…” Rain wets his lips.
“Live in your car?” Phayu asks quietly, setting his mug on the coffee table with care. “It’s kind of hard to miss.”
Rain winced, clearly embarrassed.
“I just want you to be comfortable and safe, Rain. That’s all.”
When Rain finally seems to realize the gravity of Phayu’s seriousness, tension bleeds from his shoulders as he relaxes almost bonelessly into the sofa. His expression softens into a look of relieved gratitude.
“Thank you for caring, Phi.”
*
Rain slept in his car that night.
*
If Monday was cursed, then Tuesday was a test in patience. In other words, hell on earth.
“RAIN! GET YOUR SKINNY ASS IN HERE!”
Rain’s head whipped up from the shelf he was in the middle of filling. The can of beans in his hand hit the shelf with a sharp clank as his stomach sank. Adjusting the strap of his sling, Rain worried his bottom lip between his teeth.
He’d hoped to evade his manager’s ire. Maybe have a calm, productive day. But no, that’s clearly too much to ask for.
“I’ll finish shelving this,” P’Hoon said as he put down the box he’d been carrying down the aisle. “You’d better see what P’Stop wants before he— ”
“RAIN!”
“Screams.” P’Hoon sighed, shooting wandering customers apologetic looks.
“Fuck me.” Rain groaned under his breath.
“Not interested.”
Flipping the other man off, Rain practically raced to P’Stop’s office before the bastard screamed again. His wrist burns with every quick step and unintentional jostle.
Swallowing down the urge to curse, Rain pasted a rather flat smile to his face and bit his tongue.
P’Stop paced the tiny office like a caged bull, his anger palpable as he stormed back and forth, nearly frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog.
As much as he wished he could be anywhere but here, Rain forced himself over the threshold and mentally prepared to be verbally eviscerated for the hundredth time this month. He wondered—albeit half-heartedly—what set P’Stop off this time.
“Phi?”
“Rain.” P’Stop’s voice could probably cut glass, for all that it emulates obsidian. Sharp and pointed. The ugly, unreadable look in his eyes sets Rain’s teeth on edge.
I should have called in sick. Better yet, he should have stayed at the garage with P’Phayu.
“Phi?”
“Would you care to explain?”
A confused noise escapes Rain’s mouth before he can stop himself, and for a moment, it feels as though P’Stop wants to cross the room and wring Rain’s skinny neck. Rain takes a nervous step back, jumping when he bumps into the shelf next to the door.
P’Stop might be a wannabe biker, sporting form-fitting jeans, a silk shirt, and a leather jacket, but he has all the ire of a pissed off chihuahua, and the bite to back it up. A low-level mafioso with a pretty face, a shit personality and a bone to pick. And that bone has a name: Rain.
“Your arm, you idiot.”
My arm?
“It’s my wrist actually—”
The words died in Rain’s mouth when the look on P’Stop’s face twists into an expression that screams, ‘does it look like I give a shit?’
There is no sympathy in his gaze, only accusation, as though Rain had purposefully broken his wrist to get out of work.
Which is total bullshit, but here we are.
“How long until the cast comes off?”
“Six weeks…”
The doctor had said six to eight weeks, but Rain wasn’t about to argue semantics. He fiddles with the edge of his sling, nervously.
"Consider yourself fired.”
“I—what?”
He did it. The bastard actually did it.
Rain knew P’Stop had been looking for an excuse to fire him for months. The man had never liked Rain. And now, due to circumstances beyond Rain’s control, his manager finally had one.
“Fired, Rainy-boy. Do you need your ears checked? I hired you expecting you to use two hands, not one.”
“If you’re worried that I won’t be able to complete my tasks, I already worked it out with P’Hoon. We have everything covered—”
P’Stop raised a hand sharply, his eyes glinting with a fierce warning. "Honestly, I couldn’t care less. You’re done here," he stated, his voice firm and unyielding.
With a swift motion, he snatched an envelope from the cluttered desk and strode purposefully across the cramped room, the tension crackling in the air. Leaning close into Rain’s personal bubble, he slid the envelope into the soft fabric of Rain’s sling with a determined flick. "Here’s your pay," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Empty your locker.”
Biting his tongue, Rain breathes shallowly. Tears prickled the backs of his eyes, but he wouldn’t give P’Stop the satisfaction of seeing him cry. It wasn’t fair.
I came in early…for this? Fuck you Phi. I’m glad I never have to see your ugly face again. You are the worst manager in the history of managers, and I’m sure there’s a special place in hell with your name on it.
“If that’s your decision. Alright. I’ll go.” He fished the store keys from his pocket and handed them over listlessly before departing the office with his head held high.
Fuck.
*