Chapter Text
he resents this feeling- of sharp claws raking the walls of his chest, opening old scars for them to bleed again, soaking his entire existence in another bloodbath of remorse and unwanted memories. the bile in his throat is a constant, an inevitable aftertaste that vegas has to swallow every time he sees crimson on pete's body that isn't from their play games of pleasure and passion. it's from protecting vegas, from the gunfight and physical brawl, just for vegas to escape safely, no lines mar even an inch of his skin.
he hates pete sometimes. all the time. for being so straightforward and loyal to his job. with the title bodyguard, he honourably carries anywhere he goes. because what pete is to vegas- has always been more. and what his heart wants, vegas tentatively listens for the first time, is for pete to survive. he shouldn't die. he can't die. not on vegas' watch.
pete exits the bathroom, freshly showered. water droplets cling onto the ends of his hair, descend to his chest and disappear into the towel wrapped around his waist. vegas sees the cut on his left bicep, still red and swelling at the sides. it has stopped bleeding ages ago, but vegas can't help but wonder if it hurts. if pete wants any painkiller or medication that can stop the pain-
"hey," pete calls, his voice gentle, halting the tsunami of thoughts swirling in vegas' messed-up head.
vegas stares at pete, and examines the other with his eyes, but nothing hurts him more than the smile on pete's face, burning bright as the sun that lures icarus into their trap. and vegas feels his wings are melting. slowly. until they disappear like specks of dust. like they never existed. vegas free falls to the ground, ready to meet his impending death. but he's breathing, living, because the warmth of pete saves him from the impact, like a duvet that nestles vegas safely in their net. it breaks vegas more than anything he has ever experienced.
if the bullet pierces into pete's chest instead? what will happen then? his mind can't even make scenarios of the alternate possibilities. if death is the ending to those stories, then vegas doesn't want to read them.
the sun leaves an imprint on his hand as pete laces their fingers together. vegas is on hyperalert, careful not to inflict strain on the deep wound. he can only heave a heavy sigh, burdened by the emotions vegas doesn't welcome but makes way into his heart, unnoticed, unwilling.
"i'm alive," pete mutters under his breath. but vegas can't even look at him, can't even form a smile, a fake smile he's so used to wearing.
"hey- ah-"
vegas slaps the hand away, avoiding contact. if pete touches him, vegas will disintegrate. it's enough that pete saves him from the downfall. he can't risk losing pete because of this unsettling wrath. vegas doesn't want to hurt pete in any shape or form. not like this.
"stop it," he hisses, a sign of warning.
pete looks torn. the corner of his lips twitch from the surprise. the blue of calmness subsides, and pete is all grey now. vegas can't believe his heart is stammering in his chest, but it's not because of joy. it's painful. he can't take this anymore.
"vegas, look at me?"
he chews his bottom lip, hoping he could extract blood, and maybe the taste of iron on his tongue can divert the demons' attention elsewhere. in his mind, it's all cloudy, foggy, with ideas that kill rather than mend. all vegas wants is for these voices to stop.
pete is as stubborn as vegas is. he forgets this often. and pete is always ready to fight him, push vegas to the corner and watch him almost slip, relishing the look of terror in vegas' eyes. vegas holds that side of pete dear to his heart- just because the resonance of wickedness they share is awfully intimate, and vegas devours the immoral sweetness like a madman. but this is not it. it's not the sinful desire they both reckon. how many times will he be on the doorstep of death, watching pete taking his stance instead?
pete holds him by the chin. he exerts a bit of force for their eyes to meet, demanding, taking solely a yes as the answer. the room is dark. only the flicker of orange light illuminates pete's face in their grace, softening the rough edges of past scars on his skin. the lines that vegas traces every night before he falls asleep is evident under the rays, shining like a remembrance, burning in the back of his mind like firecrackers.
he can't look at pete without feeling like a failure. he can't stare into pete's eyes without this familiar guilt and unworthiness.
but the touch along his jaw is tender, like cotton, like butterfly kisses, always gentle, mending and breaking vegas' shattered heart. pete looks at him with the same awe, but the fondness in his eyes is what sets him apart from the pete he knew months prior. this gentleness is only for vegas. pete carves that designated spot in his heart for vegas to call home. and who is he to step into that space empty-handed? he isn't worth it. vegas has never been worthy of anything-
pete eases the lines of uncertainty on vegas' forehead, doodling lines or shapes vegas can't decipher. the comforting ardour is now on vegas' cheek. pete's thumb circles the cold skin, providing comfort, grounding vegas from straying too far. his eyes move back and forth from vegas' eyes to his lips, and that's enough to rekindle the flame of affection vegas has tried so hard to keep at bay.
"why are you thinking so much, hm? i'm still here, injured- yes- but alive. doesn't that matter?" pete's voice is melodious, like a tune of lullabies no one has ever sang to him, but he heard them a lot in the cartoons he watched growing up. it's lovely, almost surreal, and it makes vegas feel like a child again, seeking protection from a mother. the fear he has of his father can't quite compare to this- the terror of not hearing pete's voice ever again.
he chokes up. emotions are a mesh that envelops his heart, preventing them from pulsing.
vegas doesn't say anything.
pete laughs, trying to enlighten the mood. "you're overreacting!" he says, pinching the supple skin of vegas' bony cheek. but there's no response. even if vegas' eyes are on pete, his soul is hollow, an empty shell, void of anything other than dread. he can't explain this feeling in words. vegas helplessly allows the pain to consume him in silence.
"am i talking to a wall?" pete thunders, irritated. a low groan escapes his throat, threatening vegas to admit defeat. "i think talking to a wall won't be so frustrating as this, eh?"
vegas doesn't answer.
vegas immediately creates a distance between them, sensing pete's confusion and anger, running away before pete can think of killing him. but pete, the kind pete, stops him from scooting afar, his fingers imprint a scalding scar around vegas' wrist, holding him captive.
"talk to me," pete pleads. the tremor in pete's voice is clear as day. "vegas?"
he shakes his head. "i don't want to."
"why?"
"i don't know, okay!" vegas explodes. his voice rises an octave higher, cutting through the silence of the night. fuck, he curses. the unshed tears in his eyes sting so much that vegas grunts under his breath. he hates how weak he appears right now, especially in front of the bodyguard. he despises how he's taking pete into a spiral of doom again. why can't he stop being so flawed just this once?
the notion of not knowing is absolutely daunting. it's killing vegas so slowly from the inside, like poison. he drinks to the last drop and waits for the effect, but it's not coming. why is he still breathing?
pete embraces him, all of him. pete picks the broken pieces, foolishly carrying them with his bare hands, and the blood oozes from his skin like niagara, but pete is loyal. pete never lets go, no matter how aggressive vegas gets, how desperate he is to escape. the scar bleeds again. vegas knows from the hot stickiness on his fingers. but there are so many unnamed emotions in his heart and mind that he's blinded. he can't see a way to flee.
even in pete's arms, vegas can't find the usual peace he loftily cherishes. it scares him.
"i won't die easily, vegas," pete whispers to the crown of his head, attempting to ensure the mafia. what pete says after changes the direction of his world, no longer spinning clockwise. "i have someone to protect, after all."
how can a person be so stupid?
vegas forces himself to stop breathing, holding back the oxygen from circulating his lungs. he permits the fear of death to ruin him now. because what hurts more than listening to the words coming from pete? nothing. because his words are the shelter vegas has been wanting all his life, his saving grace, and a drug. vegas wants to be addicted to pete. but can he?
"that someone doesn't need protection," vegas voices, recoils into the cocoon of his yesterdays again. although his throat is parching, the last ounce of air withdraws from the opening of his nose- vegas doesn't relent. he continues this meaningless battle. more pain, his brain interjects.
"he'll die anyway." and it's the truth vegas has known to accept.
pete tenses. "if he's dying," the grip on his back stunts the growing anxiety in vegas' chest, "i'll die with him."
vegas emits a growl. he wants to scream and cry. but vegas needs to save these tears from corroding his skin. he can't let pete see them. "you're a fucking idiot," he says in english, emphasising every word with peril, wanting to hurt pete as deep as possible.
it didn't work. pete noses on his hair and plants a wet kiss close to his ear. a whisper follows, like the soothing wind, "shut up."
and all it takes for pete to consume vegas is this- a hand around his wrist, bruising his skin while pete kisses vegas on the lips. he swallows every sound of disapproval and pushes vegas to the bed. he forces vegas' to hold him around the waist as pete rides him to oblivion. pete navigates vegas' hand on the cut, pressing onto it, adding more pressure. because the pain makes pete happy, the pain makes pete forget the glint of hurt and sorrow in vegas' eyes.
you're so good. pete uses the power of words to render vegas mindless. you make me feel so good, vegas. it's haunting- those words are.
vegas feels his chest tightening. those once-tangled feelings form an intangible knot between the flowers of his ribcage, drawing the last ounce of air from his stifling lungs. an unspoken promise commences. it's an oath vegas will remember even on his deathbed.
pete chants his name like a mantra, kisses every drop of sweat that adheres to vegas' neck, and darts his tongue around vegas' perk nipples. that drives vegas mad. he sees red on pete's skin, the subdued blue in his eyes. all that's left of them is purple, harmonising every moan with more force, strength, and power.
they come at once, like a ticking bomb waiting to erupt. the guttural scream, pete drinks them all. he besmears vegas' skin with marks the shape of his lips, blooming in purple, their colour. pete admires him from a distance, knocked out from euphoria, but all vegas can do is smile lifelessly at him. the bitterness is prominent now, jarring to the sweetness of pete's lips. he looks down at his fingers, tainted with pete's blood, and vegas ponders if this is pleasure or torture.
pete is sound asleep by the time vegas finish tending his wounds. he dabs the warm cloth all over pete's skin, cleans the ivory off his stomach, and slides the boxer to pete's hips skillfully, having done this multiple times before. pete chases after him even in his sleep, but vegas puts those hands away, fearing he'll burn again.
when vegas lies by pete's side, he stares at the ceiling, but he sees nothing in this darkness. when he turns to his right, he finds the light. it's pete.
quietly, vegas cries himself to sleep.
the glimpse of delight is evident in pete's eyes once they arrive at the garden.
vegas frantically snaps a mental image of this carefree-looking pete, not knowing what the future will look like for them. but it's pretty now. he's content with today, the greatest gift he can ever obtain.
the light bulbs are dangling along the wired lines, and pete stares at them in wonderment, with hints of shyness whenever he meets vegas' expectant eyes. if this is not love that vegas feels so deeply inside, then he doesn't want to believe in love anymore.
"do you like it?" he asks, genuinely curious.
pete lights up instantly, like the thousands of suns he is. "yeah," he mutters, sending hearts in the form of glittery glints in his eyes.
and that takes vegas' breath right away, the good kind of pain he treasures. there's no importance in respiring when pete always induces him breathless.
he opens a bottle of red wine and uncaps the beer for pete. vegas offers a faint saluti, to which pete responds, saluti. the giggle from pete's lips, vegas wants to eat those sounds and let them long live in his body, becomes one with his veins and arteries. if he swallows pete, the source of light, perhaps, he'll glow as bright.
they sit comfortably on the grass, vegas forgetting to bring the mat along with him. pete offers to take it from the storeroom, but vegas insists, saying this is enough. pete obeys without much thought, taking a sip of the cold beer in hand happily. vegas follows, tasting the rich flavour of grape and tannin on his tongue with a little smile on his face.
their shoulders brush, and the mere contact puts his heart in a frenzy, melting every afterthought that blocks his mind. vegas crosses his legs, sets the glass on the side, and rests his palms on the dewy grass. when pete mirrors him, their fingers touch, the slightest scrape, and vegas' heart soars to the clouds, picking the finest star for the other as a token of appreciation.
"it's nice being here," pete breaks the silence. vegas turns to look at him as the other stares at the star-painted sky. "there aren't many stars tonight," he comments, lips pouting naturally. and vegas' heart juts, in love.
"really?" he entertains pete's thought. "was there many stars back at the first family's house?"
pete punches him on the chest. "haha, funny, vegas," he mocks, rolling his eyes. "what i meant was, from my grandmother's house, it's like a rain shower of stars every night. it's beautiful," pete says, fond, reminiscing something so close to his heart, a sturdy core differentiating pete and vegas. affection, sunny memories, home-cooked meals, gentle pats before going to bed: all things vegas never had as a child.
vegas dares himself to break his own heart. "do you miss your grandma?"
he doesn't expect pete to laugh at the question. but vegas learns to read between the muted shifts of expression, the twitch of pete's lips, the hues of longing that is endless in his eyes. he discovers the truth- the hard way.
"of course," pete answers, his voice airy and light, fleeting and moving like those shapeless clouds. "i miss her more than anything."
vegas hesitates, but he has entered the ring of hell. he can't retreat. it's too late. "do you want to go home?"
pete sits straight, knocking the can of beer over the green grass. the bodyguard fumbles, trying to fix the mess, but vegas stops him. it doesn't matter. he tries to say. some things are better left broken- vegas wants to say.
pete takes the sign. he no longer moves. his focus is on vegas again. what is it? those eyes blink, inquiring. vegas hears the cracking sound, and that's when he realises- his heart is of glass, after all.
there's contemplation in pete's eyes. his lips are now a downturn of sorrow and bafflement, rendering vegas in a stupor of hope. maybe there's a chance to mend his heart again. perhaps, tonight won't end with a tragedy as he envisioned.
"i want to," pete begins, slowly unwinding as he leans closer to vegas. "but it can wait," he gazes at vegas, and his stare lingers for longer than vegas' stuttering heartbeat. in each beating staccato, vegas prays to any god up there for this moment to last.
pete extracts something out of his soul that puts vegas in a dizzying spell. "that can wait. grandma knows i'm working, anyway. she isn't worried," he adds, and those words are like cooling balm to his inflaming heart. and oh, vegas is selfish. he can't let pete go.
"if only," vegas broods but sees no harm in being vulnerable in front of pete. after everything they went through, talking to pete is like chatting to a mirror. but this reflection doesn't downgrade him, doesn't give in to the derogatory remarks. this reflection, vegas believes, echoes the good in him and takes away the bad. even if it's temporary, vegas cherishes this fragment of genuine serenity.
he plays with his fingers, picking the skin there, and pete slides his hand closer. their pinkies touch. vegas smiles. "if only pa doesn't hate me and macau, maybe we could go star-gazing like this. like other families do, or at least, that's what i read in books, haha."
when vegas looks up, pete's eyes are glimmering. and he knows that mist too well. it's quelled, transfixed in those dark pools. they never fall but are always there, an anchor for vegas to believe that pete understands him, pete sees him.
"i don't mind," vegas exhales the fire from his lungs. "i'm used to this anyway. but macau-" he chokes upon thinking of his little brother, the love of his life, the core of his existence. vegas still carries on because of macau. and pete came along, like a hurricane. sweeping vegas off his feet. he enjoys this mayhem and celebrates the glee of pete implanting havoc in his twisted life. vegas has more reasons to grasp that tinge of clarity. because he has someone to lose, because life is meaningful now, and vegas no longer exists in scraps. not anymore.
he seeks answers in pete's glassy eyes. immediately, he finds them. "don't you think macau deserves better? he's still so young. he doesn't deserve this bullshit."
and his world shatters when pete takes his hands and strokes the bumps on his knuckles, ensuring vegas of his presence. as if saying, i'm not going anywhere. i'm here.
"pa could hate me, but why must he hate macau too?" vegas bears his heart open, like a prey offering its meat to the predator. but vegas knows pete will only sniff at the lure, uninterested in the alms, passes by him and doesn't bite. he stays. and he listens. he understands. it's enough for vegas, more than anything he never had in the first place.
it's foreign, everything that pete is. but every day, vegas learns this is everything he wants in life. pete gives him this. and this has no definite meaning, transpiring boundaries, exceeding all limits. this- equals pete.
"he sucks, that's why," pete answers lightheartedly. vegas laughs. a part of him says he shouldn't. but vegas doesn't bother to care.
pete stops the caresses as he firmly grabs vegas' hand, forming a ball with his own. he rests them on vegas' chest, exactly where his heart is pounding. their eyes meet in the middle again, finding common ground. pete says, "you love macau. and that makes you different from him."
he is tongue-tied. emotions are skyrocketing in the nooks and crannies of his body again.
"it's his loss for hating his children. he doesn't deserve you both, either," pete remarks smugly. vegas doesn't know why he's still laughing, but he can't stop. the dying flowers in his heart revived another mishap. a field of red roses. vegas feels so sated that if he opens his mouth, crimson petals will cascade, and a downpour of profound bliss will drown him.
pete tightens the grip when he speaks, "there's no one too good or too evil in this world. we can choose to be kind or bad to ourselves," he bumps his shoulder with vegas. "so, you better be kind to yourself."
vegas quirks his eyebrow teasingly, "and cruel to others?"
pete chuckles. "that's entirely your choice. reap what you sow," pete ends with another round of chime-like giggles, soothing every strand of pain in his bloodstream.
when pete smiles at him, vegas listens to the faint voice in one of the rooms in his heart. he acknowledges the outcry, and he nods, accepting.
"you can be different from your father," pete says, suggestively, almost deceivingly, like promising a kid a lollipop if they behave. funny enough, vegas obeys and tentatively listens to whatever pete says next.
vegas inquires, showing interest, "how?"
"forgive yourself," pete says. the universe relocates, no longer spinning on its axis. vegas hears nothing but pete's voice vibrating in the space of his mind, taking over the shouts of the devil.
"forgive yourself for being so shitty and heartless. forgive yourself for thinking whatever your father did to you is your fault."
it's hard. everything pete says will not change vegas overnight. he's aware of this. but it's a life-altering feeling to be noticed, to be known. to finally have someone other than macau that sees vegas raw and tainted with so many cuts and bruises, with unresolved daddy issues and neverending toxicity. and still accepts him. it's nice to have pete here. someone as close to a friend, maybe more.
the wine tastes sweeter on his tongue. the night is getting chilly as the clock strikes midnight. the stars are enough to provide transparency, and pete's hand sneaking around his waist stems vegas from crumbling to embers. pete relaxes on vegas' shoulder, skating closer until no air can penetrate between them. vegas does the same. he leans comfortably on pete's head, twirling the glass of red wine while gaping at the silver specks above.
it takes a lot of courage for vegas to fight the blazing urge in him. the desire to say those three words press the right buttons in his heart. he still has time, he thinks. he doesn't have to rush. pete isn't going anywhere. it doesn't have to be tonight.
"hey," vegas calls, but pete doesn't respond.
he chuckles at the thought. pete must have fallen asleep.
vegas singsongs a tune that quietens the monster in his mind. a song that begins with pete and ends with pete. how beautiful. he smiles as the breeze brings him nearer to pete, his sun. home; he's finally home.
pretty things don't last long. they will either rust or wither under the discourse of nature. it was beautiful while it lasted.
vegas goes through other rounds of hell. his father's punches are stronger every time they land on his face, resettling his jaw from its position. he spits the blood as numbness flows like currents in his head. he despises the colour that is so accustomed to him. can't blood be anything but red?
it's empty everywhere the moment kan steps on him, gutting the life out of vegas with every beating. the bruise that forms on his skin is a concoction of old and new. scarlet and pine are like paintings of hatred and danger. but vegas thinks he's beautiful this way. am i beautiful, pa? he wishes to ask. am i worth it, pa? vegas knows there's never an answer. did i beat kinn this time, pa? he meets silence, his good friend. but it doesn't hurt to hope. fuck. another punch on his stomach. it does hurt.
"you messed up everything!" kan screams to his face, spitting at him with utter disgust. "can't you ever do things right, you fucking idiot!" the jabs that come afterwards are faster than light. it keeps coming, like the changing tides washing the dormant shore, and vegas has to take it all. blood after blood until he runs dry, only skins and bones left.
kinn has beaten him again. the deal with the smugglers, kinn took them all. it's kinn again. always him. and the thought of losing to kinn makes his blood boil.
when his father leaves his room, vegas can't see anything other than red. it's red to the point whatever he touches are like bars of carmine that percolate from every pore of his skin. it hurts all over. vegas is aching everywhere, and the pain doesn't end. no matter how hard he grits his teeth, the pain only increases. the anger begins, rattling the last bits of sanity in him. and life flickers in front of his eyes like an epiphany, reliving the demons in his head as vegas storms out. his feet bring him to a place where fury meets fire, and they fume vegas to the ground. he's nothing but ashes once he sets foot in pete's room, yanking the bodyguard from his peaceful slumber.
"vegas?! what are you-"
vegas slams him to the wall. the collision is hard, vegas can hear the knock, but there's a veil that hinders his vision from seeing through the anger. he needs to let this out. he has to let this out.
he punches pete. he unbuckles his belt and whips him, one strike at a time. from his chest and down to his thighs, draws lines after lines on pete's broad back. he repeats until his palm bruises from the deathly grip, but vegas isn't nearly as satisfied. he pushes pete to the bed and slaps him, chokes him, anything, anything-
"v-v-ve-vegas!"
he's deaf. this side of vegas doesn't want to hear the pleas of sympathy. this side of vegas doesn't know the name of his victim. vegas continues his punches. every inch of pete's body is in gruesome colours. purple. blue. yellow. red. brown. he slashes pete's skin open, and the wounds from before redden. new ones emerge like mushrooms after heavy, continuous rain. swirling in another puddle of blood on the pristine bedsheet. the smell of iron ignites his senses to the maximum, and the force of rage drives vegas to wrap his hands around pete's neck, hauling the life out of him. vegas unleashes the untamed and exerts these familiar sensations on pete, akin to the punches he endured from his father, laughing mockingly as the other battles to escape.
pete tosses and turns, but vegas pushes him to the bed, further and further until they become one, pale on white. vegas savours the adrenaline in his bloodstream. spiking a three-sixty, accelerating his heartbeat to one-eighty. it feels so good, so fucking good-
pete kicks him in the middle. vegas recoils, impacted by the power pete holds. the grip around pete's neck loosens. and the world brightens again, no longer in red. someone has flicked the switch. the veil uncovers by itself, and what vegas sees next makes him sick to the stomach.
fuck. fuck. fuck.
pete is- oh god- pete is-
pete laughs. it's horrifying. it's a silent killer. vegas knows this will not end well.
"pete-"
"i thought," pete's voice is muffled from the lingering strain around his neck, vibrantly red in fingermarks. he's trembling. his chest heaves up and down. pete looks so lost that the stars no longer live in his eyes. where did they go?
"i thought i- i'm not your toy. haha, fuck, i'm- stupid. aren't i?"
there's so much red on pete that it looks beautifully daunting on him. if they are in another time and space, vegas might have the privilege to admire this beauty, but the reality is this- vegas crossed the line. he couldn't change anything.
"i thought what we had was- different. i- thought it was- special, at least." pete blinks, and one lone tear falls. vegas wants to kill himself.
he locks eyes with vegas. "was it just in my head?"
the way pete is looking at him now, there's no tenderness, no happiness or light. it's empty, cold. like the first they met. like the first moment, vegas wanted to torture him to death. but karma exists for a reason. and this is what vegas has to bear.
pete is so far away from vegas now, so out of reach. he tries to hold him, but pete slaps him on the face. and the sting is so similar that tears fall from his eyes. he can no longer hold them back.
"if this is how you see me, treat me, then what sets you apart from your father?" pete asks, his swollen eyes bulging, staring down at vegas. so much hatred. he sees so much of kan in pete's eyes. and it's hurting him. where is pete? the kind and beautiful pete that holds him with gentleness? the pete that makes him smile more often than before? the pete that discards the shadow of his father from following him?
where are you?
vegas has no answer.
"nothing!" pete screams, his voice strained with disappointment. "nothing, vegas. you're the same as your father."
words never hurt this bad before.
pete pushes him away, staggering in his step once he stands. he hears those winces of pain, but pete quickly gathers his belongings, ignoring the blood that stains the carpet, leaving a permanent mark everywhere.
"pete-" vegas is out of breath. "pete- listen- hey- you're not a toy! pete- listen to me-"
"shut up!" pete doesn't look back when he exits the room.
he chases after pete, almost tripping when he descends the stairs. vegas grabs pete's wrist, pulling him into his arms, but pete pushes him away with so much brutality. vegas ends up on the floor, clinging onto pete's legs, shouting, "pete! stay! don't leave me!"
pete doesn't stay. with one last look, pete says, "i can't do this."
pete's retreating silhouette is no longer within reach. the dark hallway destroys his existence entirely, not leaving a fragment of light for vegas to remember.
vegas realises- nothing hurts more than this. not even the bruise at the corner of his lips, the footprints on his stomach. not even the idea of his father despising his existence repeatedly. like a broken record.
nothing hurts more than pete leaving him.
he screams pete's name. it echoes silence and nothing else.
vegas despises the daylight.
the sun reminds him of pete and everything they once shared. pete would cook ramen from monday to wednesday for breakfast, and vegas would buy the best curry and fragrant rice every thursday to saturday for lunch. sunday was always the best; pete would make a dish his grandmother taught him, and they gathered around, the three of them, vegas-pete-macau, like a happy family they wished to have. shared laughter, and embarrassing stories were told (mainly from macau as he loves teasing his big brother). pete listened to them while he placed another scoop of rice on the brothers' plate. he filled the empty glasses with cold water once vegas and macau fell into a hot (and controversial) debate. vegas needed refreshments to rebut his brother's defence of which marvel movie is the best. at night, pete would invite vegas to watch a movie, just the two of them, mainly the old thai action films vegas had never come across before. it wasn't as good, but the company was. and the most mundane show turned exciting with pete by his side. with his witty remarks, voices his thoughts out loud, laughing at the crappy editing and loud music.
it was beautiful.
but it's all in the past.
it hurts. it hurts even more as vegas lies on this bed. the smell of coconut wafts from the pillows and bedsheets, everything that follows the shape of a fading pete. even when the maids had washed the beddings and covers, the smell remains, and what the fuck is this? vegas is going insane. it stays and loiters around in a waltz of its own, inviting vegas to a dance. but he denies it, having no strength to relive another recollection of pete he never tries to forget. and what hurts more is when pete has given him the taste of freedom. and for that deliciousness to be ripped apart from his soul so suddenly? vegas loses his bearings.
it's cold. this room has never felt so chilly before, like snowflakes falling on taut skin, the ripple of the sudden rain underneath bare feet. it was always warm because the sun resided here once. but it's over now. vegas has lost him completely.
he didn't notice when macau entered the room, but the bed dips when his brother sits close to his legs, one hand patting his waist ardently. "phi," he calls, but there's no willpower in vegas to answer.
"phi, let's eat, hm? you haven't eaten for days..."
"i've hurt him," his heart says, his voice hoarse and sounds foreign even to his ears. "i've hurt him," he repeats, and the same intensity pulls vegas into the tunnel of gloom.
macau rests his head on vegas' hips, offering comfort. "maybe it was meant to be," he says. "maybe we can't hold onto him in the first place."
"i'm so stupid," vegas blinks the tears away, and the dam reopens. the emotions flood again to all places, drowning vegas. "why can't i stop fucking things up?"
macau doesn't answer. he reaches for vegas' hand and clasps them, channelling the strength his body needs. "don't say that," macau whispers, trying his best to contain his feelings. but vegas isn't stupid. he knows. he knows macau feels it too.
"i'm sorry, macau."
and the doors to hades open when macau audibly lets out a sob. it's so heart-shattering that vegas has to close his eyes and listen to the constant ring in his eardrums. it's piercing, deafening. it's his voice blended with macau's, two striking tones that sing the same tune of remorse.
his lips don't stop muttering, "i'm sorry, macau," and the replies he gets are waves and waves of broken wails. deep down, vegas want macau to hate him. just like his father. just like pete. it's better to die knowing everyone hates him. at least he can discard these memories like they mean nothing. it wouldn't hurt as much, vegas pleads to himself.
time passes, but vegas doesn't know where it starts or ends. when macau leaves the room, there's a patch of wetness on vegas' pants, but he doesn't mind. the pillow underneath his head is soaking with tears, too.
he falls asleep and dreams of nothing. pete must have hated him so much- he doesn't even want to visit vegas in his slumber the way he used to.
and when vegas wakes up the next day, he wonders why he's still alive.
it's loud.
the gunshot chimes in his ears like the multiple alarms pete set every morning. he never wakes up to any of them. that enrages vegas sometimes. but what the hell? he shouldn't be thinking of pete in this situation.
vegas wishes he could entertain the thought longer, remembering how hard it was to wake pete up sometimes, especially after a long night of endless love-making. it makes him smile, happy even, that one part of his life is brimming with joyful memories. but the bodyguards are rushing vegas and macau out of their rooms. one of them broke the news after they went into hiding. mr kan is dead. someone shot him in the head. as if vegas' world hasn't collapsed, now it's no more, only an entity.
he feels everything and nothing. a nameless sentiment that never finds a way out of his heart. a sensation that trails after vegas from the day he was born. it's unsettling, and the tears that fall from his eyes are shapeless, hot and burdensome because he can't see where the enemies are. he doesn't understand why he's crying? is it because of his father's death? isn't it great, though? he's no longer a failure in his father's eyes. he can rule the empire his way. no longer a black sheep to his father's unexpected wrath. isn't he supposed to be elated? why vegas feels anything but contentment?
he can only hear the screams from the bodyguards, taking orders from one another, fulfiling their duty to protect the heir of the second family. the rest is only white noise.
he listens to macau's heavy breathing and searches for his hand. it's freezing. vegas' heart plummets to his stomach. his little brother must have been so shocked by the sudden attack. vegas promises himself- that even if he dies today, macau must live. that's vegas' only hope.
when they move to a different spot, someone shoots, and the bodyguard dies in front of them. vegas takes macau's hand and tugs him to shelter behind the sofa. the gunfight continues, and vegas tries to figure a way out. he turns to meet macau's trembling eyes, gripping his shoulders to steady him, "macau, whatever happens, you'll be safe. don't worry, okay?"
"phi! what about you?" macau asks, shaking his body as if to wake vegas from the trance. "don't think of anything stupid! both of us will live! do you fucking hear me?"
tempted, vegas wants to say, i would rather die, but he doesn't want to make his little brother sad. he answers, "i know how to take care of myself! stop worrying about me," vegas hopes the smile on his face is convincing enough.
his body lunges forward, engulfing macau in his embrace. macau reciprocates, tightening the hug, patting his back assuringly. at least, in this life, he still has macau. and the thought welcomes comfort to settle in his beating heart. he flashes a smile before vegas loads the gun and waits. once he figures the coast is clear, he pulls macau again and runs.
when someone tugs him behind the walls, vegas is ready to embrace death. he wants to make a deal, take him and let macau free. but what he sees is nothing close to what he expects.
his mind is playing games with his sanity. it can't be. vegas blames the alcohol he drinks every night before bed. he's no longer stable to differentiate between reality and fantasy.
"pete...?" he calls, confident that it's all in his head.
"shut up," pete answers. venom laces every syllable. but the warmth vegas has accustomed to feeling is still there. it makes him smile.
he has so many questions. and he demands answers. he holds onto pete, finding his lost home around pete's wrist again. "pete-"
"take macau out of here. there's a car waiting outside, a red car. it'll take you to a safer place-"
"pete, you-"
"fucking save yourself first! stop talking shit, vegas!"
vegas almost forgets the feeling of happiness. it's good. wonderful. it's still the same. still so sweet and worthwhile. he can die right there and then. this is already heaven to him. maybe vegas is a believer now- god answered his prayers. he gets to see pete again.
if he gets a second chance, he'll pray hard. every day. he'll go to the temple, listen to the sermons, and make merits with pete that promises a lovely ending. if vegas gets a second chance, he'll not hurt pete anymore. he will say this repeatedly- you're never a toy. words that died down the moment pete left.
as pete senses vegas won't make a move, he hauls the both of them and sprints to the main door.
but it's quiet. the room no longer spins. as if the world stops revolving and parched voices are muted from resounding. vegas can't hear anything, not even his own breath.
it's hot. whatever is growing on vegas' chest, it's uncomfortably hot.
when he stumbles to the floor, he doesn't miss macau's howl. "phi!"
what's happening?
he's not running. macau isn't, too.
and it hits him.
oh. he knows this feeling. he knows how death looks. an old friend of his, they meet again.
"vegas!"
he almost slips into the custody of dreamland when pete's face comes into full view. he's still so beautiful. the pete he admires. oh. vegas wants to touch him. one last time. can he?
"vegas!"
it's the same scream he heard that day. so much pain. and it still hurts.
vegas wants to say it. he wants to say those three words. now's a perfect time, he figures. yes-
but the air is now blood in his throat and the red liquid spurts from his frotting mouth. his body convulses when more blood exudes from the hole in his chest. vegas is about to give his soul to the devil, but can't they spare vegas one last chance? he needs to say it. he needs to-
"p...pete..."
but the words come to a halt when emptiness fills his deflating lungs.
"vegas!"
the sound of pete's voice calling his name breaks vegas. again and again. but he smiles. he's finally home.
because some things are better left broken, and vegas has never been whole in the first place.