Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“No.”

“Kim.” P’Som sighs. “We’ve been talking about this for months. Before the GQ shoot I agreed with you, and I could argue with the label that you’re doing an okay job yourself, but now? You can’t keep up with all the events you're doing and manage all of your social media at the same time. There just aren't enough hours in the day.”

Kim glares at her. She's never been intimidated by him – the main reason he picked her as a manager – but sometimes he wishes she wasn't so used to his definitely-not-at-all-legal background.

“I don’t need a social media manager,” he leans back in his chair. “I have you to tell me when I need to post something promotional and I can take my own photos just fine.”

P’Som raises her eyebrows at him. “You do know that telling you when to post promos isn’t my job, right? Social media managers do that, and you might like overworking yourself, but I don’t.” She taps her fingers on the desk impatiently. “And the label would like to stop having to put out fires every time you post something unexpected.”

A quiet snort escapes Kim’s lips before he can stop it. “Is that the reason they’re insisting on someone?”

“It’s one of the reasons.” P’Som gestures exasperatedly. “Look, Kim, make my life easier, okay? The social media manager will shadow you for behind the scenes content and draft the posts, but you’ll be the one posting them in the end. How’s that?”

Calculations run through Kim’s mind. The label wouldn't drop him for anything as small as this. He sells well and he’s unproblematic, too careful with what slips through the cracks for the general public to know. 

But they also can and will make his life hell if he fights it. Unnecessary and boring meetings he’ll have to attend, offers he’ll have to waste time refusing when they’re already aware that he will… Among other things. 

If he’s the only one with the passwords to his accounts it’s not like it will be much different. He just won’t want to bang his head against the wall every time he has to write a promotional post praising one thing or another. 

Hopefully.

“Fine.” He carefully agrees. “You can find someone, but I have the final say. And they won’t get access to my accounts. I’ll be the one posting everything in the end.”

P’Som nods and unsuccessfully attempts to stifle a grin. “Great. I already have a candidate.”

Kim snorts again. If he had any illusions about having a choice before, they shatter before his eyes like glass. Annoyance (and maybe just a tiny bit or pride) spark in his chest that she's so obvious about it.

P’Som turns her laptop around so he can see it. “Here. It’s a fan account for Wik. The guy who runs it arguably does a better job of promoting your appearances than the label or you.”

The impressed tone of her voice intrigues Kim enough to spare a glance at her face. P’Som isn’t easy to faze, and it attracts his curiosity. He looks back at the screen.

The Twitter page resembles a regular Wik updates account, but at second glance Kim realises the retweeted official posts come with translations – English and Korean – all within minutes of being posted by him or the label. There are details about how to buy Wik merch aimed at international fans, even shipping time estimates. 

Whoever runs the account  – Kim finally looks at the handle – Wik Updates 🐱✨ @allaboutwik – is committed, and more than once he has provided answers to fans’ questions about venues or tickets faster than official accounts even got wind of them.

P’Som is already watching for his reaction when Kim hums and his eyes dart back up to her.

He's begrudgingly impressed too, but that doesn't mean he's going to say it out loud. He raises an eyebrow at P’Som’s expectant expression. “Why him? Why a fan in general?”

“You don't like anyone already working for the label.” she shrugs. “And who could mimic the way you post better than a fan? I considered a few candidates, but he's the only one who already has experience in the industry.”

“How so?” 

“He worked at YGMM and White Fox, just regular intern stuff, but he also has social media experience – some small companies here and there.”

Kim raises an eyebrow. “GMM Grammy? Even if it’s just subsidiaries, that’s not bad. How old is he?”

“I’m not sure. He didn’t list his age in his CV when we asked for one,” P’Som answers. “Young. Just graduated from Anantrameka University, so I would guess 21 – 22 years old?”

He's similar in age to Kim then. Kim gives the open laptop another glance and scans through the visible tweets again.

“He’s alright. And his handle rings a bell. I’ve seen him in my notifications before.”

“You mean when you were stalking yourself on social media?” P’Som snorts. 

Kim ignores the remark. “You can get him in for an interview.”

“Oh, he’s already here.” Her smile makes Kim feel like he's about to be hunted for sport. He sighs, and going against every instinct in his body, leans back in his chair while P’Som pokes her head out the door and calls out.

Only a couple of seconds tick by before she's ushering someone in.

Kim silently catalogues the boy’s appearance: neat business casual outfit (although he looks uncomfortable in a dress shirt, like he's not used to wearing it) and scuffed sneakers. Dark brown curls obscure the little of his face Kim should be able to see while his head is bowed in greeting to P’Som, and Kim straightens in his seat, bends forward to try and get a better look at it.

The boy finally looks up when P’Som starts introducing him, and Kim almost falls out of his chair. “Porchay, you know Wik, Wik…” and the rest of her words fade out of existence before they reach Kim’s ears.

The most beautiful pair of brown eyes Kim has ever seen gaze into his, and the world falls apart. 

Kim is only vaguely aware that he’s staring. The light blush illuminating Porchay’s – his mind supplies the name in a fleeting moment of coherence – cheeks makes his heart do a weird little flip inside his chest. He offers Kim a tentative smile, lowering his hands from a wai.

Kim watches as the blush darkens from cherry blossom pink to something more resembling rose red and almost jumps as someone – P’Som – clears her throat. 

The world comes rushing back in.

A car honks outside. The wooden chair digs painfully into Kim’s thighs.

He gives P’Som a questioning look, but before he can get any kind of hint from her, Kim’s eyes wander back to Porchay.

A single lost curl, somehow escaped from the soft fluffy mop on Porchay’s head, hangs in front of his eyes and Kim finds himself wanting to reach out and brush it away.

It takes all of Kim’s willpower to stuff the thought into a little box at the back of his mind where it came from and finally take in the slightly awkward and expectant expression on Porchay’s face. 

Kim feels his eyes widening a fraction in panic as he realises he never returned Porchay’s greeting. He reigns the feeling in, puts the Wik mask back on like an old comfortable sweater and quirks his lips in a well-practised smile. “Hello, Porchay.”

A half-muffled squeal escapes Porchay’s mouth and he blushes an even deeper red, covering his mouth with his hand. 

Kim struggles to breathe, the innate ability seemingly forsaking him as he tries and fails to stop his smile from becoming just a little bit real. (A lot real.)

“You can call me Chay, P’Wik.” Chay offers Kim another shy smile and it takes Kim all his self control to choke off the strangled noise making its way out of his throat.

“Kim, then.” He forces himself to speak and prays to all the gods he doesn't believe in that he sounds normal.

“Huh?” Chay tilts his head in confusion and Kim fights the urge to coo. The thought horrifies him.

“Uh,” Kim mutters eloquently. “Kim!” 

He blindly fumbles for a piece of paper on his manager’s desk, spares a quick thought to hoping it's not something too important, and writes ‘WIK’ on it before turning it upside-down for Chay to see.

“Huh,” Chay mutters again, this time consideringly, and tilts his head even more. “Okay, P’Kim.”

Kim clearly didn't think this through. P’Kim. He almost chokes on air.

P’Som comes to his rescue.

She waves Chay towards the seat next to Kim, and if the two chairs seemed like they were placed a respectable distance from each other five seconds ago, they are entirely too close together now. Kim could just reach out and touch.

Thankfully, P’Som starts the interview soon after and Kim uses it as the welcome distraction that it is, quietly observing, until Chay seems to forget that Kim is even in the room. When P’Som asks him about music he lights up.

That's the only description Kim can think of for the way Chay’s entire demeanour changes. He goes from shy and a bit nervous, constantly throwing subtle glances in Kim’s direction – ones Kim is certain he isn't meant to see – to lively and completely absorbed in his own words. 

He sounds so much like Kim himself does when he talks about music – not to other people and never in front of cameras, but when he’s alone and he can be honest with himself – that it physically demands Kim’s attention. He feels his back straightening, eyes refocusing on Chay’s face.

Watching Chay talk feels like being understood, and that's a dangerous sentiment for someone like Kim to have, but it enthrals him.

He knows he shouldn’t, it’s a mistake, but the words leave his mouth the second Chay stops speaking anyway.

“You’re hired.”

P’Som sputters about the interview not being done yet, but raises her hands in surrender at the glare Kim sends her way.

Kim’s insides tangle up in knots when he turns to find Chay openly gaping at him, a light dusting of pink covering his cheeks, and he has to fight off the answering blush already heating his ears and making its way to his face.

The decision plays over and over in his mind for the rest of the evening, long after he's made the brisk escape from his manager’s office.

Hiring Chay was selfish, and nothing good has ever come from him being selfish.

He wishes he could lie to himself. Convince himself that the reason he accepted Chay so quickly was because he's an alright candidate and the sooner he's done with it, the sooner he can stop worrying about it. But even if that is part of it, Kim can't pretend it's the entire reason. And it scares him.

The phone resting on the table next to him buzzes with a new notification and Kim allows it to distract him from his previous thoughts.

P’Som is one of the few people who has that number, so when he unlocks the device, he's expecting the message to be from her, but to his surprise it’s from Chay.

The clearly over-thought text explains that Chay got Kim’s contact from his manager, and this is the number where Kim can reach him 24/7 if he needs to. It makes Kim bite down the smile lifting the corners of his lips. 

There's emojis. He gives up on hiding his amusement – there's no one here to see it anyway, aside from his houseplants – and likes the message.

After a second he adds, ‘Are you going to be there tomorrow for the shoot?’. 

The confirmation appears instantaneously and Kim’s grin widens. He refuses to read into his own reactions. He’s a popstar. He just enjoys the attention. Surely that’s it.

____________

“Aww, P’Kim, look!”

Chay is – was walking right beside Kim, but now his voice echoes from somewhere to his right and much farther away than Kim was anticipating it. Kim swivels around, looking for its source, and catches a glimpse of Chay in the dimly lit opening of an alley. 

He purposely avoids thinking about how his subconscious doesn’t seem to perceive Chay as a threat. He doesn't remember the last time he was around people and not constantly aware of their position orbiting around him. It feels a little too much like trust and Kim doesn't trust anyone, much less someone he met barely a couple of weeks ago.

Chay is crouched over something, gently cooing at it. Kim steps towards him, closely surveying the alley behind the dumpsters where Chay is kneeling.

It's the perfect place for an ambush. 

But there's no one there, and Chay is raising his head up, his eyes reflecting the yellow-ish glow of the streetlights. They meet Kim’s, and Kim finds himself peering over Chay’s shoulder before he's consciously processed the situation.

“What–”

A loud meow interrupts the question, and Kim makes out the dark shape of a kitten, half-hidden by the flaps of the cardboard box Chay is carefully sliding towards them and into the light.

Kim kneels beside Chay. He throws the plastic stuck to the top of the box aside as Chay manages to rip away the tape still holding the box partly closed. 

The kitten inside is tiny.

Kim doesn't know much about cats, but this one looks old enough to be separated from his? hers? its? mother, and healthy. He wonders how it ended up in a box near a dumpster.

The quiet calming noise Chay makes in his throat causes Kim’s heart to ache a little in response, and it takes him a second to react to Chay moving to lift the kitten out of the box.

Kim’s hand shoots out to stop him. “Chay, careful, he might scratch you.”

“But, P’Kim, we can't just leave him here.”

Kim goes to argue, something about just taking the entire box to the closest veterinarian or shelter already on the tip of his tongue, but one look into Chay’s pleading eyes and he deflates.

“Alright.” He softly exhales. “Be careful then.”

Slowly, careful not to startle it, Chay lifts the kitten out of where it had likely ended up on a quest for food and tucks it against his chest, not sparing a single thought for the state this will leave his shirt in.

“P’Kim, look, he has a collar with a name tag on it.”

Kim is already reaching for it.

He flips the tag and breathes a sigh of relief. “It has a phone number. We can call the owner.”

The tiny creature trembles in Chay’s arms and Kim is taking off his jacket and offering it up to Chay before he's had time to think about it. Chay takes it and wraps the pitifully meowing kitten in the soft leather.

“We have to bring him back to the studio, P’Kim.” Chay is looking up at him with his big brown doe eyes and Kim already knows he’ll agree to whatever Chay asks of him, the logical part of his brain telling him he has things to do tonight be damned. “It's too cold here.”

“Come on then.” Kim stands up and  tilts his head back the way they just came. “We’ll call when we're inside.”

Kim is hanging up the phone with the cat’s owner – a young woman, judging from the voice, clearly worried out of her mind – when Chay plops back down on the couch next to him, the kitten gently cradled in his arms.

“I fed him! P’Mon did have cat food in her desk, just like you said. You know, it's so sweet that she feeds the stray cats on her breaks! I left her a note, saying I’ll pay her back.”

Kim makes a mental note in his head to leave Mon some money the next time he's in the studio so Chay doesn't have to. How much could a can of cat food cost anyway? A thousand baht?

He could leave it on her desk with a note. But he's rarely at the studio without Chay nowadays, and someone might come up and try to talk to him if they see him. Maybe he should just transfer the money online? Although Mon might question how he got her bank account information…

“Okay, now hold Scaramouche.” Chay interrupts his musings and doesn't give him time to refuse before placing the cat in his lap and pulling out his phone.

Kim’s hands come up to keep the small wriggling ball of fur from clambering off his lap and he splutters. “Scaramouche?”

“That's his name, P’Kim! It's on the name tag.” Chay waves his free hand dismissively, as if Kim should get with the program.

Kim blinks at him, mind blank, and then just accepts the situation for what it is. He seems to be doing a lot of that since he met Chay, and he's not entirely sure why he's okay with it, so he just pushes the thought to the farthest corner of his mind, ignoring just how cluttered it already is with a lot like it.

Chay fiddles with the camera settings on his phone.

Kim has seen him do this countless times over the past few weeks and it feels familiar. He relaxes, watches as Chay worries at his lower lip, a small concerned frown overtaking his face when he struggles with something. 

A warm feeling spreads over Kim’s insides, sparking tiny fires inside his veins. He feels the corners of lips tugging up into a smile.

Chay gasps quietly, cheeks flaming red, and takes a couple of photos, then lowers the phone and pouts.

“P’Kim, you have the cutest kitten in your lap, you should pet him!”

“I am petting him!” Kim nods at his lap where he's gently brushing one of his thumbs over Scaramouche’s left ear. The kitten is fluffy, and warm. And cute. He scratches under its chin and watches as the tiny creature stretches its tiny neck up and lets out a loud purr.

Chay giggles. “Now you’re petting him. That's perfect.”

Kim lifts his head to look at Chay when he senses him moving, but Chay tells him to look back at the kitten and continues taking photos.

“I was going to take you to a shelter,” he babbles as he goes, and finally no longer objects to Kim facing him. “But this is even better.” He takes a couple more photos and sets the phone down, kneeling at Kim’s feet to pet the bundle of fur that seems to have decided that Kim’s lap is the most comfortable place for a nap.

“Just for photos?” Kim raises an eyebrow in question.

“Just??” Chay sounds scandalised. “P’Kim, I could sell these and be rich. People would die.”

Kim snorts in response. “You sound convinced.” He hears the amusement trickling through his tone, but Chay’s cheeks redden even more in response so he can't bring himself to regret it.

“I'm a fan, too,” Chay raises his chin in defiance. “I'm the authority on this.”

He’s too cute. Kim feels ridiculous when his smile widens impossibly. “Have I never posted a photo of me with a cat?”

He knows he hasn't.

“You haven't! But three of Wik’s music videos have a cat in them. Four if you count the cat doll in I Secretly Like You.”

Kim didn't even know this. But Chay is right, of course Chay is right. Something hot coils deep in his guts, a sensation he doesn't recognise searing through his entire body.

“I never counted.”

“I did.” Chay livens and Kim gets lost in the brightness of his eyes. “P’Kim, the fandom is starved for Wik and cat content, trust me.”

The kitten wakes up then, clearly upset about the lack of petting going on – Kim isn't sure when his hand moving back and forth on its tiny head stilled – and pads off of Kim’s lap, curiously sniffing around the couch.

Chay coos and calls it towards him, procuring a snack out of thin air. He gives Kim a sheepish glance. “I may have found treats in P’Mon’s desk too. He deserves one!”

Kim mentally adds “cat treat” to things he needs to pay Mon back for and ignores the fond feeling that crashes over him like a wave, overwhelming all rational thought.

“The owner should be here soon – she said it will take her around half an hour to get here.”

The disappointment radiating off of Chay is almost palpable and Kim finds himself quietly wishing the owner lived farther away.

____________

Chay is going to die. 

He's dying already. Maybe he’s already dead. Porsche is about to come home and find Chay’s cold dead body lying on his bed, face buried in a pillow, clutching a phone in his hands with the photo gallery open.

Why did he think that Kim and a kitten on his phone would be a great idea?? 

Sure, the fans will go crazy when these appear on Wik’s Instagram, but Chay didn't consider the simple fact that he's a fan too. Now he has the perfect photos that are going up on the internet tomorrow, but he also has the imperfect photos – all blurry movement and awkward poses – and those are infinitely worse for his health. And, on top of that, he has the memories to go with them.

He lets out a high pitched scream, muffled by the pillow he's pretty sure is going to catch fire solely from the heat flushing to his cheeks, and throws the phone somewhere to the side.

Chay has regrets.

Chapter Text

Predictably, fans love the photos with the cat. Chay is incredibly smug about it.

But he's even more smug when everyone loses their minds over the photoset of Kim he posts and captions with a quote from Howl’s Moving Castle.

Kim looks very amused when Chay runs the idea by him – he seems to be at least vaguely aware of what's happening in his fandom. And although he claims not to see the resemblance to Howl, the glint in his eyes makes Chay think that he knows exactly what fans are talking about.

Either way, he doesn’t argue when Chay brings him a pair of red and green drop-shaped earrings and makes him pose in a loose white shirt on the rooftop of one of the venues he performs in.

Chay gleefully watches Tumblr and Twitter implode from his personal accounts – separate from the one that got him hired – the ones he's certain can't be traced back to him. 

Or, at least, he’s pretty sure of it. They would have come up in the background search they did and he wouldn’t have gotten the job, right? No label would hire someone who writes fanfiction about a popstar to work for that popstar. 

Chay and his seventeen Wik AUs on AO3 are safe.

____________

Chay yawns. 

Kim is in the makeup chair, people scurrying around him and shoving all sorts of luxury brand products on his face and hair, and Chay has nothing to do.

He leaves the behind the scenes footage of Wik getting ready for the makeup artists and hairdressers to post, so he has about fifteen minutes until he has to take pictures of event-ready Kim and then hang around the stage getting more photos he probably won’t end up using.

He glances over at Kim to check the progress, and scrolls through his notes refining the list of songs he stayed up entirely too late the night before scouring fan spaces for. Who would have thought that fans want Wik to cover so many songs that it would take Chay so long to make a list of the most popular choices?

Chay squints consideringly and deletes one of the songs by The Rose – he doesn’t want to repeat artists. Kim agreed to sing seven songs in the Instagram live Chay pestered him into doing on Thursday – one of his freer days – and Chay currently has eleven in his list. Two more will have to go by the end of today so he can send Kim the list in the evening, and Kim gets to veto two.

Chay is really hoping I Wouldn’t Mind by He Is We will get to stay. That’s the one song he put on the list solely for selfish reasons – he figures it's allowed, it's not like he's abusing his position, really – but the other songs are great too. Chay chose the ones that he either saw mentioned a lot, or the ones that got a lot of agreement when someone suggested them. He even rewatched his screen recordings of Wik’s past lives, this time paying attention to song requests– Ah shit, he should probably leave at least one song for Kim to choose from the comments, so he should remove one more from his list–

“Chay?” Kim calls out.

“Yeah, P’Kim?” Chay searches for the reflection of Kim’s eyes in the mirror in front of him, but instead finds him standing over Chay, taking a not-so-hidden glance at Chay’s phone screen.

“I’m ready.” He sounds amused. “Shouldn’t you take pictures of me now?”

“Yeah, I–” The rest of the words stick to his throat like honey when he gives Kim a good once-over.

Chay isn‘t sure when it happened, but Kim is leaning so close to him that he can feel Kim’s breath fanning across his steadily heating cheeks. Sparks of electricity waltz their way through Chay’s entire nervous system in response, lighting every atom in his body on fire.

Kim looks stunning. 

The barely-there smudge of eyeliner brings out his eyes and Chay gets caught in them like a butterfly in a net, the breath of air on its way to his lungs growing roots somewhere halfway without ever making it to its destination. A strand of hair falls artfully in front of Kim’s face and Chay wills his hands to stay where they are, clutching his phone like a lifeline.

He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack. 

The air that finally makes it to Chay’s lungs whooshes right back out when Kim moves away, seemingly remembering himself, looking slightly shaken, as if he's the one who just spent seconds – and an eternity at the same time – looking divinity straight in its face.

“Where do you want me?” 

Chay’s brain reboots again.

“Photos!” He squeaks out and immediately wishes he could bury his flaming face into the couch cushions – or, better yet, into his pillow back home. 

Kim hums in agreement.

“The lighting was good for the vibe I’m going for over here in the corner.” He waves Kim over to the wall and tries to force his heart back into an acceptable rhythm. 

He fails.

____________

It feels weird sitting behind (quite literally) Kim’s – Wik’s – phone as he prepares for the live.

Chay isn't sure how this is different from watching the man sing at events, mini-concerts and even in the studio – something he’s done many times since starting to work for Kim – but it feels different.

Chay is accustomed to admiring Kim through a screen, commenting and hoping Wik will see it and maybe even reply – the closest thing he had to a real-life interaction with him before. Watching Kim set up his phone and run through a couple of warm-up exercises instead makes his world reel like a globe spun by a ten year-old attempting to see how fast he can make it go. It’s dizzying.

Chay forces his eyes away from Kim and back down to the floor. Kim has caught him staring so many times that Chay is certain he knows about Chay’s silly crush. But – in his defense – Kim is stupidly beautiful. Chay is certain that every single person who’s ever seen the singer is a little bit in love with him. Kim should be used to it. 

Chay is just one of many.

He tells himself it doesn’t make his heart ache.

“Don’t forget to answer questions in-between songs, P’Kim,” Chay reminds him instead. “P’Som said that you should mention your upcoming single, but don’t give away details.”

Kim nods. “Okay. Anything else?”

Chay squints his eyes up at the ceiling, thinking. “I don’t think so? P’Som just told me to make sure you don’t spoil anything.” He grins at Kim and receives an eyeroll in response.

“I don’t spoil things.”

“You absolutely do. Do you remember that time you hummed a chorus of an unreleased song during a Q&A on a radio show?”

“It was on purpose,” Kim lies.

Chay – who was forced by P’Som to sit through a talk titled “Things He Should Stop Kim From Doing (With Examples)” – knows it was not. She didn't have a Power Point presentation, but it was a near thing. Kim is probably zero-point-seven incidents away from it.

He gives Kim a knowing look and then glances at his phone to check the time.

“It’s almost eleven, are you ready, P’Kim? You should be starting now.”

Kim nods again and does one final check of his phone setup.

“Okay, so, answer some questions, don’t forget to ask for requests for one song, and don’t spoil anything or P’Som might murder us both.” Chay fake shudders and watches Kim lose the fight to keep his face neutral. Chay’s smile widens.

Kim shakes his head. “Okay, I got it. Be quiet now.” Before Chay can pretend to be insulted, he adds, “You’re the one who said it’s better if it seems like I’m on my own.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chay grumbles. “It’s better if the fans think they have your whole attention.”

Chay watches the muted live on his own phone, making sure it’s going smoothly, checking the comments. He brings Kim’s attention to a couple of the more interesting questions by whispering – just low enough to avoid the microphones picking up his voice.

And he only has to gesture murderously at Kim once towards the end when he starts talking too much about the new single. Chay is sure he’s doing it on purpose. 

Kim flashes his eyes over the phone to where Chay is sitting, opens his mouth and Chay barely has the time to think What? before Kim is speaking.

“What is the new single about? Oh, it’s… It’s about–”

Chay widens his eyes and leaps up from his seat, violently signing at Kim to stop talking. 

Kim raises his head, meets Chay’s eyes and snorts. 

Well, there goes nobody knowing that there was someone else in the room with him briefly flashes through Chay’s mind, and he facepalms. Another quietly amused puff of air reaches his ears from in front of him and he flops back down on the couch without giving Kim another glance. (Maybe just through his fingers. To see his smile one more time.)

“Sorry, guys, I think my manager might murder me if I keep talking.” Kim gives the camera his award-winning grin and Chay can feel ninety-nine percent of the viewers swooning.

“Okay, one more song today. Do you have any requests?”

Chay is lying on his back now, scanning the comments, guessing which one Kim will pick. There’s a bunch of random ones that aren’t the best fit for Kim’s vocal range – he immediately discards those as an option. A lot of the suggestions also mention songs Chay thought about but didn’t end up picking for his final list… Ooh, Sam Kim’s Love Me Like That, that would be amazing–

“ I Wouldn’t Mind by He Is We. Sure.”

What.

Chay zeroes in on Kim’s face. He vetoed the song!

Was there even a comment asking for it? Chay didn’t see one. He was reading all of them. For a second the urge to check – maybe he just missed it – burns under his skin, but it peters out into gentle embers and then gets washed away by Kim’s voice.

____________

Chay isn’t sure what kind of reaction he’s expecting when he checks Twitter and Tumblr once he gets home about an hour after the live ends.

But…

Wik’s Honey | @wiks_honey

okay so i know we should all be losing our shit about how wik covered the songs we’ve been begging him to cover since forever but who was that in the studio with him????? HE KEPT LOOKING AT THEM. CALL ME DELULU BUT I KNOW FOR SURE IT WAS NOT A MANAGER

…is not it.

He gives up on looking for different posts when he realises it’s a losing battle about fifteen minutes in. Most of the reactions are like that. He blames Kim.

____________

He’s hoping it will have died down a couple days later. He keeps the official Wik accounts quiet, posts one promotional video for a skincare brand because Kim is contractually obligated to, but not much more than that.

It does not die down.

Chay gets it, really. 

Wik is untouchable. People rarely see him out in public (Chay knows why now: Kim keeps weird hours. Chay gets text messages from him at four thirty in the morning sometimes and he’s no longer surprised by it), and never with anyone else. So Wik showing someone attention has been out of the realm of possibilities.

Why was Kim even looking at him? Did Chay look funny that day? He tries remembering what he was wearing. He honestly didn’t even notice Kim was paying him any attention during the live, aside from acknowledging the questions he’d pointed out. 

Granted, Chay’s eyes were definitely more on the Kim in front of him instead of the one on his screen, but surely he would have noticed?

He hasn’t had the courage to rewatch the saved version of the live yet.

Which makes it an exception because he’s watched all the other ones an embarrassing amount of times. 

He wonders if Kim has videos from before Chay discovered him that have been deleted off of his accounts. Would he show Chay? Probably not. Maybe Chay can figure out a reason why he needs to see them as a social media manager?

He stops that train of thought before it fully leaves the station.

What Chay should focus on instead is what to do to make this quiet down. The best idea is always to give people something else to talk about.

His phone buzzes with a new Twitter notification just as he reaches for it to go looking for inspiration. 

He’s been using his accounts solely for lurking since he started working for Kim, so it’s… weird. Chay clicks on the notification to view it in full.

It’s Yu. She’s an artist Chay used to talk to quite a bit at one point. She drew fanart for one of his fics and he wrote a ficlet for one of her pieces. And she just tagged him in something. He reads the tweet.

Yu | @princessyue

Okay so do you guys remember my Model!Wik series of drawings? Anyways, since Wik seems to be giving us all we want I think he should wear this sweater (inspiration stolen from @wikkiw’s wardrobe) next

She’s attached one of her older drawings, Wik in a dark blue cardigan covered in tiny forget-me-nots.

Chay’s eyes unconsciously trail to his wardrobe.

He still has the sweater.

He bought it years ago and then ended up barely wearing it, but it's a nice cardigan. Chay showed it to Yu when she was looking for pattern inspirations for her series. She ended up liking it as is and drew Wik wearing it in one of her pieces.

It’s been lying somewhere on his bottom shelves since then. It’s definitely too small for him – it’s supposed to be oversized and it would fit him like a regular cardigan now, but… 

It would probably fit Kim.

Yu’s tweet is already gaining traction – she’s popular in the Wik fandom – and Chay knows she would find this hilarious.

He slides off the bed and walks to the wardrobe. He hesitates for a heartbeat before opening the doors, but soon he’s rummaging through the piles and pulling the soft sweater out.

____________

From: Chay

How would you feel about wearing this? [Image attachment]

Kim should ignore the text message. He’s busy.

Something is wrong with the finances in one of Kinn’s clubs and he needs to figure out what. It’s been calm since Kinn fully took over from Pa, but that’s what worries him. It’s weird. He should check this out.

His phone pings again, reminding him of the message, and his eyes unconsciously trail from the pile of papers in front of him to the device luring his attention with its lit up screen.

The curiosity wins.

Kinn isn’t stupid. Kim sends a message telling him to look at the club’s finances and adds a (completely empty) threat about not breathing a word about him to Pa. He ignores the line of question marks following his name he immediately gets in response and finally opens Chay’s message.

It’s… a sweater?

From: Kim

Why? 

Chay calls him.

Kim picks up before he can think the decision through.

“Okay so– Hi, P’Kim! Anyway– You should wear this. Just for a couple of photos! You can take it off immediately afterwards, I know it’s not really your style, that's fine. But the colour is really nice – it would look great on you.”

Kim is pretty sure Chay doesn’t take a single breath as the words pour out of his mouth and crash over Kim like a wave. He feels the corners of his mouth lifting up in a smile and leans back in the chair, rotating the pen in his hand.

“It’s… pretty?” The statement ends up sounding more like a question, but this conversation is equally as confusing as it is amusing, so Chay will have to take it as an answer.

“It is! Which is why you should wear it, P’Kim.” Kim can practically imagine the earnest look in Chay’s eyes. He raises an eyebrow even though Chay isn’t there to see him.

“That’s it?”

“Yes!”

Okay, so this is another one of those things that Chay makes Kim do and his fans love. The question is why? What’s with the sweater? Kim rotates the image Chay sent in his head. Wait–

The world screeches to a halt. 

Is that Chay’s sweater? 

Kim puts the phone on speaker and pulls up the photo again. It’s lying on what's clearly an unmade bed, there are no tags and it doesn’t look new. That’s definitely Chay’s sweater.

Kim seems to be taking too long to reply because Chay starts talking again, something about blue and his skin tone and colours and there’s something about seasons in there? but Kim isn’t really listening anymore.

If he agrees, he would be wearing Chay’s sweater.

Kim’s brain malfunctions. If his ears were currently working he’s certain he would be able to hear the gears in his head overheating, popping out of place and clanging down in a heap of twisted metal.

“–which I think is very important. People will notice!” Chay’s voice finally filters through the smoky haze in Kim’s mind. He could have been talking for hours or seconds and Kim wouldn’t be able to tell even with a gun to his head.

“That–” Kim’s voice comes out gravelly and he’s pretty sure he can hear Chay squeak, but that might be his imagination. “That makes sense. Okay.” 

He cringes at his own awkwardness, but Chay doesn’t seem to notice. 

Without missing a beat he asks Kim to pick him up on the way to the studio the following day so they can stop at Santiphap park for a couple of photos.

In-between trying to get his guts to stop feeling weird, Kim agrees.

The cardigan probably isn’t Chay’s anyway. He could have bought it second-hand or maybe borrowed it from a friend? Kim is being an idiot. And why does it matter if it is Chay’s?

The cardigan is most definitely Chay’s.

It mostly smells like clean laundry, but the artificial fragrance hasn't managed to fully remove the scent of Chay’s body wash and cologne. It's faint, less from wear and more like it's been lying around in the same drawer as other clothes, but it's unmistakable. (And comforting. But Kim isn't thinking about that.)

“Is this yours?” he asks to confirm. Chay’s cheeks blooming pink under the hot Bangkok sun answer for him.

“Yeah.” Chay smiles sheepishly. “I wore it like five times and now it’s too small for me so I was going to give it away or throw it out, but I figured that I might get one more use out of it.”

Kim smiles and tugs on the slightly too long sleeve. “It’s nice.”

“It suits you!” Chay beams back.

Kim wonders if Chay would mind if he kept it.

“It’s weird,” Chay muses on the way back to the car. “I always thought you’re getting recognised left and right whenever you’re out, but aside from that group of girls waving at you from across the pond today, we haven’t been stopped by anyone.”

“It’s too early in the morning.” He watches the way Chay trails his hand in the air just above the greenery surrounding the path.

“No, I know.” Chay nods. “I mean other times too.”

Kim shrugs and guesses, “I think most people just aren’t looking?”

Chay gives him a good long look and then tilts his head in consideration, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. “Or maybe you’re just not famous enough.”

He laughs and runs the last few metres left to the car. Kim gapes at him before snorting. “You do know that reflects badly on your job, right?” 

“I just started working here, you can’t blame me!” Chay calls back and Kim unlocks the car.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kim pulls the cardigan off before getting into the car. “Is it okay if I throw it in the backseat for now? You can get it when I drop you off at home later.”

Chay nods. “Sure.” He buckles his seatbelt when Kim motions at it. “Can we stop for coffee on the way to the studio?”

“By coffee you mean one of your more-sugar-than-coffee concoctions, right?” Kim can hear amusement dancing in his own voice as he spares a glance at Chay before pulling out of the parking lot.

“It’s still coffee!”

“Mhm.”

Kim flashes a brief look at the sweater in the backseat and hopes Chay will forget about it. And if he takes a sharper turn in one of the intersections so the sweater slides off and onto the – thankfully clean – floor, it’s not like anybody will know.