#but it'll prob be way less spooky bc horror is hard to write

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Chay takes his first sip of beer under Macau’s careful guidance when the last guest walks in, and the horrible taste of it combined with the sheer shock of the third cousin means most of it ends up sprayed down his shirt, and all eyes are on him as he coughs and desperately gasps for breath, and Chay wants to die. 

Because Macau’s cousin? Is Wik. Wik. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He manages to wheeze, while Macau laughs and thumps on his back. 

“What, you’re a fan?” 

Chay can’t very well say yes, seeing as Wik is right there, ten feet away, watching him with mounting annoyance as if he already knows the answer. Of course he does. And of course he wouldn’t want Chay anywhere near him, his family, on what is supposed to be a private vacation. God, what was Macau thinking, bringing him here?

“Who are you,” Wik asks. His voice is dry enough that Chay feels parched. He can breathe again, and he clutches his beer to his chest like a shield, and not like the thing that almost killed him a second ago. Or maybe that was Wik. Either way, Chay is in danger. 

“Our virgin sacrifice,” Macau says, because apparently once wasn’t enough. “This is Porchay, he’s my friend, don’t be an asshole. Chay, this is my loser cousin, Kim. Who, yeah, is also kind of famous, I guess. Don’t make it weird.”

“Hello,” Porchay says weakly. “I, uh… I really like your music.”

“Thanks.”

Chay feels a strong urge to apologize—and offer to leave right then and there, even if it means calling Porsche to drive the three hours to get him—but he doesn’t get the chance. Wik—Kim—is gone just as fast as he'd appeared, taking his guitar case with him. Strangely it isn’t any easier to breathe in his absence. 

“You’re an asshole,” Chay informs Macau. “You planned that, didn’t you?” His best friend’s shit-eating grin informs him that yes, he had. 

“Dude, your face! I thought you were going to die!”

“I wanted to! That’s so messed up! He’s going to think I’m, like, stalking him, or something.” 

“Nah, probably not. Seriously though, don’t be too weird, or he might kill you.”

Nevermind that, Chay might kill himself. How is he supposed to get through the next two weeks? 

***

Out of respect, Chay does his very best to avoid Kim and stay out of his way. He doesn’t know if the older boy notices, because of the aforementioned avoidance, but he hopes so. He wants Kim to know he’s trying. That he isn’t here to creep on him, that he isn’t one of those psycho fans. Yeah, Chay has a little bit of a shrine at home, but all of the pictures on his wall are from professional photoshoots. No paparazzi photos or creepshots from other fans. Nothing from his personal time. Chay isn’t like that. He doesn’t want to intrude. He just wishes he could explain himself. 

The opportunity comes the next morning. Chay is awake before anyone else; he kicks around in bed for a while, then goes to Macau’s room across the hall, but he’s still fast asleep. Chay isn’t comfortable enough to go explore, but eventually his stomach drives him in search of the kitchen. It’s massive, borderline industrial, and fully stocked to feed an army. It’s ridiculous. 

Chay is cracking eggs into a pan when he hears another set of footsteps, seconds before he’s greeted by Kim’s handsome, scowling face. He must have just rolled out of bed; he’s wearing soft-looking lounge clothes, barefoot, and his hair is just messy enough that it could be intentional, if not for the softness around his eyes. Softness that disappears as soon as they land on Chay. 

“... Good morning,” Chay greets, with an awkward smile. He turns back to the stove, trying to communicate I’m not watching, just ignore me. It must work, because rather than turn back the way he came, Kim joins him in the kitchen. 

“Hi,” is all he says, and Chay is content with that. 

There’s a fancy-looking espresso machine at its own coffee station. Kim takes up his post in front of it, grinding down coffee beans and pressing them into the filter. He takes down two small glasses and sets them beneath. Soon, the rich scent of fresh coffee fills the kitchen, the espresso machine's pop and hiss accompanying the sound of frying eggs. 

“Do you want me to make you something?” Chay offers, not turning around. 

“No.” 

Kim doesn’t say anything else. Neither does Chay. He chews on his bottom lip until his breakfast is finished, and he plates his eggs on a pile of sticky rice. 

This might be my only chance. 

“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable. By being here, I mean,” Chay starts. “I swear I had no idea when Macau invited me. He said he was just coming here with his cousins. I-I wouldn’t have agreed. If I knew. I promise.” 

Kim turns to face him fully, leaning back against the counter. Chay fidgets beneath the weight of his gaze. “Really?” he asks. He doesn’t sound like he believes Chay one way or the other. 

“Yeah, yes, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’m obviously,” he waves his hand between them, “You know, but like. You’re with your family. That’s not my business… Or anyone else’s,” he adds, trying to reassure Kim he isn’t going to tell anyone about anything that happens on this trip, without saying that outloud and reminding him it was ever a risk in the first place. 

“Hmm.” 

Please believe me. Even if they never see each other again—Chay will leave right now if Kim tells him to, he’ll figure it out—he needs Kim to believe this. That Chay isn’t another vulture trying to take more of him than Kim is willing to give, as if it’s something he’s owed just because he’s a fan. 

“Porchay, right?” Chay nods. “How do you know my cousin?” 

“We go to school together.” 

Kim looks at him doubtfully. Chay’s face goes hot, and reminds himself what Porsche told him before he left; just because they’re rich doesn’t mean they’re better than you, don’t forget that. 

“I’m, uh, I’m there on scholarship.”

“Really? That’s not an easy scholarship to get.” No kidding. Chay took a summer prep course for the entrance exam and that alone was almost too much. The exam itself nearly made him pass out. “What was your score?”

“Uh… One hundred percent.”

“Bullshit.” 

Chay flushes, equal parts embarrassed and something slightly less than angry. “They made me take it twice. The proctors thought I cheated the first time.” He didn’t. He’d spent the entire summer studying, because Porsche told him this is what he needed to do for his future. To make their parents proud. Chay never knew their parents; he just wanted Porsche to be happy, and to repay him for being such a good brother. 

“And you got the same score?”

“... Ninety-eight percent, the second time.” He was terrified, and that meant he made mistakes he wouldn’t have otherwise. 

“Still nearly perfect.” Kim regards him carefully, his head tilted, and Chay is too incensed to properly appreciate the flex of Kim’s bare arms across his chest. “Interesting.” 

Chay thinks that maybe, from anyone else, interesting might have meant impressive. 

Kim turns his back on him again, then, leaving Chay to eat his now-cold breakfast while he finishes his coffee. Neither say anything else. It’s painful in a way silence always is for him—to Chay, silence means loneliness, means sitting at home and waiting for his brother to walk through the door, bloody and beaten, or it means hiding from debt collectors—but Chay refuses to break it again. 

He also refuses to look at Kim, which is why he startles when a porcelain cup is set down in front of him with a delicate clink, a cappuccino with delicate-looking latte art and a dusting of cocoa powder. He looks up and Kim’s back is already to him again as he finishes making his own coffee. He cleans the espresso machine, puts away his tools, and leaves without another word, no doubt in search of a better refuge to enjoy his morning coffee, without Chay breathing down his neck. Even though Chay already wasn’t doing that. 

Whatever, it’s not like it matters. 

Chay picks up his latte. He’s a little bit mad at how good it is, blooming rich and smooth on his tongue, and not overly sweet. 

Like Kim, he thinks, glowering into the milk foam. 

#cookie writes #kimchay #this is vaguely dead friends forever inspired #but it'll prob be way less spooky bc horror is hard to write #mostly it's going to be the theerapanykuls emotionally terrorizing Chay the whole time lol