Chapter Text
“Firfir,” Khaotung sang as he walked into his tiny Bangkok apartment. “Where’s my little Firfir?”
The black cat stood from where he had been asleep on the couch, stretched with a leisurely little wiggle, and then jumped down to trot over to Khaotung’s feet.
“There he is.” Khaotung squatted down to give the cat his requisite ten minutes of dedicated petting time. When his knees began to ache, Khaotung straightened to throw his backpack down on the linoleum floor and flopped into a kitchen chair. “How was your day?”
The cat didn’t answer, simply jumped up onto Khaotung’s lap, both paws braced on his chest. He purred like a lawn mower and stared forcefully into Khaotung’s eyes.
“Right, right, enough small talk.” With a sigh, Khaotung heaved himself back up again and cast about for something to make for dinner. The fridge was nearly bare—just a little leftover chicken and a few wrinkly vegetables. “Stir fry again, I suppose.” At least rice was cheap.
Khaotung made a mental note to recalculate his food budget and maybe check a few other markets for cheaper prices. Or maybe if he swung by in the evenings, the grannies might give him some discounts on day-old bread and produce. It stung to ask, but they already knew he needed extra cash. He had been asking around and putting up flyers, trying to find a day job with flexible hours so he could keep auditioning. It was extra humiliating, since they had all seen him in Destiny of You, and been so proud of him for his first real lakorn job and steady paycheck.
But that was just how fate worked sometimes—and Khaotung had long ago resolved never to let his pride get in the way of accomplishing his dreams.
He scrolled through Instagram as he waited for the rice to cook. First wound around his ankles like a tiny, hungry shark. In his DMs was a message from a cat food account, asking if he would be interested in auditioning First for their commercials.
“Oho, look at this!” He leaned down to show the screen to First, who ignored it. “You’re more famous than I am! Someone wants you to model.”
First meowed plaintively, clearly much more worried about his upcoming dinner.
“Then you could have the fancy shit like tuna and octopus or anything besides my leftovers.” Khaotung clicked the profile of the company. They seemed legit. He had definitely seen ads for their cat food before—and seen various cat accounts he followed partner with them.
“I can’t believe they want you.”
First blinked up at him in affront. He leapt up to the counter to be at eye level and bit Khaotung gently on the nose.
“Oh, come on. Of course you’re the cutest little cat that ever was.” Khaotung accompanied this reassurance with chin scritches. “But black cats aren’t generally good on camera. Something about the shadows.”
He certainly had a terrible time photographing his cat—he was shocked the brand had reached out based on his Instagram photos, most of which featured a black void with eyes. However, there were those few of First in direct sunlight—when his coat came alive with a rich variety of warm red-browns, and his eyes were golden and entreating rather than a startling yellow in the darkness.
“I know you’re the prettiest cat ever,” he reassured First. Who sat on the counter—technically not allowed, but whatever—and eyed him reproachfully. “I just didn’t expect them to realize.” He looked back down at the message, which invited him to audition First in two days. “Should we do it?”
First began to wash himself, clearly bored with the conversation.
“You’d have to go in the carrier, though.” Khaotung sighed. He had never once managed to get First to go into any cat carrier, no matter how he had tried. First was a stray who had appeared in the outdoor hallway of his apartment complex one day, meowing outside the door. Khaotung had tried to bring him to the shelter—he couldn’t afford a cat—or even just the vet once he realized that he had no choice in the adoption. Nothing had worked. Not bribery, not coercion, and not four different types of carriers, each more expensive than the last. There were calming drugs that supposedly helped—but Khaotung couldn’t afford those either.
So he just prayed the cat was as healthy as he looked—at least his fur was lustrous, and he was always energetic and affectionate.
“Silly cat.” He scooped First with one hand, staggering a little to hold him. He dropped his phone on the counter to reinforce First’s weight with his other arm. “I swear you’re heavier than you should be for such a little guy.”
First pushed his cheek against Khaotung’s face and then squirmed until Khaotung let him drop to the floor.
“Okay, okay, I get it—focus on dinner. Right.”
As the rice finished, he stir-fried some vegetables and doused them in sauce. All of the vegetables and rice went on his plate, but he carefully parceled out a little bit of leftover chicken from the fridge, putting half in First’s dish. Before First could jump up on the counter again, he set the dish in its usual spot on the floor.
“Don’t forget to drink water,” he admonished. “And eat slower! It’s not going to run away!”
As usual, First ignored him in favor of housing the food. Before Khaotung had heated the chicken for himself and sat down, First was done and meowing again.
“You eat more than I do,” Khaotung grumbled as he deposited another forkful of his chicken onto First’s dish. He didn’t really begrudge the food—cats couldn’t eat anything but meat. He could survive on rice and noodles, and other cheap foods. Besides, sometimes the auditions had snacks, especially the callbacks. Not that he got many of those these days.
Anyway, he made do.
Finally, First settled down in his lap, and Khaotung pulled his phone out again as he ate at a more leisurely pace.
“Time to face the music, huh?” He’d had an audition—a real one, an important one, that could turn this whole shitstorm around—a few days ago. This morning, he had seen the notification on his phone that the result was in, but had been too afraid to face it while he still had shit to do.
“What do you think my odds are? I wish you could check for me.”
First simply huddled deeper into his lap, silently rebuking Khaotung for his nervous energy, the way his legs kept shifting under First’s furry body.
Khaotung brought up his email app, glad his mother couldn’t see him now. She would worry, with how often he talked to First like a real person who could answer back. But—there wasn’t anyone else. And it was lonely these days, with how the industry seemed to be closing him out. Even his friends and contacts from other jobs seemed to be avoiding him after the incident at his previous film set.
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, one hand navigating into the email, the other resting on First’s back.
As he skimmed the email—thank you for your audition; moving forward with another candidate—the smile he forced for no one faltered.
“Well, looks like one of us needs to get a real job, huh?” And it wouldn’t be the cat—that wasn’t fair. “Time for me to give up on this stupid dream, I guess.”
The next mouthful of rice was tinged with salt.
“You’ll have to get in the carrier after all, Fir—time to pack up and head home.”
Another droplet fell, this time on First’s head.
The little black cat sat up. Licked at a tear that trembled on the tip of Khaotung’s chin.
“Th-thanks.” Khaotung’s voice collapsed. He dropped the spoon onto his plate and gave up on eating as tears filled his eyes and mouth. “I’m s-sorry.”
He curled in on himself, arms wrapping around First, who held still without complaint. “I’m so sorry.” Such a shit actor, shit person, shit cat owner. Stupid for thinking he could make it in this notoriously savage career. Stupid for thinking he could handle the games and negotiations and maneuvering of this industry, naive to think that the first person who offered him a kind word had no ulterior motive, that he could just trust everyone’s good intentions.
He had ruined himself before he’d even started by trusting Knot—all because he had been so desperate for a friend.
First squeaked a protest as Khaotung’s arms tightened to a punishing grip. “Sorry,” he mumbled again, shifting his self-castigation into fingernails dug into the undersides of his own arms.
“I love you, First.” Khaotung sobbed into the soft fur. “You’ll stay with me forever, right? No matter how shitty of an actor I am? No matter if I have to move back to Chiang Mai?”
Never mind that he couldn’t get First into the stupid carrier to take him anywhere. But he refused to leave First behind. Even if he had to rent a car, so he could let First loose in the vehicle while he drove. No matter what, he wasn’t going to leave his cat behind.
“Don’t leave me, okay?”
He rocked back and forth in the chair, crying until First’s fur was soaked and his throat was raw with heartbreak.
The next day, Khaotung woke up late. He didn’t have any auditions today—and even if he did, he wasn’t sure he could have summoned the energy to care. He felt like a truck had pancaked him—and then backed over him to do it again, just to make sure he was good and dead.
“Fir?” He glanced around as he stretched and headed to the kitchen. Usually the cat would be awake at seven, climbing over him and meowing for food. He checked his phone—it was well past ten now.
“Firfir?” His chest tightened, voice rising to a shout, even though the apartment was tiny and there was no way First would not hear.
If he was there.
Khaotung’s gaze flew to the windows, but they were all shut. He ran to check the door, searched the bathroom next.
“Fir?” First never slept through his call. Even if he was dead asleep, he always woke easily. Even if he was—
Was—
“Fuck—First? First, please.” The sob ripped up his throat, his tired, scratchy eyes burning with fresh tears. He tore cushions off his couch, dumped his pillows off the bed, hauled armloads of clothing out of the laundry basket. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
A weak meow.
Khaotung slammed through his dresser—finally realizing that the bottom drawer was partially open. First huddled at the back of it. Khaotung reached for him—
“Shit!” First was burning hot. “Fir? Are you hurt?” He felt around the cat’s body. First meowed pathetically and rubbed his nose against Khaotung’s hand, but Khaotung’s gentle touches didn’t seem to produce any flinching or fear.
Khaotung used both hands to scoop under the tiny body and bring him out into the light. First looked at him, eyes half-lidded as if he were falling asleep. His ears and nose burned, and his nose was dry, which Khaotung knew was a sign of fever.
He found the number for the nearest vet and called. “My cat—he’s burning up. What do I—?”
“You’ll have to bring him in,” came the infuriatingly calm reply. Didn’t this woman know that his cat—his beloved First—could be dying? “We can’t tell what’s wrong without an exam.”
“I can’t—he hates carriers.”
“He’s going to hate being sick even more. If he’s that sick, he should be lethargic enough that you can get him in.”
Easy for you to fucking say.
Khaotung stared down at First, who looked up with piteous eyes and an even more piteous meow. Please, Khaotung prayed silently. Please let the vet be right. “And I can come now?”
“Yes, we have an emergency staff that’s available.”
“Thank you.”
He hung up and went to get the carrier. First whined when he saw it, a sound Khaotung had never heard from his cat before. “I’m sorry. I know you hate it. Just—just this once, okay?”
But when he tried to lift, the cat eluded him, melting through his hands like water, no matter how Khaotung tried to corral him. He slunk back into the drawer each time Khaotung pried him out—and always managed to wriggle away before Khaotung could get him past the carrier entrance.
“Please just go in!” Khaotung held him tight around the neck, the other hand on his haunches, shoving him into the carrier. “It’s for your own—”
First made a horrible, choking sound and clawed bright red scratches into Khaotung’s arms in his frantic thrashing.
“Fuck—no—I didn’t mean—” His arms fell loose. “Fir—I just—I can’t lose you.” Khaotung sat down and sobbed, arms coming over his head to claw at his own hair. “Not this.” He was the worst cat owner ever. “Not this, too.” He had hurt First and First was sick and he might die and— “Please. God—someone. Help."
A tiny, hot nose nudged at his elbow. Khaotung unclenched his posture, and First climbed into his lap. Washed his cheek with a prickly tongue. Khaotung hugged the tiny body to his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please just get in the carrier. Please be okay,” he whispered.
First rumbled into a purr. When Khaotung lifted him in trembling arms, he seemed to sigh, but let Khaotung place him gently in the cloth carrier.
“Thank you.” Khaotung zipped his cat inside and prayed.
He clutched the carrier to his chest the entire Grab ride to the vet. He couldn’t really afford the car—should have gotten a bike instead—but he couldn’t risk First falling from his arms or some other unforeseen disaster. First was calm—terrifyingly calm—in the carrier. Khaotung prayed it was because he sensed Khaotung’s distress. But he knew it was more likely that First simply didn’t have the energy to fuss anymore.
There was no wait at the emergency vet—the intake person felt First’s nose and said, “Let’s get him to an exam room.” She re-zipped and picked up the carrier with gentle hands.
Khaotung hesitated—he’d never been to the vet and he knew with humans you weren’t allowed—
She looked back over her shoulder and waved, “You come too. He’ll feel better with you there.”
In the exam room, they took First’s temperature and blood sample. First sat on the table without complaint, still appearing to sleep. Khaotung kept a hand on his back, reassured only by the minute rise and fall of his small lungs. Finally, the vet came back into the room with a grim expression.
“What’s—” Khaotung swallowed hard on his dry, thick tongue. He couldn’t even say the question. He didn’t want to know.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“What?”
“Or—nothing we can detect. He’s—” she frowned at First, as if the sleeping cat had personally affronted her. “He seems fine, even though a fever of that temperature should by all rights mean death for a cat.”
Khaotung’s heart lurched. “But—but he’s not.” Stupid. His hand was right there. He knew First breathed, counted every breath so carefully he barely forgot to inflate his own lungs. He wiped away tears and tried to focus on the vet’s words.
“He has no other signs of a high fever. Not dehydration, not panting. Hell, his pulse isn’t even elevated. He’s lethargic, but still responds to stimuli.” She shook her head again. “By all rights, he should be dead.”
Khaotung choked and the vet winced.
“Sorry. I’m just mystified.”
“So there’s nothing you can do?”
“Well, we could keep him on an IV, but like I said, he’s not dehydrated. Did he eat within the last twenty-four hours?”
“Yes. Dinner last night.”
“Drank water?”
“Yes—but is it my fault? I’ve just been giving him chicken from the market. Cooked, but—I can’t afford cat food—”
“As long as it’s not covered in salt or seasonings, that should be okay. I would mix it up with some fish for the taurine but—”
“Is that what caused this?” Khaotung seized onto the tiny bit of information. “He needs fish? I can get fish.” Maybe. Hopefully.
The vet held up her hands. “Okay, slow down. First of all, I just want to say this isn’t your fault. He’s very healthy otherwise, and like I said, even this fever isn’t hurting him the way it should.”
Khaotung bristled at that word—because nothing should harm his cat. But he tried to stay calm, because the vet was kind and his hand was still on First’s back. First’s fur was still soft and glossy. He was still breathing.
“Secondly, I can give you some cat food if you’re worried about nutrition.”
“I can’t—”
“Free samples,” she said with a wink.
Khaotung tried to smile, but his face was still stiff with tears and worry. “So what do I do with him? I take him home?”
“We can keep him here overnight for observation, but—”
At that, First began to cry, little pathetic whimpers that broke Khaotung’s heart. He had to do something, he was the worst cat owner ever.
“As if he can hear me,” the vet said with a gentle laugh, and ruffled First’s ears. “He’s burning. How is this even possible?”
Khaotung hesitated—because he really did want the best for First, but an overnight stay was expensive and—
“Could I pay you back? I don’t have the money now, but—” Maybe if he sold something? His mother really could not afford to loan him anything more. The roof of their Chiang Mai house still had that leak, and the rainy season was approaching. “I could get a roommate—”
“Look,” she laid a hand on his arm. “He’ll be happier at home with you. There isn’t anything we can do at this point. Either he’ll get better or he won’t, and at least you’ll be with him if the worst happens.”
First only meowed a soft protest as the vet shuffled him back into the carrier.
“He’s made it this far,” she said, her black eyes serious, but reassuring. “My bet is that he recovers.”
Khaotung nodded as he clutched the carrier and its precious cargo to his chest once more. First was the one good thing in his life in Bangkok. Whatever he had to do, Khaotung would not let the worst happen.
Back at home, Khaotung put out a plate for the special food the vet had given him. Twenty cans in a shopping bag was much more than a free sample, but he didn’t have the heart to protest. If he had no pride left for himself, he certainly couldn’t afford to have any where First was concerned. Especially not after paying the bill, which, even though he was sure she’d given him a discount on, was more than his groceries for a week.
He had to coax First out of the carrier—something he could never have imagined that morning. The cat wobbled on his feet, clearly half asleep.
“Come on, Fir. Little cat. My fluffy baby boy.” Khaotung ran through all the stupid, inane nicknames that he used in place of First’s name. “Firmeow. Squeakers McSqueaky. Come out, Little Fluff.”
First heaved himself to his feet, little black paws catching on the rough fabric of the carrier as he shuffled along. “Just eat a little something for me? Please?”
First looked at the food, then back up at Khaotung. “You haven’t eaten all day,” Khaotung said, as if the cat could be reasoned with.
But First seemed to sigh, and bent his head to take a few mouthfuls of food which Khaotung had mixed with water for extra hydration.
“That’s it. Good cat.”
First sat down and opened his mouth in the parody of a meow, no sound coming out.
“Oh, Fir.” Khaotung scooped him up. “Please please please be okay.” He settled on the couch, lying down with First on his chest. The cat seemed content there, immediately curling up into a loose ball.
“I love you Firfir.” Khaotung ran his hand over his cat’s back—again and again and again. Reassuring himself that the small bundle of heat was still there, that this creature who had stayed by his side through everything hadn’t left him just yet. “Please don’t die.”
First blinked sleepily at him, amber eyes luminous in the low lamplight. He meowed, sounding exhausted but reassuring. Khaotung was exhausted too, despite it being just past noon. He stroked behind the cat’s ears and decided to simply wait and watch. By nighttime, the vet said he should either see an improvement or—
He wasn’t going to think about the or.
“Don’t leave me, okay?”
First laid his little chin down and closed his eyes with a sigh.
Khaotung froze—was this the end? Was he giving up? He tried to sit up without jostling the cat, kept one hand on the small back to keep him from sliding off—
His sternum began to vibrate, the sensation shuddering through his ribs. First was purring, barely audible, but so damn hard that Khaotung’s chest thrummed with it.
Khaotung settled back into the couch. “You’ll be okay,” he whispered, unsure of which of them he was talking to. “You’ll be okay.”
When he woke, hours later, Khaotung was no longer afraid for anyone’s life but his own—because in place of his adorable black cat, on top of him was a giant fucking man, crushing him into the couch.
“What the fuck?”