Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Team Teerayu Siriyothin’s day started around 6:30am.

He would’ve liked to sleep until 7, when his alarm went off, but his body always woke him up half an hour early because it thrived off chaos and loved to see him suffer. Thirty minutes was not enough time to get so much sleep that he’d suddenly feel sufficiently rested, so instead he usually opted to scroll through social media on his phone. There were pictures of food from Pharm’s restaurant on his instagram, tweets from old teammates from university asking when Team’s next meet was, and tiktoks sent to him by Manaow that made him chuckle. He sent her an equally stupid meme in reply for her to find when she pulled herself from her coma-like slumber sometime around noon.

At 7am, his alarm went off, and he dragged himself out of bed. He threw together a healthy enough breakfast, scarfed it down, and was out the door to meet his coaches at the gym by 7:30. The drive was uneventful, and so was the training session, and so were the meetings he was made to go to afterwards. When he was finally free, he showered and changed and ran off before his coaches could decide they wanted something else from him.

[My Best Friends]
Team: hey, i got out of practice a little late but im on my way now!
Manaow: UGH we have been waiting FOREVER! Hurry up!!!
Pharm: We’ve only been here for ten minutes, you can take your time.
Pharm: Drive safe, Team. :^)

Team snickered at his phone as he locked it and dropped it into the cupholder in the center console of his car. It was a tradition to get lunch with his friends from university every Monday, one that they put in place when they all graduated two and a half years ago in order to avoid drifting apart. After Pharm opened his restaurant, it seemed only natural to meet there every week. Since the tradition began, they had only missed a Monday Lunch a handful of times. Pharm had even insisted that he and Dean get married on a weekend so that he didn’t have to skip.

Team pulled into a parking space in the familiar lot and jogged inside, smiling widely when he saw Manaow in their booth, waving at him with her mouth full. He crossed the floor quickly and slid in next to her.

“You started without me?” He chuckled.

“I was so hungry,” she replied dramatically, slouching back in the seat as if she was dying. “I would have died, Team. Do you want your best friend to die?”

“Sometimes,” was his reply, earning a snort from her and an eye roll from Pharm across the table. He was sitting next to Dean, who had, at some point, also become a fixed point in their Monday Lunches. He never had much to say, but since the wedding he and Pharm had done pretty much everything together, and Team kind of liked the rare pun that he would make. He thought the jokes were funnier when they didn’t land.

“Hey, Pharm,” he smiled, reaching over and grabbing Pharm’s spoon to scoop a mouthful of curry off his plate. Pharm smacked his wrist, although he must’ve known it was coming, because rather than annoyed he just looked amused. With his hand covering his full mouth, Team said, “Hey, P’Dean.”

Dean gave him a smile and a nod while his husband snatched his spoon back from Team.

“I just ordered your food!” He said, trying to sound stern, but his eyes gave him away. “It should be out in just a second.”

“But I’m hungry now,” Team whined mimicking Manaow’s opening statement. “I’m going to die, do you want me to die?”

Together, he and Manaow slouched against one another, doing their best to act as dead as possible and earning a genuine chuckle from Dean.

“God,” Pharm sighed. “Why do I hang out with you guys again?”

“Because you love us,” Manaow replied, sticking out her tongue at him as she sat up.

“How was practice?” Dean asked, looking over at Team. Dean had been the president of Team’s swim team in college. About a year after graduating, around the time that Dean and Pharm finally tied the knot, Team had decided to get serious about swimming, so Dean was often interested to hear how Team’s professional career was going.

“They work me so hard,” Team pouted, knowing that with Dean it wouldn’t land. The older man just nodded sagely, looking thoughtful.

“Our poor baby,” Manaow pouted back at Team, taking his face in her hands. “You look so tired.” She moved her hands to brace his arms instead, squeezing his biceps. The pout on her lips split into a wide grin as she squealed. “Ooh, but your arms are so nice!”

“Manaow,” Team laughed, pulling away from her as the waitress came by to drop off his food. He thanked her quietly as Manaow continued.

“Gosh, Team, you’re so handsome! Are you still single?”

“Still single,” Team confirmed, picking up his spoon and pointing it at her as if to fend her off. “Still gay too, so back off.”

Pharm laughed across the table as Manaow threw her hands up in surrender. “You’re no fun,” she whined.

“Seriously,” Pharm cut in, catching their attention. “You look kind of tired. Are you sleeping well?”

Team gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders and shoved a spoonful of curry into his mouth to avoid answering for a moment. When he swallowed, he replied. “About as well as I always do. Not the best, not the worst.”

“Are you still working at that club? The Pentagon?” Pharm asked.

“Just part time a couple nights a week,” Team nodded.

Pharm looked like he was about to say something very Pharm-esque, like, “Maybe you should take some time off,” or “Don’t you think you do a little too much?” but Manaow cut him off with an excited sound at the name of Team’s place of employment.

“Oh, do you work tonight?” She asked, bumping her arm into Team’s. “Del and I are going to see a show!”

“Yeah, there’s a show tonight,” Team groaned, slouching in his seat. “The band is supposed to be really popular. It’s a pain in my ass, the set up and the clean up is going to take so long. Don’t get a job in the entertainment business, kids.”

“Do you know who’s playing?” Pharm asked, cocking his head with his spoon halfway to his mouth. He shared a look with Dean that Team thought meant that they knew something, but wouldn’t tell if pressed. He narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know off the top of my head,” Team said slowly. “Do you?”

“I’m texting Del, she’ll remember,” Manaow said, typing furiously at her phone.

Dean spoke up for the second time, bringing a glass of water to his lips. “She’s working.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right.” Manaow frowned, looking at the stream of texts she had already sent. “Well, she’ll see them later I guess.”

Del didn’t text Manaow back, and the Husbands Triwinij and Chatpokin didn’t reveal their secrets, so the conversation shifted elsewhere. Manaow talked about her upcoming auditions and the drama between the people at her job, and Pharm mentioned that he might like to take a vacation this summer with their friend group. Dean pulled out his phone to look at listings for rental houses by the beach as Team cleaned his plate, doing the mental math on how persuasive he’d have to be to get his coaches to let him take a week off to hang out with his friends. The odds were looking rough.

Eventually, Manaow had to run to make an appointment, and Pharm had to go back to the kitchen, and another Monday Lunch had come to a close. Team got back into his car with his belly sufficiently stuffed and checked the time, then decided he had enough time to go back home and attempt a nap before work this evening. If he was lucky, he’d get enough sleep to get him through his shift.

—

The Pentagon used to be an upscale club, before Team started working there. The owner and manager, Lian Kilen Wang, used to market towards rich people with expensive taste. Though that must have changed when he realized he could turn the club into a venue for music shows and make just as much money. When it wasn’t being overrun by fans of this musician or that one, it was still a functional bar, with a dj booth on the small stage and a sizable dance floor. Tall tables littered the outskirts of it for people to stand around and chat with drinks, colorful lights twinkling off of hanging crystal features, a relic of the club’s past. There was an upstairs in the big open main room with booths that used to be private, but still had a clear view of the stage. The upscale feeling of the venue was a selling point now, even though they catered to a mid-scale audience. If someone had asked Team what he thought about it, he’d say it was genius and that he’d never have come up with the idea. He guessed that was why Lian Kilen Wang was in charge and not him.

The Lian in question, however, was not the one who greeted Team at the door when he showed up for work. Instead it was Pa, a girl with a bright smile and light brown hair tied up at the back of her head. She wore a lanyard that labeled her as staff and handed Team one at the door.

“Hey, P’Team!” She turned her smile on him as they walked inside. “Hia Lian got us all new badges so security will know who is who when things get crazy later.”

Team looked down at his badge. It was just a white card with a picture of him in the middle, his nickname overtop and his legal first and last name along the bottom. There was a Pentagon logo in the bottom left corner.

“Where’s everyone at right now?” Team asked, looking around the empty room. It used to be strange to see the Pentagon empty, since Team had only ever been there before when it was packed, but he had gotten used to it. Packed it had been before and packed it surely would be again this evening.

“P’Ink is downstairs folding brochures. It's not really a playbill kind of show though, so we’re just going to leave them in a bin by the door,” Pa explained. “P’Pran is in the booth getting ready for lighting and sound, but my brother is up there as well so if you’re going just, uh, knock first. And View went out on a pizza run so we can all eat before things get busy. The band isn’t supposed to be here for setup for another half hour or so.”

“Is Hia Lian here yet?” Team asked. As if on cue, Lian emerged onto the stage, carrying a large bass drum. He was dressed as usual, dress pants, a solid colored dress shirt, a vest overtop, with his sleeves rolled up his forearms to reveal the expensive watch on his wrist. For some reason he always insisted on dressing for a day in the office even when he knew he’d be doing manual labor. He set the drum down carefully and straightened when he saw Team and Pa.

“Team, good, you’re here. Help me carry the rest of this drum set up from storage.”

And with that, the stream of tasks for Team from his coworkers began. He helped Lian move the drumset, microphones, and mic stands up from the basement, and set them all up in a tentative position on their stage. The artists sometimes moved them around, but it was customary to at least have them out and ready when they arrived. He checked with Pat and Pran in the sound booth that everything was hooked up and working correctly, receiving thumbs up through the glass from both of them. When View arrived with pizza he grabbed two slices for himself, then put a third one on a plate and descended the stairs to find Ink in the break room and deliver it to her.

“P’Ink!” He sang, holding a paper plate with pizza like a waiter at an upscale restaurant. “I come bearing gifts!” He did a little spin as she watched and placed the plate down on the table in front of her. “Dinner is served.”

“My hero,” Ink smirked at him.

“The pizza boxes are on the bar. If you want more you can run up there and grab some, there’s plenty.” Team smiled, sitting down next to her to eat.

“Are your coaches going to be happy to hear you’re not eating boiled chicken and white rice?” Ink teased.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” was Team’s reply, before taking a large and quite satisfying bite of his greasy slice of pepperoni.

“P’Ink!” Pa’s voice rang out from the stairwell. “I brought you some-“ She was cut off by a loud noise, startling both Team and Ink to stand and run out to go check on her.

Pa sat on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, holding two plates of pizza over her head. She winced a laugh at their concerned faces, then put one of the plates on her lap and reached to grab a water bottle that she had dropped and had started to roll away.

“Sorry,” she said, “I slipped.”

“Are you okay?” Ink asked, taking a plate from her and helping her up.

“Yeah,” Pa replied. “My butt hurts though. But the pizza’s for you.”

“Team already brought me pizza, honey.” Ink said, an affectionate expression overtaking her face.

Pa simply shrugged, leading the way out of the hallway and into the break room. “Whatever. If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it. Oh, and Team, the band is here. Hia Lian asked me to grab you and send you back up.”

Team groaned. “I just sat down.”

Ink patted his shoulder in solidarity. “We’ll be thinking of you.”

Team sent her a glare without much heat, then turned and left his slice and a half of pizza on its sad little paper plate on the table. He pulled his phone out as he climbed the stairs, checking the group chat and smirking at the stream of texts Manaow had sent.

[SHOWTIME, BABY!]
Notification: Manaow changed the chat name to 'SHOWTIME, BABY!'
Manaow: Update: the band is called Winning Streak!
Manaow: Apparently they play like blues rock.
Manaow: The show starts at 7! Me and Del will be there!
Manaow: Pharm you should come!
Manaow: Pharm Pharm Pharm Pharm
Manaow: Are you working? You NEVER take a day off. >:(
Manaow: Can’t you spare a couple hours for your best friends? 🥺🥺🥺
Pharm I see you guys every monday
Pharm: where is it again?
Manaow: The Pentagon!
Manaow: [Address Shared]
Pharm: ok, I’ll see what I can do.
Manaow: Oh FUCK yes!

As he walked, Team typed a message with one hand.

Team: ill be here all night so if you end up coming around just call me! see you later losers

Team would have spent the next couple of minutes grinning at watching Manaow type her stream of consciousness into their group chat. He would’ve laughed at a dumb gif or a dad joke that Dean might have sent, or imagined Pharm’s laughter at his phone.

Instead he crashed head on into someone’s chest, dropping his phone on the ground between their scuffed up black vans.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he mumbled, bending down to grab his phone, then taking a step back as he straightened up.

In front of him were three men in their twenties. The one on the left wore a red letterman jacket with the sleeves rolled up. He was holding an amp in each hand and Team could see the drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket. The one on the right was carrying two guitar cases, one in each hand, his long brown hair falling into his face as he looked at the one in the middle. The person in the middle was tall and lithe, his bleach blonde hair tied into a familiar little ponytail, silver piercings littering his ears. He nervously tugged at the straps of the guitar case on his back, flashing an anxious smile.

Team heard his voice exit his throat before he could think to stop himself. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Win Phawin Wanichakarnjonkul had the audacity to shrug at him.

“Uh, hey,” he said. “We’re the band.”

Chapter Text

It had been approximately four years, six months, and eleven days since Win had ruined his own life.

College had been easy for him. Never in school had he ever had any trouble making good grades. He had been a relaxed and relatively carefree student. He tutored his juniors when they needed help, and joined the swim club when Dean approached him about it. Swimming had never been more than a reason to hang out with his best friend and a good source of exercise for him. It had been his parents who turned it into something he could put on a resume. 

“If you’re going to do something, you should make it count,” his father had said to him.

So when Dean became the president, Win became his second in command. 

Things changed, though, when he met Team.

Team barrelled into his life like a two ton wrecking ball to a structure made of glass. He ruined Win’s careful image and his meticulous schedule. The confident, intelligent person he had made himself out to be fell to pieces when faced with Team’s smile, his mischief, the stupid, adorable way he looked when he had been caught. 

Win had made so many excuses to spend more time with him. Everything from making sure Team’s grades stayed up with private tutoring so he could stay in the club to making him swim extra laps at practice so they didn’t have to leave. The attitude Team developed towards him was something similar to a student towards their strictest teacher. Out loud, Win attributed it to Team’s endless potential. He was by far the best swimmer in their club. He had times that could get him on the national team, if he worked hard enough. In his head, though, Win knew the truth he was keeping from both of them. 

Four years, six months, and eleven days ago, on the night before graduation, Win saw Team for the last time in his college career. The plan had already been set in place by his family: Win would graduate and fly almost immediately to London, where he would begin a postgraduate study to prepare to take over his family’s hotel chain. 

It wasn’t what he wanted, but they had never thought to ask him about that, so he had never thought to tell them.

They had met at the pool. Win arrived first, sitting on the edge in the dark with his shoes off and his pants rolled up so he could put his feet in the water. Team arrived not long after him, kicking off his sandals and sitting down on the concrete next to him. The lights from under the water reflected lines on his face, and Win watched one pass over his lips and across his jaw, then over his shoulder and out of sight. He had been holding two grocery bags, one of which was full of sugary drinks, while the other held a cake. Win watched Team’s eyebrows furrow in the middle with concentration as he did his best to pull the cake out without tipping it over and smearing the icing on the sides of the box. When he finally had it out and open, the determined expression shifted into an easy smile as he presented it to Win.

“Congratulations, hia,” he had said, with a sincerity that made Win want to kiss him.

“Did you just buy this for me as an excuse for you to eat cake?” Win had asked, with a sarcasm that made him want to kick himself.

Team took it in stride, as he had learned to. “Maybe,” he snickered. He placed the cake on the concrete between them and pulled out a fork, taking a chunk out of the side without bothering to slice it. Win watched him wiggle happily as he put the cake in his mouth, making a small affirmative noise and nodding as if to make sure Win knew that the cake really was delicious. Win had watched him chew, and he watched him swallow, and after that, he leaned forward and kissed Team on the mouth.

What came next was a hungry sort of thing that consumed the both of them. What was supposed to be one chaste kiss turned into another, and another, and then hands in hair and on bodies under clothes. Win vaguely remembered Team’s voice in his ear as he kissed his neck, complaining through the haze of arousal that they should find somewhere private. Together they stumbled into the locker room, where Win sat Team down on a bench against the wall and knelt between his knees . He could still remember the feel of Team’s fingers in his hair and the way he sounded with Win’s mouth on him. When he was done, Team insisted on returning the favor, using his hand while Win panted praises into Team’s ear. It was messy and sloppy and simultaneously not what they deserved for a first time and everything Win could have wanted. 

But the mistake hadn’t been the kiss, or the sex, it was what came after. Win remembered it like it had happened yesterday. They sat on the bench, side by side, both staring at each other, both searching for words. Win opened his mouth to say something, anything, and at the same moment Team’s phone rang. He flinched as Team dug it out of the pocket of his shorts and sucked in a breath. 

“It’s coach,” he had said, an apology in his voice. “It’s probably important. I’ll be right back.”

Win remembered nodding. He remembered watching Team get up and cross the floor, closing himself in the office as he lifted the phone to his ear. He remembered turning his gaze up to the ceiling and thinking the thoughts of a scared 22 year old who had done something stupid, because that is exactly what he was. What business did he have starting something with Team when he was about to leave? What right did he have to claim Team for himself and then go somewhere where he couldn’t give him what he needed? What proof did he have that Team even wanted that kind of relationship with him?

No, the mistake wasn’t the kiss, and it wasn’t the sex. It was the leaving. Clear as day, he remembered steeling himself, getting up, and walking away. He picked his shoes up from the poolside next to the abandoned, forgotten cake and didn’t look back. 

London had been okay. Win found that it was exponentially more challenging to complete graduate level coursework in his second language, but he still somehow managed good marks and a healthy enough social life. It was in England that he met Kuea. 

Kuea Keerati had been studying at the same university as him. They met by chance at a university event and hit it off immediately due to being the only two Thai people they knew in a university full of Europeans. As it turned out, Win’s family often did business with Kuea’s fiance, Lian Kilen Wang, who supplied their hotels with bottled water, and apparently owned a club in Bangkok.

“How old are you again?” Win had asked once over lunch. “You’re engaged?”

“I’m 18,” Kuea replied with a shrug and a smirk. “And what can I say? I see something I want and I take it.”

The music didn’t start until the second year of Win’s degree. He had returned home for break and, on a whim, decided to bring his old acoustic guitar back with him to London. Kuea came over to his apartment the first week back and grinned when he saw it.

“Woah, hia!” He had exclaimed, pulling it out of the hard leather case without asking. “You play guitar?”

Win shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know, a little,” he had replied, watching Kuea as he inspected the old guitar like it was made of gilded gold. 

“Play something for me!” Kuea demanded, shoving the guitar into Win’s hands. Win looked down at it, holding it awkwardly in his lap, formed his fingers into the shape of a C chord, and strummed. The noise that emitted from the sound hole was not what he would classify as music. Kuea visibly winced, looking between Win’s face and the guitar in his hands.

“That’s super out of tune,” he said, then reached over to adjust Win’s hand on the fretboard. “And you’re muting half the strings.”

Win self consciously adjusted his fingers on the fretboard, but they were already starting to hurt from the pressure he was using to press the strings down. Kuea huffed a sigh.

“I just got excited, because, you know, I play the drums.” Kuea pouted. “I was thinking about starting a band.”

That was all the motivation he needed. For the next couple of months, in every open slot of his schedule, and much to the chagrin of his girlfriend at the time, Win learned the ins and outs of that old acoustic. He bought himself a strap and a capo, and used online lessons to teach himself form. When he was good enough at the guitar, he bought himself a bass and an amp and learned that as well. Soon enough he and Kuea were jamming in the music department of their university, playing covers of songs they knew and making up their own melodies.

Every once in a while, their university would serve as a venue to outside contractors and hold events in the auditorium. On one such evening, Win and Kuea caught wind of an international musician audition process, and snuck into the back of the auditorium to watch. The musicians were all really good, and surprisingly for Europe, actually from all over the place. There was a girl from Chile who sang a beautiful ballad, and a South African pianist who did a jaunty piece that had Win bobbing in his seat. The highlight for both of them was a Thai man, with chin length brown hair and an acoustic guitar. He leaned in close to the mic and introduced himself to the judges, only a little awkwardly.

“Hi, um, I’m Marwin. I’m from Thailand.”

His fingers moved like dancers on the strings of his guitar, and his voice was so smooth. The song he sang felt happy and hopeful, and by the end of it Win was grinning. One glance at Kuea told him that Kuea was grinning too.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Kuea had whispered.

“There’s no way he’ll say yes,” Win had answered.

“We’ll never know if we never ask.”

After the audition was over, Win and Kuea slipped backstage and found Marwin tucking his guitar back into its case. Kuea spoke first, not even bothering with English.

“Hi, did you say your name was Marwin? I’m Kuea, and this is Hia Win, and we were wondering if you wanted to join our band?”

Marwin blinked up at them, dumbfounded. If Win had thought about it, he would’ve realized how crazy it sounded to give up the very exclusive opportunity that Marwin had been handed with this audition process and just join a band with a couple of strangers that spoke Thai to him in the middle of London. However, he had not been doing much thinking back then.

“Um,” Marwin paused, closing his case and straightening up. “That’s flattering, but-”

“Do you have dinner plans?” Win cut in. Marwin looked confused but didn’t answer, so Win continued. “Just let us take you out to dinner. We know a great place if you’re missing home, and we can get to know each other a bit. And if after a meal you decide you don’t want to, that’s fine. No pressure.”

“I…” Marwin seemed to consider this for a moment, then shrugged. “I mean, okay.”

And so, Winning Streak was born.

Win finished out his graduate degree to please his parents, and because he hated leaving things halfway done, then headed home with Marwin and Kuea. Needless to say, his parents were not happy that he had decided not to pick up the mantle that Waan had left for him. They called it “postponing it further,” like he would suddenly change his mind later down the road and decide he actually did want to work for his family. He supposed it was a good backup plan. He spent a long time juggling responsibilities pushed on him by his father and playing music with his friends, all the while knowing which one he’d rather be doing.

“Why did we spend all that money to send you to England if you were just going to come back and decide to be a musician?” His father had asked him in a huff.

“I’m fluent in English now, at least,” was Win’s reply.

And it wasn’t like he had done nothing but play music and study while he was there. He also had a handful of failed relationships, a couple of new tattoos, and a very cool tongue piercing.

When the invitation to Dean and Pharm’s wedding came in the year after Win graduated, he was elated. Then, after a moment of thought, he became very, very anxious. He didn’t know how to ask if Team would be there, so he didn’t. It wasn’t about him, it was about his best friend getting married to the love of his life.

Win’s parents insisted on letting Dean use one of their hotels as a venue, free of charge. He spotted Team at the ceremony, but he was easy enough to avoid. They spent the night skirting each other at the reception, dancing on opposite sides of the dance floor, never approaching the bar if the other was there. Win waited until Team had abandoned his post at Pharm’s side to go up and congratulate the couple. As he made his way back to the table of his old classmates, he could feel Team watching him. 

Eventually, the party wound down. Win stayed behind to help the staff clean up some of the chairs, but he was tipsy enough for them to usher him into an elevator full of party-goers and tell him not to worry about it. As the elevator ascended, it stopped on each floor, letting people out in small groups until there was only one other person left. 

He looked to his left and saw Team, staring straight ahead at the panel of buttons by the door. Win swallowed dryly, noticing how tense the atmosphere felt all of a sudden.

“I-” he began, but his voice faltered when Team looked at him. It had been years since he’d seen Team’s face in person, but the complicated emotion behind his eyes brought back everything like it had happened yesterday. Win wiped his sweaty palms on his dress pants, and Team did something he did not expect, lunging forward and kissing Win on the mouth.

The initial surprise of it was nothing compared to the way Win’s body melted into it. It was better than any kiss he’d had in his years in London. Later, he’d come to realize it was better than any kiss he’d had since the last time he’d kissed Team. Sloppy and tipsy, they made their way to Win’s hotel room, where Team pressed him up against the inside of the door, sucking on his bottom lip and fumbling urgently with the buttons of his shirt. They spent the next several hours taking each other apart again and again, first against the wall, then in the bed, then in the shower. Sometime long after midnight, they collapsed back into the king sized bed, and Win fell asleep to the sound of Team’s steady breath, the smell of complimentary hotel shampoo in Team’s hair, and the feeling of his arm tight around Team’s bare chest.

In the morning, Team was gone. Win woke slowly, squinting at the sunlight shining past the blinds he had forgotten to close, sprawled across the bed, alone. The weight of it settled in his head and chest so heavily that he had to close his eyes again, resting his forearm over his face. Maybe if he blocked out the sun he could go back to sleep again and convince himself he had dreamt the whole thing.

That had been the last time he had seen Team. That is, until the day of their show at the Pentagon. They had played plenty of shows there before, and thanks to Kuea they knew the owner, so it was pretty painless to get everything coordinated. All they had to do was show up at the allotted time, do a quick sound check and a dry run with the staff, and they were ready to go. Like any pre-show evening, Kuea was bursting with excitement, and Win was feeding off his energy. Marwin, however, was frowning at his phone.

“What’s up?” Win asked, nudging his shoulder as he popped the trunk to Marwin’s car. Marwin followed him around to the back, distracted with his phone.

“Tops just texted me. He said he can’t make it.” 

He showed Win his phone screen, which displayed a message and a cute sticker of a bear holding a banner that said “GO TEAM!” Underneath it was another text reading, “Good luck! I’ll see you at home later!”

“That’s okay,” Kuea reached into the trunk to unpack the amps, grunting a little with effort as he hauled them out. Win took advantage of Kuea’s exposed back pocket to tuck a pair of drumsticks into it. “There will be other shows.”

“Yeah, I know, this one was just really convenient and close to home,” Marwin shrugged. He tucked his phone away and pulled two guitar cases out of the back. Win reached in next to him to retrieve his bass, then closed the trunk when they were all clear. 

“We can try to get someone to record it if you want.” Win offered, leading the way into the venue. It was impressive, to say the least. The interior was familiar, but every time he walked in it took his breath away. From first glance from the outside, Win would never have guessed that it could be this big and fancy when he walked inside..

“No, it’s alright,” Marwin replied. “You guys are right. There will be other shows. Maybe it’s better to fly him out somewhere so he can make a vacation out of it. He never takes any time off.” 

“Maybe then you can propose on a beach somewhere,” Kuea smirked at him.

Marwin reached behind Win to push Kuea’s shoulder, an amused smile on his face. “Shut up.”

The conversation devolved into the two of them trading barbs without heat, but it all faded out when Win saw him. He was jogging up the stairs, walking while smiling at his phone. Win took a step back, bumping into Marwin.

“Uh, we have to go.”

“What?” Kuea frowned, following his gaze to the boy approaching them. When he recognized him, another smirk slowly broke out on his face.

“Tell your fiance we can’t make it. There’s traffic, or-”

“Is that Team?” Marwin asked. Win hated that he could hear the smug realization in his voice. He hated his friends, he hated his friends, he hated his friends.

The friends in question held Win firmly in place as Team ran straight into his chest, dropped his phone between his feet, mumbled a curse and an apology, and finally, met his eyes. The expression on his face went from apologetic, to shocked, then twisted into something Win couldn’t recognize, but he didn’t feel good about it.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Team asked.

Win shrugged, because it was all he could think to do. 

“Uh, hey,” he said, suppressing the urge to turn and run. “We’re the band.”

Chapter Text

The boy in the red grinned widely. “I’m Kuea,” he said, setting his amps down and offering an enthusiastic wai. Team responded with one in kind, however hesitantly, with his phone between his hands, looking over the three of them.

“You’re Kuea?” Team asked, his eyes settling on Kuea again. “Hia Lian’s fiance?”

“The one and only,” Kuea replied proudly. Team opened his mouth to say something like, “You look a little young,” but Kuea caught sight of his aforementioned fiance and raised his hand to get his attention. “Hia!”

The stoic Lian Kilen Wang that Team had grown used to melted in front of Kuea. A look of affection changed his whole demeanor as he approached, allowing Kuea to draw him in with a hand around his tie, and plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Hello.” He turned his smile on the band, an arm looped around Kuea’s waist. “Was the drive okay? I should’ve sent Foei to go get you.”

“Hia,” Kuea complained, “We’re grown, we can drive ourselves.”

Team watched a rare playful expression cross Lian’s face as he looked at Kuea.

“Are you implying that having a driver means you’re not grown?” He asked.

“Well, for you, it just means you’re rich.” Kuea replied.

“We’re alright, though,” the guy with the long hair cut in. “We always drive ourselves to these things, so we’re used to it. We could use some help setting up though.”

As the conversation was happening, Team’s eyes had wandered away from the speakers and settled on Win, who was still looking at him. Team knit his eyebrows together, trying to understand what he was thinking, why he was here. He had been perfectly happy to pretend Win didn’t exist ever since the last unfortunate event in their history. He didn’t like getting hurt and he knew that was exactly what would happen if he let it. To Team, Win sort of looked like he wanted to turn and run.

When Team had been in university, the image Win broadcasted to other people was one of intelligence and competence. He liked to pretend he knew exactly who he was and what he was doing. And it worked, on most people. Team had learned to see right through it. It had been almost half a decade and his nervous tell was still wiping his palms on the fabric over his thighs while his eyes darted away from Team’s.

So they stood there, staring at each other for the first time in over a year, when Win dismantled Team so thoroughly that it took him months to find all his pieces and put them back together again. The way something in his chest ached when faced with the source of his pain suggested that maybe he had missed a couple.

In front of him, Win had the audacity to mouth, “I’m sorry.”

“Team.” Lian caught Team’s attention, but his voice only vaguely distracted Team from the indignant annoyance rising in his chest. Lian handed him a pair of walkies. “I’ll help them get set up on stage. Run this up to Pran in the booth and we’ll get started on sound check.”

Team nodded, stepping away from the four of them, turning on his heel, and walking away. He could feel Win’s eyes on him as he departed and it made him feel like he was under a magnifying glass. He was well aware that Win knew him well enough to decipher every single word he said, every single action or reaction, but he didn’t want to be known by Win. He took a steadying breath and made a silent vow to keep Win guessing.

He took the stairs two at a time to escape Win’s oppressive gaze, then slipped into the sound booth. Inside, Pran was sitting in the chair by the sound board, trying his level best to seem unaffected while Pat shamelessly flirted with him. Team cleared his throat, although the sound of the door had been sufficient enough to announce his presence. Pran swung around in his swivel chair, purposefully kicking Pat’s knees on the way to face Team.

“We’re gonna start sound check soon.” Team informed him as Pat winced, rubbing his knees. He leaned forward and handed Pran a walkie.

“Okay, can you take this idiot to the bar? I keep telling him he has work to do.” Pran glanced at Pat, who smiled at the attention.

“I can do my work later if it means I can hang out with you for longer,” Pat said earnestly, because he knew it would make Pran flustered.

Pran swung back around in his chair, putting his hands up like blinders to block Pat’s view of his face. “Get out,” he said, but Team could hear the smile he was suppressing. “You are annoying me.”

Pat opened his mouth to speak again, and Team grabbed his shirt and dragged him towards the door before he could say anything.

“Channel one on the walkie,” Team said, wrestling Pat out the door.

“Thank you!” Pran replied as the door swung closed, waving without looking back.

Team pushed Pat ahead of him and pulled his phone out as they descended the stairs.

[SHOWTIME, BABY!]
Team: get me out of here
Manaow: Oh no are they bad lol
Team: its win.
Team: if you guys knew something about this and didn’t tell me i’m going to kill you.
Dean: No comment.

With a very controlled breath, Team put his phone back in his pocket and crossed the floor to stand in front of the stage. On the left of the stage was a guitar on a stand and Win, with a bass guitar hung around his body. There was a quick noise of interference as he plugged the amp cord into the bottom. To the right was the guy with the long hair, testing the strings on his electric and adjusting the tuning as he went. There was a mic stand in front of each of them, and a third one reaching over the drum set, which sat further back on the stage between them.

“P’Win, is this plugged in?” Kuea asked from where he sat behind the drums, tapping the mic suspended over the snare. Instead of Win, the long haired guy moved to answer his question.

“Wait,” Team held up his hands, then pointed at him as he followed the cord from Kuea’s microphone and found it unplugged. “Your name is Win too?”

The guy looked up at him from where he was bent over plugging the cord in, then blew a strand of hair out of his face and replied. “Uh, yeah, I know it’s confusing. You can just call me Marwin, though. You’re Team?”

Team refused to look over at his Win to gauge his reaction to Marwin knowing his name, no matter how bad he wanted to. He frowned, wary. “How do you know that?”

Marwin made a casual gesture towards Lian, who had descended from the stage and was standing nearby. “P’Lian said it earlier.”

Team’s hackles lowered as he deflated. “Oh.”

Team could feel Win watching him, so he pointedly did not look in his direction. It had been less than ten minutes and he was starting to feel a little smothered by it. At least at Pharm's wedding there were other people he could distract himself with, but even that didn’t help in the end. He took a deep breath to push the anxiety down and pushed his handback through his hair, then took a step back.

“I have to make a call,” he said, turning and almost running right into View. He pushed the walkie into View’s hands and said, “Channel one, it’s Pran in the booth. I’ll be right back,” and walked swiftly towards the staircase leading down. At the bottom, he caught sight of Ink and Pa still in the break room, so he swiftly changed direction, closing himself into the storage room instead. He sat down on a crate of cables and took a shaky breath, then dialed Pharm’s number, putting his phone to his ear and dropping his head in his hands.

“Hello,” said a voice that was not Pharm’s.

“P’Dean,” Team groaned. “Can you please put Pharm on the phone?”

“He’s working,” Dean replied simply.

Team pulled his phone away from his ear to look at the time. It was around dinner time, probably the height of their rush for the night. He heaved a sigh and put the phone back to his ear. “Did you know about this?”

“Which part?” Dean asked.

“That he would be here? That he was even a musician?”

“Of course I knew he was in a band,” Dean answered. “He’s my best friend. And we knew he was in the city.”

“Okay, you guys didn’t think to mention that today at lunch?” Team prompted, feeling the end of his patience approaching.

On the other end of the line, behind the timbre of Dean’s voice, was the sound of a loud, busy kitchen. Team could picture Dean tucked into a corner somewhere, out of the way on a sack of potatoes or something, with his feet tucked in to keep people from tripping over him. Vaguely, he heard Pharm’s voice in the background.

“Who is that?”

“It’s Team,” Dean said, clear as day in Team’s ear. “He’s upset about Win.”

Team closed his eyes and tried not to let that sentence teeter him over the edge. He was walking a fine line between having an anxiety attack in this storage closet and blowing up at his friends over the phone. Neither of them seemed like a desirable outcome. There was the sound of the phone being transferred, then the background noise of the kitchen faded as, presumably, whoever held the phone now looked for a quiet place to talk.

“Team.” It was Pharm’s voice now, thank god. “This is kind of a bad time.”

“I know you’re busy,” Team said in lieu of an apology. “Did you guys not think to tell me that Win’s band would be playing at the Pentagon tonight? Because you both knew, and you said nothing.”

“What were we supposed to say?” Pharm sighed. “I don’t understand what happened between you two. You used to be so close. And what would you have done if we told you? Tell your boss you couldn’t make it? You’re not that kind of person, Team.”

“What do you mean by that?” Team asked, defensive.

“I mean that I think you see him as a challenge, and I’ve known you for long enough to know that when you think someone thinks you can’t or won’t do something, it just makes you want to do it more. I thought that mentioning it earlier would only make you build it up in your head. Whatever happened between you guys, tonight is just work. It’s just one night, okay?”

The calm reason of Pharm’s voice cut through Team’s building emotion and he forced himself to take a deep breath and relax his tensed up muscles as Pharm continued.

“Look, I have to go, but I’ll be there as soon as I can get away, and I know Manaow and Del are going to be there too, so just, you know, try to take some deep breaths. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Okay,” Team said from where his face rested in his hands. “Thanks Pharm.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

The phone beeped to signify the end of the call, and Team dropped his phone into his lap. Pharm was right. Regardless of whatever weird, awkward, heavy bullshit had happened between them before, tonight was just work. It was just one show. If Team was lucky, he wouldn’t have to say another word to Win all night, and after this he’d never see him again.

As if on cue, the door to the storage room swung open, and there Win was in all his glory. His hair was a little longer than it had been when Team saw it last, but he had kept up with bleaching it, and tied it up in that familiar half ponytail. The shirt he was wearing hung loosely over his shoulders and Team could see the script of a tattoo, peeking through where Win had cut the sleeves of his shirt off, sprawled across his ribs. The whole maddening thing was tucked into tight ripped jeans, which led his gaze down to those same scuffed shoes.

Win cleared his throat self consciously. Team stood from his seat on the box of cables. Win took an awkward step towards him.

“Hi,” Win said, making some nonsensical gesture that Team couldn’t decipher. He leaned closer, and Team felt his breath catch in his throat. He tried to take a step back and found himself already pressed against the shelving unit against the wall.

“I just-“ Win spoke again, his face turned up and away from Team. With his eyes, Team traced the line of his jaw, then the muscle in his neck that led its way to his collarbones. There was new ink there- something in English. His brain buzzed with the proximity. Seconds ago Team was vowing to himself never to say another word to Win. Now it was all he could do not to lean forward and press his lips against the hollow of Win’s throat.

And as quick as he’d drawn in close, Win stepped away again, holding a pair of drumsticks he had gotten off the top shelf behind Team.

“Always helps to have extra,” Win said, then visibly winced at himself. Team watched, smarting from the whiplash, as he took another step back, smacked his shoulder into the doorframe, cursed to himself, then twisted out the door and out of sight.

This was going to be much more of a challenge than Team had originally anticipated.

He groaned to himself, dragged his fingers through his hair and over the back of his neck, and told himself to calm down. Win was just a guy. Win was just a man who had coaxed Team into bearing his soul not once, but twice, and left him without a word both times. He would not make the mistake of letting there be a third.

After a couple minutes he followed Win up the stairs. He walked right past the stage, past View who halfheartedly held the walkie out towards him, and headed straight up to the booth. He took a seat in the corner behind Pran while the dry run of the show continued, but it looked like they were on the lighting portion now. He heard Pran’s walkie beep, and View’s voice came through.

“For the first song, start with all the lights down, then turn on spotlight five, then one, then three, so the drums are lit first, then Hia Win, then P’Marwin. Then just before the vocals come in, turn on the stage lights and the LEDs.”

“Got it,” Pran replied. “Let’s try it.”

Team looked out the glass window at the stage as Pran turned the house and stage lights down. He flicked the fifth spotlight on as Kuea beat his bass drum, and a bar later he flicked on the first one as Win plucked out notes on his bass. The third spotlight came after a moment, with Marwin playing a riff, and after a couple bars of just instrumental, Win stepped forward as Pran turned the lights up, and the song began in earnest. They only played until about the first chorus before they faltered out again, with Win making a thumbs up gesture to the lighting and sound booth and speaking with a smile into the microphone.

“Thanks, that’s perfect.”

Logically, Team knew that he’d be impossible to see across a wide expanse of a dance floor with the house lights down, but he still felt like Win was looking right at him. He gave a frustrated huff and left the booth again, trying to find a task that would place him somewhere not in Win’s immediate vicinity.

This quest for a job out of Win’s view led him to the lobby, where he helped security scan tickets, check IDs, and hand out wristbands. He noticed with a twinge of annoyance that the line outside was longer than he’d expected, suggesting that the band was more popular than he had originally thought. After about twenty minutes of letting people in he spotted Manaow and Del in the crowd.

“Team!” Manaow’s voice was high and loud over the din of the concert goers filing into the venue. She was jumping on her tippy toes, her hands above her head. Del stood next to her, a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. Team watched them approach, then put a hand out and schooled his face into a serious expression.

“Tickets and IDs?” He prompted.

Manaow sighed dramatically, making a big show of fishing her wallet out of her purse. Del presented the tickets on her phone, allowing Team to scan the QR codes on the screen. He nodded when she showed him her ID as well, even though he already knew she was old enough to get in. Manaow heaved another exaggerated sigh, looking frantically through her bag.

“Your ID, ma’am?” Team said again, turning his eyes on his ridiculous best friend.

“I could have sworn I just had it,” Manaow replied, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and looking up to bat her eyelashes at Team. “Can’t you just let me in?”

“Sorry, if you can’t provide identification, I can’t let you in.” Team answered, crossing his arms over his chest. Manaow sucked her teeth loudly and rolled her eyes.

“You’re no fun,” she said, pulling her wallet out of her bag easily and showing him her ID. He squinted at it, turning it this way and that, holding it up to the light to inspect it. She laughed at him, smacking his shoulder. “Stop it.”

“Okay, you pass,” Team smiled, handing it back to her. He grabbed her wrist and snapped the wristband onto it, then did the same with Del.

“Is he inside?” Manaow asked, leaning in conspiratorially.

“He’s in the band,” Team replied, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you know about that?”

Manaow shared a look with Del, then shrugged when Del spoke up. “I knew he was in a band, but I don’t know him as well as my brother. And you know P’Dean. He doesn’t say much.”

“They’re supposed to be, like, really good,” Manaow said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “The line is around the block! I looked them up after you sent that text in the group chat and they’re, like, getting really big lately. Did you hear their music at all? Are they any good?”

“They must be good if people like them this much,” was Team’s noncommittal answer as he gestured to the lobby full of people coming in. “Just go in, you’re holding up the line. I’m working, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Manaow rolled her eyes as she slipped past him. “I’ll see you later.”

Team spent another forty-five minutes checking people in, and when it became clear that security didn’t need his help anymore, he excused himself and slipped inside. It was much harder to navigate the expanse of the Pentagon when it was filled with people, but in his time working for Lian he had learned a thing or two about moving through crowds. He picked his way towards the stairs, slipping past a couple heading down from the booths, and shut himself in the sound booth again. Pran was no longer there, so Team took a seat in his chair, pulling out his phone to check the time. The concert was supposed to begin in a measly ten minutes. He picked the walkie up off the soundboard and pressed the button on the side to speak.

“This is Team. Who all has a walkie right now?”

“I’ve got one,” came View’s voice through the crackly speaker.

“Me too,” said Lian.

“Anyone have eyes on Pran? Show starts soon and he’s not in the sound booth.” Team said, leaning back in his chair.

Pat’s smug voice sounded over the walkie speaker. “Sending him up now.”

Minutes later, Pran slipped into the booth. Team looked over his shoulder to see him looking a little frazzled, his hair and clothes looking rumpled. Pran approached him with a quick stride across the booth, and used both hands to gesture for Team to vacate his seat.

“Up, move, I have to work,” he said, so Team stood, chuckling. He moved to the other, less comfortable seat, looking out over the club below them. Pat stood behind the bar, grinning and passing out drinks. Near the bar he could see Pa and View chatting. He spotted Ink at the front of the crowd towards the stage, camera ready in her hands as always for when the artists came out. Lian must have been backstage, helping with finishing touches before the show.

In the minutes before the show began, Pran lowered the house lights, eliciting excited cheers from the audience. There was a crackle from the walkie as Lian’s voice came through.

“Places, everyone.”

With the stage shrouded in darkness and the house lights low, it was nearly impossible to see the figures moving about. Team’s eye was practiced, though, and he caught a glimpse of Win’s blonde hair when a stray twinkling light from the crystal chandelier passed over him.

“Ready?” Pran asked into the walkie.

Everyone who had a walkie replied in kind, and the show began. Pran flicked on spotlight five, highlighting Kuea as he tapped out the beat on his bass drum. At the start of the song, the crowd began to scream, and seconds later another spotlight was highlighting Win, his long fingers playing along the length of his bass guitar. Marwin was the third and last person, just like in their rehearsal, and then Pran flicked on the stage lights and the LEDs and Team was mesmerized.

Win stepped up to his microphone, a grin wide on his face. The voice that came out when he opened his mouth was grittier than Team would have expected. He found himself stuck in place, staring openly, getting caught up in it. He had heard them at the sound check, but he hadn’t really been listening. He had been too caught up in avoiding Win’s eyes, trying to keep from kissing him or killing him.

When he had known Win before, years and years ago, he had never played music for him. Team wasn’t sure that he knew how back then. He had always had the rebellious look of a rocker, or at least that of a young adult trying to seem like one, what with his piercings and tattoos. Team knew what kind of music he liked, or rather, what kind he used to like, because he had an extensive vinyl collection and posters all over his dorm at university of rock musicians from the 80’s. The music he heard now was something like that, mixed with something gritty and a little bluesy, which was probably a contribution from the other two members of the band. When he had first been confronted with the idea of Win as a musician, behind all the shock and dredged up pain of simply seeing Win again, Team had not been able to picture it. Now, though, watching him play, watching his ringed fingers dance over his instrument, watching the carefree way he jumped on his heels and bobbed his head along to the beat, it seemed only natural. It seemed like this was the happiest Team had ever seen him. It seemed like he had always been meant to do this.

The cymbals crashed and the speakers blared and the crowd roared and Team was in way over his head.

Chapter Text

“Alright folks, that’s all we’ve got for you today,” Win heard himself say, leaning into the microphone and looking out over the dark expanse of heads in the crowd. “Thanks for coming out!”

There was an eruption of cheers, bringing a light, joyous feeling into his chest and drawing his lips into a wide grin as he looked across the stage at Marwin.

“That’s Marwin on lead guitar and vocals,” he said, kicking off their practiced farewell and gesturing towards his friend.

“And that’s Win on rhythm guitar, bass, and vocals,” Marwin continued. They both turned to gesture back at Kuea as Win leaned into his mic once again.

“And that’s little Kuea on drums! Little Kuea, give us a smile!”

Kuea beamed, crashing his drumsticks into his cymbals and calling out, “And we’re Winning Streak!”

Past the noise of the audience cheering for them, someone yelled for an encore, and Win laughed happily. He’d never get tired of the feeling of playing live.

“Sorry, guys,” Win chuckled, gripping his microphone and giving a theatrical shrug. “It’s past Kuea’s bedtime.”

“I’m 23!” Kuea protested, but Win knew he was laughing too. It had been a running gag to tease their youngest member since their band had been born. Every time they closed out a show, Win or Marwin would think of a new way to imply that Kuea was a child, much to the confusion of anyone who knew he was engaged to a 30-year-old man.

“He’s lying,” Marwin teased into his mic, earning laughter from the crowd. They gave one last wave and farewell before the stage lights went down, then ducked off stage as the audience cheered again.

“That was great, you guys,” Win grinned at his friends. He hadn’t been able to stop ever since the music started. It was something that happened every time they played live. Every time a light, fluttery feeling started in his chest and filled out his whole body until his cheeks hurt from smiling too hard for too long. His whole body was buzzing with energy.

“You guys are so awesome,” Kuea gave a little excited hop, wrapping an arm around Marwin’s waist to get him to hop once as well. “I would do one of these every night if we could.”

“We’d be so tired,” Marwin laughed at him, rocking back and forth on his heels. They shuffled out of the way as a couple staff members slipped past them to start cleaning up the stage, the three of them an excited huddle of unexpended energy despite having played a full show.

“Hia!”

Win turned to see View approaching him, opening his arms happily and letting his little brother barrel straight into his chest.

“Hey,” he laughed, squeezing View tightly and ruffling his hair before letting him go. “I didn’t get the chance to talk to you very much before the show. Did you like it?”

“I loved it!” View grinned up at him. “You guys are so cool! I should’ve made Mom and Dad come!”

Win’s smile faltered. He exhaled through his nose and looked away, the mention of his parents throwing a bit of a wet blanket over his mood. “Nah, I don’t think they’d like it.”

“Hey.” View poked him hard in the side, causing Win to wince and meet his eyes again. “Even if they hated it, you look like a natural. You always look like you're having so much fun. Maybe if they saw you they would change their minds.”

Win couldn’t imagine a world where his parents saw him having fun and decided that was a good enough use of his time. Everything that had ever been fun for him had been twisted into a listing for a resume, a selling point for his future. Instead of pointing that out and squashing his little brother’s efforts to cheer him up, he forced a chuckle and wrapped an arm around View’s shoulders.

“Yeah, I won’t hold my breath.”

Win’s parents had spent his whole life preparing him to take over their business. Needless to say, they had been rather upset when, after years of expensive schooling, he decided to pursue music instead. He knew they couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to, and they were lucky enough to have a third son who was actually interested in working in hospitality, but it still made him feel like he was letting them down. Sometimes Win felt like he had made them waste their time and effort on him only for him to turn out to be less than what they’d expected. Sometimes after talking to them he felt like he’d spend his whole life living down the decision he made.

With practiced familiarity, Win helped his bandmates and the staff pack up their gear after the crowd of the audience had dispersed. Kuea helped Lian dismantle the drumset and move it back into storage while Win and Marwin carried the instruments and the amps outside to load them into Marwin’s car. When everything was back in its place, the three of them settled at the bar in the empty club, nursing drinks that the bartender had made before disappearing to wash dishes.

“So,” Kuea began, breaking their easy silence and stretching his hands out in front of him. Win and Marwin looked at him expectantly, but he took his time as he rested his chin on his hand and finally settled his gaze on Win.

“Wasn’t that the guy you slept with that one time?” Kuea’s eyes flickered with mischief. Win fought to keep his own features carefully neutral, but it was always a battle he knew he’d lose with Kuea.

“What guy?” He asked, as if feigning ignorance would save him this time.

“Wasn’t his name Team?” Marwin’s voice sounded on the other side of him. Win turned to see him mirroring Kuea’s posture, a similar smirk on his face.

“Please keep your voice down,” Win begged, looking over his shoulder. The venue was mostly empty, but he didn’t want any of Team’s coworkers hearing his friends air out his dirty laundry. Team could still be here too. Win had lost track of him before the show even started, but a cursory glance at the room told him he was in the clear.

“Is he or isn’t he?” Kuea pressed.

Win rubbed a hand down his face, then back through his hair. “Okay. I slept with him. Once.”

Marwin made a thoughtful noise, tapping his chin with one finger. “That’s not what I remember. What about that time at your friend’s wedding?”

Win groaned, dropping his head onto the bar to keep his awful, awful friends from seeing his pained facial expression. “Why,” he moaned. “Why, why, why could you possibly want to know?”

Kuea gave a gleeful snicker and leaned in conspiratorially. “I asked around while we were cleaning up. The staff said he's a national athlete.”

Win turned his head to the side, looking up at Kuea from where his cheek was pressed against the sticky wood of the bar. “He is?”

He hadn’t kept up with swimming after he left university, especially not Team’s athletic career. He had no business being curious about that after what happened between them. If he thought about it, though, with Team’s ever-shortening times in school, it was not altogether unlikely that he had pursued a career in athletics after graduating.

“Yep,” Kuea replied smugly. “I also found out that he’s single.”

Win groaned again. “You’re such a little shit.”

“The one and only,” Kuea giggled, giving him a mock salute.

“That is truly none of my business,” Win sighed. “What do you expect me to do with this information?”

As Win sat up, Marwin clapped a hand on his shoulder and rubbed his back, nodding sagely. “You’ll probably figure it out.”

Win threw back his drink, shooting a glare at each of them in turn. “You two are the worst.”

“Well,” Marwin slid off his barstool, sliding his half empty beer across the bar towards them. “I have to run. Tops is probably already asleep, but if he’s not I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Kuea made a show out of batting his eyelashes. “Tell him I said hi, and while you’re there, you should give him that ring, phi.”

“You really are such a little shit,” Marwin laughed, twirling his keys around his finger once before clasping them in his fist. “See you guys later.”

Marwin turned and walked away, and Win watched him until the doors closed behind him and he was out of sight. Slowly, he turned back to Kuea, and pointed at Marwin’s half drunk beer.

“Are you going to drink that?” He asked.

“Probably not,” Kuea shrugged.

Win clasped a hand around the glass and downed it in two swallows.

–

Lately, Win had been doing anything and everything to avoid his parents. Every time he saw them, the conversation would eventually turn to when he would decide to come work for the family. It made him feel small when they talked like that, like they didn’t believe he would stick to his decision. Like they didn’t think he was good enough to make it on his own. It made him feel even more ridiculous to look in the mirror after conversations like that. His bleached hair and piercings, all the tattoos he’d gotten over the years. Who was he kidding? Who was he trying to be? Once, his mother had asked him, in her nicest voice, why he felt like they didn’t love him.

When he asked her what she meant, she replied, “You do all these things to your body for attention, right? Do we not give you enough of that?”

And then she had handed him a company credit card and told him to buy himself whatever he wanted for his birthday, because she’d be out of town with his father.

To spite her, he bought himself a motorcycle.

When he looked at the way he and his brothers turned out, it didn’t surprise him. Waan was cold and distant. He was the eldest son, the one they messed up with the most. Of course he was kind to his siblings, but there was always that icy core, the one that held the world at an arm’s length, just to be sure he could see it before it ate him alive.

View was young and enthusiastic. Maybe the youngest child does get the most love and adoration from their parents. He seemed to be the least jaded out of all of them. He was genuinely interested in the hotel chain their parent’s owned, which they had never expected him to inherit, and he was doing his college degree in hospitality management. When he graduated, they had plans to send him to America so that he could complete a postgraduate study while learning English, like they had with Win.

And Win was… Well, Win was somewhere in between. He spent his whole life saying yes, so much so that when he finally built up the nerve to say no, everyone was shocked and concerned. All he had ever wanted was to make things easier on other people, but meeting Kuea and Marwin had impressed something on him that he hadn’t anticipated. Kuea had a rebellious streak a mile wide. He never thought he’d learn something as important as choosing himself from someone three years his junior. Marwin had a determination to succeed that was unlike anything he’d ever seen. He left his family, his boyfriend, and his home to fly across the world for a chance at his dream. He taught Win the importance of sticking to his guns.

So, it was difficult to go home when he knew how he’d be received, but he had chosen himself and he was sticking to it.

Luckily, he wasn’t staying at home, but rather a suite in one of the hotels his family owned in the city. It was almost one in the morning when he arrived, so there was no one at the door. The lobby was tall and wide and lit with harsh overhead lighting, with a waiting area just inside the doors outfitted with chairs and couches that looked plush and comfortable, but weren’t designed to be sat in. At this early hour, it gave the feeling that no one really belonged there. He nodded at the woman behind the counter on his way to the elevator, swiped his keycard, and rode it all the way up to his suite.

The apartment was all sharp edges and cold marble, with a wall of windows along one side overlooking the city. He stopped in the kitchen for a bottle of water - Lian Kilen Wang’s brand; he could never get away from it as long as he knew Kuea and as long as he was his father’s son - and shuffled down a short hallway to his bedroom. After changing his clothes, he fell into his bed, holding his phone up to squint at it in the dark. The only notifications he had were messages from Kuea and Marwin in their group chat, telling him that they’d gotten home safely. Marwin had left first to get home to his boyfriend, and Kuea and Lian left together around the same time Win had peeled out alone on his bike. Win envied them. There must be something warm about having someone waiting for them to get home.

He typed a quick message into the group chat, confirming that he was home safe, then pulled his covers over his head and tried not to shiver.

–

“Win.”

She sat across the table from him, frowning, her arms crossed over her chest. She leaned back in her chair and blew her dark bangs out of her face in that way she did when she was annoyed but didn’t want to be the first to bring it up.

“Yes, darling,” was his response, but he didn’t look at her. He was used to this. She always wanted more than he could give her. She reached across the table to take his hand in both of hers, trying to bridge the gap. He glanced up at her now, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help but compare.

She was pretty. Win swore that she was. She just wasn’t him.

“Why are things different now?” She asked him, her annoyance giving way to something raw, some emotion that he couldn’t match.

He looked away again. “Maybe we should break up.”

–

Morning came and went without Win so much as moving a muscle. Around eleven, he stirred in his pile of blankets and pillows only to check his phone.

[Waan Wanichakarnjonkul]
Waan: There will be an event at the Chiang Mai location next month. Mom and Dad asked me to make sure you make an appearance.
Waan: Please dress nicely.

Win squinted at the text, trying to clear the fog of sleep out of his brain to make sure he had read it right.

Win: why do they want me there?
Waan: It’s imperative to show a united front as a family. Even if you don’t want anything to do with our business, you still reap the benefits.
Waan: Also if I had to guess I think it’s because you haven’t been to any events recently and Mom and Dad want to make sure the public knows that you’re still alive.
Win: all theyd have to do is look me up to know that.
Waan: Half of the people that come to these things still use rotary phones, they can’t be expected to conduct even the simplest of google searches.

Win smirked. Sometimes, his brother was funny.

Win: just send me the date and time and ill be there.
Win: no promises about looking nice though.

Around half past twelve, Win dragged himself out of bed for a shower. He played music on his phone to mask the silence of his apartment as he heated up leftover takeout for his first meal of the day around one. By two, he was on his bike and headed towards Marwin’s place for practice.

They didn’t really need to practice, honestly. Mostly what they called practice was just an excuse to get together and hang out, and sometimes if they were lucky they would end up writing new songs. Whatever happened depended on whatever the mood was when Win got there. Today they were gathering at Marwin’s house, since he had taken all the equipment home with him the night before.

When he arrived, he was greeted at the door by Tops, Marwin’s boyfriend. Tops smiled at him, sliding the door open and stepping aside to let him in. The front door opened into their cozy living space, consisting of a couch across the room from a television, with a small two person table between the living area and the island marking the beginning of the kitchen.

“Kuea’s here already,” Tops informed him, picking up the table and moving it against the wall. Win helped him with the chairs as he continued. “He went upstairs to grab something with Win. That, um, box drum he has. The one he sits on. He left it here last time.”

As if on cue, Kuea descended the stairs into the living room, holding a cajon the size of his torso with Marwin trailing behind him.

“Hia,” Kuea smiled, setting the drum down by the couch. “P’Tops said he’s going to make us pasta.”

“Oh, really?” Win looked at Tops for confirmation, who nodded at him.

“I have leftover veggie meatballs in the freezer and some eggs in the fridge.” Tops looked over at Marwin, then gestured to him as he drug his gaze back to Win. “I have to make sure he eats his vegetables.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Marwin chuckled. He reached up to tug affectionately on Tops’ twin earrings. “I’m not going to wither away and die.”

“Not on my watch, that's for sure.” Tops replied, picking an apron up off the island and tying it around his waist.

Marwin leaned in and pressed his lips to Tops’ cheek, just to watch him pull away shyly. Win could see the affection written all over his face as he leaned against the counter, watching Tops round the island and start pulling ingredients out of the fridge.

Kuea caught Win’s eyes and waggled his eyebrows. Win suppressed a chuckle with the back of his hand.

“Um,” Tops cleared his throat, glancing up at the three of them, then back down again as he set a metal bowl on a scale. “Pharm is having this party at the restaurant for the one year anniversary. He told me to bring family and friends. It’s next week, if you want to come.”

“That sounds like fun,” Marwin nodded, looking back at Kuea and Win for confirmation.

“Yeah,” Kuea nodded enthusiastically. “Should we bring anything? Do you want us to play?”

“No, no,” Tops shook his head, smiling. “The staff are all going in a little early to make a bunch of food for everyone. It’s just a party, just bring yourself. I’ll give Marwin the information so he can send it to you guys.”

“That sounds nice,” Win smiled, genuinely warmed by the invitation. It was a far cry from the one he woke up to this morning. “Thanks, Tops.”

Kuea moved to sit by the couch on his drum, tapping it lightly as if to signify that it was time to get to work. Marwin, however, was still leaning both his arms on the counter, grinning up at his boyfriend as he measured out flour for pasta dough. He said something quietly that Win couldn’t make out, causing Tops to tuck in his chin bashfully, then seemed to be satisfied as he stood up straight and turned around, clapping his hands.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

Kuea lifted his left hand and wiggled his fingers, the light glinting off his engagement ring, making meaningful eye contact with Marwin. Marwin pointedly ignored him, crossing the room and unbuckling the clasps on his guitar case.

“So I had this idea for a song…”

And with that, practice began in earnest.

Chapter Text

Team had not been sleeping well lately. 

Luckily, even at the extremes of Team’s exhaustion, the chill of the pool water never failed to shock him into some semblance of attention. Whether he hadn’t slept, which was the case more often than not, or if he had just finished a hard workout, slipping into the pool and letting the water lap the sweat off his skin felt easy and natural every time. He ducked his head under the surface to wet his hair, shook it out, then put on his cap and his goggles and he was off. 

The best thing about swimming, for Team at least, was his ability to turn his brain off and let his body commit to muscle memory. When he was in the water he didn’t have to think about what he was doing. The only things he had to remember to do were breathe and stay between the lines. 

As he swam, his mind wandered, to his friends, to his job, and inevitably, to Win. 

After Pharm’s wedding, he thought he’d never have to face Win again. In fact, he would have liked it better that way. Sometimes Win felt like an addiction that he couldn’t kick. Just when he thought he was okay again, Win would walk back into his life and make a joke out of every brick Team built around his fragile heart. It had been over four years since they’d even had a substantial conversation, and he still felt like Win could bend him until he broke without so much as lifting a finger. Team had never met anyone else who had that sort of power over him. He had hoped to never meet anyone like that again, to keep his bearings and live safely inside the bubble he had built around his emotions. No one could hurt him if no one ever mattered. 

The problem was that despite everything that had happened between them, despite trying as hard as he could to forget it all, Win still mattered a lot. 

Team liked to think that he had buried all of his memories of Win, good and bad, in a box deep in his heart, but they must not have been that hard to get to after all. Win could show up again and suddenly everything he had meticulously put away was out in the open once more, having been dredged up from the grave he had laid it to rest in. And then Win would disappear as fast as he had arrived, leaving Team to scramble and pick up his pieces. 

Team remembered the night at the pool. He remembered getting up and closing himself in the office to talk to his coach on the phone. It was a different coach back then, just the one for the club at his university, and Team couldn’t even recall what the conversation had been about. When he went back out into the locker room not five minutes later, Win was gone. Team looked everywhere, as if Win would have just hidden to play a trick on him. He ended up standing over the cake and the drinks he bought, gasping around sobs, bitterly picking them up and throwing them away. He had thought the kiss was the beginning of something. He had thought he was worth more than sex in a locker room and not a word of goodbye. Apparently, he had been wrong. 

Then Win disappeared off the face of the earth. He didn’t hang around Dean anymore, and he certainly didn’t come to university. Team was too stubborn to ask their old friends what had happened to him. He didn’t want to know. He felt resentful and heartbroken, as if he had messily parted ways with a lover. 

Maybe when he was young and stupid he had loved Win. He had surely learned his lesson. 

They hadn’t seen each other again until Dean and Pharm’s wedding. By that time, Team had done a great job of forgetting Win even existed. With every new memory he made with his friends, or new lovers, the box that held his Win-related hurt sank deeper and deeper into his chest, further from the forefront of his mind. But seeing him again at the ceremony brought those emotions back to the front faster than he could blink. He remembered sitting and watching Pharm give Dean his vows, nervous shaky hands gripping a piece of looseleaf he had typed them on so that he wouldn’t forget, and catching sight of a familiar head of blonde hair a couple rows ahead of him. It took him a couple moments of staring to confirm that it was in fact Win, after years of not seeing or hearing from him, and suddenly all that heartbreak was making his face hot and pricking tears in his eyes. Manaow leaned over to ask if he was okay. He told her he was emotional about the ceremony.

They spent the night avoiding each other, but one mistake led to the next and he ended up tipsy on an elevator with his mouth against Win’s, then pressed against a wall with Win’s teeth on his neck. He had slept better that night than he had slept in a long time, and woke up late for practice. In his rush to leave, he grabbed the keycard to the room, hoping that when Win woke up and went to check out later he’d notice it was missing and wait for the only other person who could have it. When he returned a couple hours later, after being chewed out by his coaches for his tardiness, his hangover, and the evidence of the night before bruising his skin, the hotel staff informed him that Win had already left. That bitter feeling rose in his chest again as he slid the keycard across the information desk and left.

Another mistake under the belt of Team Teerayu Siriyothin. 

“Team.”

Team came to rest at the side of the pool under the diving block, panting with the effort of his strokes. He looked up at his coach, who held a stopwatch and a clipboard.

“You’re slow today,” she frowned. “Where is your head at?”

“Sorry,” he replied instead of answering her question. “Let's go again.”

He waited for her whistle and was off again, a dead sprint in the water towards the other side of the pool. Against his will, his mind wandered to Win on the stage that night. He had been smiling so wide. He danced and bounced around on the stage so much that his hair tie had flown out of his hair, dropping his long bangs into his face, but he just kept grinning. Team didn’t know if he’d ever seen Win that happy. The closest he could remember is when he made Team listen to all those old records he used to own in college. He’d dance around his room, playing air guitar, telling Team that if only he had the chance, he’d learn to play and tour the world. Back then Team would watch him and smile, endeared and warmed by a side of Win few got to see. Now it just made a complicated feeling rise in his gut. He told himself he didn’t want to know Win anymore, but he didn’t know if it was true. 

“Team!”

His coach’s voice cut through his thoughts again as he came to a rest under the diving block once more. She was scowling now, which never bode well for him. 

“You need to focus,” she said, tapping the clipboard with the back of her pen. “The regional competition is in a couple weeks, and you have to do well in that in order to compete in the nationals.”

“I know,” Team said, moving his goggles and rubbing his eyes as an excuse not to look at her as she spoke. 

“If you know then why aren’t you paying attention?” She asked harshly. “Go again.”

The rest of his practice was brutal. He did more laps in the pool than he could count, most likely due to the fact that his mind kept wandering and his body kept lagging and he couldn’t meet his regular times. By the time he was finally set free, he was exhausted, but Pharm had invited him to an event at the restaurant, and he had promised he’d be there. He dragged himself through a shower at the gym, dropped his body unceremoniously into his car, and sent a quick text to the group chat that he was on his way. 

[Pharty (Pharm Party)]

Notification: Manaow changed the group chat name to ‘Pharty (Pharm Party)’

Team: im headed your way now. they killed me today

Manaow: How are you sending this then?

Team: texting from beyond the grave

Team: im haunting this group chat

Manaow: Ghost Team! Ghost Team! Ghost Team!

Dean: 💀👻

The restaurant was maybe more packed than Team had ever seen it. He hadn’t asked too many questions when Pharm had extended the invitation, all he knew was that the event was a sort of banquet for friends and family of the staff to celebrate the year anniversary of its opening. When Pharm had said friends and family, it hadn’t occurred to Team just how many people each employee would bring. Briefly he wondered just how much time and money Pharm had spent catering to all these people. It was just like him to use food as a thank you.

Team weaved through the people talking and laughing outside and walked through the open doors. Pharm had pushed the tables against the sides of the dining room, allowing for maximum standing room, and made a sort of buffet line with tables in front of the doors to the kitchen. Team spotted him standing behind the line with Dean next to him, both of them wearing a clean black chef jacket and a striped apron. 

It was sort of comical, seeing Dean dressed up like he worked here. He seemed to be deferring all questions about the food to Pharm, who actually knew what he was talking about. The buffet line was stacked to the nines with traditional thai desserts, Pharm’s favorite, along with countless other more savory food items. Down the line a bit stood another man in the same getup as Dean and Pharm, with black bangs that came to a stop just above his sharp eyes and twin rings in one ear. 

Team waved at Pharm over the shoulder of a stranger as he approached, and Pharm caught his eye and smiled. As the stranger departed, Team stepped up to take their place, looking over the food with awe. 

“This is a ton. You guys made this all today?”

“Yeah, I kind of had everyone make what they wanted to share,” Pharm said, looking up and down the buffet line proudly. “It's to say thank you to everyone for working so hard. I made a bunch of traditional desserts, but there’s other stuff too.” He seemed to remember something in the middle of his own sentence, perking up and gesturing to the other man behind the line. “Oh! Have you met P’Tops? He's my sous chef.”

“I thought I was your sous chef,” Dean said, deadpan. Team snickered at his abysmal delivery. 

“You are, in spirit,” Pharm said, patting Dean’s arm in consolation before turning towards Tops. “P’Tops, come over here, I want to introduce you to someone!”

Tops looked startled for a moment at being summoned, then shuffled over, looking between Pharm’s bright smile and Team’s polite one. 

“Team, this is P’Tops. Phi, this is one of my best friends, Team. He’s a national athlete.” Pharm said proudly.

“Pharm,” Team said, trying to keep the whine out of his voice at being called a national athlete to a complete stranger at his best friend’s event. He offered a wai to Tops, trying not to look as embarrassed as he felt. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Tops’ voice was softer than he expected. He almost couldn’t hear it over the noise of all the other conversations. Tops returned his wai before continuing. “A national athlete? What do you do?” 

“Oh…” Team leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck and giving a little laugh. “I’m a swimmer, actually.”

Tops seemed to nod, then catch sight of someone over Team’s shoulder. His whole face brightened as he lifted his hand and waved, raising his voice over the noise of the patrons. 

“Win, over here!” 

Team froze in place. Tops turned his bright smile onto Team, gesturing past him presumably towards the person approaching them.

“This is my boyfriend, Win.”

The man who stopped next to him was familiar, a couple inches taller than him, with long brown hair held out of his face with a pair of sunglasses. Team let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The Win in question met Team’s eyes and gestured to him with a look of recognition. 

“Oh, Team, right?” Marwin smiled, polite and friendly. 

“Yeah,” Team said stiffly, reminding himself not to gape and stare, despite what a near miss that had felt like. “Funny seeing you again.”

“Where are the others?” Tops asked, fully focused on the Win who was decidedly not Team’s Win. 

“Kuea had to find a place to park the car,” Marwin answered, reaching across the buffet spread to squeeze Tops’ arm affectionately. “This place is packed! What a great turnout!”

The others? That could mean anything. That could mean Marwin’s family. Maybe they were just close with Kuea. That could mean Kuea and Lian. It was possible that Lian might attend an event hosted by his fiance’s bandmate’s boyfriend.

Finally, Team chanced a glance behind him at the open front doors of the restaurant, spotting, of course, Kuea, followed closely by Win, a full head taller than most people, weaving their way through the crowd towards the food. He whipped his head back around to Pharm in what he was sure was probably the most desperate look he’d ever given him.

Lucky for him, Pharm caught on fast.

“Uh, do you want to come see the kitchen?” Pharm said, gesturing to the end of the buffet tables where there was a space to walk around to get back to where he was. Team jumped the line and dropped straight to his knees, crawling under the tables instead of walking around. He rose to his feet again on the other side, catching the surprised expressions of Marwin and Tops, then nodded at Pharm.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Show me the kitchen.”

Pharm looked up at his husband, who had the gall to look amused, and said, “Stay here. I’ll be back in a second.” With that he turned and led Team into the kitchen. 

When the doors swung shut behind them, Team ducked out of the doorway, just to be sure that Win couldn’t catch a glimpse of him if he looked into the back. He leaned against the wall by the doorway, trying to calm his racing heart. He closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths with his hand over his chest, and when his heartbeat was closer to normal, he opened his eyes again to find Pharm watching him with concern.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked, hands on his hips. He was acting the part of the mom friend, standing in that way that he stood when he had let something go on for far too long and it had gotten out of hand. “You were weird last week after that show, too, when we came to see you.”

“I just,” Team paused, then groaned and pushed his palms into his eyes before raking his fingers back through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

“I have time,” Pharm prompted. “And it’s quieter in here. Is there something going on between you and P’Win?”

Team barked a laugh, a bitter sound that pushed itself from his throat before he could stop it.

“No, nothing like that,” he said, shaking his head. “Not anymore, at least.”

Pharm cocked his head expectantly, not letting up. Team groaned again, frustrated. 

“I don’t know, Pharm. You know we never dated, right?”

“I don’t know, Team,” Pharm echoed. “You would never tell me one way or the other. Whenever I brought him up you would just clam up. You never seemed to want to talk about it, so I always just let it be, but this seems like a lot of hoops to jump through for someone you’ve never dated.”

Team held Pharm’s gaze. His best friend had a way of making him feel cornered in the same way that a good friend cornered their loved ones to make sure they were eating full meals and not hurting themselves. Team gestured helplessly in lieu of speaking, because he didn’t know what to say. He could feel the emotion welling up in his chest, pushing a knot into his throat that he knew would sound in his voice if he tried to speak. Pharm must have noticed the change in the mood, because he stepped closer and put a gentle hand on Team’s arm.

“Team, if something’s going on, you can tell me,” he urged. “You don’t have to, but I want to help you.”

“I’m not going to cry in this fucking kitchen,” Team said, his voice thick. He ducked his head and wiped stubbornly at his eyes, trying to force his emotions back into their box where they belonged. He wished he could explain why he was upset without feeling like an idiot. He wished he hadn’t made any of those stupid mistakes.

Pharm rubbed his arm, waiting patiently for him to get his emotions under control. After a moment, Team gave a shaky sigh, looking up at the ceiling so that he didn’t have to meet Pharm’s eyes.

“I guess I liked him a lot, when we were younger,” he said, the understatement of the century. “We slept together and then he disappeared. I didn’t see him again until your wedding and I did it again and he disappeared again and I just-” He cut himself off again before he could start crying, and it took him a long time to swallow the lump in his throat. After another minute he spoke again. “I just don’t want to see him.”

“Team,” Pharm said sympathetically. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this before?”

Team smiled bitterly. “I just feel like a fucking idiot about it.” 

“You know he went to London, right?” Pharm’s voice was as gentle as his hand on Team’s arm. 

Team gestured helplessly once again, meeting Pharm’s eyes and cursing his quivering lower lip. “How would I know that? He basically cut me off after the first time. And we didn’t talk after the second and I just-“ 

He cut himself off when he felt a tear roll down his cheek, ducking his head and wiping it away with the back of his hand. Pharm pulled him in for a hug, arms tight around him. Team reciprocated weakly with one arm around Pharm’s waist. 

“You don’t have to stay at all,” Pharm said after a pause. He pulled away enough to inspect Team’s face carefully. “Maybe it’s better if you go home. You can even go out the back way.”

“But you made so much food,” Team sniffled. Pharm smiled at him, squeezing his bicep. 

“I’ll pack some up for you,” he said. “Stay right here.”

With a pat on his arm, Pharm left Team alone in the kitchen. Team used the time alone with nothing but the sound of the hood fans and the feeling of cool industrial steel under his fingertips to school his thoughts into something that wasn’t Win-related. He closed his eyes and counted his breaths until he could imagine pool water lapping at his shoulders and the smell of chlorine. After this morning’s grueling practice and the heightened emotions of seeing Win again for the second time in as many weeks, he was just feeling tired. His body ached and his head hurt from the emotional crash he was experiencing.

Pharm returned about five minutes later with a bag full of takeout boxes, presenting it to him with a smile. “Here,” he said, “I got you a little bit of everything.”

Team pulled Pharm into another hug, squeezing him tightly and earning a surprised chuckle from his friend.

“Thanks, Pharm,” he said, then pulled away. “I really appreciate it. I’ll buy you dinner sometime, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Pharm laughed. “Just get home safe, okay? And try to get some sleep, you look exhausted.”

Team took a step towards the exit and gave Pharm a mock salute. “Yes, chef,” he said, nodding resolutely, then turned and pushed open the door. He stepped out into a paved area with milk crates and bread boxes stacked up on opposite sides of the door. He circled around the dumpster and headed towards the parking lot. All he had to do was make it to his car and he was free. He could go home and lay down face first on his bed and cry or scream or sleep, whatever came first. 

“Hey, Team!” 

Team stiffened for a moment, the familiar voice registering immediately as Win’s. He didn’t look. He just quickened his pace towards his car, praying that he could get there before Win caught up with him. 

“Team, wait,” he called again, closer this time. Team could see him approaching out of the corner of his eye. He pressed the button on his car keys to unlock his car and rounded it to get to the driver’s side, opening the door quickly. Before he could get in, Win was in front of him, blocking him with a hand on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry, I just,” he began, and Team refused to look at him, eyes cast downward to hide his face. He had just been crying in Pharm’s kitchen, but Win didn’t need to know that. “I wanted to apologize,” Win finished, a sentence that made something thick twist in Team’s gut. There were so many things he could apologize for. Team didn’t know which one he wanted to hear first. Before he could think better of it, he looked up and met Win’s eyes, scowling. 

“For what?”

There was something complicated in Win’s expression, mixed with something a little desperate. He must have seen the tear stain on Team’s cheek, because he reached out to touch it. His fingertips brushed Team’s cheek so gently, like he was some precious fragile thing, and Team flinched away, because he knew that Win had never seen him that way.

Win withdrew his hand. 

“Just, um, for last week,” Win explained. Team let his eyes drift to a spot just over Win’s shoulder. It was hard just to talk to him. It was even harder to look him in the eye. If his eyes fell on Win’s face, he didn’t know what he’d want to do more, kiss his lips or punch him in the mouth. “I just think, um, maybe I should’ve…”

Team closed his eyes, searching for something to ground himself. His brain supplied him with the memory of Pharm’s voice on the phone.

“It was just work,” Team said, cutting him off. When Win didn’t reply for a moment, Team opened his eyes again to see him frowning, confused.

“What?”

Team schooled his expression into something carefully neutral as he repeated himself. “It was just work. It was nothing.”

“Sure, I just,” Win continued, gesturing vaguely with the hand that wasn’t clamped around the doorframe of Team’s car. “I feel like I cornered you, and-”

“You’re not cornering me now?” Team asked him. Win blinked, stunned into silence. Carefully, Team pulled Win’s hand off his car and let it drop to his side, holding Win’s gaze as he stood there with his lips parted like he wanted to speak again but wasn’t sure where to start. 

“Have fun at the party, hia,” Team said, then got in his car and closed the door. Numbly, he started the engine, watching Win take half a step back in his rearview mirror as he pulled forward out of his space and left Win standing alone on the pavement, watching him go.

Chapter Text

“You’re not cornering me now?”

The phrase bounced around Win’s head like a windows screensaver, if a windows screensaver was devastating and smashed the glass every time it hit the side of the screen. Anytime he wasn’t thinking about anything in particular it came up again, the way Team had looked when he said it, the way it sounded when it came out of his mouth.

“You’re not cornering me now?”

What the hell had he been thinking? When he found Marwin, Tops, and Dean in the restaurant and they told him that Team had just been there, he rushed outside without a second thought. He had seen Team from a distance and jogged to catch up. He hadn’t even thought about what he would say when he did, and he ended up just spouting nonsense until Team basically told him to fuck off.

“You’re not cornering me now?”

He stood there after Team pulled away, in the middle of an empty parking space, like an idiot, watching the spot where his car had disappeared behind a building. He couldn’t get the picture of Team’s face out of his mind, the emotion in his eyes, the single tear streak on his cheek. Win had reached out to touch him, foolishly, and Team had moved away. What had he expected? What had he even wanted?

Every sloppy attempt to pull Team closer had just driven him farther away, and Win didn’t even know what he’d do if ever he reached out to touch Team and he didn’t pull away.

—

Win pressed his palm flush against the cheek of the man below him, who turned to press his mouth to the skin. It was the feeling of teeth around his thumb, the press of a tongue against his knuckles, the smell of sweat in the air. If he closed his eyes, he could make the moans out to be someone else’s. If he focused, he could almost smell a hint of chlorine in his curls.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, moving his hips steadily against his partner’s. The man below him laughed airily, arching his back off the mattress with pleasure.

“You sound so hot when you speak Chinese,” he had said. Win stuttered to a stop, panting and looking at him in confusion. He hadn’t even realized he wasn’t speaking English.

“I don’t speak Chinese,” Win said, which was a lie. He did speak Mandarin, just enough to make light conversation and talk to investors for his father’s company. He certainly didn’t just slip into it during sex.

“Oh, whatever it is,” said the man below him, wiggling his hips as if asking Win to start moving again. He ran a hand over Win’s bare chest, down his side, and over his hip, until he could cup his ass and pull Win’s hips into him again. He groaned at the motion, tilting his chin up, then spoke again. “They all sound the same to me.”

Win removed the man’s hand and sat back on his heels, a frown settling over his lips. “I’m from Thailand,” he said plainly. He thought the other man had known that.

“Okay,” was his reply, spoken like a question. Like, ‘okay, why does that matter?’ or, ‘okay, why should I care?’

After a moment of consideration Win got off the bed, bending over to scoop his pants off the floor and start pulling them back on.

“Win, come on.” Win could hear the disbelief in his voice, and he turned to see the other man prop himself up on his elbows on the bed, watching him get dressed. “Seriously?”

“Sorry,” Win lied again, pulling his sweater over his head. “I just remembered I have somewhere to be.”

He let the door swing shut by itself on the way out.

—

Since the conception of Winning Streak, Win and Kuea had been pretty lax about finding gigs and ways to make money through music. Since the addition of Marwin, however, they had been very busy with every opportunity Marwin could find. Marwin was serious about music, and didn’t come from money like Win and Kuea, so as the most motivated member, he became their de facto manager. When he would book gigs or interviews, he would send it in the group chat, and Win would plug it into a color coded calendar app that they all kept up with. At the moment, the next couple of weeks were a colorful, blinding array of events for the three of them to attend.

At one such event, an interview on live television, the three of them sat on a couch, facing the overly friendly host and a series of cameras at an angle as she asked them about the beginnings of the band. Win happily gave her the abridged version: he and Kuea met at university in London, then they found Marwin at an international audition and recruited him.

“Kuea,” she said, gesturing towards their youngest, who was sitting in the middle. “We heard you’re engaged! Congratulations!” On a screen behind her, a photo faded into view. It was the picture that Kuea had posted on instagram when he and Lian had made their engagement official. They had been wearing formal clothes, Lian smiling into Kuea’s cheek and holding his hand, showcasing their matching rings.

Kuea beamed, as he always did when someone brought up Lian. “Thank you!” He elbowed both Win and Marwin, gesturing to the screen. “Look at us, aren’t we so cute?”

“He only ever smiles like that at you,” Win chuckled. “I thought he was scary when I first met him.”

The hostess smiled widely. Win watched her visibly latch onto the information. This was great material, after all. She gestured to Kuea again to get his attention. “When’s the wedding?”

Kuea laughed happily. “We planned it for the fall.”

“What about you two?” The hostess fixed her gaze on Win and Marwin in turn, keeping the mood light.

Marwin shook his head, holding his hands out. “We’re not at liberty to say,” he said. A few years ago, when Marwin came home from London in a band, Tops had made him agree that if they ever got big and went on interview shows like this one, Marwin wouldn’t talk about him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want people to know they were dating in his regular life, it was just that Tops was a rather reserved and private person. He wasn’t used to life in the limelight like Kuea or Lian or even Win, and he definitely didn’t want people following him around.

Win, woefully single, nodded in support of his friend, then cracked a joke. “Sorry, if we told you, we’d have to kill you.”

“Of course.” The hostess had the sense to laugh along with them, nodding. “I hope you don’t mind, though, that we did some digging.”

Win’s smile faltered a fraction. He didn’t like the implication of this line of questions, and if this woman that they met an hour ago was about to pull up a photo of Tops, there could be problems. He glanced at Marwin and noticed his smile had faded as well.

“Well,” Kuea said easily, either not on the same page as Win and Marwin or better at covering it up. “Two of us are probably really easy to find information on.” He gestured to himself and Win, and Win nodded, wanting to pull the focus away from Marwin’s relationship.

“Yeah,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Our families are pretty public. You could find my graduation photos from every level of schooling if you wanted to.”

“I didn’t quite find that,” the hostess chuckled. “Though I think seeing you graduating from the fifth grade would be cute, actually. What I did find is that you used to swim when you were in college. Do you still do it at all?”

“Swim?” Win cocked his head. This question had been unexpected. “No, not really. Not since I graduated. I only really joined because my friend did, but I kind of fell off with it.”

“Well.” The hostess gripped her cue cards and cocked her head, smiling like she had a surprise she was about to give them. “The other interesting thing I found was that Team Teerayu Siriyothin was your junior at university. Just to jog your memory-” She paused, using her clicker to bring up a bust photo of Team to replace Kuea’s engagement photo. It must have been from a swimming competition, because he was shirtless, with a pair of goggles resting over his collarbones.

“He’s an athlete on the national level,” she continued, looking back at the three of them. “Said to be preparing for the next summer olympics. I wonder if you two ever met in school?”

“Oh,” Win said again, staring at the photo. Team had kept his face carefully neutral, staring straight forward. He had probably been nervous. It was eerily close to the way he had fixed his expression in the parking lot, without the puffy eyes and the tear stain on his cheek. With his eyes, Win traced the curve of his nose and the bow of his lips, before Kuea got his attention with an elbow to his side.

“Oh,” he said again, snapping his eyes back to the hostess and formulating a quick lie. “We probably talked a couple times, since I was the vice president, but we ran in different circles.”

“Do you think he would remember you if he saw you today?” From the hungry look in her eyes, the hostess had clocked and noted his hesitation to answer the first question.

“I’m not sure,” Win laughed, although he already knew the answer. “I guess if you ever have him on, you can show him a picture of me and see what he says.”

The reply came off with a little more attitude than he had meant to use, and there was an awkward beat of silence before the hostess remembered that they were on camera. She laughed with him, then changed the subject. Thankfully, they spent the rest of the show talking about music, which was an easy enough topic. That’s what they came on these shows to do, promote their music, not talk about people that they might have known in college.

“Dude,” Marwin said later as they were taking their mics off behind the cameras. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Win asked.

“That thing about,” Marwin darted his eyes around, then mouthed Team’s name rather than say it out loud.

Win looked away. “Sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t.

–

Win balanced his time between the band and his brothers. The day after the interview on the talk show, he found himself in View’s dorm room, being thoroughly beaten at some first person shooter game that he had never played before.

“Come on,” he complained, resisting the urge to throw his controller at his brother’s head. “Can’t we just play Mario Kart?”

“Hia,” View laughed, tearing his eyes away from the standings screen to look at Win. “You think you can beat me at Mario Kart?”

Win narrowed his eyes. He knew he couldn’t. He sighed dramatically, falling back on the bed and looking over at Waan, who sat at View’s tiny kitchen table on his laptop. Waan’s version of hanging out with his brothers was sitting quietly in the same room as them as they had fun. It used to be weird, but Win was used to it.

“Hia,” Win said, catching his eyes as he looked up and shaking his controller. “Want to lose to your baby brother?”

Waan smiled wryly. “Not on your life. You have fun though.”

Win groaned theatrically and sat up again. “Okay. One more round, then Mario Kart.”

“Whatever you say,” View chuckled.

Maybe Win was starting to get the hang of this. It wasn’t that he was bad at video games, it was just that View spent an outrageous amount of time playing them, so his skill greatly outweighed any dexterity that Win might have in his hands from playing guitar. He bit his lip, focused on trying to locate and shoot his brother’s character in an abandoned building on the screen, when a notification popped up on the bottom left of the television.

[Notification: Team (!goteamgo!) is online]

Win faltered, staring at the name, just long enough for View to find him and kill him, winning yet another round of this god forsaken game.

“I win again,” View laughed, bumping his shoulder into Win’s. “Maybe you should change your name.”

“You know Team?” Win asked, watching the notification disappear before looking at his brother. View blinked at him, confused by the sudden change in topic.

“P’Team?” he repeated, cocking his head. “Yeah. We work together sometimes. He works part time at my job.”

Win took a second, suddenly remembering that View and Team had been at the Pentagon on the same night, working. “Oh, right,” he said dumbly. “Um, are you guys close?”

View started to smirk, searching Win’s face to decipher his expression. “I don’t know, hia,” he said. “Why?”

Win looked over View’s shoulder to avoid meeting his eyes and saw Waan looking at him over the top of his laptop. “I’m just curious,” was his weak reply. “I haven’t seen him since college. He’s Dean’s husband’s friend. I’m just wondering about him, that’s all.”

Waan folded his hands together and rested his chin on top, his expression mimicking View’s. “You are so bad at lying.”

Win frowned. “Wrong, I’m so bad at lying to you. You two have the unfair advantage of having known me my whole life.”

“Unfair to you or unfair to us?” View asked.

Win laughed as Waan breathed a chuckle, View switched the console to beat his older brother at Mario Kart, and the subject was, thankfully, dropped.

–

Days before he was supposed to go to Chiang Mai to attend his family’s event, Win sat alone at home, his feet curled under himself on the plush leather couch furnishing the living room of his cold, impersonal apartment. He had decided that after all this time, he should do a little bit of research. He hadn’t kept up with Team’s swimming career on purpose, because he felt like it wasn’t any of his business to know, but it seemed like life would keep bringing Team to the forefront of his mind anyways, so he might as well be informed.

The television mounted on the wall played old reruns of Team’s televised meets while Win scrolled through his phone, reading stats and headlines of their country’s most famous swimmers. He saw a lot of names and faces he didn’t recognize, but his scrolling came to a stop at that familiar photo of Team, the one he had been shown on the talk show. Next to the photo there was basic information, like his full name, his age, his hometown, all things Win knew already. Next to that was his average time for certain strokes and heats. That information was new. Win had to look twice to make sure he hadn’t imagined it.

He knew that Team had been good in school. He practically couldn’t shut up back then about how much potential Team had, if only he would utilize it. It seemed that he had done just that.

Win looked up at his TV just as a meet ended, with Team in first place by a full three seconds. The camera closed in on his head and shoulders bobbing up and down in the water as he held onto the side of the pool and removed his goggles to take a look over his shoulder at the time board. When he saw his time, he grinned widely. Win found himself wishing he had been there. Yet again, Win found himself wishing he had stayed.

He looked away to escape the feeling, looking down at his phone to inspect the photo closer than he had been able to on the talk show. It must have been taken before a meet. Team’s hair was dry and fluffy and parted in the middle, his dark eyes fixed on the camera. Underneath them, Win could see dark circles under a thin layer of foundation, as if they hadn’t planned on giving him makeup until they saw the state of him. Win remembered that Team used to have a lot of trouble sleeping before competitions when they swam together. He would get anxious and worked up and stay up all night thinking about all of the worst possible things that could happen. Win used to wonder if it was the pressure that he and Dean and their coach used to put on him. In the days before a competition he would ease up, try to convince Team to rest, although it never worked. Win would find him in the pool, swimming laps late at night, or in the library, staring blankly at a page he wasn’t reading. Once he had found Team asleep on a bench at a bus stop, his hands limp in his lap and his head hung between his shoulders, the bus long gone. Win sat down next to him and pulled Team’s head onto his shoulder so he wouldn’t wake up sore, and waited until he came to again.

Win wished he could have helped back then. He wished he could help now too. He couldn’t imagine pursuing a career in something he lost so much sleep over.

He found himself staring at the still image of Team on his television, grinning after a hard-earned win. Team looked so happy. Win hoped it was worth it.

Chapter Text

Team hated traveling. He hated going to places he hadn’t been before, he hated the constant fear that he would get lost. He hated the anxiety of being in airports and at bus stops, always afraid that they would leave without him and he’d be stranded in some new place with no idea where to go.

Luckily, he wasn’t alone, but that didn’t mean he was enjoying himself. He was in Chiang Mai with his coach for the regional meet tomorrow evening, and they were in a rental car on the way from the airport to the hotel. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the passenger side window, bouncing his phone anxiously in his lap and thinking about the afternoon ahead of them. They had to go to the facility to check in and do some practice laps, then they were scheduled to meet a potential sponsor at the hotel for dinner.

There was another thing that made him anxious: meeting sponsors. These people wanted him to promote something in exchange for money that he and his coach needed to enter competitions and rent out spaces for practice. He needed to successfully sell himself to them or they would choose someone else. Not only that, he needed to do well in the competition or he wouldn’t get a sponsorship at all.

He let out a breath, flipping his phone over to check the group chat.

[Go Team Go!]
Notification: Manaow changed the chat name to ‘Go Team Go!’
Manaow: Good luck at your competition this weekend!
Pharm: You’re gonna do great! Call us if you need anything!
Dean: They’re playing it on tv. I’ll watch it.
Dean: Go Team

Team bit his lip and closed his eyes. He wished they hadn’t remembered. It’d be less pressure if he could just tell them afterwards that he went to a meet and did well. With everyone expecting good things from him, he just felt overwhelmed and stifled. If he did badly, he didn’t know how he’d face them.

He tucked his phone away as his coach pulled into the parking lot, pulling the duffel bag holding his swim gear out of the back seat. As they headed into the building, he could feel his coach’s eyes on him.

“You look like shit,” she said plainly, which was her way of saying that he looked exhausted and she was concerned. He sighed, pushing his fingers back through his hair, then met her eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said. He hadn’t slept more than three or four hours a night in the past week and a half, but that was normal for him before a competition, and they had been working together for long enough for her to know that. She frowned at him, but didn’t push.

She got him checked in with the staff while he changed, and together they headed towards the pool. The smell of chlorine and the echo of the large room would usually calm his thoughts, but the pressure of the upcoming competition weighed heavily on him. There were other competitors already in some of the lanes, getting a feel for the pool and the water. He stretched while his coach waited, holding a timer in her hand, and when he was ready, he dove in.

It took a little longer for muscle memory to kick in than he would have liked. His body was buzzing with nervous energy, and when he made it across the pool and back to the diving block he could already tell that he had been slow. He met his coach’s eyes and before she could even say anything, he spoke.

“Let’s go again.”

She pursed her lips, but nodded, and he was off again. His form was sloppy, and his strokes were slow, and when he arrived back at the diving block again, frustration was welling up in his chest. He knew he could do better than this, he just didn’t know why he wasn’t.

“Let’s go again,” he repeated.

His coach put away her stopwatch. “Get out of the pool, Team.” she said.

“I want to try again,” he insisted, looking up at her.

“You look like you’re going to keel over at any moment. Get out of the pool. After dinner I’m sending you to bed.”

“I’m not a child.” He scowled. When she didn’t budge, he pulled himself out of the water. She handed him a towel from his duffel bag and he pulled off his cap and goggles reluctantly.

“Let’s come back tomorrow afternoon before the meet and try again,” she said. “Get dressed, I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

Team groaned in frustration as she walked away, pushing his palms into his closed eyes. He could feel his anxiety twisting in his stomach, rising to constrict his chest, and he took a couple deep, measured breaths to force it back down. He didn’t have the time or energy for that right now. He dried off and changed in the locker room, deliberately controlling his breathing. He met his coach in the lobby and together they headed to their next destination.

The hotel they were staying at was huge and fancier than any place Team had ever had the pleasure of staying. Team was from meager beginnings in the countryside, having only moved to Bangkok for college, and staying only because he had found friends and a job, and so he could continue swimming. His family had never had the cash to stay in a place like this, towering above any other building in the vicinity. At the door, his coach handed the car keys to a valet, and led him through wide double doors and into the lobby. Team couldn’t keep his jaw from dropping. The lobby was a wide expanse of marble floors and leather couches. There was a large chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling. On one side there was a check-in desk, and on the other side there was what looked like a restaurant, built into the hotel. Straight forward across the lobby there was another set of double doors, one of them hanging slightly open so that Team could see a collection of well-suited business people in a banquet room.

Team felt incredibly out of place.

He shuffled forward after his coach, who checked them in, and handed Team his keycard. She smiled politely at the lady at the desk, and as she led him towards the elevator she leaned in to speak to Team quietly.

“Close your mouth.”

Team snapped his jaw shut, tearing his eyes away from the ornate ceilings to look instead at the reflective metallic surface of the elevator doors. They slid open after a moment, and he and his coach stepped inside. They made quick work of going upstairs, finding their rooms, and dropping their things off. Team had been told to dress formally for the meeting, so he had scrounged up what he could find, which ended up being unfortunately very similar to his old university uniform. He tied the tie loosely, keeping the top couple buttons of his shirt undone. He had always hated the way it felt when it was up against his neck, like it was choking him. He didn’t need anything else today making him feel like he couldn’t breathe. When he met his coach in the lobby again, she was dressed formally too, a far cry from her usual track pants and t-shirt. She very pointedly fixed his shirt and tie, despite his protests, so that his collar rested against his throat. With professional purpose, she led him into the restaurant, told the hostess about their reservations, and followed her back into a private room with just one table in it. Someone was already seated there, an older man in a suit who smiled brightly and stood when they entered.

“Team,” he said by way of greeting, offering a wai towards Team as he and his coach shuffled into their spots on the other side of the table. “My name is Kim, it’s nice to finally meet you.” He offered a second wai towards his coach, smiling as his pointer fingers brushed his nose briefly, and said, “and you too, ma’am. I hope you don’t mind that I already ordered some food. The menus are still here for you though, so that you can take a look.”

Team returned Kim’s wai, then looked down at the menus on the table that he had gestured to. He sat, stiffly, and picked one up, but found his appetite severely lacking. His coach elbowed him discreetly to remind him that he was supposed to be talking to his man, so he put the menu down and smiled politely.

“Thanks,” he said, “It’s good to meet you too.”

“I’ve just heard such amazing things about you,” Kim said, folding his hands on the table. “I used to be a swimmer myself during college, but I never got as far as you did, obviously. And we know, it’s a little early to be offering sponsorship before the regional competition. Usually, companies will wait until the athletes are slotted in the olympics, or at least doing international competitions, but I convinced my higher-ups that we should approach you early. We’ve seen your performance, and we know you’ll get there.”

Team tried not to let that eat at his insides, and failed miserably. “Thanks,” he said tightly.

He stayed quiet as Kim and his coach started going over the specifics. It was a non-exclusive contract, detailing a series of advertisements he’d have to do for Kim’s company, should he make it to the international level. There was no signing it today, just going over it so that they could easily sign it in the future. At some point in the middle of all this, the waitress came around to take their order, and Team shook his head at his coach. Stubbornly, she ordered two of what she wanted with a smile, then turned towards him as the waitress left. He knew that look, when her smile didn’t reach her eyes. It meant, ‘you will eat.’ He didn’t know how though. His stomach was tying itself in knot upon knot in his gut, and he couldn’t stop bouncing his knee. Throwing up in front of this man did not seem very professional.

The entire meal consisted of Kim and his coach negotiating the contract, making notes on the printout he had brought with him, between eating and making small talk. Team sat there politely, mostly very quiet and very nervous. As Kim and his coach cleared their plates, his meal remained untouched.

“Are you not hungry?” Kim asked, gesturing towards his food.

Team winced a smile. “I ate earlier. I’ll probably box it up.”

After everything was done and Team’s meal had been boxed up for later and Kim had said his goodbyes, Team and his coach walked in silence towards the elevator. He reached forward to press the button to go up, trying his best to calm his racing heart with steadying breaths, but it was only inching him back from the ledge he was on.

“What’s going on with you?” Her voice was even. He didn’t look at her.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, even as he pushed a hand back through his hair and dragged it roughly down his neck. As the elevator opened, they let a few people file out before getting on. The doors closed and she spoke again.

“You look like shit. Your times are slow and your form is sloppy. You barely said anything in that meeting, you’re lucky he was a fan or else he’d have been really put off. You didn’t even eat dinner.”

Team closed his eyes. He knew all of this. He could feel her looking at him expectantly and when he didn’t say anything, she continued.

“Are you taking your meds?”

The question shot a bolt of indignant anger through his chest and he shot her a glare. “Yes,” he lied.

He hated his meds. He had medicine for his sleep, but when he took it he slept like the dead for twelve hours and felt exhausted all day. He had medicine for his anxiety too, to take when it got bad, but he could never tell where the threshold was of things that he could handle unmedicated and things that he couldn’t. He always, stupidly, ended up waiting way too long, thinking that he could figure it out on his own, before having the type of panic attack that rattled his bones and left him lying exhausted and sleepless in whatever corner it had landed him in.

He liked to think he didn’t need them, but the truth was that he just didn’t want to need them. He hated the way he felt normally and hated the way the medicine that was supposed to help him made him feel. In the end, he just ended up feeling frustrated and hopeless.

“You’re lying to me,” his coach said plainly, stepping off the elevator when it got to their floor. She started down the hall and he followed reluctantly.

“I’m not a kid.”

“I never said that you were,” she replied. She stopped in front of her door, which was across the hall from his.

“You treat me like a child sometimes.” Team knew he should leave it alone. He knew that his lack of sleep was making him irritable, and that he was anxious and that he had lied. All the things that were wrong right now were his fault, and she was being patient with him. He should be thanking her.

“You act like a child sometimes,” she said evenly, then gestured to his boxed up meal from dinner. “Eat that and take your meds and go to sleep. Goodnight, Team.”

With that, she scanned her keycard to unlock her door and slipped inside her room. He scowled, turning and entering his own. He dropped the food on top of the mini fridge and pulled his tie off, recognizing the signs of the anxious energy buzzing under his skin. He pulled out his phone and opened his group chat with his friends, skimming over the last few messages of encouragement they had sent him this morning. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard hesitantly before he locked it again and threw it onto the bed.

His friends didn’t need him to bother them with this. It was all his fault anyways.

In an attempt to calm down, he took a shower, hoping that the pressure of the water on his shoulders would beat the tension out of them. Afterwards, he got dressed in a pair of pajama pants he had brought with him and the plush robe provided by the hotel, still thoroughly and hopelessly wound up.

Logically, he knew he needed to talk to someone. He couldn’t bother them, though. Pharm was probably working or spending quality time with his husband. Manaow was probably hanging out with friends. He picked up his phone and opened the group chat again, noticing the tremor in his fingers as he began to type.

Team: is anyone free right n-

No, that’s not right.

Team: im not feeling great, if anyone is-

No, that’s not it either.

Team: how’s everyone’s night goi-

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He watched the cursor blink in the empty text box after erasing his message for the third time, then groaned in frustration and threw his phone aside again. This was stupid. He’d been through worse alone. All of his problems were of his own making anyways. It was his own fault he couldn’t calm down.

It was his fault that he hadn’t been sleeping well. He should have taken his medication. Sparse sleep always fed into his bad anxiety- he knew that from experience, but he never learned. He should have taken his anxiety medication too. He always let it go on far too long because he always overestimated how much he could handle. Normal people didn’t have this problem. Why couldn’t he just be like them?

The walls felt taller and closer than they had been before as he pressed his hands against the sides of his head. He was alone because he couldn’t muster up the courage to reach out to his own best friends. Deep down, he wasn’t sure if he deserved to. He was going to fail at the meet tomorrow, because he would always choke at competitions. It was why he’d never really be good enough for this.

He’d never make it, would he?

He could feel himself fall into it. Physically, the sensation was like every muscle in his body was wound tighter than it ever had been before, seconds away from snapping. Mentally, it felt like being swallowed, like being pulled under by a tidal wave of anxiety and drowning in it. He sat shakily on the bed and pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them as he shook, his breaths coming in gasps. He felt tears stinging his eyes and ducked his head, letting them fall.

Stupid. Every time this happened he felt so fucking stupid. He could have avoided this by not being so foolish, so incompetent. He could have avoided this by not being such an asshole to the people that cared about him, or by not being so stubborn. He should just take his meds and deal with the consequences. Now that he hadn’t, he was making everyone else’s lives harder. He was sloppy and slow at practice. He was needy with his friends. He was awkward at meetings. He scraped his fingers roughly through his hair, raking his nails across his scalp, and gripping the back of his head tightly, as if holding his head would keep all of the things inside it at bay.

Vaguely, he registered a knock on his door. He looked up at it blearily through the tears in his eyes, wondering who could possibly need him right now. Maybe it was his coach, come to tell him just how much of a child he had been. He knew that. Maybe it was Kim, come to tell him that he no longer wanted to sponsor Team because he had been absolutely awful at dinner. He knew that too. At the sound of a second knock, he figured it would just make it worse to keep whoever it was waiting. Better to just pull the band aid off and get it over with. He got up slowly, walking on shaky knees across the room to wrap his trembling fingers around the doorknob. He closed his eyes and braced himself, then pulled it open.

The person in front of him was not his coach. It was not Kim either. It was Win, standing there in a suit and tie, looking just as surprised to see Team as Team was to see him. Team’s chest constricted and he gave a pained whine as his knees gave out and he fell heavily against the wall next to the door. Win reached out and caught him under the arms, saying something Team couldn’t make out. He felt like his ears were filled with cotton. His body felt heavy and immobile. He felt like he was going to puke, despite not having eaten anything.

Of course Win was here. Of course.

“Team?” Win’s voice sounded panicked but far away, and Team registered it belatedly as Win helped him back towards the bed. Win pushed him down onto it as Team choked and gasped around his tears, bringing his shaking hands up to the sides of his head. Reaching to wipe the tears from his face, Win knelt down in front of him, trying to catch Team’s eyes through the panic.

“Breathe, Team,” Win urged, his voice cutting through the thoughts bouncing around Team’s head.

He was a nuisance. He was a child. He was not cut out for this. He’d never make it.

“Hia,” Team sobbed, grabbing ahold of Win’s wrist and squeezing. It was an anchor, a lighthouse. It felt solid under his fingertips.

“Remember what we used to do?” Team met Win’s eyes as he spoke, trying to focus. “Let’s count, okay? Just like we used to. Can you try it?”

“I can’t-” Team gasped, an aborted sound that ended almost before it began.

“Yes, you can,” Win said firmly, swiping a thumb under his eye gently and pushing his other hand back through Team’s hair. The feeling of it was soothing, a far cry from his own angry fingernails against his skin.

Slowly, Win began to count, one hand cradling the back of Team’s head and the other held to Team’s cheek. Team’s fingers were still wrapped tightly around his wrist, his eyes flicking between both of Win’s as he tried to keep up. It was hard, pulling himself out of it before it wanted to be done. He felt like he was dragging himself out of choppy water, like he was a ship being thrown about by a sea that wanted to pull him under.

“You’re doing so well,” Win said, and he sounded clearer now. Team breathed, shaky but deeper, staring at Win as he pulled Team to safety. “Name five things that you see for me.”

Team’s eyes darted around the room, already recognizing the exercise. “The tv,” he said airily, then swallowed past the lump in his throat. “The dresser. The lamp. The bed.” He looked back at Win, adjusting his grip on Win’s wrist. “You.”

“Good,” Win smiled at him, encouraging him to continue. “What about four things you can feel?”

Team closed his eyes. His heartbeat was calming down gradually, but he did his best not to focus on it in case it decided to pick back up again under pressure. “The robe,” he said, feeling the material stretched over his shoulders. He flexed his toes on the hardwood and said, “The floor. The, um, the bed.” He paused, opening his eyes again to see Win’s eyes ghosting over him as his body visibly relaxed. He leaned his head into Win’s palm, sniffling. “You.”

“Should we do three things you can smell?” Win asked, and Team registered that he was moving his fingers in soothing circles on Team’s scalp, twisting Team’s hair around his fingertips. He was smiling softly, but he still looked concerned. Team leaned back into his touch, feeling considerably more grounded, but held Win’s hand on his cheek as he replied.

“Hotel shampoo,” he said, “air freshener. You.”

Win met his eyes again, searching for something, then took a deep breath. He leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips to Team’s forehead, so gently, and Team closed his eyes and breathed him in. The scent of Win was familiar but distant, something like nostalgia. It felt like nights at the pool in university, swimming until the lights came on overhead. It felt like afternoons in Win’s dorm room, listening to his old records and watching him dance and sing. It felt like waking up on a park bench, his head on Win’s shoulder when he had been alone before. It felt like a promise that Win would always be there for him if he needed it.

As Win pulled away from him, Team caught him with a hand on his cheek, keeping him in place as he tipped his chin up and pressed a kiss against Win’s mouth.

Another mistake under the belt of Team Teerayu Siriyothin.

Chapter Text

The first time Win had found Team in the midst of a panic attack was at a meet in school. They had traveled forty-five minutes by bus to an unfamiliar facility, full of people they had never met before. Win had walked into the locker room searching for Team and found him curled in a ball in a shower stall, crying and shaking and hyperventilating. Panicked, Win had knelt in front of him and told him to breathe. He had no idea what else to do. Team had given him this tortured look, because it wasn’t as easy as just breathing, but held Win’s hands tightly as he slowly forced himself back from the ledge.

When he went home that evening, Win looked up how to help someone who was having a panic attack, so that he’d be prepared next time.

It didn’t happen very often, but when it did, Win would take Team somewhere quiet, give him something to focus on. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the way Team’s eyes looked with his pupils blown wide like a cornered animal, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He would hold onto Win like he was a lifeline, knuckles white around the material of his shirt. His voice always sounded hoarse afterward, from the crying or the rapid breathing or both, when he apologized for needing help.

Win had always made sure to thank him for asking for it.

When he knocked on the door, he had thought it was View’s room. They were all there for the event his parents had been hosting in the banquet room. Waan had wrestled him into a suit and tie, and Win had stood there politely as business people he didn’t know tried to hold conversations with him about something he had never been interested in. He had been knocking on View’s door to hang out, to decompress from the ridiculous show his parents felt the need to put on, but when Team answered, his priorities had swiftly rearranged themselves.

He launched into an old routine: get Team somewhere quiet and comfortable, count with him until he could speak, then do the senses exercise. He kicked off his shoes on the way to the bed and knelt on the floor in front of Team, his knees aching on the hardwood, and watched Team’s body slowly relax. When he seemed to have come down, Win searched his eyes for any remaining sign of the episode, but what he found was skin puffy from crying and bruised from lack of sleep. It made his heart ache. Without thinking, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Team’s forehead as Team held his hand to his cheek, as if one kiss could expel all his anxieties and fears.

Then, as he pulled away, Team kissed him.

Like it did every time Team pressed his mouth to Win’s, Win’s body melted into it. He held it for a moment before kissing him again, and again, breathing Team in, holding him so gently in his hands, feeling the tears on Team’s cheeks. Team wrapped an arm around his neck and leaned back, pulling Win over him on the bed, and Win followed, chasing Team’s mouth, his body covering Team’s. Win wished he could protect him, kiss away all of the awful things he thought about himself. If he could press his lips to every part of Team he thought was beautiful, he would spend all day and night holding him. He swiped his tongue along Team’s lower lip and earned a whine that had satisfaction curling in his stomach.

The kiss was long, and when Team broke for air, Win tucked his face into his neck instead, pressing gentle kisses along his jawline and under his ear. Team snaked a hand up Win’s back under his blazer, but the fabric was pulled too tight against his shoulders, so he paused his work on Team’s neck to sit up and pull it off. From his vantage point, straddling Team’s hips, he could see the flush of Team’s cheeks as he stared up at him, lips parted, paired with the tear stains marking his face. He reached a hand out slowly and wiped them away, holding Team’s face gently. With his eyes he traced the lines on his jaw and neck to the dip between his collarbones, then settled on where his loosely tied robe exposed his bare chest. He was beautiful and Win couldn’t help but stare. After a moment, Team reached up and dragged him down by his tie and kissed him again, deeper this time. Win’s brain stalled at the action before he remembered to kiss him back, letting his breath hitch and his mouth hang open as Team nipped at his lower lip.

It had been so long since Win had allowed himself the luxury of remembering what Team felt like under his hands. It had been ages since the last time he heard Team’s shallow, shaky breaths and moans swallowed by his own mouth, since Team’s hands had been on him, in his hair, on his back, over his ribs. He untied the loose knot of Team’s robe and let it fall open on the bed, breaking the kiss to press his open mouth to Team’s collarbones instead. Team gave a quiet moan, and Win’s priorities rearranged themselves once more, putting that noise securely at the top of his list.

He made his way down Team’s chest, flicking his tongue over a nipple and eliciting another pleased noise from Team’s throat. He kissed over Team’s ribs, over his stomach, along the waistband of his pants. He scraped his teeth over a spot close to Team’s hip and felt Team’s fist clench in his hair. It was just the kind of pain that got rewired to pleasure somewhere on its way towards his brain, and it went straight to his dick instead. He kissed it harder, biting and sucking until Team’s hips were bucking up into nothing. When he couldn’t take it anymore he yanked Win back by his hair, and Win couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips.

“Hia,” Team whined, and Win looked over his face through half lidded eyes. He was breathing hard, propped up on one elbow to watch Win work, and Win ran a hand from Team’s thigh up to his chest, just to watch the way Team’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Yes, baby,” he prompted, the pet name falling out of his mouth like it was natural, like they had that kind of relationship. Team took his face in both of his hands and pulled him back up to press a sweet kiss to his lips. Once again, Win sank into it, letting Team swallow him whole.

Then, he was on his back on the bed, with Team looming over him, his dark bangs hanging over his eyes. He dropped the robe off his shoulders before he leaned down and nudged Win’s jaw with his nose, coaxing him to tip his chin up and away and give Team more room to work. He did it, of course, because he’d do anything for Team. He bit his lip as Team undid his tie and pulled it off him, then started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Team,” he gasped as Team nipped at a sensitive spot on his shoulder, slotting his thigh between Win’s legs. Win had already known he was hard. In his humble opinion, with Team shirtless and writhing under his mouth, he’d have to be crazy not to be. But he had put it on the back burner in his brain, too focused on Team to worry about it. Now, with the promise of friction and something solid to rut against, his hips jerked up as he breathed out a curse, wrapping an arm around the small of Team’s back to keep him there.

Win could have sworn he heard Team breathe a laugh into his shoulder. He might have been inclined to reply with something equally as snarky, if his brain was functioning properly. He opened his mouth to try as Team pulled his shirt up to untuck it from his pants and pushed it open, his hands splayed wide against Win’s bare skin. Team ground his hips against Win’s, pressing distracted kisses and intermittent moans against his neck, then into his ear. He pulled away, just enough for Win to catch the look on his face, his eyes closed, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed.

Win caught Team’s lips again, swallowing the sounds he was making, kissing him in the absentminded, discomposed way of someone trying to get someone else’s pants off. They broke the kiss momentarily to fully undress, and Win used the moment apart to scoot back on the bed, sitting against the headboard and watching Team bend over and pull something out of his luggage. He stood up again holding a bottle of lube and a condom, leaving Win to wonder briefly why he had brought them before Team straddled his hips again. He uncapped the bottle and made a motion to pour the liquid out on his fingers when Win stopped him.

“I’ll do it,” he said, looking up at Team’s face for permission. “Can I?”

Team’s blush worked its way to his ears and down to his chest, but he nodded and pushed the bottle into Win’s hand. Win made quick work of it, coating his fingers in lube and reaching between Team’s legs to press a finger against his entrance. Team’s face changed as he pressed in, his eyes fluttering closed, his lower lip catching between his teeth. He leaned forward and pressed an open mouthed kiss to Team’s collarbone, his whole chest aching with words unsaid.

I am in love with you.

He pressed another finger in and Team moaned. He reciprocated with his teeth against Team’s skin, feeling Team’s back arch under his fingers, feeling Team’s fingers flex on his shoulders. He worked them in and out and ghosted his nails lightly down Team’s side, drinking in the sounds Team was making.

“Another, hia,” Team breathed, and Win complied. Team rocked his hips down into Win’s fingers as Win sucked a mark into his collarbone, just staying still and allowing Team to fuck himself at his own pace. After a minute, Team slowed to a stop, putting his hands on Win’s cheeks and tipping his face up to catch his lips in another kiss. Every time he had done that it was the same: Team’s hands gently on Win’s face, Team’s lips moving slowly and sweetly against his. When he pulled away, his lips swollen, his eyes half lidded with pleasure, he spoke again.

“Hia.”

“Yes, baby,” Win said again, waiting patiently for the request he knew was coming. Team reached down to push at Win’s wrist, his wet fingers falling into his lap.

“I want you.” The words left Team’s mouth and rolled off Win’s lips with the proximity, doing nothing to ease the swell in his heart or the heat in the pit of his stomach.

“Anything you want,” was Win’s reply. He rolled the condom onto his cock and helped Team sink down onto him, groaning another curse under his breath when he bottomed out. They were still for a moment as Team adjusted, his ass sat back against the top of Win’s thighs, his jaw hanging open, before he rolled his hips once, eliciting groans from the both of them.

“God.” Win squeezed Team’s waist, brain hazy with pleasure. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Hia,” was Team’s shaky reply, his voice a whine. He put a hand on Win’s cheek again, and for a moment Win thought Team would kiss him, but then he just closed his eyes and lifted his hips before dropping down again, his hands falling squarely on Win’s shoulders to steady himself.

Team rode him until his powerful thighs began to shake. When he couldn’t keep up, Win tipped them over with a hand on Team’s chest and held Team’s hips in place as he rocked into him.

“Faster, hia, please,” Team gasped desperately, nails dragging down the flesh on Win’s back. Win groaned and obeyed, snapping his hips into Team and reveling in the way Team’s body responded to him. He pushed his fingers back through Team’s hair and felt his chin tip up. He pressed his palm against Team’s cheek and earned a distracted kiss against the skin there, catching Team’s quick, uneven breath in his palm. He ran his hand down Team’s chest and towards his stomach, drawing a long moan from Team’s lips. Every touch was an attempt to impress upon him the truth that Win had been hiding since before that night in the pool house.

I am in love with you.

Team arched his back off the bed, his chest almost touching Win’s, the pretty line of his neck exposed as he tilted his head back. He was still clinging onto Win like he had been before, like Win was a lifeline.

“Touch me.” His voice sounded broken, a ship wrecked upon the rocks around a lighthouse. “Please.”

“Anything,” Win replied, his lips brushing Team’s chest, tasting the sweat there. He wrapped a hand around Team’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, and Team’s hands came to a rest behind his neck. He came with Win’s name on his lips, spilling over his chest and torso, and Win wasn’t far behind, relishing in the feeling of Team around him, Team’s hands in his hair, Team’s legs around his waist.

Panting, they parted, coming down separately. Win sat back, watching Team regain his bearings. He stood quietly, making the quick journey to the bathroom to dispose of the condom and grab a towel. When he returned a moment later Team was sitting up, and Win couldn’t place the look in his eyes. He reached forward to wipe the cum from Team’s skin and Team took the towel from him.

“I’ve got it,” he said quietly, avoiding Win’s eyes. Win watched him, noticing the shift in the air as the silence went on too long.

The weight of the mistake he had just made settled heavily on his shoulders. He should have stopped it. He should never have come inside. He stood there, watching Team as he curled himself into a ball by the headboard, the physical manifestation of the thoughts Win knew were running through his head. He was probably thinking that they shouldn’t have done this. He was probably thinking about how much he wanted Win to leave. Win’s mouth hung open but his voice died in his throat. To avoid what he couldn’t say, he turned and picked his pants up off the floor, pulling them back on with his back to Team.

When Team finally spoke, his voice sounded small and fragile. “Why do we keep doing this, hia?”

Win turned to look at him, his broken heart lodging tightly in his throat. “I…” he began, but he didn’t know what to say.

I’m sorry. I love you.

“I don’t know,” he said instead, like an idiot.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Team’s voice sounded thick, and Win realized he was on the verge of tears again. He rushed to crawl back on the bed, to hold Team’s face, just to touch him, but his hands stopped inches from his skin. He hovered there, as if there was something physical blocking his touch.

“No, no, I wanted you to,” Win insisted, wishing desperately that things weren’t so messed up and complicated. But he had ruined it, several times over.

“Why?” Team looked up at him from behind where his arms were wrapped around his knees. “So we could do this again? So we could sleep together and then never talk about it?”

A dim spark of hope lit in Win’s chest despite Team’s tears. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Team scowled, as if that question had unlocked some vault in his mind where he been putting all his bad Win-related feelings. Then he opened his mouth and they fell out like he hadn’t dared voice them to anybody before.

“Why do we always do this,” he asked, dragging his hands down his face. “You know, when we were in school, I liked you so much. And when you kissed me I thought we were starting something. And when you left, I-“ Team stopped, stubbornly wiping tears from his eyes. Win took him in, sitting naked on a pile of blankets, exposed and vulnerable, crying over something Win had done to him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Team had gathered his thoughts and beat him to the punch.

“Then you practically disappeared off the face of the earth without a single word to me. Why did you do that? And- and at P’Dean and Pharm’s wedding,” Team pulled his knees tighter against his chest, scraping his fingers back through his hair and wiping his teary eyes again. “I… I’m sorry, I was tipsy, but I had practically forgotten you. I forgot you on purpose, because thinking about you was so hard, but then we were alone in the elevator and I just… Maybe that was my mistake. Maybe doing it twice makes it my own fault but then you left, again, and here we are, again, and I just can’t do this a third time.” Team stopped and looked up with a tortured expression that made Win wish he could hold him. “Are you doing this to me on purpose?”

Win stared, trying to process what he had said past the pain of Team suggesting that he was intentionally dragging his heart through the mud. He knew he had hurt Team the first time. He hadn’t known the extent, but he hadn’t ever asked because he had been weak and scared. He had wanted to forget it. The first time had been his fault.

“The wedding…” he began, speaking past the lump in his throat. “I… I woke up alone. I thought you left.”

Team furrowed his brow, presumably reaching back into his memory for the events of that morning. After a beat, he sniffled sadly and spoke.

“Hia, I’m a professional athlete. I had practice.”

Win blinked. “What?”

“I woke up late for practice and I rushed out the door but,” Team explained, looking at him, “I grabbed the keycard thinking you’d notice it was gone and you’d wait for me. But when I came back you had left.”

Win took a second, letting that sink in. “You took the keycard? You wanted me to wait for you?”

“Yes,” Team replied, exasperated. “I never wanted you to leave.”

Win felt like a fool. He gestured vaguely, as if waving his hands through the air would conjure the words he needed to make this right. “I just, I woke up and I was alone so I thought… I thought you were getting back at me for the first time…”

“What happened the first time? Why did you go?”

Win looked away, pursing his lips. He could feel the emotion welling up in his chest and he didn’t like it. “I was scared, I guess,” he said, like that was a good enough excuse. “I thought I made a mistake. My parents were sending me abroad and I knew that and we had been dancing around actually dating for months and I thought it was unfair to you to start something just to leave.”

Team frowned. “So it was better to kiss me and be my first in a poolhouse locker room and then disappear off the face of the planet?”

Win ducked his head, too ashamed to look at him. “No. I don’t know. I was so stupid.” When Team didn’t reply, he looked up, locking eyes with the boy sitting on the bed. “I’m so sorry, Team. I don’t regret anything more than I regret that.”

There was a heavy silence between them. Win wanted to keep apologizing. He wanted to get on his knees and beg Team for his forgiveness, to promise never to be so stupid again.

Team opened his mouth first. “What do we do now?”

Win bit his quivering lower lip to keep from crying. He got up off the bed again and stood, picking his shirt off the floor.

“I think I should go,” he said quietly. There was no way Team wanted him to stick around after all of that. He had confessed every single one of his sins and reopened old wounds. He had made Team cry just as hard as he had been when Win found him. And now he was going to run away again. This time he vowed that he would keep his distance. This time he vowed that every time he saw Team he would turn and walk the other way.

“Wait.” Team lunged forward and grabbed Win’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t.”

Win looked at him, the tiny flicker of hope in his chest growing.

“Stay the night,” Team urged, pulling him back towards the bed. “Please?”

Win sat down on the bed again, staring at Team, searching for the catch. He didn’t think Team would play a trick on him, not after that conversation, but there was no other way his brain could process Team wanting him to stay after all that. Team wiped his eyes one last time and gave him a sad smile.

“Please stay,” he said again, and Win had no choice but to lay down next to him. He had no choice but to tuck Team in, to pull him close.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Team’s hair, long after Team’s breath had evened out and his limbs had gone heavy, draped across Win’s ribs. In the moments before sleep, he made a different promise to himself. He vowed never to hurt Team again.

-

Win woke with a familiar knot in his throat, an ache that he had been feeling for over a year. He tucked his face into the shoulder of the body next to him, wrapping his arm around a waist that wasn’t the one he had been dreaming about, and did his best to swallow his tears.

“You awake?” The gentle voice of his partner sounded quietly as they shifted, rolling onto their back and turning their head to face him. Their soft brown hair fell over their forehead, where their eyebrows knit together in concern for the emotion on his face.

“Yeah,” he replied, trying to shake off the dream, but his voice was thick. They reached over and put a hand on his cheek, frowning and wiping a stray tear from his skin.

“Did you have another dream? About him?”

Coming from any other person it would have sounded accusatory. From them, it just sounded concerned. Win didn’t know how he had found someone so selfless and loving and still managed to be hung up on a boy he hadn’t seen in a year. He didn’t know how someone like them had fallen for someone like him in the first place. Sometimes he looked at them, their soft smile and their gentle hands, and wondered how they saw him, when all he saw when he looked in the mirror was a haphazard pile of his many mistakes.

“Yeah,” Win said again, meeting their eyes this time. There was a moment of silence before they sat up, pulling their legs in to fold them over one another on the bed and looking down at him with their hands in their lap.

“I’ve been thinking, actually,” they said, cocking their head. Win watched a stray lock of hair fall over their shoulder. He didn’t reach out to tuck it away.

He sat up instead. It seemed like this would be a sitting up kind of conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he began, wiping his face. They didn’t deserve to be with someone who couldn’t get over someone he never even dated.

“No,” they shook their head, catching Win’s hand in their own against his cheek. “No, don’t be sorry. You can’t control how you feel. But, Win, I know you’re not happy.”

Win watched the tears well up in their eyes and felt a sick twist of guilt in his stomach. He didn’t say anything, so they continued.

“I just think,” they began carefully, “I think you’re going home soon, right? For your friend’s wedding? You never really, um, told me what happened, but I think you should go talk to him. I think that if you can, you should be with him.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, feeling his tears well up and spill over his cheeks in earnest. They were crying too, but smiling through it, that same kind, selfless smile they always wore.

“Don’t be.” They shook their head, carefully wiping his cheeks as he cried. He lifted a hand to their face and they leaned into it. “Honestly, what was this going to be? You were always going back to Thailand. You have Kuea and Marwin with the band, and did we think that I was going to move to Bangkok? You saw me try to learn Thai, it’s so hard.”

Win laughed through his tears, thinking about the phase they had early in their relationship, where Win would come to their apartment to find sticky notes labeling every mundane item with the thai name for it. As hard as they had tried, it never stuck in their brain the way that English had stuck in Win’s.

“You were so bad,” he said, and they laughed as well, nodding.

“I’m better at French,” they smiled. “And hey, maybe when you go home I’ll find another tall blonde who speaks three languages and plays guitar.”

“Hey,” Win bit his lip. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so his body had decided on both. “We’re everywhere.”

“You’re one of a kind,” they replied, and Win knew that they meant it. They pulled him in gently, pressing their lips to his one last time. When they leaned back, they gave him a watery smile.

“I love you,” they said simply.

“I’m sorry,” Win said again.

“I want you to be happy. I want you to do what makes you happy, okay?” They took his hands in theirs, sitting cross legged on the bed in front of him. It struck him then, just how lucky he had been to find them.

“I will,” he said. “I will.”