Thread by @_venagrey

NO EASY STREET
[ #KimChay | post-canon | T ]

After the breakup, Porchay can’t play guitar or pop music anymore. It hurts too much.

Not just that, even. Sometimes there are days when just scrolling through reels on social media or passing by groups of other students playing that kind of music is too much.

It’s said that the best way to get over someone is to remove their name from your vocabulary.

Well: let no one ever say that Porchay does things halfway.

The very first thing he does after receiving his second first-choice university acceptance in a row is delete all of his social media. It costs him some friends, sure, but he knows he’ll make new ones,

and that the ones who care will still be around.

The second thing he does he sells all of his guitars. He didn’t have that many, sure, but the one Kim had given him, back when he was still more Wik than Kim in Chay’s mind,

netted enough for him to be able to pay for all of his first-year textbooks without tapping into his family allowance.

The third thing is that he changes his phone number.

A few people have his new number.

A few in the family do, obviously: Porsche, for obvious reasons; Kinn, also for somewhat obvious reasons; the new head guards. Tankhun gets it, because he likes Tankhun. The handful of friends he’s kept after his social media purge get it.

And it’s nice, the relative social silence. He starts his first year of university feeling like the turbulent emotional ocean that has been the last few months of his life has stilled.

Even nicer is the distance.

He’s still in Bangkok. That’s Chay’s compromise.

Porsche had wanted him to stay with the family, but Chay had said no, opting instead for sharing a flat with some people he’d met at orientation.

It’s good. He makes friends. He goes out. He joins a soccer league, because why not.

Sometimes he even writes song lyrics that he keeps in a folder on his phone and never looks at again once they’re finished.

He’s a finance major, and he’s doing extremely well in his classes. Overall, things are looking up.

That’s not to say there aren't setbacks. Once, after weeks of Chay turning down Porsche’s repeated requests to join them at family brunch, the new head of the minor family pulls up to campus in a Maserati driven by two guards and embarrasses Chay in front of some of his friends.

Chay responds to this by ignoring Porsche completely for a week. When his brother finally realizes that Chay isn’t bluffing, though, the demands become requests, and before long they stop entirely, replaced instead by lunch or dinner either just the two of them or with Kinn

every couple of weeks, whenever all of them can find the time.

And so, months pass.

It’s good. Really. University is great for helping him forget his problems, which gives him an incentive to work hard.

He gets excellent grades his first semester, and for the first time in his life, Chay feels like his own person.

(Even though he isn’t paying for his room. Porsche wouldn’t let him completely close off, and really, there are some things you simply don’t say no to

unless you have a compelling reason.)

There’s something missing, though.

Sometimes, even when everything seems to be working in your favor, there’s still a vacancy inside that doesn’t tell you how it wants to be filled.

One day, between his midday class and first-year seminar, Chay pops in to the record store a few blocks from his apartment.

He’s walked by it all the time, of course. It’s right there, with its vintage-style posters and record jackets blocking the bottom half of the windows.

And he doesn’t really want to talk to anyone, so when Chay finally goes in, he keeps his headphones on and tries not to look anyone in the eyes.

There are people laughing in the back of the store. As Chay passes between a couple of display stands,

leafing aimlessly through its contents, he sees a couple of them wearing instruments, though none of them are actively playing.

“Hey, can I help you find anything?”

Shit. Chay forgot to turn off transparency mode in his headphones.

Before Chay can put the record he’s holding back in the stand, the young woman next to him tips her head so she can see what it is.

“Blues fan, hm? I’ve got something you might like, hang on.”

She’s gone before Chay can even say anything and is back just as quickly, handing him a sleeve still in its shrinkwrap.

“Fresh off the boat, just came out last week,” she says with a wink.

Chay has never heard of the artist, but he leaves with that record and four more he hadn’t intended to purchase, and barely has time to drop them off at his apartment before he’s late to class.

Chay has a record player.

He’d brought his parents’ record player from their house to his flat when he’d moved in. It lives on top of his dresser at the back of the room, as far in the room as it can get from sunlight.

It’s another few weeks before he actually gives one of the records a spin.

Chay is assiduously conscientious about not making too much noise when his roommates are home, so he waits until they’ve all left for break.

And it’s a good thing, too, because this music is a revelation.

Chay has never heard anything like it before. There’s so much depth and variety to it that it’s kind of astounding. Some of it is really bare-bones, just a singer with an instrument that Chay sometimes can’t even identify.

Other times it’s a full band and complex rhythms and tonality.

But there’s one unifying thread. It’s sad. Even when the singers are singing about things that you would think would be happy, like falling in love.

This is it, Chay thinks. This is how to feed the void.

Chay takes to it like a fish to water. Over the next semester, and even on break after his first year is over, he visits the record store often enough that the people who hang out in the back become his friends too.

And Chay only feels a *little* bit of a knife through the scar tissue in his heart whenever they ask if he wants to give their instruments a spin.

“Is it the guitar itself?” Tea—the young woman who’d sold him his first records,

who has nearly full sleeves of astrology-themed tattoos on both arms and plays drums—asks one day from where she’s adversely possessing an amp as a makeshift chair. “Because if it is, why not try something else?”

Which—

Chay doesn’t have anything to say to that, actually. So, as a treat to himself for landing a really good second-year apprenticeship, he buys himself a lapsteel as a treat.

At first, when it arrives, Chay doesn’t really know what to do with it.

It’s a guitar, yes, vaguely acoustic-shaped, but it looks like it has a chunk missing from its base.

Also in the box are various things that are apparently supposed to go on his fingers that he has to watch a couple of videos to even learn how to use.

But Chay is a fish, blues is his water, and before long he’s riffing over tracks he has long since memorized, even laying compositions for some of the songs he’s written that are languishing in his notes app.

He’s extremely considerate about when he practices.

Because he doesn’t want to annoy his roommates, when he’s not at the record store, he mostly practices in his room with headphones on.

But one day, after exams end—Chay is staying a few extra days because he wants to minimize his time at home—

Chay is practicing in the living room without headphones, having figured pretty much everyone had gone home.

One of his roommates, the one he’s closest with out of three total, is a stand-up comic who has been trying to get Chay to come to the open mic night he runs

ever since he heard Chay singing to himself while cooking once. Chay had never let it happen again, but Nova is like a dog with a bone. He *will not* let it go, though he has also learned that the quickest way to get Chay to NOT do something is to nag him about it.

Nova walks in and just stops in the doorway.

“Chay, what the fuck?! You’ve been hiding this? What even is that?”

The door slams closed behind Nova as the handle slips out of his hand. Chay blushes. “It’s lapsteel, it’s a kind of blues guitar.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. So when are you going to play at open mic night?”

Chay does not roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. “I don’t know, i don’t really do this seriously.”

Nova crosses his arms, raising an incredulous brow.

“Bullshit, you and I both know you don’t half-ass anything. Let’s see it.”

Well. Chay was *trying* to be considerate. He thinks for a second, then starts playing a slide rendition of Don’t Wanna Fight by Alabama Shakes.

His roommate has the grace to let Chay get through about half of the second verse before he’s letting out an exaggerated shriek and crossing the living room.

“Chay, you’ve been hiding this?! You’re so good?! What the fuck, you think you know a guy—

actually you know what, fuck it, you’re coming with me tonight.”

“I thought you were going home for the break?” He turns the volume on the amp he’s sitting on down and picks up with the riff again.

Nova shakes his head. “Nah. I was just at my brother’s for a few days, my parents are in America on business right now and won’t be back until next week, so you’re stuck with me for a few days. Now come on, pack that thing up and let’s go.”

—

So they do. Nova runs this particular open mic night in collaboration with a few student groups around campus, and he uses his emcee privileges to get Chay a spot. Because he’s also a meddling shit, though, Chay’s spot is near the end,

meaning he will have to sit through almost the whole show first before he’s on.

Chay ends up having a lot of fun, at least for the first half. There are a lot of really talented people at this university, often people you wouldn’t expect.

About halfway through the show, though, Chay sees Macau at another table and his mood sours.

It’s unfortunate that Macau is a Theerapanyakul, because if he’d been from literally any other family, Chay could easily have been great friends with him.

He likes Macau, but he doesn’t like what Macau’s presence here means.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Macau says.

“My roommate dragged me here. Though I could say the same.”

“Which one is your roommate?”

Chay nods at Nova with his chin. Nova has his back to them, helping the next act transition.

When Chay looks back at Macau, Macau is still looking at Nova with a look Chay knows is his family’s particular brand of suspicion.

“He didn’t force you or anything did he?” Macau asks.

Chay gets a bit irritated at this, and he can’t fully keep it out of his tone. “No. Did the family send you to watch me?”

Macau isn’t as easily offended as Chay, though, and he’s far better at not taking things personally.

He shakes his head. “No, my girlfriend is playing later so I’m here for her. Don’t worry about it.”

There’s a long beat.

“Who is it. Who did they send.”

Macau looks back at Chay, hand around his drink again. “Don’t worry about it, man.”

Chay grits his teeth. Once again: he likes Macau. But Macau is also a Theerapanyakul in his safe space and Chay really doesn’t have time for this.

He goes back to his table a little cloudy, but it’s well and good because he’s alone when he gets there.

To clear his head, Chay thinks about what to sing and decides to go with a blues rendition of Ozymandias by Stop Light Observations.

Decision made, he watches the rest of Nova’s set and actually really enjoys it. Nova is funny and clever and has fantastic comedic timing,

so Chay almost doesn’t realize when he nears the end of his time slot.

“I have a special treat for you tonight,” he says as the crowd quiets. “See, I found out earlier today that someone important to me has been keeping a secret.

As it turns out, my roommate, who I have lived with for a year and a half, is a god-tier blues musician. Who knew.”

Nova turns very pointedly to Chay and grins.

“Porchay get your ass up here and show everyone that thing I caught you playing with today.”

The whole crowd laughs, including Chay, who is otherwise mildly mortified. But he goes, accepting his instrument when Nova hands it to him along with his sliders.

He isn’t as good at coming up with things to say on the fly as Nova, and for a couple of seconds

after Nova jumps down and flashes him a thumbs up, all Chay hears is blood rushing in his ears. But then he smiles, adjusting the tuning a bit.

“Don’t mind him, he’s exaggerating,” Chay says, then launches right into the song.

The whole room is immediately hooked. Chay can feel the energy change even though he isn’t looking at them. The song has a difficult intro right off the top and everyone sits forward a bit, which Chay can hear, though he tries to block it out.

Then he starts to sing, and Porchay has to look over all of their heads to the back of the bar in order to not get nerves from the way the crowd is looking at him.

The bar is smoky and dark back there and it’s hard to see,

so he almost misses the person who walks in at the end of his song and stands in the back of the room, leaning against the wall.

Chay finishes the song and the room explodes in applause. Immediately he wants to get off the stage and leave.

But before he can, his roommate climbs back onstage and gets close, bringing a hand around Chay’s side.

“What do you think, should we ask him for one more?”

There are loud cheers all around the room. Chay blushes.

He’s full of butterflies and can’t think straight but the crowd wants more, so Chay thinks about it for a moment.

“Okay, I’ve got one,” he says.

Chay knows he’s here. And Chay knows he knows Chay as a cute and innocent kid, which is honestly so bullshit.

“Just so you all know, we didn’t plan this,” Chay adds.

Everyone laughs, then Chay pushes his roommate off with a laugh and sings Bad Spell by Larkin Poe.

Once he starts playing, the butterflies ebb. Chay looks back at the back of the bar and sings right at Kim.

“Boy, you cast a bad spell, a bad spell over me—“

The crowd *devours* this. Not just because he kills it, but because Chay is openly gay.

Chay is done after that song, though. He makes to sit down again but his roommate hugs him as soon as he gets his instrument off,

then grabs the mic.

“Wow, is anyone else feeling hot all of a sudden? What do you all think, should we bring him back?”

Someone in the crowd shouts NEXT WEEK! and Chay knocks Nova a bit out of the way and says, “I’m going home next week. But I’ll come back, I promise.”

“Maaaaan—LOOK at you,” Nova says the next morning. He’s showered and dressed, toweling his hair off with one hand while holding his phone out to Chay with the other. “I know you don’t have social media—“

Chay snatches the phone and turns up the volume.

It’s someone’s Instagram story. Apparently someone took a video of Chay performing Bad Spell with a caption:

—oh my god, get you a man

Chay is /mortified./ Nova takes his phone back, not yet looking as Chay.

When he does, though, he sobers instantly.

“Oh, hey man, don’t worry. Want me to tell people not to record next time you play?”

“Yes,” Chay says instantly.

But naturally, when Chay opens Instagram again a couple hours later and makes a new account—after Nova has treated him to breakfast as sorry for his accidental debut

the first thing Chay sees after he gets his duffle bag on the bed to start packing is that Wik, who this new account has not yet blocked, has posted a cover of Ain’t Gonna Cry by—

Larkin Poe.

Chay almost throws his phone, he’s so mad. His roommate comes in at the sound of his shout.

“Everything okay?”

Completely, entirely, *resolutely* not okay, but.

“Yes. No. Ugh, sorry, it’s just stupid family bullshit that I’m so done with.”

Nova pauses, hanging off the doorway a bit.

“Chay, would you rather not go home?”

Chay looks up at Nova so fast he nearly gets a crick in his neck. “So much. I love my brother, but I just can’t right now.”

Nova swings a couple more times, then pats the frame and lets it go. “Come with me, then. I had to come back to run this but my brother and I are going on a road trip.”

—

Nova’s brother is older. A year older than Porsche. His name is Cloud. He goes to school in the north,

a Master’s level civil engineering program.

He’s also kind of ridiculously hot. Taller than Chay, which not many people he knows are. He’s a competitive rock climber and excellent in the net, which Chay learns when he offers to goaltend while Chay practices drills.

They’re at the kind of beach that reminds Chay of Porsche, what with his old dream of opening an oceanside bar. Cloud’s shirt is off, and he’s sweating a bit after some of the defensive moves they’ve been working on.

Chay’s is heading that way too. He wipes his forehead with the hem of it as Cloud watches him from where he’s sitting on the ball, and when Chay looks back Cloud is doing that eyebrow thing Nova does.

“Oh my god, that’s too weird,” Chay says.

Cloud dials up the volume on the look and flicks his eyes down to the hem of Chay’s shirt and up again.

“Fine,” Chay says, laughing.

They flirt a bit over the next few days, before it’s time to go back to Bangkok so Nova can run the next week’s open mic night.

It feels a bit weird to do when Chay still has feelings for a certain pop star-cum-mafia heir. But he’s trying to live in the moment.

So before Cloud heads back to Chiang Mai, Chay plays one more open mic night.

A longer set this time, since there are fewer people signed up, what with school being on break. Still, though, the bar is full by the time he wraps Run Like the River by Vintage Trouble in the middle of his set, and though it’s even smokier and hazier in the back than it was

at the last open mic night, Chay still feels the change in the air when Kim walks in and stands at the back again.

Chay’s last song is his rendition of Cry Over Me by Lenesha Randolph, and the crowd *inhales* it. By the time he’s put his gear away and gone back to the table,

Chay can’t see Kim anymore, though he suspects he’s still there. Cloud has an arm over Chay’s seat when Chay gets back to it.

They don’t split immediately once all the acts are done. When Chay and the others are standing around and mingling after the show, Chay is half-listening when he finally spots Kim.

There’s a girl in front of him with her back to Chay. Chay looks Kim in the eyes and kisses Cloud,

feeling a little thrum of excitement as he does.

Later, as they’re getting ready to leave and go somewhere else for the night, Chay runs to the restroom. As he’s leaving, Kim corners him in the hall.

“Who the fuck is that?”

Chay really does not have time for this. “Who the fuck was that with you?”

“A fan,” Kim answers. He looks vaguely broken. “She wanted a photo. It’s nothing.”

“Cool. It’s none of your business who I kiss.”

Chay pushes off, making to leave. Kim grabs his wrist.

“Chay—“

“What? Talk to me when you can *talk to me,* not just post covers that are obviously responses to my sets.”

Kim’s eyes go wide. “You saw.”

“Of course I did, you weren’t exactly subtle.”

The truth is, Chay has also been writing songs lately.

He’s been writing a lot, mostly angry songs and songs about breakups and other sad shit. But the look Kim is giving him—

Chay can’t afford to have his judgment affected like this. Not right now.

He breaks free from Kim’s grip and continues down the hall without turning around.

The next time he opens Instagram, though—while he’s waiting on Cloud to bring his next drink—the first story at the top of the page is Kim.

It’s an annotated clip from Fade. Almost like it was meant to be watched somewhere where it would be too loud to hear the sound.

Chay shoots off a message to Kim’s private account, since there’s no way Kim would see it on his Wik page with how many followers he has.

—what happened to talking to me

The response is nearly immediate.

—Angel?

Which is when Chay realizes his mistake. But before he can reply, Kim messages again.

—wait. please. I do want to talk to you

—can we meet?

Chay looks up into the rest of the club and lets out a breath. He cannot believe he’s doing this.

—when

Again, Kim’s response is nearly immediate.

—whenever you can.

—soon.

—now, if you’re free

This time Chay rolls his eyes, even though Kim can’t see.

—I’m out with friends

The response edits come and go for a few seconds before the next message comes through.

—where are you?

Chay barks a laugh, audibly.

—you mean you don’t already know?

Cloud arrives back with Chay’s second drink at the same time as Kim’s next message.

—Chay I’m trying to be good. I’m trying to show you I can

“Patron saint of lost causes,” Chay says under his breath.

—Fine, I’ll be at your place in an hour

Then he turns his phone off.

“Everything okay?” Cloud asks.

Chay nods, then smiles an ironic smile. “The same family bullshit,” is all he says.

He stays out another half hour, then pretends to be tired. Nova offers to leave with him.

“Seriously, we’re happy to drive you back so you don’t have to bike in this weather—“

It is in fact raining a little. It had been threatening when they’d gone back to the flat to drop off Chay’s gear. It’s mostly just musty and annoying, though, so Chay shakes his head.

“You guys stay. Have fun, I’ll see you in the morning.”

When he walks outside, Chay is half-surprised NOT to see a family car waiting for him. He pulls off the rain tarp on his seat, gets on his motorcycle and, as promised, goes to Kim’s.

Kim answers almost immediately when Chay arrives.

“Angel—“

Chay walks in without waiting to be invited, then turns to face Kim.

“Say your piece, Kim. I don’t have a lot of patience for this anymore.”

“Chay. God. *What* did I do to you?”

Kim’s voice is so quiet it’s like he’s talking to himself. Chay glares.

“Do you want me to answer that alphabetically or chronologically?”

Kim flinches at this. Good. “You hate me,” he says.

“No, I don’t,” Chay snaps back.

“I wish I did. It would make things easier. I still love you and it is ruining my life.”

The shock on Kim’s face is almost worth this bullshit.

“That other guy—“

“That other guy is my roommate’s brother and he lives in Chiang Mai. We’re not together, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Yes it is,” Kim says on a breath. Chay wants to scream, but Kim keeps going. “Yes it *is,* Chay, because I still love you.”

“What do you mean still?”

When Kim steps forward, away from the door, Chay steps back, and Kim stops.

“It was real. It was always real. The worst lie I’ve ever told was when I told you it wasn’t real.”

When Chay doesn’t answer, Kim chances a step closer.

“They’re for you, Chay. Every song I’ve written since. You have no idea how badly I hate myself for doing this to you.”

Chay laughs bitterly at this. “I felt like half a person, Kim. I still do. I gave you everything I had. Now I’m trying to figure out what’s left.”

And then, because of course things can always get worse, Chay feels tears spill over.

“You’re basically the only person I cry over,” Chay admits.

Kim has closed most of the distance between them, now, with Chay completely unable to move. “Is it too late?”

He reaches Chay. They’re less than an arm’s length apart now. “I don’t know. But I can tell you want to kiss me, and you can.”

There’s a long moment where Kim just looks at Chay, the look in his eyes somehow both disbelieving

and fully expecting Chay to revoke his permission immediately.

He doesn’t. So Kim kisses him.

It’s so delicate. Kim closes the space between them like Chay is a reflection on the water’s surface that will dissipate if he moves too quickly,

his calloused fingertips featherlight at Chay’s cheek as his lips brush Chay’s.

He looks at Chay, then, waiting for permission. When Chay doesn’t immediately push him off, Kim goes back in again, with both hands this time.

This time Kim’s lips move over Chay’s and it’s—

It’s so much. They didn’t make it this far before. They’re in new territory now, and when Chay’s fingers graze his collarbone Kim slots Chay into his body and pulls him as close as he can, though never so hard that Chay can’t pull away.

He doesn’t, though. By the time they part, they’re both breathing hard. They’ve both cried.

“Chay, I *miss* you. I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Chay answers, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “Give me some time to think.”

—

[ epilogue ]

Sometimes love isn’t enough. But sometimes it’s just enough.

On an instagram live a few months later, Chay is propped up over the arm of one of Kim’s huge armchairs, practicing one of his original songs.

Kim, who is as good as Chay at using furniture like a normal person, is sitting against the side, holding his phone In front of him while he does the live.

“Looks like someone has a question of what that sound is in the background,” Kim says.

“Ah. Yes. That’s my boyfriend, he’s practicing.”

Chay huffs an amused huff. They’re essentially sitting perpendicular to each other, and there’s an entire oversized chair arm between them, so Chay can’t see what the comments are that have Kim laughing.

“I know. Okay, I hear you. Let me ask.” Kim shifts forward so he can look behind himself at Chay. “Angel, do you mind if they see you?”

Chay shakes his head without stopping his current riff, and as Kim stands

and moves the ottoman for this chair closer so he can sit on it, Chay sees notifications fly over the bottom of the feed, most of them too fast for Chay to read.

Not all of them, though.

—@/wiktionary oh my god he’s so cute

—@/0em.ish WHAT IS THAT

—@/spillthe_tea WAIT THAT’S PORCHAY

—@/spillthe_tea WE GO TO UNIVERSITY TOGETHER

—@/spillthe_tea DID YOU FIND HIM THROUGH A VIDEO??

Kim has the camera facing both himself and Chay, but he is still looking at Chay, besotted. It’s adorable.

Chay answers for Kim when it appears as though Kim hasn’t seen the question.

“Not exactly, but not not exactly. It’s complicated.”

Chay smiles, nodding with his chin at Kim’s phone as he launches into another riff. By the time Kim looks back, the chat is exploding.

After a few beats, Kim laughs. “That can probably be arranged. I’ll ask him.” He glances behind at Chay again. “Want to do a feature?”

Chay rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “I don’t think lapsteel really fits into your style.”

“Is that a challenge?”

It’s not. Chay has already written the song, though Kim doesn’t know it yet.

“I dunno, /WIK/,” Chay answers, leaning hard into the nickname. “You think you can be my very own Howling Wolf? Etta James? B.B. King? Son House?”

Kim is laughing. “I mean, if you want someone to make you howl—“

Chay throws one of his sliders at Kim. He misses by a mile.

“No respect,” Chay grumbles.

FIN

__

thank you for reading :) comments and retweets are my love language

top of thread:

https://twitter.com/_venagrey/status/1592344382895947776?s=20&t=W_KS6JXMKRN9ElGZuFUuUg

the concept of tagging people in my threads is anathema to me, I’m used to just yeeting these into the void and hoping for the best, but a couple folks have asked so I guess if you want me to tag you in the next one hit the heart on this?? I’ll get a list going