Work Text:
1:02pm
Porchay’s eyes lift from his watch and he glances at the entrance again.
It’s Wednesday, and he would be here soon.
The bell rings twice and Porchay immediately moves to fetch his order. He meets Mine’s eyes, whose busy cleaning beer glasses, and rolls his eyes at his friend’s amused eyebrow raise. He’s used to the looks he gives for Porchay’s.. eager behaviour whenever waiting for him to show up.
“Shut up” he says as he passes the bar and doesn’t miss Mine's soft laughter. Porchay expertly balances the tray in one hand while holding his other hand behind his back, eyes ahead, back straight, shoulders back and face pleasantly placid.
“Your appetizers” he announces as he reaches his table, placing the plates in front of each patron, “The crispy calamari, our soup of the day with fresh brioche, the Asian chicken salad and a Greek salad”
“I asked for no tomato” the patron with the Greek salad says, and Porchay barely blinks. He wouldn’t miss writing down the substitute because he knows how to do his job, even reading the order back to them earlier before leaving the table. But he can’t take the order booklet out to show she’s wrong; rich people don’t react well when they’re told you, the worker, isn’t the one who messed up. Porchay gives an apologetic bow of the head and takes back the salad.
“My apologies, ma’am. It seems to have been my mistake” Porchay says, waiting for the thin smile and dismissive nod before leaving the table.
He drops the plate off at the kitchen and listens to Chef Great curse for a few seconds, who dumps the salad in the trash while reaching for a cucumber.
Porchay’s still giggling at the head chef’s colourful expletives about the ‘chicken-brained bourgeoisie’ when he returns to front of house. His eyes immediately turn to the entrance again and Porchay almost trips over his own feet.
Porchay returns to his place next to the bar, unable to look away as he’s led to his table by the hostess; he looks breathtaking in a simple pair of denim jeans, a white t-shirt and black leather jacket. His sunglasses are resting on top of his head, his black silky hair long and curly as always.
This is a 3-Michelin star restaurant that has a dress code; the most casual a patron could look is semi-formal, even during a lunch hour. For him to get away with his street clothes means he had to come from money.
Porchay knows his name from his black card- Kimhan Theerapanyakun.
Kimhan has been eating at Primi restaurant since it opened 3 weeks ago: it's the Thai branch of the famous restaurant chain. The restaurant carries enough prestige to already have a waiting list every day for the next 12 months. Porchay is a part-time waiter and a full-time 3rd year music student. His older brother, Porsche, has been looking after Porchay his entire life, and the tips from working thrice a week helps him from not relying on his hia for anything his bursary stipend can’t provide. Chicken-brained bourgeoisie aside, Porchay enjoys the work he does, and he’s made friends he likes a lot.
Kimhan sits at the same table every Wednesday, always arriving just after 1pm- it was in the more private corner of the restaurant, with a beautiful view of a river bank and boats passing every few minutes. The table is popular because of the view, the floor to ceiling glass walls making the patron feel like they’re outside without feeling the overwhelming Thai heat. Porchay is pretty sure Kim has a permanent booking for it.
He isn’t in the section that Porchay works in, and the reason he can serve Kimhan during his shift is a story for another time.
Once Kimhan is seated and the hostess leaves with a bow, Porchay sweeps his eyes over his tables, making sure no one needs him, before grabbing the lunch, drinks and dessert menus and walking over. He unconsciously runs his hand over his hair, cut shorter and neater since he started working at the restaurant, and smoothens down the front of his white buttoned shirt.
“Good afternoon” Porchay says and feels his heart stutter when those dark, wide eyes look up to meet his. Porchay sets the menus down next to each other, making sure they don’t touch the cutlery and utensils on the table. The restaurant has the finest china, silverware and crystal glasses that money can import. Porchay is pretty sure he’ll need a bank loan before he could afford to eat here.
“Porchay” Kimhan returns, and despite 3 weeks of being greeted the same way, it still makes Porchay flush. He wonders if the other man knows how... familiar he sounds when he says his name like that. There’s a softness in his voice that makes Porchay’s heart flutter and creates butterflies in his stomach.
He’s never been more grateful for nametags.
“Do you know what you would like to drink, or should I come back in a few minutes?” he asks, even though Kimhan’s beverage order has never changed.
Kimhan picks up the drinks menu but doesn’t open it, “A glass of lemon water and a pot of Rooibos tea with cold milk”
Porchay writes down the order, and reads it back to Kimhan before leaving with a small bow. He leaves the lunch and dessert menu at the table, and gives in the order at the barista station.
The order bell rings and Porchay returns to table 34 with the tomato-free Greek salad. He offers the patron another apology before leaving again.
Porchay takes a minute to check on his other tables, before returning to the barista station where Kimhan’s order is ready.
“I see the model is back” Fiona murmurs as Porchay places the teapot, a cup, milk jug and glass of water on a tray, reaching for the small sugar holder. Fiona also studies at Bangkok University, and works as a barista and waitress.
“Are we going with model this week?” Porchay asks, amused, as he turns to peek at Kimhan, being less blatant than Fiona. He’s taken off his leather jacket, and Porchay hears Fiona audibly sigh as Kimhan removes his sunglasses from his head, sweeping his fingers through his hair, before placing it in the satchel he’s left at his foot.
Fiona, Porchay and a few other curious waiters have a bet going on, trying to guess what Kimhan’s job is. He looks young, maybe 24-25, and they were pretty sure he’s from a rich, powerful family. They weren’t allowed to Google his name or they would lose. Porchay’s guess was youngest son to a conglomerate, and Fiona changed her mind once a week. Last week she was adamant he was an author.
“He’s so pretty” Fiona says wistfully and Porchay silently agrees as he leaves her with a quick smile, heading back to Kimhan’s table.
The older man now his satchel on his lap, taking out loose pages and a thin book. The pages Porchay recognized the first time, are music sheets and Porchay has a suspicion the book is where Kimhan writes in lyrics. He spends his time mostly scratching out or adding things on the sheets and scribbling in the book. Porchay doesn’t know why he chose a restaurant to work in instead of a studio or a quiet cafe.
He must like something about this place if he keeps coming back.
“Here you go” Porchay says, and Kimhan reaches for the glass of water he put down. Porchay determinedly doesn’t stare at the way his throat works as he drinks half the glass.
“Thank you” Kimhan says once the tray is emptied and Porchay smiles.
“My pleasure” Porchay says and nods towards the other two menus, “Are you ready to order?”
“I’ll have the king salmon and asparagus salad” Kimhan says after checking the menu again, and Porchay writes it down, “I haven’t decided on dessert yet”
“You can order one after I bring your meal” Porchay replies, and Kimhan nods. Porchay is about to leave when his eyes catch on a name scribbled on the top musical sheet, which is filled with notes that are mostly scratched out or heavily edited, meaning this was likely a first draft. The name has several question marks next to it.
His mouth opens before he can stop himself, “Oh, I love Michael Kiwanuka!”
Kimhan looks up at him in surprise and Porchay’s eyes widen.
“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have looked” Porchay bows his head a few times, “I’ll be back with your order”. He barely stops himself from giving a wai before running away.
What was he thinking, letting Kimhan know that he was looking at his personal stuff like that. It’s rude and invasive, Porchay is so embarrassed.
Luckily a new couple came in and was seated in his section, and then he needed to settle the bill with another table, so Porchay didn’t have a chance to look at Kimhan. Once he’s finished collecting the appetizer plates and got the entree orders at table 34, relaying it to the kitchen, he goes to stand by Mine again, who was making Irish coffees. The bar was his favourite spot to stand, since it was next to the kitchen and he has a clear view of all his tables.
Without meaning to, his gaze strays to Kimhan again. He’s still cringing at his impoliteness, but he can’t help but stare- the other man looks beautiful as he writes, his hair falling artfully over his face. Porchay watches the way he briefly closes his eyes and moves his fingers, like he’s imagining playing an instrument.
Fifteen minutes later he receives Kimhan’s meal, and breathes deeply before he takes it to him.
“Looks delicious” Kimhan says appreciatively, not looking like he was annoyed by Porchay’s earlier accidental snooping.
“The salmon is freshly caught this morning” Porchay says, like it matters, but Kimhan just nods, reaching for his cutlery. Porchay puts the empty glass on his tray, about to ask if he should bring him more water, when Kimhan speaks.
“How do you know Kiwanuka?” he asks, sounding curious and Porchay blinks at the sudden question, before shrugging lightly.
“I’m studying music because of him. His ‘Home Again’ album inspired me to play the guitar” Porchay replies and Kimhan almost looks pleasantly surprised, making the younger man blush, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.
“I’m trying to decide whether I should listen to ‘Cold Little Heart’ to help me write this song, hence” Kimhan says, pointing his fork at the area where Porchay saw the artist’s name written. Porchay feels excitement stir inside him- his crush likes his biggest idol.
“If you’re going to listen to the full version and not the radio edit, I say go for it” Porchay says, and the smile Kimhan gives him takes Porchay’s breath away.
“I couldn’t agree more” Kimhan says, not taking his eyes off Porchay.
He needs to leave now, before Porchay does something else that would require him to quit his job and change his name, like confess his undying love. Or tell Kimhan about a song he’s been working on since he met him.
Porchay doesn’t know which one is worse.
-
The lunch hour rush ends at 2:30pm, and when Kimhan finally looks up from his book, stretching his neck and flexing his fingers, he looks over at Porchay expectantly. Porchay leaves Mine, who’s busy telling him about his hook up the previous night.
Porchay writes down his dessert order of chocolate and rum pudding and a glass of red wine.
“What instrument do you play?” Kimhan asks him when Porchay serves his dessert 10 minutes later, and Porchay pauses, half-way turned to leave. He awkwardly turns back around, and has to stop himself from fiddling with his pen to give his hands something to do. He’s 21 years old, he knows how to talk to a cute guy!
Okay, not really, but he’s a fast learner.
“Guitar” Porchay says and nods when Kimhan grins and replies with “Me too”.
“I guessed so”
“You did?” Kimhan raises a brow at him and Porchay looks at the musical sheets still in an organized mess on the table.
“You’re writing music for a C instrument based from the amount of treble staff. And you don’t look like a violin player” Porchay says, smiling when Kimhan laughs at his quip. Of course his laugh would be beautiful as well.
“Is it the leather jacket?” Kimhan asks, seemingly forgetting about his food, and Porchay gives an unashamed nod.
“Yes, but you also don’t seem like someone who’d enjoy slicking all that hair back for a concert every time”
“That’s very true” Kimhan concedes easily and Porchay giggles, before putting his hand over his mouth at the sound. Kimhan seems charmed, smiling at him.
“Why don’t you use tablature sheets?” he asks curiously and Kimhan gives a self-deprecating eye-roll.
“I grabbed the wrong sheets this morning” the older man replies and Porchay gives a sympathetic wince- he’s been there.
Porchay doesn’t know what he would have said next, but before he can respond the hostess walks to one of his tables with a few new patrons, and he has to excuse him.
He wonders how long the crush would stay just that.
-
“Can I ask you some advice on a line I’m struggling with?” Kimhan asks and Porchay’s mouth falls open. He was doing his rounds, and Kimhan’s table was the last one he is checking in on. He glances at the kitchen, bar and barista station, and when he sees no new orders for him, Porchay looks at Kimhan again and nods.
Kimhan opens his notebook and turns to a page that has more scratched out lines than words written on, “I don’t know how to finish this verse”
Porchay leans closer to look at book facing him now, and his breath catches at the beautiful lyrics.
It’s a love song, written with such raw and heart aching emotion Porchay is almost jealous at whoever made Kimhan feel these kind of feelings. He shakes it off and when Kimhan shows the chords he’s written for the verse, he smiles appreciatively.
He softly hums the instrumental to himself and reads the lines a few times.
The story in past / The wound that someone made / Those images in my mind gradually faded away.
Porchay think for a few times, letting his creative juices and emotions flow out. He looks at a waiting Kimhan, “‘I just want to be with you, side by side not going anywhere. Let me try to love myself, I think that’s enough’”.
Kimhan stares at him quietly for a few seconds, long enough to make Porchay feel self-conscious and think he’s messed up.
“I’m sorry, I’m not that good-“ he starts but Kimhan lifts his hand, resting it over Porchay’s where he’s clutching his order booklet tightly.
“That’s amazing, thank you” the older man says softly, and Porchay feels his cheeks redden and mouth dry. He swallows and nods.
“No problem. Enjoy” Porchay says with a slight bow, walking away and wishing (like always) that he didn’t have to leave so quickly each time.
Today’s the most they’ve ever spoken. Porchay doesn’t know what to do with himself, not now that’s he’s been on the receiving end of that look Kimhan gave him at the lyric suggestion.
He felt more like a real person than the Adonis he couldn’t stop thinking about since that first day.
Porchay really hopes he gets to hear the full song one day.
-
“You guys were chatting up a storm” Mine drawls as he finishes making a martini, and Porchay sticks his tongue out at him, placing the order of cocktails on his tray.
“It’s nothing” he says, not sounding convincing to his own ears, and Mine doesn’t bother calling him out on it, going back to opening a bottle of white wine.
-
Kimhan asks for his bill at 3pm as usual. Porchay draws a small smiley face on the receipt. They’re not supposed to ‘defile’ them, but Porchay doesn’t particularly care right now.
He leaves Kimhan to write down a tip and the final sum owed while fetching the card machine. Kimhan hands the bill over and when Porchay opens it, he finds a green leaflet folded up inside along with the receipt.
Porchay looks up at Kimhan, who’s watching him closely. He unfolds the leaflet- it’s an advertisement for a show happening the following evening at a music lounge around the corner from his university. The artist name is written down as simply being WiK, with no picture or additional details.
“I hope you can come” Kimhan says and Porchay’s heart can’t decide if it wants to expand or tighten at the small smile the other man gives him. Porchay has an assignment due next week that he plans on starting tomorrow. He wants to stay in the music library the entire day, and he has the record room booked for the next 2 days.
“Of course I can” Porchay replies without hesitation, and Kimhan’s smile widens. Porchay wonders how his lips taste.
Kimhan pays for his lunch, and gives a warm “You’re welcome” when Porchay thanks him for the (usual) exorbitant tip he leaves him.
Porchay loiters while Kimhan gets up, putting on his leather jacket again before picking up his packed satchel bag.
They stare at each other for a few seconds.
“See you tomorrow night, Porchay” Kimhan says.
“It’s Chay” he replies and Kimhan gives a small smile.
“Kim”
-
Porchay watches Kimhan –Kim- leave.
“Oh my fucking God”
-
-
Kim invites Porchay to his studio a month later. He’s the first person who gets to hear ‘Why Don’t You Stay’, and Kim has credited Porchay as one of the co-writers.
Porchay kisses him until they’re both breathless.