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Mr. & Mr. Jirawarakul

Chapter 7

Notes:

Hello again! It's been a while between being totally blocked and vacationing, but I hope you'll still enjoy the final chapter after all these months :) Thank you for all of you who read along. I had an immense amount of fun writing this story. Enjoy 💛

(There's a warning in the end notes - please read with caution)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

They move to the bed eventually, turning off the lights and the fire, and pad upstairs in the dark with their fingers twisted together.

Kawi tucks himself into Pisaeng's embrace, nestled between his body and the mattress that feels treacherously soft and pliant beneath his aching body, and presses his face against his neck, wrapping his arms around his waist with their legs tangling together under the blanket.

He hasn't laid here in so long, but he still knows the thud of his heartbeat, the rhythm of his breathing, and the way his feet twitch right before he falls asleep, his toes curling before his body goes slack and his eyes fall shut. It's a comfort, this mundane familiarity, the rustling of the sheets, and Pisaeng's light, rhythmic snoring, lulling him in until he feels his eyes drooping and falling shut. 

But Kawi doesn't sleep.

He merely drifts in and out of consciousness, hours passing in a haze of grotesque, horrid dreams filled with blood and the white of Pisaeng's eyes as they roll back into his head. He sees darkness there—death and despair—and his own ring finger being chopped off by an invisible cleaver that sends decay up his limbs and to his chest. He hears a door open and the clicking of footsteps, sees an army of enemies made of ash and smoke and suffocation, a mouth in between that contorts into a mocking smile, and red fingernails digging into his neck until they draw blood. And when he jolts awake once again to Pisaeng's arms still securely wrapped around his shoulders, there's the taste of gunpowder on his tongue, and he shudders despite the warmth of the body next to him with the strange feeling of premonition trickling down his neck.

 

When he blinks his eyes open next, the green of the digital clock on the bedside table spells out 4:07 a.m., and above his head, distant enough yet audible, the rotors of a helicopter are whipping through the stillness of the night air, passing above their heads until their echoes meet the mountaintops. 

“Pisaeng,” Kawi whispers, his fingers tightening against the skin of his ribs. 

“I heard it too,” the other replies, his voice rough from sleep yet alert. “They’re coming.”

Kawi strains his ears, raising his head to catch the sound of an intruder, gunshots, or a window being smashed. Yet the house remains silent, only their breathing filling the static air around them. 

Next to him, Pisaeng turns on his side, gathering Kawi closer in his arms until they’re nose to nose. 

“Hey, Kawi,” he mumbles, his free arm coming up until it creates a cocoon around them—a liminal space in which only the two of them seem to exist and where the hot air from their breaths mingles with their sweat. “If you could go anywhere right now, any year or day, where would you go?”

It’s a question too casual, too playful for their reality. But Kawi wants to flee it for just one more moment. 

“Maybe Rome,” he says, breathing out to release the tension coiling in his neck. “We were happy there, right? I’d like to relive that.”

“Or what about Jakarta?” Pisaeng replies, sounding rueful in a way that makes Kawi’s stomach drop. “It was peaceful there. Uncomplicated."

“We were different people,” Kawi says after a beat. “Younger.”

“Yeah… When did we grow old, though?”

“I don't know,” Kawi admits, his fingers clawing into the back of Pisaeng’s head. “I never took the time to notice.”

They stay quiet for a while, Pisaeng lost in a thought that Kawi cannot follow and his own drawing up fantastical images of what ifs and could’ve-beens. 

A helicopter sounds above them again, its echo fading after just a few seconds. Kawi holds on to him even tighter.

“We could go to the beach in Krabi,” Pisaeng says, his voice and his shaking hands betraying his desperation. “Or the day at the fair, or to the mountains, or...”

“It wouldn't be us,” Kawi interrupts, and the weight of his conviction almost takes him aback. Staccato images run through his mind—snapshots of moments where he felt invincible by Pisaeng's side, moments where he was so happy he wished he could bottle them up for a rainy day, moments he wished back then would be endless. But he's lived them already, each of them creating a piece of who he is and what they are, and recreating them would be futile. They wouldn't fit there anymore. “I don’t want to go back to the past. I want to move forward with you.”

“Even if it’s just a few hours?”

“Even then,” Kawi confirms. “I'd rather die from a bullet with you by my side than without you from old age,” he mumbles, Pisaeng's own words being as true for him as they were for his husband, who buries his face in Kawi's chest until his forehead is digging into his sternum. 

“We should get ready,” he says, but his fingertips clutch at Kawi as if he's afraid to never hold him again. Kawi, on his part, wraps his arms around him, squeezing him so tightly that he isn't sure if Pisaeng can breathe anymore, and they hold each other as the helicopter returns, circling ever closer over their fallacius refuge until Kawi thinks he can hear it disturb the tree crowns around them and a flock of birds soaring into the black sky with indignant screeches. 

When they can't avoid it any longer, they slowly detangle themselves and get up, business and practice kicking in as they prepare the weapons they assembled on the dresser. Their hands keep brushing over magazines and visors, Kawi’s fingers resting on Pisaeng’s shoulder in passing, and Pisaeng's finding their way to Kawi’s hips each time they stand close by each other’s side. Doom envelopes Kawi in a tense, creeping embrace of hopelessness that’s suffocating and yet strangely liberating at the same time. At least it will be over , he thinks as he changes into cargo pants and pulls a dark long-sleeve over a bulletproof vest, the fabric itching against his skin with the knowledge of who provided it. He tries to tune it out, tries to be calm and calculated, and to get into the mindset of a killer he's become so accustomed to over the years. But there's too much at stake for him to detach, too many variables he cannot calculate for the serenity before a hit to set in. All he has is a fierce and probably desperate wish to make it out alive.

"Dressed for the occasion, I see," he comments when Pisaeng steps out of the walk-in closet in an immaculate suit and tie, looking as if he's about to take Kawi out for a fancy dinner. His heart aches at the sight.

"Might as well go down in style," Pisaengs replies, pulling at his cuffs and attempting a grin, but it misses reaching his eyes.

"This is it," he says instead, holstering a rifle across his chest and standing to face Kawi, the muscles in his jaw spasming with every blink.

Kawi just nods, not knowing what to say or do. He knows they're walking into an impossible fight, outnumbered, and in a predictable strategic position. Their enemies know exactly how well armed they are, know the blueprints of their location down to the wiring within the walls, and the fact they're both far from being in prime shape, beaten up, and running on too little sleep. 

"Hey, if we don't make it out of this alive...” Pisaeng starts, but Kawi goes up on his tiptoes to silence him with a kiss, his lips set into a grim line when he presses them against Pisaeng's.

"Don't you dare die on me," he grumbles, twisting his fingers into the short strands of hair on Pisaeng's neck to keep him right here—a farewell if necessary, but one that is true and honest.

"You'll never get rid of me," Pisaeng mumbles back, his hands coming up to frame Kawi's face for what might be the last time.

"Promise?" Kawi grinds out, clenching his teeth against the burning behind his lids when he blinks.

Pisaeng takes his wrist, closing his fingers around the metal watch that seems to be pounding against his skin with the lingering promise of an escape. One Kawi knows they won't accept. 

"Promise." 

Kawi chooses to believe him because it's all the hope he can afford. 



Together, armed to their teeth and amoured as well as possible, they slink out of the bedroom, across the upper-floor landing overlooking the vast living room, and into undefended, open territory. The blinds not being closed anymore is the first thing Kawi notices, even before he registers that there's a light switched on again in the far corner, illuminating the room in a dim, mellow glow. 

It lies in silence, that velvety, buzzing quiet of a house that is lived in but lays dormant, and yet he feels her presence before he sees her, her back turned to him as if she doesn't fear him or his gun in the slightest once she comes into view.

“Do you know why I initially wanted you, Kawi, why I chose you despite your lack of form and brains?” Jane asks casually, almost conversationally, as Kawi steps down the stairs.

He stops just a few steps into the room, his fingers tightening around the handle of his gun as he assesses Jane in the gloom. She's seemingly on her own, with her hands clasped behind her back as she studies the painting above the mantelpiece, seemingly calm and undisturbed but with a sharp, keen glint in her eyes. She's not armed, Kawi takes note, her slim black dress is not allowing for any hidden guns, and her hair is falling loosely down her shoulders in a way Kawi has never seen with her, the casualness of her appearance and demeanour frightening him more than if she were pointing a sniper rifle at him. 

"Enlighten me,” he prompts, assessing her reaction to his callous tone and trying to gauge her motivation. But he can't get a grasp on her, everything about her appearance too controlled and calculated to reveal a single one of the cards she's holding right now. Kawi doesn't even know if he's familiar with the game they're about to play.

“You were close to the Jirawarakul boy,” she explains, turning around to pace along the room, her pointy fingernails scratching along the leather of the couch in passing. “That's why I wanted you. A bomb already set up to detonate at the right spot; we only needed to arm it. And what a formidable job we did.”

Kawi scoffs at the ludicrousness of her tale. “You couldn’t have known back then. We were barely acquaintances.”

“People do a lot for money. Friends are ready to talk, snitch… conspire . I would've found a way,” Jane replies, finally turning around and focusing her eyes on Pisaeng. “But of course you went and married him all on your own. You saved me a lot of money and time there. I guess I should thank you.” 

“Fuck you, Jane,” Kawi spits out, but a small whisper in the back of his mind wonders how much of his life was secretly manufactured by her, if one of their friends—Not, most likely, or maybe someone naive like Kwan—might've assisted her, placing Kawi as a rook in an elaborate game of chess.

“I'm still your boss, so watch your tone,” Jane snaps back, the casual bearing slipping for a moment before she hides it behind a glass of red wine that she picks up from a side table.

Sensing a chink in her armour, Kawi shifts on his feet to get a firmer stance as he tells her, “I quit.” 

Finally, she turns to him, her gaze sharp and inquisitive. Behind him, Pisaeng aims his pistol at her, but Kawi raises his hand to stop him from acting. These are his dues, his mistakes, and he'll pay them himself. But before he can even step forward to take charge of the conversation, Jane flicks her chin, and two figures materialise from somewhere in the shadows, grabbing Pisaeng by his arms and kicking the back of his knees to bring him down. Kawi wants to jump over and free him, but he's grabbed around the waist and put into a chokehold, his shoulders cracking when his arms are being yanked behind his back. Then, the cold metal of a gun's barrel is jammed against his temple, and in his periphery he can see that there's another resting against Pisaeng's, and Kawi's body freezes while his heart starts hammering at rapid speed, understanding that he didn't dream those sounds of someone entering the house after all, that he heard the intruders enter but didn't take any precautions, that it's his fault that they're in this predicament.

“Easy now,” Jane cautions her henchmen. “We’re guests in this house.”

“Why are you here?” Kawi asks through gritted teeth, tearing his eyes off Pisaeng to look at her and determine how far she's willing to go. But her eyes are nothing but glimmering black in the shadowy valleys of her face, half hidden behind a lock of black hair.

“Call it a contract renegotiation,” Jane says, her face morphing back into pleasantry. “I see your loyalties have shifted, and I admit I was rather harsh with you in the past few days. But I’m sure we can reconcile, for the right price, of course.”

Her words are so audacious that Kawi barks out a laugh. “You're mad. I know the truth, Jane.”

At his words, one of her eyebrows twitches up in an immaculate, taunting arch. “Do you?”

“You set us up. You conspired with Triple B to take us both out. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Ahhh,“ Jane hums, nodding. “I saw Max snooping through your files. I figured it's only fair you'd know. But don't tell him that I noticed; he likes thinking he's smarter than me, and it's too useful for me to disprove it. But there are some things he missed. Granted, I never put them into the system. All this technology, yet paper is still your most secure bet.”

“I will never work for you again, Jane,” Kawi grinds out, the jab at Max fanning his simmering anger.

Sweetly, she smiles at him and says, “But you haven't heard my offer yet.” She drops down in the armchair across from him, swirling the wine in her glass as she leans back to get comfortable. “You take out your husband and his agents as a proof of your loyalty; we buy out a destabilised company, securing a full market monopoly in Thailand; and you become director of our brand new branch.” After a slow sip, she adds, "I'll even upgrade your office."

Kawi gapes at the sheer audacity of her proposal. “Whatever makes you think I'd agree to that?”

“See, there’s a little part of the bigger picture you might have missed,” Jane says, her lips distorting into a provoking grin. “Who do you think owns triple B, Kawi?” 

She lets the suggestion linger in the air, one that Kawi feels with violent rejection, and involuntarily, he looks back over his shoulder at Pisaeng, whose eyes are wide and his face pale.

“Triple B Industries, founded by one Tridao Jirawarakul to be inherited by her son, Pisaeng, upon her departure from the firm. These agents hunting you aren't mine, Kawi. They're his.”

“Kawi, I-” Pisaeng protests, but he’s silenced by a punch, a groan falling from his lips before his voice is muffled by a leather-clad hand and his words become indistinguishable.

Kawi looks back at Jane, appraising her words, the intent set of her brows, and the depth of her eyes, which remain dark and indecipherable. She was always too good at keeping every card close to her chest, her pokerface so impenetrable it might as well be carved from stone while she moved people like chess pieces to do her bidding. Kawi knows it, and yet...

“Did you not wonder how he knew your steps or how his agents found you?” Jane asks, a disappointed twitch curling the edge of her mouth as she shakes her head. “Did you never consider why he didn't ask you to run away to a different time when you both could? He took you here instead, Kawi. I'm sure it was convenient for him that Max gave you this tip. And then he led his agents right here.” 

She motions towards the windows where the thick forest surrounds them, her long, slender fingers flicking out to direct his gaze, commanding it. 

The outside is barely visible from here, with the glare of the lights obscuring his view, but the darkness outside seems like a living thing, retreating and expanding as fog and mist cling to the windows and swirl over the flowerbeds in front of them, a beast's breath shrouding them in the unknown. Yet Kawi senses figures moving among the shadows, the unmistakable presence of eyes swiping across his skin making him shiver, and as he squints and his eyes adjust to the darkness, he sees them, too: bodies slinking through the trees and moving towards the building like oily shadows in between the sharp, menacing shapes of the jungle around them.

“It makes no sense,” Kawi mumbles, trying to fit the pieces of her tale together to make sense of them, but they're ragged and misshapen, disconnecting wherever he tries to slot them into place. 

“But it does, Kawi. Just think about it: He takes out his top contender and her best agent, all in one step. I should've been suspicious when Triple B approached me, but I admit I wasn't. I didn't see the ruse at first. It was too late when I did, and I'm sorry for that. I could've spared you a lot of anguish if I had. But I thought it would be easier for you to part with him if you felt the depth of his betrayal. It would've been easier for me. But maybe we're not cut from the same cloth, as they say.” 

“I’m nothing like you,” Kawi replies weakly, his brows drawing together against the onslaught of thoughts in his mind that he cannot sort out. It was Triple B agents who found and attacked them, but they shot Pisaeng, yet they also let him get away, but then they chased them, and -

“That’s why we always made such a good team, don’t you think?” Jane interrupts his racing thoughts before she motions at her henchmen to let go of him and step back into the darkness. “We compliment each other. And we could be even greater.”

Kawi turns to look at Pisaeng, kneeling at his feet with a hand over his mouth and a bruise blooming across his cheekbone, his arms twisted behind his back and his weapons out of reach. Pisaeng holds his gaze for a moment, his eyes imploring before he evades them, darting over to look at his captor, then the other, then at Jane. He must know that he is outnumbered, that he has no way to escape. His life is in Kawi's hands.

“You're my favourite weapon, Kawi. The best one in my arsenal,” Jane whispers, almost gently now as she steps closer to him and hands him the Colt she likes to use so much. “Finish it, and we can move on.”

Pisaeng catches his eyes again, his brow set and determined, unflinching as he stares up at him. But he’s not trying to speak or defend himself. He's not begging for Kawi's mercy. It tells him all he needs to know.

“Yes, I will,” he assures her, raising his gun to point it at Pisaeng's forehead, the trigger heavy against his fingertip as he pushes against it. “But I'm not your weapon, Jane. I'm his.”

He yanks the barrel up, the head of the man to Pisaeng’s right shattering on impact when Kawi’s shot hits, and drenching Piseang in bloodsplatter. But he’s already bending forward, throwing his other captor over his shoulder in one quick, precise movement, and breaking free from his hold. When he crashes to the ground at Kawi’s feet, Pisaeng already has his rifle back in his hands and points it at the man’s chest, allowing Kawi to whirl back around to look for Jane, who's halfway across the room and reaching for the control panels that will open the doors. Kawi shoots at her, but he misses, giving her enough time to push the button and deactivate the security locks. With a ferocious growl, he fires another bullet, then the next, but Jane is too quick and agile for him to hit his mark as she jumps forward and slides behind an armchair for cover, just as a gust of air rushes into the room when the back door is torn open by two unmarked agents storming inside and opening fire.

“Take them out, both of them!” Jane shouts from her hiding space, both of them nodding and readying their weapons.

His and Pisaeng's position is weak, exposed in the middle of the room with few things to barricade behind, but the door is a bottleneck and the walls are made of armoured glass, and as long as they can defend them, Kawi figures they might have a chance to ward off the assault. So he fires rapidly at them, appreciative of the reload speed of Jane's weapon, but as soon as he guns down the first men, two others take their position, enemy fire never ceasing.

“Care to explain?” Kawi shouts as he hits one person and dodges the bullet of another, shoving Pisaeng to the side with the motion and against the cladding of the fireplace. 

“I'm a shareholder, not an executive. Hold still,” Pisaeng gasps out, using Kawi's shoulder like a tripod to snipe another man back out the door. 

It's not the time to pout or be offended over being used as furniture, but Kawi does it anyway, jabbing Pisasng with his elbow before scanning the room for Jane’s hiding place. “But is it your agency?”

“Mum sold parts of the company to an investor, gave some to me, and kept the rest. Functionally, I'm just an overpaid agent.”

“And you didn’t care to mention this?”

“I guess it slipped my mind,” Pisaeng says, somehow finding the time to sound sheepish while dodging a well-aimed shot that barely misses his kidney.

“How could this of all things slip your mind?” Kawi questions, aiming his barrel at the very shooter to stop them from getting further than the carpet’s edge.

“Well, I was a little preoccupied with - DOWN!” He tears Kawi to the ground, both of them slamming against the wood as a large projectile bursts through the open door and smashes through the glass facade on the other side of the room. The strength of the following shockwave tells Kawi that it was a spike missile.

“Was that really necessary?!” he yells in the direction of the outdoors, having half a mind to sprint forward and punch someone in the face.

He’s already halfway up on his elbows and clawing forward when Pisaeng grabs him by the elbow and drags him across the floor as he says, low and out of breath, “Anyway, I was a little bit busy saving my marriage and staying alive. But it's really little more than an upgraded paycheck. I guess that the investor attempted a takeover, though.”

“Makes sense,” Kawi grumbles as he scuttles across the carpet. “After this, we have to sit down and disclose all our assets. I need a list. A folder! I’m done with surprises.”

Pisaeng throws a hand up while belly-crawling behind a console table that adorns the western side of the room as bullets soar above their heads. "Sure, that should be our priority at the moment.”

But Kawi ignores him, outraged that Pisaeng is not taking this conversation as seriously as he should. “Whatever happened to “no more lies”?!” he demands, kicking Pisaeng’s ankle to demand room behind the console. “Remember what Ms. Nittiporn said: open communication is key.” 

“Yes, but so is compromise,” Pisaeng quips back as he quickly checks his weapons, switching a magazine and straightening his tie in one swift motion. “So why don’t we agree to talk about this later and focus on the task at hand?”

For a moment, Kawi wants to protest before he realises that the gunshots have suddenly and abruptly subsided. And when he peaks over the edge of the table to keep the terrace door in clear view, there’s no one there anymore, the opening showing nothing but thick, black tree trunks in the distance. Craning his neck, he tries to catch a glimpse of Jane, or at least her shiny black heels with the red soles, but he can't find her, the spot behind the armchair now abandoned. When he strains his ears, there's nothing but the steady swooshing of the breeze wafting in through the hole in the wall and the hoots and chirps of nocturnal animals tinkling along with the wind. The room seems deserted except for the two of them, once again deceivingly quiet and unsettlingly calm. It raises the hairs on Kawi’s neck and arms. 

“Okay, yeah, let’s talk about this later,” he finally concedes, standing upright as dread pierces through his bones, and as if to confirm his feeling, a number of red dots appear on the walls, dancing across the stone in search of a target as dozens of agents swarm out of the thicket, heavily armed and fully armoured.

“Hallway,” Pisaeng orders in a whisper, already getting up and moving towards the entrance that opens into the other side of the structure, but stopping along the way to backtrack again. “On second thought...” 

Kawi tears his eyes away from the door and throws a glance over his shoulder, where the dust from the earlier explosion finally settles to reveal another fresh wave of agents storming towards the building and climbing through the empty window frame. They’re caught between enemy lines and pressed to fight a two-front battle, fatally outnumbered and as defenceless as a sitting duck in the crosshairs of a hunter, while in the distance, the unmistakable thickness noise of a rotor blade resounds through the night. With a rage and desperation that blinds him for a second, he understands that Jane escaped, sending her weapons after him instead of picking one up herself to do the dirty work, and Kawi is hit with the inevitable realisation that this is truly and wholly a hopeless situation.

But when Pisaeng's back hits his own, when he feels the steadiness of his body like a fortress behind him, Kawi's focus shifts back to him, to what's important and matters most, and with his determination flaring up fiercely, he thinks that he'll die fighting for them.

So he readies his gun and pulls down a pair of sunglasses he picked up as makeshift eye protection, yelling out, "I'll cover the back; you do the front assault,” as he throws away his pistol in favour of a shotgun that will hopefully break the wall of people in front of him that are now spilling into the room. “Stay close to me." 

"Yes, darling," Pisaeng agrees, pressing closer still until Kawi can feel the shift of muscles under his skin through layers of fabric and gear. "I'm not going anywhere."

Before Kawi can form another thought or give a word of encouragement, the first bullet falls, the projectile surfing through the air and lodging into the stone of the mantlepiece behind them in a deafening smash.

 

It's a bloodbath, with no finesse to the kill and no time for strategy, and Kawi feels like he's moving in slow motion as projectiles swirl through the air around them, hitting brick, glass, and wood in a deafening staccato that makes his ears ring and drowns out Pisaeng's voice calling out to him. But he feels his body move with his own, solid and unyielding as they fight together, turning around to hit as many of their attackers as they can and making quick work of exchanging a magazine in between like an intricate choreography they practised a dozen times.

He’s wielding two weapons at once now, blindly shooting at everything and everyone in front of him, but no matter how many agents he takes out, their ranks don’t seem to thin, the agents now surrounding them in a half circle and steadily driving them against the back wall, where they’ll be ready for their execution. 

Pisaeng takes out two of them, Kawi the next, agents falling, dispersing, and regrouping so quickly that Kawi loses track of whose bullet they caught as his mind morphs into a frenzied tunnel drenched in crimson. Yet it’s unfocused, with too many noises and too much chaos surrounding him, and he feels himself slip into a craze, his motions uncontrolled and his aim off as his hands shake and tremble with terror and exhaustion.

Until a scream breaks through the haze and Pisaeng appears to sag behind him, Kawi’s own sleeve getting drenched by Pisaeng’s blood splattering in the air. Instinctively, he turns around, grabbing Pisaeng by the elbow to keep him steady, and in the moment of distraction, a bullet hits his shoulder, tearing through skin and muscle and shattering the bone underneath with a pain so intense that he feels the white heat of it in his skull.

“They're too many,” he groans out, pain fraying the already strained edge of his voice, and he feels his eyes well up when he gets a look at Pisaeng, whose vest is already riddled with bullet holes, his face streaked with blood from a graze across his eyebrow. 

Kawi knows they cannot win this; he’s certain of it now. They’ll die here in the middle of the mountains, slaughtered without grace or honour and left to bleed out. At least it will be by your side , he thinks, or maybe he says it out loud, dropping his gun and cradling Pisaeng’s face between his hands as he prepares himself to die.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Pisaeng whispers, grabbing Kawi’s shoulders, who wants to protest, to tell him that he did well, that they did what they could, that at least they died knowing they still and will always love each other. 

But before any of these words can leave his mouth, Pisaeng’s grip on him tightens, and then he pushes Kawi away so forcefully that he flies and skids across the floor, a scream escaping him when his injured shoulder crashes into the corner next to the fireplace just as the beeping of a detonator reaches his ears.

"Pisaeng, no!!" he shouts, a fraction of a second passing in which he can see the grenade in his hand before the explosion throws him back against the facing, knocking the remaining breath out of him. 

Above him, the landing caves in, its wooden beams collapsing and crashing down, and Kawi rolls himself up into a ball, raising his arms to shield himself from the falling debris as wood and concrete slam on his back, and the boom of an explosion rings in his ears. It echoes through his skull, spreading out in waves until the sound rises in pitch and vibrates through him in deafening trembles, warding off the pain that seems dull and muted before it hits him like a whip, a bright flash of it cracking through his fibres. And then, everything turns black.

 

 

Kawi comes to with a groan, slowly becoming aware of the weight on top of him before he can even feel his own body. But he's unable to move, feeling at least one broken rib punctuating his lungs when he tries to breathe and dust immediately filling his mouth and scratching his throat. But a ll of it dissipates when the panic sets in, his breath coming short and shallow, and he claws at the stone above him to break free, heaving as his chest clogs up and he feels like he’ll suffocate—from fear or dirt he doesn't know.

He doesn't notice the destroyed and scorched furniture around him, ignores the shattered glass and laid bare steel beams above his head, or the ashes raining down on him while he staggers through the ruins, his vision fragmenting and swimming as he looks for Pisaeng, any piece or part of him. He calls out his name, shouts it from burning lungs, but he can't hear his own voice, a pressure in his head and chest as if he were dragged underwater and left to asphyxiate. There are bodies on the floor, half covered in rubble, their blood mixing with the grit into a hideous red mush seeping along the floorboards, but the torn-off shreds of their clothes look like tactical gear, shattered visors, and weapons lying scattered across the floor next to them.

"Pisaeng?!" He calls out again, so frantically now that it breaks through the fog, yet it sounds far away, a desperate plea coming from outside his body that he seems unable to control, trembling violently as he stumbles forward.

He turns around his own axis, kicks, and claws at debris to dig beneath it in search of his husband, who must be somewhere, who must be here waiting for him to find him, because he cannot be dead; he cannot leave him behind because he promised to stay by his side. Tears colour the grey stone between his hands charcoal, running down his face as his fingers start to bleed and his knuckles split where he carelessly reaches into the rubble, a wail tearing out of him when he finds nothing but dirt and steel. He crumbles down, pressing his head against his fists as he screams out his name, and finally, there’s a groan to his left, coming from under a slab of ceiling, then an exhausted whimper when the slab starts to move, slowly sliding to the side to reveal a white shirt torn into shreds and soaked with blood. 

Kawi dashes to his side, grabbing the edge of the stone with raw fingers and the type of strength that can only be born from desperation, and topples it over to reveal Pisaeng, who’s covered in dust, grey from head to toe with blood matted in his hair and a scratched-up face, coughing violently as he hoists himself up on his elbow and spits out blood.

Kawi wraps his arms around his head, cradling it against his chest, and kisses his grimy hair. “You need to stop throwing bombs around,” he chides with a helpless, relieved laugh while hugging him tighter, but there’s no bite behind his words, his voice coming out in a sob instead as he feels Pisaeng’s breath against his neck, laboured and strained but warm and alive.

"It's my specialty," Pisaeng grinds out, another cough shaking him as he sits upright, wiping dirt off his forehead. "Never failed me before." 

“You almost killed yourself,” Kawi moans as he helps him up, both of them unsteady and leaning against each other to support their shaking knees. 

Pisaeng huffs out a chocked-up half-laugh. “Better than being shot in the head. Trust me,” he replies with a grimace, motioning to the gaping wound on his forehead that’s sticky with dark red grime. 

Looking outside, where dawn is clouding the trees in mist and fog, Kawi asks, “Do you think there are more out there?”

“It looks clear,” Pisaeng assesses, scanning the surrounding area with a quick, precise glance. “I don’t know how many agents you have, but - Oh god damnit.” 

Befuddled, Kawi turns around to where he stood next to him just a moment ago, but Pisaeng isn’t there anymore. Instead, he’s sitting on the chest of a lone agent with a gun next to him on the ground, pelting down punches with a forcefulness that Kawi didn't expect from him in his beaten-up state.

"Stop. Shooting. At. My. Husband!" Pisaeng screams, each word punctuated with a well-aimed punch straight to the jaw. Kawi can hear bone cracking and a gross, squelching sound that's likely the nasal bridge caving in as Pisaeng lands his final blow. 

"72," Pisaeng says as he gets up, the front of his shirt crimson-red and sticking to his chest. 

For the blink of an eye, Kawi is confused before his brain decides to catch up and he understands that he’ll have to update his kill count in the next few days. "Is this a competition now?" 

Pisaeng raises a brow at him. "We're meant to support each other in our ambitions, right?" 

Kawi rolls his eyes, then quickly aims his gun to the left when he hears another groan there, placing a bullet straight between the guy's eyes. "Nope, that one counts as mine." 

And finally, it's quiet, safe for the rustling of leaves in the wakening forest around them, the first rays of pale morning sunlight shimmering in the dancing dust around them. 

His feet carry him into Pisaeng's arms without his command, his body slumping against him and his arms wrapping around his shoulders, and when he tilts his chin up, Pisaeng's lips are already there to meet him. He tastes like blood, gunpowder, and grime, but Kawi can't get enough of it, enough of him, so he keeps kissing Pisaeng in the ruins around them as ashes float through the open sky above and blood turns the carpet crimson. 

“Where to now?” he asks, letting the tips of their noses brush together.

"Let's go home," Pisaeng whispers against his lips, still holding him in his arms as if he will never let him out of his embrace again. 

"And where would that be, hm?” Kawi asks with raised brows, circling Pisaeng's neck with his arms. “We demolished our place and this one, and none of our flats are safe, and-" 

Pisaeng shuts him up with another kiss. "I don't care where we go, as long as you're with me." 

"You're so cheesy," Kawi murmurs against his mouth, grinning. “We're fugitives. Take it seriously.” 

“I'd run to the end of the world with you.”

“Ughhh. I'm leaving.”

“I'll follow you anywhere.”

“Gross!”




*****

 

3 months later

"I didn't expect to see you back here," Ms. Nittiphorn says as they take their seats opposite her once again. "I must admit, when I didn't hear back from you after our first appointment, I thought you had given up."

"We merely took your advice to heart," Pisaeng replies, leaning back in his chair and resting his hands on the armrest.

"Yeah, we worked on some of our problems," Kawi agrees. "We eradicated quite a few of them, I'd say." 

Next to him, Pisaeng chuckles, throwing a heated yet secretive glance at Kawi. In response, Kawi subtly kicks his foot with the tip of his shoe.

Across from them, Ms. Nittiporn seems amused, if a little bewildered. "So, you'd say your relationship improved overall?" 

"Definitely," Kawi confirms. "We figured out that open communication and honesty are what we were missing." 

"We also remembered that we make quite a good team," Pisaeng adds, nodding enthusiastically.

"Did you pick up a shared hobby?" The therapist asks, tapping away on her iPad. "It can be very invigorating for a relationship to find a shared interest and work towards a common goal together." 

"Something like that, yes," Pisaeng murmurs, folding his hands in front of his mouth to cover up a laugh.

"We also decided to merge our businesses. We're working together as independent contractors now," Kawi tells her, leaving out the part where their contracts are less than legal and their business is still as bloody as always.

“Competition is stiff, admittedly. But we found our niche,” Pisaeng adds conversationally, as if competition, in their case, doesn't mean half a dozen agencies full of professional killers trying to take them out on a regular basis, forcing them to travel through time and across the world to evade them.

"I'm glad to hear it," Ms. Nittiporn says, sounding a little baffled. "I have to admit, you made way more progress than I expected in such a short time. Most couples need years to get back on track again."

"Ask the sex question," Pisaeng demands out of nowhere, raising his chin up as he smirks at her.

"Excuse me?" Their therapist asks, looking up from her tablet, clearly confused. 

"The sex question. Ask it."

Ms. Nittiporn frowns but complies as she says, "Alright, so... When was the last time you had intercour-?"

"Last night," Pisaeng interrupts her, his smile widening and turning smug.

"And this morning," Kawi adds, holding out his hand for Pisaeng to take, determined not to let go of it again.







Notes:

Warning: this chapter contains depictions of explosions and people being trapped under rubble and debris. In light of the images coming out of Gaza, please read at your own disgression

Notes:

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