Chapter Text
art by @dramatelier
1
The humming of the ventilator next to him almost sings him to sleep. The warm air lifting the corners of his case files up every time it swings in his direction. It’s late again, but Tine feels like he’s close to finally connecting the puzzle pieces of this case. He’s on the edge of something, having spent the last 7 months digging into Watlism&Co. It seemed like a regular company at first, with links to every kind of business from music production to printing. Tine knows better though, if anything, Watlism&Co looks too regular.
These kinds of big companies are always impressive at first glance but the devil is in the details; a CEO without a digital footprint, multiple offshore bank accounts, the fine print of numerous contracts. Over the years Tine had gotten good at reading between the lines. He picks up the copy of one of the smaller, older contracts he had dug up, hoping to find the actual person behind Watlism&Co. He reads the name scribbled beneath a signature and curses at it. If only this ‘S. Guntithanon’ wasn’t so good at hiding.
He rubs his eyes and opens them to catch a glimpse of his watch, 10pm. His stomach growls at him for how late it’s gotten and forgetting to eat. Wondering if Earn still keeps those ramyun boxes in her desk, he gets up and walks towards the other side of the room. When he comes up empty he grabs his phone and clicks on Pear’s name. It doesn’t even ring once before he hears her voice on the other end of the line.
“Dinner?” She asks before he has the chance to say hello. A soft smile spreads across his face.
“See you at the noodle place across the hospital in 15.” he says. He hangs up, grabbing the last two folders on his way out of the office.
2
“What does Fong think about all this?” Pear asks, cutely jumping up and down in her seat, eyeing the noodles coming their way. Her eyes follow the waitress as she walks past them and sets the two bowls down on another table. She sighs, turning back to face Tine.
He shrugs, “You know I can't discuss an ongoing investigation with him until I have a solid case to take to court.” His hands play with the straw of his blue drink. “Especially because I plan to win.” He smugly raises his chin at her, sitting up a bit straighter.
Pear scoffs at that, setting down her water. “Do you even have a case yet... you know, to win?” she asks teasingly.
“Nearly there.” Tine answers, “I spoke with the officers in charge of the money laundering case from last november as part of the preliminary investigation.”
Another plate of noodles passes them, making Pear’s stomach growl loudly. “They couldn’t link any real person to the small bank account connected to some recording studio. It seems like the legal entity responsible is untraceable yet they were able to acquire a large sum of money from investors.” he sips his drink as he continues.
“No clear evidence that they were a front for money laundering for Watlism&Co as of right now though. They paid attention to every little detail.” Tine almost sounds impressed.
“It seems they were investing as a private equity company, to help startups. The studio they invested in manages a band called Ctrl+S or something.”
Pear nods, urging him to keep talking. She knows all of this, but Tine likes to go over what he’s collected so far to see if there is anything he missed.
“All they have released in the past year are vague indie records I’ve never even heard of, yet they managed to sell a couple million albums on their first try. Paying their lovely investors back double of what they owed them.” His friend laughs at that, “They can’t all be Scrubb, Tine.”
She’s eyeing the kitchen entrance again. She must be in a rush, being a first year resident probably doesn’t leave much time to have dinner with friends.
“How’s the residency?” She glances at Tine briefly, then her eyes shift back to the kitchen.
“Same old.” she answers distractedly. The floorboards shaking a little from her nervous leg tapping underneath the table. Tine’s eyes sweep over her face. He notices her usual sparkling eyes, now sunken and weary. The dark circles under them confirm what Tine already feared; work must have kept her up nights. She looks even more tired than Tine feels and has felt these past few months.
A little pang of guilt settles in his stomach. He should have been paying better attention to his friends. Building the Watlism&Co case along with the police has taken over his life. He should call Fong when he gets home later; to check in.
The smell of noodles is starting to make his stomach queasy and he vows to himself to eat more regularly. Sleep more. Go work out. He almost convinces himself he will.
Then the harsh sound of loud ambulance sirens breaks their comfortable silence. Pear’s body slides down further in her chair as she sighs, sounding defeated.
“I was really looking forward to those noodles.” she grumbles dejectedly as she watches her phone screen light up. It’s the hospital’s ER number. She stares at the ringing phone for a while, as if she could make it disappear if she tried hard enough, before standing up and answering it.
Tine raises his hand to the waitress, “Our order to go please!”
3
It’s still a little dark and quiet in his apartment when a loud noise wakes him up the next day. What’s left of his noodles is now cold and forgotten next to his sleeping form on the table, the two last folders he wanted to go through opened in front of him.
Lifting his head off his arms, a pain shoots through his back and makes him curse at himself for sleeping in the dining room again. Slowly realising the noise that woke him is coming from his phone, he shuffles some files with the Watlism&Co’s logo on around to find it. He recognizes his brother’s number, straightens and quickly answers the call.
“Yes?” he croaks, his voice not quite awake yet. He coughs twice before asking, “Any news?” At the same time as the voice on the other end of the line sighs.
“Good morning! Yes, I’m doing great, and you?” The annoyed tone hits a familiar nerve and Tine sighs weakly at his brother instead of responding.
“You better get down here,” Type says , “I’ve found another piece of your favourite puzzle. You’re going to want to see this for yourself.” Tine hears papers being shuffled and quickly gets up from his chair.
“Already out the door!” he says hastily as he grabs a fresh dress shirt on the way out of the apartment.
“Bring me coffee!” Type manages to shout back before Tine hangs up.
4
He shoves the iced americano into his brothers hands as soon as he enters the police station. Type takes an annoyingly long slurp before acknowledging Tine’s questioning stare.
"So?” He eagerly asks, trying his best not to annoy his brother any further. Type walks away, gesturing at Tine to follow.
“Picked up a guy at the hospital last night. We figure it’s a knife fight gone wrong. A buddy of his got injured and is still under observation at the hospital, we’ll know more later. He’s not hurt, but he’s not talking.” Type opens the door to a dimly lit interrogation room.
A smiling face greets Tine. Although, he’s not smiling at Tine, he’s… “Love of my life! Couldn’t stay away could you?” Type sighs and turns to his brother.
“At least, not talking about anything relevant to the case.” Tine can’t hide the little smile that tugs at his lips as he sees the bright smile aimed at his brother.
Type’s eyes are looking everywhere except at the man handcuffed to the table, trying to avoid eye contact at all costs. The prosecutor walks through the door Type is holding open and sets his briefcase down on the floor next to the table.
“You have a name?” Tine slowly walks to the chair on the other side of the table as Type closes the door.
“Doesn’t everyone?” The guy smirks. “You can call me,” he pauses as he shifts his body towards the door. “Mr. Teepakorn.” with his eyes focused on Type, he winks. Type huffs at him and mumbles something Tine can’t make out.
“Good one.” Tine says, slightly amused. “How about the name your parents gave you?” the prosecutor leans forward on the table as he taps his knuckles on the wood twice. The guy finally tears his eyes away from his scoffing brother near the door as he responds.
“Who’s asking?” Tine breathes in slowly. What a way to start his morning.
“Someone who can put you away for a long time unless you cooperate, Man.” That finally catches his attention. Tine tries his best not to feel too smug about it. One side of his mouth curves up anyway.
"How about we start over,” he continues, “I’m Tine Teepakorn.” He pauses, leaning back from the table. A tinge from last night’s bad sleeping position creeping up his back.
“And I am very curious to know just how you got your friend to a hospital with a knife wound last night when you’re supposed to be on house arrest in accordance with your probation.”
5
He doesn’t get much out of Man either, other than the stuff he had already told the police. Although in between Man’s eccentric come-on’s towards Type, he did make a little mistake Tine picked up on. In his explanation of a harmless cooking incident, Man mentioned his boss got hurt instead of ‘his friend’ as he’d said earlier to Type.
He was probably too interested in the latter drinking water and wanting to call it “living homo-erotic art” to notice the subtle difference. Tine laughs as he remembers the way his brother spit the water out immediately upon hearing it.
He’s thankful his brother stayed in the room though, because going to the hospital to check up on this witness is a lot more interesting now that he knows the man in question is the great, mysterious ‘S. Guntithanon’.
As he climbs into his car, laying down the folders next to him on the passenger seat, he makes a mental list of things he needs to ask to get this Guntithanon to admit to being CEO of Watlism&Co. Tine wonders if the guy even knows how much that would incriminate him for several accusations already.
Driving onto the busy road, he admits to himself that, considering how there was so little he could find out about this guy through his research, Tine might have finally met his match.
6
The bustle of the ER grinds on Tine’s already tired mind as he nearly runs into a nurse who is rushing past to get to a woman’s bleeding head. He spots Pear, looking even more tired than she did yesterday. She waves him over.
“You’re here for…” she picks up a chart and runs her finger across it. “Knife wound, last night?” Tine nods, following her through the hallway, away from the ER.
“No name?” He asks, as Pear lets the chart drop to her side. She shakes her head and something tingles at the back of his neck.
Guntithanon probably couldn’t think of a name to give, the prosecutor muses, or he didn’t carry an ID with him. But Tine is sure it’s really him this time, giddy to have finally found him and eager to put another puzzle piece into place.
They reach the end of the hall, one of Type’s colleagues curtly nodding in his direction.
“Officer.” Tine says in response. “Knife wound to the abdomen, brought in around 10:20 pm last night. The one who was with him is already at the station. Three others showed up afterwards, says they’re his personal assistants.” he scoffs at the last part, clearly not sold on the excuse.
“No other victims reported yet. Claims it was a cooking accident.” Tine nods, he has already read this in the report Type sent him.
“You’ve spoken to him?” He asks, trying to peer inside the little door window.
“He’s only been awake for an hour and that’s all we got out of him.” Tine looks back at the cop. He looks annoyed, Tine notices.
Turning to Pear now, he asks, “You think I could get in there for 10 minutes?” Pear nods, opening the door to a bright room. A bed stands in the middle of it with three guys in black suits hovering around it.
Tine stops in his tracks when the suits part and he catches sight of the man on the bed. The sunlight catches in his brown hair, making it glow almost golden. His eyes land on his long neck, curving into broad shoulders. The man is gazing out of the window ignoring the intruders. Tine swallows, cursing the way his heart is suddenly hammering in his chest. Damn sunlight playing tricks on his tired brain.
“Good morning,” he starts, ignoring his gut feeling to run back out into the hall. “I’m prosecutor Teepakorn.” It takes all of his strength not to run his hand through his hair, feeling like his sleeping position probably messed it up.
Why did he sleep at the damn table last night? He could have used a decent night sleep, he thinks as the man in the bed slowly turns his head towards him. As soon as the thought enters his mind he dismisses it, he only cares about his looks so he can intimidate suspects and shady CEOs into talking. That’s surely what this feeling is, he tells himself, although the tinge of red in his cheeks isn’t as easily dismissed.
As the sunlight continues to create a glow Tine is sure he couldn’t be imagining, the man’s expressionless face finally finds its way towards where Pear and Tine are standing.
They lock eyes and Tine promptly forgets what he was going to say, his mind blank. The silence that follows seems to last forever. Nobody moves, Tine’s eyes stay locked on the face he had only ever seen in police sketches, realising rather slowly that those sketches didn’t do Guntithanon’s features any justice. They didn’t even come close.
The sight of him shouldn’t be affecting Tine as much as it is, but right now he is too stunned to analyse or fight it. He feels Pear shift next to him, brushing her hand on his lower arm, trying to get him to stop spacing out.
Tine had been running towards something with this case and somehow everything has led him to this man. The thought makes him break eye contact but he ends up looking at the man’s lips, now pressed together in an annoyed manner.
He’s trying hard to remember what he came in here for but the words still don’t come to him, his thoughts replaced by a slight ringing in his ears. The figure on the bed lazily tilts his head to the side without looking away from him, his face sharp.
“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll kiss you til you drop.”