Chapter Text
After the sex trafficking ring is exposed and those responsible are brought to justice, Bun’s life in Viangpha Mork finally settles down into something approaching relative normality.
He wakes up every morning in Tan’s arms and at the end of the day after a long shift at the hospital he gets to crawl back into them. Bun never realised you could spend your entire life missing someone you hadn’t met yet until fate led him to Tan. Every time he catches Tan looking at him from the other side of the couch, whenever they stand side by side at the sink to do the dishes, and with each cup of coffee thoughtfully left by his elbow, he’s hit with an overwhelming sense of rightness, like this was always where he was meant to be.
The kids come and go as they please, popping round for dinner or to just laze in front of the TV. With Sorawit and Nam both wanting to go into medical profession, he often finds himself guiding them through their homework. He’s not the best teacher, Tan has him beat there, but watching them learn and grow has been an unexpected joy.
As for That, when he’s not working at The Mist with Tan or ferrying Sorawit to and from school, he often helps Bun around the house. Bun’s actually grown rather fond of That. Out of all the horrors he’d witnessed since arriving back in Viangpha Mork, it’s That’s desperate pleas of “Kill me first!” that still has him gasping awake at night dripping in sweat. Knowing that one of their guestrooms has band posters decorating the walls and motorbike magazines strewn across the floor is one of the only things that helps him fall back to sleep.
It’s not just within the four walls of Tan’s sprawling mansion that Bun has found peace. Oat is a steady, reliable presence by his side at work. Now that Bun’s not fearing for his life every second of the day he can actually spend time with the other man, regularly allowing himself to be dragged along to fancy restaurants and cute cafés the young doctor is desperate to try. Bun always got on well with his colleagues at the hospital, but now they’re practically family, something he’d always felt foolish for dreaming about when he was just a starry-eyed med student.
He mourns for Jane, of course, and for the countless other girls they couldn’t save, but he’s happy. Perhaps for the first time ever. Yet he still feels like something is missing, something crucial.
And he thinks he knows what it is.
Or should he say who it is.
He sees Inspector M perhaps even less than he ever did before. Intellectually, Bun knows it’s because the Inspector is busy. Having been promoted, it has fallen to him and him alone to reform the entire police department. That in itself is no small task, but he’s also still very much recovering despite being technically cleared for work, too. If Bun had his way, he would have signed him off for at least six months but the man is nothing if not stubborn and the fact it’s mostly desk work is of little comfort to him.
When Bun catches M leaving one of the hospital’s appointment rooms at the beginning of the week he feels something in him that had been previously pulled taught slacken before easing entirely.
“Inspector!” He calls out in greeting.
“Commander,” M corrects, turning to him with a small smile.
Most of their friends think Bun’s refusal to use his new rank is done purely to annoy him, all of them used to their push and pull relationship, but they’d be only half right. He does it to annoy him and to make him laugh. Bun’s of the opinion that everyone looks better smiling and M is no different. As far as he’s concerned, they could all do with a little more laughter in their lives after what they went through.
“Of course, of course,” Bun waves away. “Just finished this week’s physical therapy session?”
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say your colleagues were trying to kill me,” M says, rolling his shoulder with a wince. “I haven’t had this many aches and pains since I was a cadet.”
“That’s good, it means it’s working,” Bun says, receiving a doubtful scoff in response. “How are you, otherwise?”
“So tired that sometimes I don’t even know if I’m awake,” M admits bluntly.
Bun frowns. “I could prescribe something to help you sleep,” he says, hand already reaching for the pen in his shirt’s front pocket. “Something stronger than what you’d be able to get over the counter.”
“Thank you, Doctor, but I’m okay,” M replies. “I’m actually sleeping relatively well when I can grab the time. There’s just so much to do and not enough hours in the day to do it, that’s all.”
Bun crosses his arms and clicks his tongue. “You’re still recovering,” he reminds him. “No one would think any less of you if you handed over some of your duties for a while.”
M gives a sharp bark of laughter that Bun tries and fails to find any genuine amusement in. “To who, exactly? There’s no one.”
Not being able to see M as much as he would like means Bun’s worrying has been sort of abstract in nature. With every police car that whizzes past with its siren blaring he finds himself thinking about how M’s restructuring of the police department is going, and whenever a patient comes in needing rehabilitation after a nasty break or tear, he can’t help but wonder about M’s own recovery.
But with the man standing right in front of him, that vague, distant worry spikes sharply into something tangible. Because now he’s able to see the dark bruises under each eye and how his clothes hang off his frame when they used to cling tightly to defined biceps and strong shoulders.
“At least let me grab some multivitamins for you,” he offers almost desperately.
M sighs, shoulders slumping. “Okay, sure,” he relents. “Lead the way, Doctor.”
By the time they reach the hospital pharmacy, Bun already has a plan.
The next day Bun only has a few morning appointments and by lunch he’s completely free from all work related obligations. Barring any emergencies, of course.
When he gets home, he immediately gets to work making phat phrik khing with steamed rice using a recipe he was gifted by an elderly neighbour back in Bangkok. When it’s neatly packaged away in a couple of tightly sealed plastic containers, he fills a thermos up with tea and cuts a slice of the mango layer cake he’d made at the weekend, carefully wrapping it up in a paper napkin. He puts it all away in a cute little tote bag covered in daisies Nam had left the last time she was round and sets off back out into town.
It isn’t a long drive to the police station, ten minutes at most, and before he knows it he’s being ushered through the building to M’s fancy new office like he’s some sort of celebrity. His new found fame among the local law enforcement is still a little hard to swallow. He may trust M but he certainly doesn’t trust the criminal justice system or the type of people it has a habit of attracting.
He gives a stiff nod to the young officer tasked with showing him the way, only relaxing with a deep exhale once he’s finally left alone. He knocks twice on the door before pushing it open, not bothering to wait until he’s invited in. “Delivery,” he announces.
M looks up from the file he’s reading, eyes immediately narrowing. “What’s wrong, what have you done now?”
“Is that any way to talk to the man who has brought you a home cooked meal?” he says, holding up the bag.
M’s eyes dart between the bag of food and Bun’s face, his brow scrunched up into a confused knot.
“You’ve brought me… food?”
“You said you’ve been busy. I can’t even begin to imagine when the last time you ate something that wasn’t out of a vending machine was.”
Just as M’s about to reply, his stomach growls. Bun grins broadly in triumph and shakes the bag. “Well?”
“Fine, sit down,” M relents, gesturing vaguely to the chair in front of his desk.
He watches silently as Bun takes out the containers, thermos and cake and sets them in front of him.
“You didn’t have to go to the trouble,” M says, looking a little overwhelmed.
“I know, but I wanted to,” Bun says simply. “Here,” he adds, sliding him a pack of plastic utensils he’d swiped from the hospital canteen.
“You’re not going to eat with me?” M asks.
“I ate earlier, I made this is for you.”
“It isn’t poisoned, is it?”
“I’m flattered you think I’d be brazen enough to walk straight into a police station and kill their commanding officer.”
“See, the fact you’re flattered is why I’m worried.”
“It isn’t poisoned,” Bun assures him. “I wouldn’t ruin good food that way,” he adds with a smirk.
With a sigh of reluctant acceptance, M digs in his fork and takes his first bite.
After a few seconds, M’s eyes widen and he looks back up at Bun. “This is really good,” he says through a mouthful of food, manners fallen by the wayside.
“There’s no need to sound so surprised,” Bun grumbles, forcing a petulant pout onto his lips so M doesn’t see his pleased smile. “Wait, have I never cooked for you before?”
M gives him a complicated look. “No. Why would you have?”
“Because you’re—”
He cuts himself off.
Are they friends? They had got on relatively well before Jane’s murder, but right up until M helped them fake their deaths most of their interactions had been tinged with suspicion, anger and frustration. He’d said some pretty awful things to him and though he stands by most of them in regards to the police department as a whole, M was ultimately just a pawn in a game of chess that ended up being much bigger than any of them could have ever imagined. He’s a good man, Bun sees that now, and he’s slowly killing himself trying to prove it to the rest of the town.
“Because I’m what, Doctor?” M prompts, fists tightening around the plastic fork until Bun can hear it creaking in his grasp.
“Because you’re my friend,” he finishes, chin raised defiantly. “Or, at least, I’d like you to be. I don’t see why we can’t pick up from where we left off that night at The Mist.”
M looks down at his food, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It feels like it’s been years.”
“A lifetime ago,” Bun agrees gently. They’ve all aged way beyond their years over the last few months, the trauma settling heavily on their shoulders and bending their spines beyond repair. He’s not the same man who arrived back in Viangpha Mork after a decade away, eager to catch up with old friends and dance the night away with strangers. But maybe that’s for the best. “I never thanked you for dragging my drunk ass home that night, did I?”
M laughs loudly, the first genuine one Bun’s heard in a while. “Better late than never,” he says. “You’re lucky I had Dr. Oat’s number otherwise I would have had to take you home with me and I can’t imagine you would have been too happy about waking up in my bed.”
Bun leans across M’s desk, a smirk firmly in place. “Aw, you’d have given me your bed?” He teases. “Then again, you did take off my shirt and make me porridge. I forgot how nice you were to me those first few days.” The tips of M’s ears darken and he looks away. “What?” Bun prompts, delighted by the uncharacteristic show of embarrassment.
“Nothing,” he says. “It’s just… Well, for a Doctor, you can be incredibly dense sometimes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he assures him. “It’s all in the past now, anyway.”
Bun hums, unconvinced. “Come on, eat up,” he urges, tapping the top of M’s desk before settling back down into his seat. “I didn’t slave away over a hot stove for it to go to waste.”
“Yes, Chef, sorry, Chef,” M quips, taking another forkful.
Bun braces an elbow against the desk and leans his head on a fist, happy to just watch M eat. “You need to let me know what foods you like and dislike for next time. I don’t want to go to the trouble of making you, I don’t know, ratatouille only to find out you have some weird childhood trauma related to aubergines.”
M chokes on his mouthful of rice and pounds his chest until it goes down. “Next time?” He croaks.
“Of course. This wasn’t a onetime deal. I’m not cruel enough to give you a taste of my cooking only to snatch it away.”
“Mushrooms,” M says after a while and Bun cocks his head to the side. “They weird me out.”
“Noted.”
And so begins their first tentative steps towards an actual genuine friendship.
Once M’s commitments to restructuring the police department begin to ease, they make the effort to meet for drinks after work a couple of times a week.
It’s easy, this new camaraderie of theirs.
Unlike many of the other professionals he’s encountered over the course of his career, Bun finds M delightfully receptive to his bitchier side. His scathing remarks about the snooty business men and rude foreign tourists who often pass through the town that Bun inevitably ends up having to treat matched by the equally less than complimentary comments about M’s own colleagues and the local attorneys he has to deal with on an almost hourly basis. It’s nice to have someone to talk to who isn’t Tan or his friends at the hospital, someone removed from those other parts of his life.
Slowly, as they become more comfortable with each other, Bun starts to see the man behind the uniform. During one particularly lengthy text chain, he learns that M has an insatiable sweet tooth after waxing lyrical about the mango cake Bun brought him and it only continues to snowball from there. He finds out that he has two cats, listens to British punk music when he’s at the gym, and enjoys romantic-comedies. He’s close to his mom but not his dad, has an older brother but always wanted a sister, and is still in touch with all his college friends. Bun hordes away every little detail of M’s life gifted to him like they’re precious gems and by the time a couple of months have passed, he has a proverbial treasure trove. Bun’s never felt so rich.
Eventually, before even Bun realises it, they’re having movie nights every weekend. It’s probably the healthiest relationship Bun’s ever had. He tells M as much and gets a deadpan “well, that’s depressing” in response.
Bun was happy before, but now he feels complete.
Chapter Text
It’s Wednesday night, Tan’s working late at The Mist and unlikely to be back until the early hours of the morning. Bun and M are both three beers deep, there’s half-eaten takeout spread across the coffee table and a crappy sci-fi movie playing on the TV. M’s just finished telling Bun about the new academy recruits that arrived from the city the previous day and for the first time in a while, he actually sounds excited for the future of the police department.
The combination of cheap booze, greasy food and good company warms him from the inside out and Bun sighs in contentment, sinking into the plush cushions of the couch as he takes a leisurely sip of his beer.
“Is Dr. Oat seeing anyone?” M asks suddenly and Bun chokes, the liquid spilling out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin.
Caught off guard by the non-sequitur, it takes a few moments for Bun to wrap his head around the question and respond. “I don’t think so,” he says slowly, wiping his lips and chin with the back of his hand. “Why, are you into him?”
“Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t, would I?” M bites back and Bun flicks his eyes up towards the ceiling, irritation warring with fondness.
“Didn’t think he was your type.”
“Oh, yeah?” M asks, eyebrows raised high on his forehead with interest. “And why’s that?”
Bun shrugs and swings his legs up into M’s lap, purposely jabbing him with his heels as he makes himself comfortable. “He’s nice,” he says plainly, yelping when M pinches the meat of his calf.
“Fuck you,” M says, pointing the neck of his beer bottle at Bun as he muffles his laughter into the back of the couch. “You’re not wrong, though. He’s nothing like any of my exes.”
“Well, maybe that’s a good thing. They’re exes for a reason, after all.”
“True,” M concedes.
“You’ve known him a while, right?”
“Yeah,” he says. “As you’re well aware, the police department often has to liaise with the hospital so I ended up meeting him on his second day working there. We’ve collaborated on a few cases since then and often bump into each other at various official functions and events.”
“Not unlike you and I, then,” Bun adds. “That makes sense. So what changed?”
M huffs in amusement. “Almost dying at the hands of someone I considered a friend? Finding out that my commanding officer was part of a sex trafficking ring? Knowing that I’ve been unknowingly covering up wide-spread corruption for years? Take your pick, Doctor,” he says bitterly before taking a swig of his beer.
Bun inwardly winces. “There’s certainly something to be said about shared trauma bringing people together,” he allows.
“He saved my life,” M says. “Multiple times.”
“It’s his job,” Bun says delicately.
Bun’s had a few patients develop feelings for him over the years. He mostly puts it down to porn and dramas skewing people’s expectations of the medical profession, but he’s aware it’s human nature to gravitate towards someone who has helped you, someone who has shown you empathy and understanding when you’re at your most vulnerable. So he gets it, he does, but that doesn’t make it any less awkward when someone asks him out after he’s just given them a prostate exam.
M clearly senses what Bun’s implying and turns towards him on the couch. “Please don’t misunderstand, Doctor. This isn’t some misplaced sense of hero worship or gratitude. Your priorities change when you’ve been through the colossal mountain of shit we have. You start to see people differently. He didn’t just save my life, he risked his own to do it and he would have done the same for anyone. That makes all the difference.”
With Bun on the run, it fell to Oat to simultaneously treat M’s injuries and keep him safe from his would-be murderer. One small slip up could have ended up with them both dead with Bun, Tan and the kids not far behind.
“He was very brave,” Bun admits.
“He was,” M agrees. “I asked him to trust me when he had every reason not to. He lied to the commander’s face to keep me safe, to keep you safe. He has more guts, more compassion, and more integrity than the entire police department combined.”
Bun looks at M with wide eyes, stunned by the ferocity behind M’s words, and notices that he’s gripping his beer bottle so tight his knuckles have gone white.
“Sounds a little like hero worship to me,” he jokes weakly and reaches over to gently run his fingers over M’s.
M graces him with a wobbly smile, his grip loosening under Bun’s touch, and takes a deep breath.
“As draining as the physical therapy has been, it’s also given us the opportunity to actually talk properly for the first time since we’ve known each other. He’s…” M trails off, a fond look on his face. “He’s been a big help. I enjoy his company.”
That makes Bun pause. “Wait, he’s been doing your rehab?”
M swipes up a slice of garlic bread from the table and inelegantly stuffs it into his mouth. “Yeah, why?” He mumbles around it.
“That’s not technically his job. He’s only ever used as emergency cover for when we’re understaffed,” Bun shares. In fact, Oat hates taking physical therapy sessions, often foisting them off onto anyone unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, claiming he already has too much to do. “Damn, you might actually be in with a chance.”
A grin breaks out across M’s face, his lips stretched wide and shining with grease. “Seriously?”
Bun chuckles and passes him some napkins. “Not to get your hopes up or anything, but yeah.”
They lapse into a comfortable silence, the enormity of M coming to Bun with something as delicate as relationship advice hangs heavy in the air as the sounds of rapid gunfire erupt from the TV every few minutes.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what he’s into?” Bun eventually asks, digging his toes into the muscle of M’s thigh.
“What?” M asks as wraps his fingers round Bun’s ankle.
“Come on, you know how this goes, first you ask me if he’s single then you get me to tell you what he does for fun so you can plan any potential dates accordingly. I’m strangely invested in this now.”
M chuckles. “Okay then, Doctor, what’s he into?” he asks obediently.
Bun hums in thought. “He’s a foodie and loves trying new restaurants. Feed him and he’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand in no time,” Bun says. “Probably literally, if you’re into that,” he adds with a grimace, nose wrinkled in distaste.
M snorts. “Right.”
“He’s very sociable. Between him and Sorawit I rarely spend my lunch breaks alone. Just make a point of showing him that you enjoy his company. Talk to him. Not as a sometimes-colleague or a patient, as a friend.”
“I know all this already,” M says plainly.
“Well you asked,” Bun teases.
“You literally made me ask,” he says through a laugh, holding onto Bun’s legs so he doesn’t get knocked in the chin by a flailing limb. “I haven’t dated in a while,” he admits once Bun’s settled back down. “Hook-ups, sure, but not dating. I’m a little rusty.”
“You’ll be fine,” Bun says, leaning over to pat him on the shoulder. “I guess you’d be considered attractive to some people and you’re not a completely awful person personality wise, either.”
“Well with such a ringing endorsement, how can I ever fail?”
“Seriously, though, I actually think you could be good for each other,” Bun admits. “You deserve to be happy. Both of you do.”
“Thanks,” he says softly before clearing his throat. “Anyway, this movie’s shit, let’s put something else on.
Feeling generous, Bun lets it be the diversion M intends it to be.
Bun doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes to the familiar feeling of fingers carding through his hair.
Cracking open his eyes he comes face-to-face with Tan leaning over him. The smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol lingers on his clothes and Bun can’t help but smile, leaning into his touch with a contented hum.
“Should I be worried?” Tan says, nodding down to where M has his head cushioned in Bun’s lap, a small puddle of drool turning the blue of his jeans dark.
Bun’s goes to lift his head from where he’d let it drop against the back of the couch and groans in pain after barely moving an inch. Tan’s hands immediately go to his neck, gently rubbing at the knobs of his spine. He shivers at the touch, Tan’s skin still cold from the sharp night air. “What’s the time?” He asks, cringing at the stale taste of beer and pizza clinging to the back of his tongue.
“Just gone 3:00am,” Tan says. “Good job you don’t have work tomorrow,” he lightly chastises, dropping a kiss to the top of his head.
“This idiot isn’t so lucky, though,” Bun replies. At some point between the two of them dozing off and now, M has managed to end up with his arm trapped beneath his body, one leg dangling off the edge of the couch and his shirt twisted tightly around his torso. “I might be able to get him to call in sick. He could do with a day off.”
Bun thinks about gently easing himself out from beneath M’s weight so he doesn’t wake him but it’s a fleeting, sleep softened thought and he instead flicks M on the forehead.
“Come on,” he says, pointedly ignoring M’s grumbled protests. “You’re going to destroy your back sleeping like that.”
M groggily pulls himself up into a seated position. His hair’s a mess, tufts sticking up in all directions, and his cheek’s red from where he’d had it pressed against Bun’s thigh. The whole look shaves a good handful of years off his face and Bun can’t help but be endeared.
He digs his fingers into his eyes, rubbing until the skin around them is raw. “Shit,” he says, voice sounding like he’s been gargling gravel. “Did I fall asleep?”
“We both did. There’s no way you’re driving home and Tan definitely isn’t taking you, either. Stay the night.”
“Yeah, okay,” he says on the tail end of a sigh. “Just get me a blanket. I can sleep here.”
“Don’t be stupid, we have plenty of guest rooms.”
Tan watches the entire exchanged with silent amusement. “I’ll go set one up for you,” he offers.
“You’ve just got in after a long shift,” Bun points out. “I’ll do it. Come on,” he says, pulling a reluctant M off the couch before slowly leading him up the stairs.
When M is finally settled, Bun shuffles his way back to his and Tan’s room. Tan’s already under the covers, sitting up against the headboard. Bun feels his eyes on him as he silently moves around the room to grab a clean pair of shorts and tank-top to sleep in. When he comes back in from the ensuite after brushing his teeth, Tan’s still watching.
“What?” He asks defensively.
“Nothing,” Tan says with a shrug, that infuriating little smirk Bun loves so much pulling at his lips. “Just glad you’re getting along.”
Bun scoffs as he puts his phone on charge and switches off the lamp. “As if you didn’t enjoy having a front row seat to us at each other’s throats.”
Tan laughs. “You’re not wrong. How is he?”
“Good,” he says, slipping under the bed covers and into Tan’s arms. He lets his body go limp, the steady beat of Tan’s heart under his ear as he soaks in the other man’s warmth. He touches his toes teasingly against Tan’s before tangling their legs together.
“And you?”
It shouldn’t surprise Bun that Tan sensed something wasn’t quite right. Bun never thought he was the sort of person who wore his heart on his sleeve but Tan has always been able to see through Bun’s defences with shocking clarity.
“Better now that he is, too,” Bun admits.
“I swear, you’re a sap with everyone but me,” Tan complains. “A man could get jealous.”
“A man knows he’s got absolutely nothing to worry about.”
“The three of us should have a night out sometime,” Tan suggests.
Bun’s chest tightens in affection. “I’d like that,” he says, tilting his head up for a kiss that Tan is all too happy to deliver.
Chapter Text
It’s been a couple of days since M’s confession and Bun is enjoying a much needed coffee after a tricky surgery when Oat comes practically skipping into the breakroom.
“What’s got you so chipper?” Bun asks, eyes warily tracking Oat as the other man bounds over to where he’s hunched over the table. He’s yet to refill the coffee machine and if Oat even so much as dares to glance at his mug he won’t be responsible for his actions.
“The commander brought me some sticky rice,” Oat announces brightly to the room in a way that would suggest it was full to the brim with people eagerly awaiting his announcement and not just Bun and Dr. Fai trying to grab a few minutes of peace and quiet.
Bun pauses with his mug half-way up to his lips before setting it back down on the table with a dull thunk. “Did he, now?” he says, quietly impressed.
Bun hadn’t expected M to make a move quite so soon. M had clearly been ruminating on his feelings for Oat for a while and it seems their heart-to-heart was the last step of an entire process Bun hadn’t been entirely privy to. It’s remarkably healthy, all things considered, and Bun’s actually rather proud M decided to concentrate on his physical and mental health before making any potentially rash decisions.
Oat hums in acknowledgement as he flicks through the rota pinned to the wall. “Yeah, I even managed to convince him to stay and share some with me,” he says, shooting Bun a quick grin over his shoulder before fixing his attention back on the chart. “Nice, got an hour free before my next appointment,” he mumbles to himself.
“So he came all the way from the police station just to bring you lunch? That was awfully nice of him,” Bun teases as Oat falls into the empty chair next to him with a groan. Bun watches as he stretches his arms high above his head, a deep sigh of relief falling from slack lips when his joints audibly pop.
“What? Nah, he needed to collect a prescription and could only do it during his lunch break so he picked up some food on the way here to save time. They gave him extra and he knows I’m all about that free food life so came to find me. Lucky me, right?”
“Lucky you,” Bun echoes helplessly. It seems like he got a little ahead of himself because Bun knows for a fact there wasn’t any prescriptions sitting in the hospital’s little pharmacy for M to pick up. Apparently their commander is just as susceptible to nerves as the rest of the human race. Good to know.
“You know, I’ve always thought M was kind of cool,” Oat continues apropos of nothing. He pushes back on his chair until it’s only balancing on two legs. He dangles precariously in the air, feet braced against the table so he doesn’t topple over.
“Cool?” Bun says with amusement.
Oat tilts his head back until he’s looking up at the ceiling, eyes focused on a particularly large water stain. “But the night he got brought in with the gunshot wounds? Holy shit. The guy was half delirious with blood loss but he still managed to come up with a plan to keep us all safe. It was like something out of a movie. I didn’t realise people like the commander actually existed.”
Bun smothers a grin against the rim of his mug. “It was pretty impressive,” he allows.
“Do you think he’d like that bakery we went to last week? I was thinking about taking him, you know, as a thank you for, well, everything,” Oat muses, but before Bun can reply, he’s shaking his head with a groan and settling the chair securely back down on all four legs. “He’s really busy as the moment, though, isn’t he? Probably doesn’t have the time.” He laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck self-consciously.
Bun meets Dr. Fai’s eyes from across the room where she’s thumbing through one of filing cabinets, both of them supressing similar fond smiles.
“I think he’d like that, he’s got a sweet tooth. But if you’re worried about him not having the time, maybe you could take something to him at the station?” Bun suggests innocently.
Oat perks up. “Oh, that’s a good idea!”
“You should definitely see if you can pry him from that desk, though. He desperately needs a break and won’t listen to me. Something tells me you may have a bit more success.”
“I don’t know about that,” Oat dismisses despite the pleased look that graces his face.
Bun reaches over to ruffle Oat’s hair. “You’re pretty persuasive.”
Oat scoffs and leans into Bun’s touch, looking up at him through his lashes. “Never worked on you though, did it?”
Dr. Fai laughs, the sound instantly illuminating all four corner of the room. “He’s got you there,” she says. “The amount of times I had to watch him—”
“Fai!” Oat interrupts, ripping himself away from Bun to gesture frantically. She mimes zipping her lips shut, her eyes crinkled attractively at the corners in mirth.
Bun swings his head back and forth between them. “Watch him what?”
She points to her mouth and gives an apologetic shrug before sliding the filing cabinet shut and marching out of the room, patting Oat on the head like a particularly cute puppy as she passes by.
Bun cocks an eyebrow. “Well?”
Oat shoots up out of his chair, quickly smoothing down his shirt and adjusting the stethoscope draped round his neck. “Nothing, nothing. Anyway, I’m going to catch up on some inventory,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the door before pausing and darting out a hand towards Bun’s mug.
Luckily Bun’s quicker and he pulls it out of reach, the brown liquid sloshing dangerously up the sides.
“No,” he growls, low and dangerous.
“Mean,” Oat says with a childish pout before disappearing through the door.
Bun rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his coffee before pulling out his phone.
To: M
[13:32] Heard you brought my intern a lunchtime treat
From: M
[13:35] I can neither confirm nor deny
To: M
[13:36] Spoken like a true cop
[13:36] Or a politician. Ever thought about a career change?
From: M
[13:38] Fuck you
To: M
[13:39] He was literally just here in the breakroom telling us
[13:39] It was like he’d won the lottery
From: M
[13:40] Shit, that’s cute
To: M
[13:41] I also have it on good authority he thinks you’re cool
From: M
[13:42] What?
[13:42] What do you mean??
[13:42} Bun???
[13:43] I’M HALFWAY BACK TO THE STATION BUT I WILL TURN AROUND RIGHT THIS SECOND
To: M
[13:44] Don’t text and drive, you could get arrested for that
A few days later, Oat corners Bun after he’s just finished checking the handful of patients they have recovering on the ward.
“I took your advice,” he says by way of greeting, hands stuffed deep into his white lab coat.
Well accustomed to Oat popping out of nowhere and jumping half-way into a conversation neither of them had been having, Bun continues making notes on his clipboard. “Always a good idea, but what advice exactly?” He says without looking up.
“I took M some cake,” he says proudly, puffing out his chest once Bun deigns to look at him. “He seemed pretty happy.”
Bun allows himself a small smile. “Told you. Any luck in getting him out of that office of his?”
“He’s got some free time on Friday so we’re going to that new Japanese restaurant I told you about wanting to try a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, I see how it is. I’ve been replaced,” Bun bemoans, wiping an imaginary tear away from the corner of his eye.
Oat laughs and rocks back on his heels with a shrug. “Yeah, well, you’ve been blowing me off all month and I’ve been dying to go.”
A pang of guilt tightens Bun’s chest. “For what it’s worth, I did want to go,” Bun admits. He’s been swamped with work recently, barely having time for Tan let alone anyone else. He even had to cancel his and M’s movie night, promising to pop round M’s at the weekend to cook him something nice as an apology.
Oat kindly waves away the apology. “I know, don’t worry, I’m used to it by now,” he says.
“That doesn’t actually make me feel any better, you know,” Bun mutters, nodding politely to a couple of nurses that pass by.
Oat gasps, his eyes comically wide. “So you do have feelings? Phew. That’s good, I was beginning to worry.”
Bun smacks him in the middle of his chest with his clipboard. “Watch it,” he warns as Oat proceeds to act like he’s just taken a bullet, stumbling backwards with a hand clutching at his shirt before abruptly straightening back up with a toothy grin.
“I knew he was busy, but seeing the piles and piles of paper work on his desk really made it hit home, you know?” Oat muses as he obediently falls into step beside Bun. “Every few minutes someone would stick their head into his office to ask him a question or get him to sign something. It was draining just seeing it second-hand, I don’t know how he’s managing it all.”
“It’s better than it was, if you can believe that,” Bun admits on the tail end of a sigh.
Oat hums in agreement. “He was looking pretty terrible when I was helping him with his physical therapy. I tried my best to take his mind of things but didn’t really know what to do beyond talking his ear off for the entire hour.” Oat’s mouth drops open into a surprised little ‘o’ when he realises what he’s let slip. “I mean— Shit.”
Bun rolls his eyes. “I know you took his physical therapy sessions. Thought you found them boring? Or is M a special case?” He teases.
“I just thought having a familiar face doing them would put him more at ease,” Oat mumbles, the tips of his ears slowly staining dark.
“Hmm, well, you were right,” Bun allows. “You helped more than you realise, Oat. He couldn’t stop singing your praises a few weeks back.”
Bun resumes his trek back to the foyer only stopping when he realises Oat isn’t following. He spins around to see Oat standing frozen in the middle of the corridor. “He talks about me?” Oat squeaks before quickly clearing his throat. “He talks about me?” He repeats, voice unnecessarily low.
How M could ever be nervous about asking out a man so clearly besotted with him he’ll never know. As far as Bun’s concerned, they deserve each other.
“He did. He does,” he assures him.
Oat stares at him blankly until Bun begins to tap his foot impatiently against the laminate flooring and Oat abruptly snaps out of it. “Huh, wow. That’s— That’s, er, nice.”
He jogs over to Bun and throws an arm around his shoulder, jostling him back and forth until Bun pushes him away.
“You do realise I’m scheduling you in to take physical therapy sessions now, right?” Bun points out.
Oat groans, dropping his weight fully onto Bun’s back, arms dangling over his shoulders. “Have mercy,” he begs.
“You reap what you sow. But hey, just think how good it’ll look on your resume, Mr. Intern.”
Oat groans again, the sound reverberating all the way down the corridor to the waiting room.
As the week bleeds into the weekend, the date of Oat and M’s little restaurant rendezvous comes and goes without so much as a single text or phone call from M.
Now, M certainly doesn’t owe him every little detail of his and Oat’s budding relationship, but Bun would be lying if he said he hadn’t been anticipating something. Even a simple “it went well” casually thrown into their LINE chat would have gone some way to satisfy Bun’s curiosity. Instead he knows nothing either way. He’s even taken to referring it as Schrodinger’s date. Frankly, he feels a little short-changed by the whole thing.
So when Sunday rolls around, Bun arrives at M’s with not only a nice bottle of red wine but with certain expectations, too. Perhaps M had been waiting until they could meet up before spilling everything? Bun can understand that. Some things are better said in person, after all.
Yet all M does is ask Bun how work’s been before launching into a recap of the drama he’s been watching.
It doesn’t take Bun long to realise M is probably avoiding the topic on purpose, likely deriving some sort of sick pleasure from seeing Bun desperate to know but unwilling to ask. To be perfectly honest, Bun would probably do the same. They really are too alike sometimes.
This uneasy stalemate continues while Bun prepares dinner and when he finally dishes up they sit there in silence staring at each other from across the table, egging each other on with narrowed eyes and pursed lips as they ignore the plates piled high with spaghetti Bolognese sitting in front of them. It’s an especially strange juxtaposition against the soft jazz M put on earlier for Bun as he cooked and the curtains framing the balcony doors they left wide open so they could enjoy the warm night rustling gently in the breeze.
As usual it looks like Bun’s going to have to take one for the team if he wants any peace of mind. And anyway, the food’s going cold. There’s no sense in letting it go to waste out of pride.
“So,” Bun begins, smoothing his fingers over the creases marring the tablecloth in an attempt to flatten them out. “Heard Oat took you out.”
And just like that, the proverbial dam breaks.
M laughs loudly and grabs the already uncorked bottle of wine to pour them both a glass. “You know what? I’m genuinely impressed you held out this long.”
He holds up his glass, keeping it patiently suspended in the air until Bun clink’s his against it with a roll of his eyes.
“Yes, yes. You win. Great, good for you,” he dismisses before leaning forward eagerly. So?”
“You know full well he did,” M says before adding somewhat unnecessarily, “It wasn’t a date.”
“Didn’t say it was,” Bun quips, teeth catching on the rim of his glass as he speaks. “What makes you so sure it wasn’t, anyway?”
“Well, the fact he intended to take you and I was his second choice was kind of a big clue.”
Bun pauses, the wine gently lapping at his top lip. “Oh for fu— He told you that? God, he’s such an idiot,” he complains before draining the glass.
M chuckles as he obediently refills Bun’s glass. “It’s fine. I think he was just nervous,” he says with a shrug. “You know, I never pegged you as someone who got invested in other people’s relationships.”
“Christ, neither did I. I barely recognise myself.”
“Well, it makes sense. You’ve gotta find your excitement elsewhere now that you and Tan are past the honeymoon stage.”
Bun is surprised into a sharp bark of laughter. “The honeymoon stage?”
“Yeah, you’re just a regular boring couple now.”
Bun thinks about the crossword he did last night before both he and Tan turned in for bed at a respectful 9 o’clock, the two of them too tired to do anything more than cuddle until eventually falling asleep. “Whatever. This isn’t about me and Tan,” Bun dismisses. “So this not-date. You split the bill, then, right? Because whenever he drags me to a new place we always split it.”
“He paid,” M admits and Bun points his fork at him in triumph. “That literally means nothing. He invited me, so he paid. Simple as that. We’re not close in the same way you two are, he was just being polite.”
“Fair enough,” he concedes with a huff. “Did you have a good time, though?”
“Of course.”
“Did he?”
M looks down at his plate in attempt to hide his smile, but Bun catches it. “Well, I mean, he said he did. He wants to do it again sometime.”
Bun nods, satisfied. “When are you going to ask him out, then?”
“I don’t know,” M admits. “I’m working up to it.”
“I’m surprised you just haven’t just bit the bullet. You’re usually pretty forthcoming with what you want.”
“I told you, I’m rusty. And anyway, I kind of just want to hang out with him as friends for a bit first. You know, outside of the hospital and police station. Which you suggested by the way,” M reminds him, instantly transporting Bun back to that night where M bared his soul between pizza and beer bottles.
Bun, admittedly, feels slightly cowed. “You’re right.”
M’s face softens. “Look, I’m glad you care, but let me do this my way, okay?” He says gently. “We’ve got all the time in the world. I’m enjoying getting to spend time with him, that’s enough for now.”
The thing is Bun believes him. He really does. M seems genuinely relaxed for the first time since, well, since before Jane died. His smiles and laughter come easier now, almost as if the war he’d been waging within himself has finally come to an end allowing him to enjoy the luxury of peacetime. Bun may not fully understand the desire to take it slowly, especially when Oat clearly feels the same, but he at the very least respects it. And if M’s happy, then that’s all that matters.
“You’re really into him, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
Bun thinks of Tan and how even now, months removed from falling into his arms on the dance floor of The Mist, seeing his face still takes his breath away. He swallows past the tightness in his throat because, fuck, he gets it. “Gross,” he says instead.
“I know, right? Super gross,” M agrees through a grin that says otherwise.
M briefly gets up to change the music, putting on a playlist that he says Sorawit made for him after he asked the kids for some recommendations.
“What you need is more excuses to hang out with Oat outside of work,” Bun says once he sits back down.
“Difficult when you take up all my free time,” M immediately counters and Bun frowns. “What? It’s true. Here I am staring at your ugly mug when I could be hanging with the potential love of my life.”
“I can’t believe you’re accusing me of cock-blocking you.”
M twirls some spaghetti around his fork before popping it into his mouth. “Hmm, I don’t think that’s what I said,” he says after swallowing, his lips already stained red at the corners.
“Not in so many words, no, but the implication was there. Fuck, see if I graciously give up my evening to make you dinner again. Honestly.”
They’re both smiling. Bun has always enjoyed their particular brand of back-and-forth. From the satisfaction of putting M in his place with a well-timed barb, to now, where they can tease and prod and needle each other knowing it’s done with affection rather than contempt.
“You’re right, though. I wish there was more to do around here. I’ve had to stop myself multiple times from inviting him to the gym with me.”
“That isn’t the worst idea. Just say you need someone to spot you.”
M looks as if he’s genuinely considering it for a few moments before eventually shaking his head. “He’d be bored to tears. I have a pretty strict workout regime.”
Bun rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d hate seeing you get all hot and sweaty.” He reaches over to lay his hand over M’s. “He’s lucky to have someone like you looking out for him. Thank you for your service,” he says as earnestly as he can manage.
M knocks his hand off and Bun settles back in his seat, pleased.
“I’ll think of something. Things are fine for now. Perfect, even.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
Bun watches him sprinkle more parmesan over what remains of spaghetti. “Seriously, though. If you’re concerned about him not reciprocating, I honestly don’t think you have anything to worry about. You should see the way he talks about you. It’s…” He pauses to find the right word. “Sweet. There’s definitely something there.”
M chuckles. “I appreciate that, Bun, but I’m not nervous about rejection. I’m pretty sure he feels the same. I just want to do things right, that’s all. So, you know, baby steps.”
“Okay. Baby steps,” Bun agrees.
“Perhaps toddler steps,” M amends.
“Pre-teen steps?” Bun suggests.
“Sounds good.”
Chapter Text
The perfect opportunity presents itself when at the end of the month, true to his word, Tan organises a night out at The Mist.
It’s a surprisingly busy night at the club. With most tables occupied and the dance floor packed, the harried waitstaff are forced to work at double speed, expertly weaving between the writhing bodies as they collect empty glasses and wipe up spills. Luckily, Tan had the foresight to reserve them one of the nice booths in the VIP area towards the back of the club. Usually Bun would be more than happy to stand shoulder to shoulder with strangers at the bar, but tonight he finds himself grateful for the breathing room the stylish roped off area and security guards silently standing watch affords them.
“I’m officially off the clock tonight,” Tan assures Bun as he slides into the booth next him with a tray piled high with shots of various colours. “So if someone starts a fight or gets caught fucking in the toilets it’s not my problem.”
“Hmm, I’ll believe it when I see it,” Bun says, picking a glass at random and knocking it back. It burns all the way down, warming him instantly from the inside out. He already feels his shoulders begin to loosen, the tension he’d been carrying from the work week bleeding away. “Is That working tonight?”
Tan quickly follows suit, grabbing a glass of clear liquid and downing it in one go. “Nah, gave him the night off. He’s staying over Sorawit’s.”
Bun’s chest tightens with affection at the thought of the two youngsters. “Good. He’s been complaining about Sorawit not having any time to hang out recently because of school. I think he’s feeling a bit neglected.”
Tan smiles fondly. “He’d never admit it but he’s a huge softie, that kid,” he says before leaning in closer to Bun. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”
“Can’t imagine who,” Bun simpers, turning his face away from Tan’s eager lips with a smile.
As he leisurely scans the club, Bun catches sight of a familiar figure making his way towards them, the other patrons parting around him like he’s surrounded by an invisible force field. With his hair down over his forehead, a black leather jacket thrown over a tight fitting white t-shirt, and thigh hugging jeans, M oozes easy confidence. Bun may have a strained relationship the police but he can at least admit their uniform is flattering, and while M wears it like a second skin, there’s something about him in his own clothes that Bun has always found far more compelling. Maybe it’s because while he looks good in his uniform, he’s comfortable in his civvies, more himself. And if the past few months have shown him anything it’s that he quite likes the real M.
“Gentlemen,” M greets. “Hope you haven’t been waiting too long, work overran.”
“Commander,” Tan replies. “Not at all. Please, take a seat.”
“Not bad,” he says, gesturing to the roped off area they’re in. There’s only one other table occupied, a small group of two women and two men. Despite dripping in designer clothes and jewellery, they’ve been relatively quiet, always politely ordering the most expensive drinks on the menu. The perfect customers, Tan had whispered to him, unobtrusive and loaded.
“It pays to know the owner,” Bun says conspiratorially as M gets himself comfortable opposite them.
M raises his eyebrows. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”
The small talk flows easily; between the three of them they have the hospital, school, and police station covered when it comes to gossip so there’s always lots to catch up on. With the hours he works, Bun sometimes forgets there’s a world outside the brick and mortar of the hospital building and being kept up to date with which of Tan’s colleagues are having affairs and the ridiculous neighbourly disputes M inevitably ends up having to deal with always helps him breathe a little easier.
Bun’s just finished telling Tan and M about the baby Dr. Fai helped deliver in the hospital’s car park when the last member of their party of four finally arrives.
“Oat!” Bun calls across the room and M turns to look at him so fast Bun’s momentarily worried he’s given himself whiplash.
“You didn’t tell me he was coming,” he hisses.
“What? He’s my friend. This has nothing to do with you,” he says, watching with interest as M’s brow begins to knot into a frown. “And even if it did, surely this is another perfect opportunity to spend time with him, right?” He finishes flippantly.
M’s lips form a little ‘o’ of dawning realisation and he immediately sits up straighter, much to Bun’s amusement.
“Bun, Tan, oh, and the Commander, too,” he greets them one by one, his face lighting up in surprised delight up when he gets to M.
Bun sees M swallow, but his face stays a perfected mask of cool confidence. “Please, no title’s tonight, Doctor.”
“Ah-ha! Then you have to drop the Doctor, too,” Oat says as he settles down next to him.
“Deal,” he concedes. “Oat.”
They share a sweet, shy smile that makes Bun’s teeth ache.
As far as Bun’s aware, things still haven’t progressed between M and Oat beyond grabbing lunch together when they’re able. And considering Bun knows both of their schedules back to front, he also knows that unfortunately isn’t particularly often. Bun promised himself he wouldn’t meddle, but what he can do is offer up an innocent opportunity for them to hang out. Sure, he could have given M a heads up, but where’s the fun in that? As M so eloquently put it, Bun’s got to find his excitement somewhere.
“This round’s on the house,” Tan says, gesturing to the shots as both M and Oat reach out to grab one. “And the next one’s on me.”
“You’re the owner,” M points out, “every round should be on you.”
“Well, that’s just bad business,” Tan quips with a wink.
“Here’s hoping this night goes better than the last one,” M says, holding a glass up to Bun in a toast, humour colouring his tone.
Bun groans in embarrassment and hides his face in palms of his hands. Oat frowns as he looks between the two of them before his expression clears in understanding. “Oh! The night I had to come pick you up. Man, you were so wasted.”
M snorts unattractively. “Now that’s the understatement of the century,” he mutters into his glass, earning himself a sharp glare from Bun.
“It was a pretty good night for me,” Tan muses, leaning back so he can drape his arm across the seat behind Bun, fingertips just lazily brushing the fabric of Bun’s silky shirt.
“Tan,” Bun warns.
“An attractive Doctor fell into my arms and surprised me with a kiss,” Tan continues, completely unrepentant.
M blinks owlishly in surprise. “No way, you didn’t tell me that,” he says almost accusingly.
“That’s because I was drunk and embarrassed,” Bun hisses which only seems to delight M more. “Which was entirely your fault, by the way,” he adds.
“My fault?” M echoes in offense.
“You dragged me out to a club only to then leave me on my own to go chat up a table of women.”
“Ah yes, and in your mind that meant get absolutely smashed and maul a stranger,” he points out, his eyes sliding to Oat then darting back before narrowing at Bun. “And they were friends, I told you that then.”
“Sure, friends,” Bun mocks with a scoff.
“I’m forever in your debt,” Tan says seriously, bowing to M.
“So it was love at first sight, then?” Oat says with a grin, eagerly sitting forward in his seat.
“No,” Bun says firmly.
“Yes,” Tan disagrees, tugging Bun to his side. “I just had a nine year head start.”
“Nine years? So you knew each other already? Wow. I’m learning a lot tonight,” M muses, eyes twinkling in mischief.
Bun flicks his eyes up towards the mirrored ceiling in exasperation, unsure if he’s more annoyed by the teasing or how much he enjoys it. “We went to the same University. We met once, well, supposedly anyway, and I don’t even remember it.”
“But you do,” M directs at Tan. “He must have made quite the impression.”
“How could I forget a face like this?” He says, grasping Bun by the chin and turning his head from left to right as if showing him off. Bun slaps his hand away, the back of his neck heating.
“Shut up.”
“It’s like something out of a drama,” Oat chimes in, hands clasped together against his chest dramatically as if about to swoon.
“And you can zip it, too,” Bun says, swiping a beer mat off the table and flicking it at Oat like a shuriken. They all watch as it hits his arm and flops pathetically onto the floor.
“He gets embarrassed about not remembering,” Tan shares and Oat nods solemnly.
Bun huffs as he grabs another shot, grateful for the low lighting masking his no doubt red cheeks. “Unlikely. If anything you should be embarrassed about remembering a random encounter with a stranger almost a decade ago,” he shoots back childishly but Tan just laughs and pulls him closer until he’s practically sprawled across his lap, more than used to his sharp tongue by now. “That’s practically one step below being a stalker.
“It really isn’t,” Tan says fondly, pressing a kiss to Bun’s temple.
“This doesn’t sound like a new argument,” M says. “For what it’s worth, I’m totally on Bun’s side.”
“Hah!” Bun crows in triumph and digs a pointy elbow into Tan’s ribs. “Told you.”
“Aw, come on, M, where’s your sense of romance?” Oat says, bumping his shoulder against M’s.
“If you ask me, being on the run together to take down corruption and solve a murder is far more romantic.”
“You would!” Oat laughs, flirtatiously slapping a hand against M’s chest and letting it linger. “It’s certainly dramatic. Worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster, in fact. I’d watch it.”
“Not sure that’s entirely necessary since we, you know, lived it,” he replies, grinning widely.
“True. Front row seats and everything.”
Bun narrows his eyes at Oat’s coy smile and how M has subtlety positioned his body towards him rather than Bun and Tan, effectively excluding them from the conversation. It’s almost painful to watch.
“I want to dance,” he announces abruptly to the table, not bothering to wait for Tan’s answer before pulling him out of his seat and leading him to the dance floor by the hand. He catches a brief glimpse of M’s startled expression before turning away, unable to stop the sense of satisfaction from coaxing a smirk onto his lips.
When they reach the edge of the dance floor he drapes his arms over Tan’s shoulders, pulling him in close until they’re flush against each other.
“What are you up to?” Tan whispers, his hot breath ghosting across the shell of Bun’s ear.
“Just trying to give them a bit of alone time.”
Tan’s eyebrows dart up towards his hairline. “Wait, are those two—”
“Not yet, but soon, hopefully.”
“My little matchmaker,” Tan coos, nosing at Bun’s cheek.
“I’m barely doing anything beyond cheerleading from the side-lines.”
“You’re invested,” Tan says with delight. “Aw, baby. That’s so sweet.”
Bun pulls at the short hairs at the base of his neck and Tan hisses sharply through his teeth. “Watch it,” he warns.
“Okay, okay.”
Bun lets himself enjoy the feeling of Tan pressed up against him as they lazily sway to the music. He’s already beginning to sweat, the sheer number of bodies surrounding them almost stifling, but Bun enjoys the intimacy of it. He doesn’t get to let loose like this very often anymore, responsibility chipping away at his conscience until he relents.
“What are they doing?” Bun asks as one song switches over to another.
“Hmm?”
“The lovebirds.”
“Talking.”
“Are they looking at each other?”
Tan snorts, the soft gust of air gently rustling Bun’s hair. “What? Of course they are. It’d be weird if they weren’t.”
Bun huffs in annoyance. “No I mean, are they looking at each other?” He says with emphasis.
Tan spins them around until Bun has a clear view of their table and watches as M laughs loudly at something Oat says. Grinning, the young Doctor shuffles closer until their knees bump and touches M on the wrist briefly before sliding his hand up to his bicep. M sways closer, leaning forward until he can talk directly into Oat’s ear, no doubt using the loud music pumping through the club as an excuse to get closer.
“Smooth,” Bun says under his breath, automatically cocking his head to the side when he feels Tan’s lips begin to teasingly trail down the side of his neck.
“Me or them?” Tan asks, hands drifting teasingly over the swell of his ass.
Bun can feel the heat of his palms bleeding through his jeans and he arches into the touch, pushing his hips into Tan’s. “Them, obviously,” he replies.
Tan gives a breathless laugh in response before slipping a leg in between Bun’s to give him something to ride. Bun would usually scold him with a whispered not here, promises of later pressed into his skin, but Bun’s feeling a little reckless tonight and rocks down against Tan’s thigh.
Bun feels Tan’s breath hitch. “Of course, what was I thinking?” he laments, gently guiding Bun’s rocking with his hands. “You look really hot tonight, by the way,” he says against Bun’s neck, tongue flicking out to lick away the sweat clinging to his skin.
Arousal slithers its way down Bun’s spine and he curls his fingers into the collar of Tan’s shirt. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, nudging Tan’s face away from his neck so he can finally bring their mouths together.
Bun slips his tongue in alongside Tan’s, the taste of Amaretto lighting up his taste buds. It’s hot and wet and makes his head spin.
“Well I should hope so considering you picked out my outfit for me,” Tan murmurs against Bun’s lips.
“You were taking too long.”
“Just wanted to look my best for you. With you on my arm, I have to step up my game.”
“Hmm. You’re forgiven.”
“Funny, I don’t remember offering an apology.”
“You can make it up to me later, then.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
Bun doesn’t know how long they spend pressed together trading languid kisses among the other sweaty club goers, but Tan did promise a second round on him, so eventually, and very reluctantly, they make their way through the crowd back to M and Oat to see what they want.
When they’ve decided, M goes with Tan to help with the drinks, leaving Bun and Oat alone together for the first time that night.
“Having fun?” Bun asks, pushing his sweaty bangs off his forehead as Oat bobs his head to the music.
“Hell yeah, man. This isn’t usually my scene, but it’s nice to hang out with both you and M for a change.”
“I’ll let Tan know he isn’t needed, then,” Bun teases as he unbuttons his shirt sleeves and rolls them up to his elbows.
Oat laughs loudly over the thumping bass and Bun’s suddenly glad he decided to invite Oat. Happy in the knowledge that regardless of whether anything happens between him and M tonight or in the future, here in this moment, Oat’s enjoying himself.
“Come off it, you know what I mean. I feel like I never get to see you both at the same time. It’s always one or other. It just makes a nice change to have all my favourite people together for once. Tan included.”
Bun chuckles, annoyingly charmed as always by Oat’s very specific brand of sincerity. It’s all in the eyes, Bun thinks; they’re always sparkling with warmth and mischief in equal measure. It’s really no surprise their patients love him, especially the kids. “Don’t let Fai hear you say that. She’ll be devastated.”
Oat gasps and proceeds to slap him multiple times on the arm in excitement until Bun catches his hand and squeezes his fingers in warning. “We should invite her next time!”
Bun pauses, head cocked to the side in thought. “You know what? That’s not a bad idea,” he admits, releasing Oat’s hand so he can fist pump the air.
After Tan and M come back with their drinks, the night seems to pass in a blur of empty glasses and heads thrown back in laughter. At one point, Oat pulls Bun back onto the dance floor and proceeds to flail his limbs about like he’s some sort of exotic bird doing a mating dance until Bun is able to guide him into something a little more sensual for the benefit of Tan and M watching on. He manages a couple of relatively competent body rolls before cracking up and Bun considers it a lost cause.
It’s the sort of night that reminds him of his time at University when he and his friends would go out to enjoy each other’s company rather than hook-up with attractive strangers. All of them overworked and sleep deprived, but young and very much living in the moment. He may not be a young student anymore, but he’s never felt more alive, and he thinks he has Viangpha Mork to thank for that.
It’s late when they all finally stumble out into to the sharp night air. Bun’s head is pleasantly fuzzy and his feet ache from being on them for too long. He clings to Tan’s side in a way that he’ll probably be embarrassed about tomorrow morning but feels completely necessary under the bright full moon as they all huddle together on the damp pavement outside The Mist.
Beside them, M adjusts his grip around Oat’s waist, pulling the younger man up when he begins to slip down in his hold. “I can’t believe I’m ending another night at this club with a drunken doctor in my arms.”
“Some people pray for such good fortune,” Bun quips. “Will you be alright getting him home?”
“Yeah, I won’t be able to sleep peacefully knowing he’s alone so I’ll stay with him until he sobers up a bit.”
“Such a hardship,” Bun teases, swaying forward to poke M sharply in the middle of his chest causing him to wince. “Text me when you get there.”
“Yeah, you guys, too,” he says, dragging Oat towards the taxi waiting for them. “Thanks for this, man. I had a great time,” he adds, clapping Tan companionably on the shoulder as he passes.
“My pleasure, we should do this more often,” Tan offers easily.
“I’d like that,” M says, almost looking surprised at the admission before turning his attention back to Oat. “Come on you big baby,” he says, gently bundling Oat into the back seat.
“Bye Bun! Bye Tan!” Oat shouts, sticking his head back out of the door. “Love you!”
Bun rolls his eyes, head lolling onto Tan’s shoulder. “Remember to drink some water. M, make sure he drinks some water.”
M salutes before sliding in next to him and slamming the door shut.
Bun keeps his eyes on the car until it disappears from sight, eyes going in and out of focus. Beside him, Tan’s face is illuminated by his phone; the shadows making the high peaks of his cheekbones look particularly sharp. “Ours should be here in a few minutes,” he says.
Bun hums and presses in closer to his side.
“Cold?”
“A little,” Bun admits.
Tan wordlessly slips off his jacket and drapes it over Bun’s shoulders. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
Bun blinks up at him, the street lamp behind them giving him a halo of artificial light. He can already feel himself crashing, the buzz from the alcohol fizzling away to leave a bone-deep exhaustion and slight headache in its wake. He buries his face in between the collar of Tan’s shirt and his neck where the sweat on his skin has cooled, dulling the scent of his musky cologne, and groans.
Tan chuckles as he runs his hand up Bun’s back. “You’re still such a lightweight.”
Bun lethargically mouths at the goosebumps decorating Tan’s skin, earning a shiver from the man wrapped around him that can’t be blamed on the chill in the air. “Do you think it helped? Inviting them both tonight, that is,” he slurs.
“They couldn’t keep their eyes off each other,” Tan assures him.
Bun sighs, practically boneless in Tan’s hold with exhaustion and relief. “Good. I just want them to be happy.”
“You’re something else, you know that?” Tan says softly into the night.
Later, after tumbling through the front door in a mess of limbs and drunken giggling, Bun’s phone buzzes.
From: M
[03:21] Back in one piece
[03:23] Thanks for inviting him, I owe you one
To: M
[03:25] No problem. I’ll add it to the list
Chapter Text
Being one of the only senior medical examiners in a small town allows Bun certain privileges not afforded to many of his colleagues.
Thanks to his seniority, his schedule isn’t as overloaded as the junior doctors and nurses, letting him pick and choose his appointments carefully and delegate to others if necessary. He’s also lucky enough to have his own office. Despite frequenting the break room regularly to spend time with Oat and Fai between shifts, having his own little safe space to escape to when he feels particularly overwhelmed by the responsibilities that typically go hand-in-hand with working in a hospital has proved essential in helping him maintain a clear head, especially over the last year.
Another perk that Bun hadn’t even considered until recently is that, due to his position, he doesn’t have to be involved in the organising of the annual hospital charity fundraiser.
Bun hadn’t been around for the last event, but from what he understands it used to be a fairly formal and somewhat stuffy affair where the town’s wealthiest would sit down for an expensive three course meal before spending the rest of the evening networking and writing cheques between bottomless glasses of champagne.
But as the number of government officials and CEOs linked to the corruption scandal continues to increase almost daily thanks to M and his team’s tireless efforts, it was decided that something a little more light-hearted was necessary, something that allowed the town to come together and show they were stronger and more resilient than their so-called leaders could have ever imagined.
This year’s fundraiser was described to him as more akin to a small festival. Held in the park next to the hospital with local businesses offering up their goods and services for the day, it reminded Bun of the charming village fete he’d stumbled upon when he spent half a year in the English countryside during his early twenties helping at rural clinics. It was exactly the sort of thing the town needed and Bun found himself looking forward to spending a relaxing day with his colleagues, friends and patients.
Of course, just because he wasn’t agonising over ticket prices or figuring out capacity like the poor receptionists have been doing for the last month, doesn’t mean he isn’t expected to offer some sort of help. So a week before the event, Bun is handed a long list of all the booths, stalls, and entertainment arranged by a merry band of non-clinical staff with the explicit instruction to sign his name next to what he’d be willing to help out with on the day itself.
He immediately bypasses Face Painting and Kissing Booth, having neither the artistic talent to turn a child into Spider-Man nor the desire to be kissed by strangers. He considers the Silent Auction for a few minutes as he really wouldn’t have to do much beyond helping to set out the items and collecting the bidding sheets at the end of the day to announce the winners before his eyes zero in on the Talent Contest with JUDGES NEEDED in all capital letters underlined twice next to it.
That could be fun, he thinks, before writing down his name. He recently accompanied Tan to the school’s end of year showcase and knows first-hand there are some incredibly talented youngsters graduating next year. If the participants in the fundraiser’s talent contest are even half as good as the kids he saw perform then he’s in for a real treat.
“Boring,” a familiar voice sing-songs from over his shoulder.
Bun instinctively jerks his elbow back, but Oat jumps out of the way just in time to avoid being jabbed in the ribs.
“Haven’t you got anything better to do than bother me?” Bun complains, scanning the list one more time before stuffing it back in his pocket, making a mental note to drop it off at reception later.
“I mean, yeah, probably,” Oat says with a shrug, completely unrepentant. “But seriously, the Talent Contest? Like, don’t get me wrong, it should be fun in theory, but I heard Mr. Thongsuk who owns the dry cleaners south of the market is entering and you know he’s going to try his hand at stand-up comedy despite his humour being stuck in the ‘60s. I don’t know about you, but I would rather not spend my one day off listening to sexist jokes.”
Bun rolls his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That doesn’t mean everyone’s going to be shit.”
“True, but it doesn’t fill me with much confidence, either, though.”
“Have a little faith in your fellow townspeople,” he says, roughly pinching Oat’s cheek. “What have you signed up for?”
“The Kissing Booth,” Oat says proudly before cupping his chin with both hands and wiggling his fingers. “Just you wait, I’m going to fund the new MRI machine with these lips and these lips alone.”
Bun drops his hand, his expression twisting in disgust so blatant, that Oat laughs out loud. “And you’re happy with letting strangers kiss you?”
“Okay, well, first of all, it’s strictly cheek kisses unless the kisser and kissee both specifically agree on somewhere else. Secondly,” Oat pauses, eyes sparkling with mischief under the bright fluorescent lighting above them, “I thought you’d be all for kissing strangers.”
“God, I wish Tan never told you that,” Bun groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Sure. Whatever. Enjoy your chapped lips and dry mouth. At least I’ll have a nice, pleasant day sitting back and being entertained.” Oat goes to respond but Bun is quick to interrupt. “Mr. Thongsuk’s involvement notwithstanding.”
“This isn’t Thailand’s Got Talent, Bun, you’re setting your standards way too high.”
When the day itself arrives, Bun finds himself sitting in the baking midday sun as he watches someone fumble with the stack of cards they’re attempting to shuffle, spilling them all over the make-shift stage. Someone in the audience coughs as the amateur magician falls to their knees, hastily scooping up their cards, laughing awkwardly when they drop them again.
God, Bun hates it when Oat’s right.
At least he’s not alone in his suffering.
M sits next to him, his neck glistening with sweat as he dutifully makes a couple of notes on the current performer’s profile sheet. When Bun leans over to see what he’s written, he instead catches a glimpse of a little doodle of the two of them on fire under a menacing sun with exaggerated eyebrows pointing downwards in a scowl.
He snorts and M shoots him a smile, nudging him in the side companionably.
Done with even trying to pretend he’s interested in what’s happening on the stage, Bun swipes up his own stack of paper and uses them to fan himself, desperate for some relief from the stifling heat as he enviously eyes the baseball cap M was smart enough to bring with him, the bridge of his nose and high peaks of his cheekbones safe from being burnt. With a sigh, Bun pushes his bangs back off his forehead. At least he had the foresight to smother his face in sunscreen before leaving this morning.
During the interval Nam stops by with a floppy sun hat and two plastic cups of homemade lemonade from one of the stalls.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says gratefully as M beside him finishes off his own lemonade in three large gulps. “Are you having fun?”
She nods, her high pony-tail swinging back and forth. “I’ve been helping out on some of the food stalls. I can bring you something to eat, if you want?” She says, looking between the two of them.
“We’re good for now,” M assures her. “They’ve at least been supplying us with snacks between bouts of prolonged torture,” he adds, gesturing to the pile of chocolate bar wrappers pushed to the edge of the table.
“Have you seen Tan?” Bun asks. They arrived together but split up almost immediately and Bun hasn’t seen or heard from him since. Hopefully they’ll get to spend a couple of hours together later but, as Bun has come to realise, Tan is often in high demand.
“He got roped into helping at the mobile petting zoo. He was drawing quite the crowd when I stopped by earlier,” she says, tittering delicately into her hand.
Bun smiles, warm in a way that has nothing to do with the hot weather. “If you go and take some photos for me I’ll cook you anything you want to eat this weekend.”
It’s a weak bribe considering he’s always willing to make her anything she wants whenever she wants, but she readily agrees and they politely shake on it like they’ve just closed on a multi-million dollar deal.
When she eventually skips away, he catches M looking at him with a fond look on his face.
“What?” He asks defensively as he takes a sip of lemonade, relishing the zing of flavour that bursts pleasantly over his tongue.
“I’m glad you and Tan found each other,” M says softly.
Bun scoffs, embarrassment pinking the tips of his ears.
Bun’s love for Tan has never been quiet; the now familiar affectionate bickering, gentle kisses, and lingering touches just as loud as the screaming matches, rapid gunfire and bloody fistfights that originally brought them together. But it’s not something Bun finds himself talking about particularly often. Not with any real seriousness, anyway.
It’s easy to flirt and touch in a club or a mutual friend’s apartment where loud music and alcohol acts as, not a shield necessarily, but a safety net for when light-hearted conversation starts to turn too real, too sincere. This, however, is just him and M sitting at a rickety table an orderly dug out of storage, their skin slowly bronzing under the sun as they judge someone’s subpar magic.
It hits Bun with shocking clarity that is the culmination of all their movie nights and shared lunches. This means something. There’s nowhere to hide.
Maybe being willing to pick apart and dissect the intricacies of his friends’ relationships but staying tight-lipped about his own makes him a hypocrite but Bun has always found it difficult to be truly vulnerable with people. It’s not that he finds vulnerability to be a weakness, if anything he’s always been in awe of those able to bare their souls so freely. It’s just never come easily for him, like a physical wall stood tall and imposing between him and everyone else. The people who thought they could scale it always gave up half way through, deeming it too much effort or not worth the fatigue, even though Bun was waiting patiently at the top for them, his hands stretched out.
Tan took a stick of dynamite and blew a hole in that very same wall. He was loud, unabashed in his intent, and unwilling to give up. But M has been slowly using a pickaxe to widen the crater and wriggle his way through. Slowly and methodically, but just as determined. They’ve come a long way since Bun forced himself into M’s life. Maybe Bun needs this. And maybe M deserves it.
“Me too, he’s the best thing to ever happen to me,” he admits, watching in real time as the realisation that they’re about to have a talk dawns over M’s face. Bun feels his throat tighten, heart ricocheting off the inside of his rib cage, but he powers on. “Sometimes I catch myself thinking, do I really deserve this? Why do I get to have this when Jane doesn’t? A life filled with love and joy and excitement. It’s not a completely unfamiliar feeling, not in my line of work where I see kids spending their entire childhoods in hospital and loving couples on the brink of starting their lives together being torn apart, but the thought of losing him terrifies me.”
“But you wouldn’t change a single thing, would you?” M asks gently, a soothing balm to a wound Bun so desperately wants to scar over. “You’d still transfer here. You’d still undermine me in front of my superior officers. You’d still risk your life to find Jane’s murderers. You’d still kiss Tan in the middle of his club.”
“I would,” Bun agrees. “Does that make me a bad person? So many people have suffered.”
“And so many more would have joined them if you’d never set foot back in this town,” M says simply. “It takes a lot of courage to let yourself to live after being surrounded by so much death. I don’t say it enough, but you inspire me, Bun.” Bun huffs and swats ineffectively at his arm. M catches his hand, holding it loosely in his grip so Bun can easily pull back if he wants. “No, you do. You’re just so… so good. And what you have with Tan? God, I want that. I want that so bad.”
“You will,” Bun assures him and M squeezes his hand in a silent thank you.
The seats facing the stage are beginning to fill up again, the second half of the contest a few minutes away from starting. There’s a band already waiting to come on, all of them clutching their respective instruments.
“You made today happen, you know,” M says after a little while of comfortable silence.
Bun snorts. “I had less than zero input.”
“I don’t mean in terms of organising. Think about it, this,” he gestures widely, “wouldn’t have been possible if you never did all those half-insane things you said you’d still do.”
Twisting in his seat, Bun takes the opportunity to really look around. There are children chasing each other, shrieking in delight with chocolate smeared around their mouths. Old couples, hand in hand, their heads bent close together as they share an ice-cream. Colleagues of his smiling and laughing with their friends, M’s own subordinates free from the responsibility of their uniform for at least one day.
“If it wasn’t for you, we’d all still be forced to live and work side by side with a bunch of criminals more interested in lining their own pockets than helping other’s fill theirs,” M continues.
Bun huffs lightly. “Thanks, M.”
“Come on, put your hat on,” he adds, clearing his throat, and pushes the sunhat towards Bun.
Bun stuffs it unceremoniously on his head. “Well?”
“You’ve never looked better. Let me take a photo,” he says, already grabbing for his phone as Bun begins to whine. “For Tan,” he adds and, this time, Bun easily relents.
When the talent contest finally comes to an end and the winner and two runners up are awarded their prizes, Bun and M are finally free to enjoy the rest of the fundraiser. Sweets, breads, and meats are pushed into their hands as they meander through the collection of food stalls, dutifully complimenting every vendor who comes up to greet them.
At one point, they end up bumping into That and Sorawit, the two boys sharing a huge bag of cotton candy so pink Bun’s stomach churns just looking at it. M, however, happily takes a big bite when he’s offered some, the spun sugar clinging to his lips and sweetening his happy smile even further.
The two of them stick with the boys for a bit until it becomes obvious by That’s pointed looks that they’re cramping their style and eventually part ways with explicit instructions from Bun for them to keep hydrated and eat something a little more nutritional.
After a while spent strolling leisurely round the park, they eventually reach Oat and Fai’s Kissing Booth. Pink and red paper hearts litter the banner taped to the front of their table along with a set of rules written out in Fai’s unmistakable neat handwriting. One of M’s new young recruits sits nearby, no doubt there to make sure Oat and Fai’s customers don’t try and push their luck by getting too handsy. Bun hopes for his friends’ sakes that he’s had a relatively boring day.
“Took you long enough,” Oat complains when he sees Bun and M approach. “We’re about to hand over to a couple of the paramedics.”
“How’s business been?” Bun asks. At the corner of Oat and Fai’s booth there’s a nearly empty bowl of gum and mints. They’ve clearly been busy.
“Pretty good. We’ve had a steady stream of customers all day.”
“Everyone’s been super nice, too,” Fai adds.
“Glad to hear it. Now, onto more pressing matters. Who’s winning?” He asks with a grin as he looks between the two of them.
Oat sniffs, his chin raised haughtily. “It isn’t a competition.”
“I am,” Fai says proudly, holding up a jar that’s so stuffed full of notes and coins the lid is barely screwed down.
Bun laughs, holding out a hand for her to high-five which she gladly slaps with her own. “So much for the MRI machine, huh?”
“Who are you going to pick?” Oat asks, pointedly ignoring Bun’s little dig.
“Why pick?” Bun puts double the amount for one kiss on the table and gets a peck on each cheek from both doctors.
“What about you?” Oat asks M with a cheeky smile.
M hums to himself as he fishes his wallet out of his back pocket. He taps it against his lips in thought as he looks between Oat and Fai, one trying and failing to look nonchalant, the other barely supressing a smile. Having made up his mind, he slips out two notes and slips them into Oat’s jar.
“Can’t have you losing, can we?” He says easily with a smirk.
Bun finds himself holding his breath as Oat leans forward and presses a gentle, lingering kiss to the corner of M’s mouth. You could cut the tension with a knife, Bun thinks.
“Thank you for your generous donation, Commander.”
“Best 200 Baht I’ve ever spent.”
An arm snakes its way around Bun’s waist and he immediately leans back into the embrace.
“When are they going to get a move on?” Tan complains. “I’ll be old and grey by the time they finally get together. Nice hat, by the way.”
Bun hums distractedly before realising the body pressed against his is suspiciously wet. “Wait, why are you wet?”
“Sorry, took a dip in the dunk tank thanks to a handful of my students,” he says, beginning to pull away. “Thought I was home dry until the captain of the baseball team stepped up. Got me in one throw.”
Bun immediately latches onto his arm, keeping him locked in place. “No, don’t go, it feels nice. I’ve been in the sun all day.”
Tan ducks under the wide brim of Bun’s had and presses his lips to the back of his neck. “There’s a nam kang sai stall by the pond,” he says against his skin. “The vendor ran out of coconut jelly so I went into town to pick some more up for them and he promised me a couple of bowls on the house. Should cool you down.”
“You’ve been really making the rounds, haven’t you?”
“It’s the least I could do. The hospital’s important to you and you’re important to me, so,” Tan finishes with a shrug.
Bun huffs in amusement. “And here I was thinking it’s because the hospital is the bedrock of a community, where life begins and ends, the one place you’ll be treated with kindness and respect no matter who you are.”
“Eh, that too,” Tan agrees flippantly, earning himself a pinch.
Oat claps his hands together. “Right, now that I no longer have to look pretty, I’m getting my face painted. Fai? Bun?”
Fai hauls her bag out from underneath the table and swings it over her shoulder. “I’m going to get changed first. Meet you there?”
Oat throws her a thumbs-up before looking at Bun.
“Nope, I’m done for the day now,” he says simply, snuggling deeper into Tan’s arms.
“Oh, come on, doctor. Where’s your sense of community?” M teases.
“It withered away somewhere between the dancing dog and the third ear-piercing rendition of Adele’s Hello,” Bun deadpans. “I need ice swimming in red syrup and a big tree to sit under.”
The rumble of Tan’s chuckle reverberates through him. “You heard the man.”
“But I’ve barely seen you all day,” Oat whines.
“You already see me every other day. M will go with you, right?”
“Of course,” M immediately replies.
Oat looks at him with wide, starry eyes. “You sure?”
“You can even pick what I get,” M offers, smiling when Oat lights up.
“A pig,” Bun chimes in. M throws him a withering look. “What? Too on the nose?”
“Please, I’m begging you, take him away,” M directs at Tan, his hands clasped together.
“Well, you’ve changed your tune rather quickly. I wonder why that is?” Bun ponders as Tan shakes with barely contained laughter. “Come on, show me this nam kang sai stall, I’m sick of his face,” he says, tugging impatiently at Tan’s arm.
“Your wish is my command,” Tan says dutifully.
“Wait,” M says before they can leave. “Can you give us a sec?” He asks Tan.
“Sure,” Tan says easily before wandering over to a nearby stall, the woman manning it greeting him enthusiastically.
Behind M Oat is doing a spectacularly bad job of pretending to not listen in on their conversation. Bun shoos him away, only turning back to M when Oat begrudgingly goes back over to the booth to talk to the paramedics that have taken over for him and Fai.
“What’s up?”
M takes a breath and squares his shoulders. “A while ago you told me I deserve to be happy. You do too. Probably more than anyone else I’ve ever met. Be kind to yourself.” He lets it hang in the air for Bun to digest before nodding. “That’s all. I mean, I don’t know if today was a onetime deal or not so I wanted to take the opportunity to tell you that.”
“I don’t want it to be a onetime deal,” Bun admits. He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment, feeling a little more self-conscious about talking so openly and honestly with their friends close by than he did earlier when it was just the two of them. “It’s just hard for me to open up sometimes. But I promise you I’m trying.”
“I know you are. It’s hard for me, too. We’re far too similar in that respect. But you… you make it easier.”
Bun swallows around the lump in his throat. “Thank you. That means more than you’ll ever know. Now go enjoy the rest of the day with your boy.”
M’s grin is blinding. “You too.”
Chapter Text
Bun’s sitting at his desk aimlessly scrolling through Twitter on his phone when a news alert pops up on the screen. He automatically swipes it away, too engrossed in the video of a chubby cheeked cat waddling around on its stumpy little legs to care. He coos to himself when the cat yowls pitifully for the camera and goes about forwarding the video to Sorawit. He gets back a flurry of heart emojis almost immediately.
He’s about to reply when another alert appears. Huffing in annoyance, he halfheartedly glances over the headline before freezing in terror at what he reads.
He jumps to his feet, chair falling to the floor behind him with a crash, and flies out of the room, the words seared onto the back of his eyelids.
There’s an active shooter at the local bank.
He barges into Director Kongkiat‘s office without knocking, his chest heaving and heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears, just as the Director is putting down the phone with a ominous click.
“Start preparing for the first wave of casualties,” he says calmly, face grim.
Like every other hospital Bun has worked at, Viangpha Mork General has a comprehensive plan in place that addresses mitigation, preparedness, response, and recovery for a variety of mass casualty incidents. From plane crashes to bioterrorism, every possibility has to be accounted for. Bun regularly sets aside a couple of hours every other month to read through the 200 page PDF file sent to him by HR before he even officially left his previous job so the information stays fresh and at the forefront of his mind. Is it tedious? Absolutely. But it’s also necessary.
The first time Bun ever had to put hypotheticals into practice was back in Bangkok when an apartment building a few blocks away from the hospital he was working at caught fire. Patients with blistered skin and lungs full of smoke were being brought in all throughout the night. Amazingly, despite the initial fears of a high death toll, there ended up being only one fatality, and after a thorough investigation by the local fire department it was discovered that the fire had been triggered by faulty wiring in an apartment on the fifth floor, nothing even close to the rumours of arson and gang retaliation that had been circling on social media.
That night, Bun learnt first hand communication during a major incident is paramount. Rumours spread quickly, often hindering the ability of professionals to carry out necessary care. Sustaining clear internal and external communication not only keeps the hospital running but its personnel level-headed during an otherwise highly stressful situation as well.
So when he happens to overhear from a passing nurse that M is supposedly among the casualties, he simply continues preparing the ward, meticulously noting down how many beds they have available before moving on to make sure all the necessary equipment and disposables are ready.
He hears M’s name crop up a few more times over the next twenty minutes before Oat finally manages to corner him outside one of the storage rooms. He’d been anticipating Oat tracking him down eventually and the gentle lecture he’d been mentally preparing is on the tip of his tongue before he sees his face.
“It’s true,” Oat confirms with a shaky exhale. “The new Squad Leader arrived to help with coordination and confirmed it.”
Bun’s heart plummets. He instinctively grabs Oat’s hands, holding them tightly in his own in an attempt to quell the violent tremors wracking Oat’s frame.
“Any word on the extent of his injuries?”
“Nothing.”
They stand there holding each other’s hands as their colleagues continue to rush around them readying the hospital. A sudden pang of guilt almost has him pulling away, but he holds firm against the instincts hammered into him throughout his career. They both need a few moments to recenter themselves, especially if they’re to provide the level of care expected of them. There’s a stark difference between believing unsubstantiated rumours and the cold, hard truth of a loved one being in danger. Bun would never rush someone into processing something like that and refuses to feel bad about allowing himself and Oat the same courtesy.
From inside his pocket, his phone buzzes once, twice, three times. He sighs in relief when he reads the slew of texts from Tan updating him on the kids.
“Nam’s at a friend’s house and the boys had been on a date a few towns over but are home now. Tan’s currently on his way back from the market,” Bun relays to him.
Oat let’s his head slump forward against Bun’s shoulder. “Thank God,” he breathes. He’s still trembling so Bun gently pulls him the rest of the way into a hug. He rubs a hand up and down the length of his back, humming a soothing melody he heard M whistling the other day into his ear. “Come on, let’s make sure we’re there when he arrives.”
After doing one more quick check of the ward, Bun and Oat head outside to wait for the first ambulance to arrive. Bun glances down the line of doctors and nurses standing to attention, each one with a gurney or wheelchair at the ready. Everyone’s visibly on edge, all of them either worried about loved ones they haven’t heard back from or dreading the condition of the patients they’re minutes away from receiving.
Bun rocks back and forth on his heels, crossing his arms then uncrossing them. He’s itching to start treating patients. “Did you know he was back on active duty?” Bun asks after stuffing his hands deep in his pockets to fiddle with a stray pen lid and loose change.
“No.”
Bun clicks his tongue. “Typical. He better be alright because I’m going to kill him myself.”
That at least gets him a brief smile. “I thought that considering his new position he wouldn’t be out on the streets anymore,” Oat admits.
“You know how he is. Always wants to be hands on. I don’t think he would have accepted the promotion otherwise.”
“Like he was given a choice,” Oat mutters under his breath and Bun silently agrees. No one wanted to accept the position vacated by the previous commander, every qualified officer they brought in from neighbouring towns had turned it down almost immediately after finding out just how deep the rot went. The term poisoned chalice had been bandied around a lot in months prior to M being suggested.
Personally, Bun’s of the opinion that M had been guilt tripped into accepting, unable to turn down what is drilled into recruits at the academy from the moment they join as the highest possible honour bestowed upon them by their superiors. Bun knows M is proud to be the one who gets to lead the precinct into a new era of policing, but they’re also both acutely aware that instead of being rewarded for his bravery, he’s been installed as the perfect scape goat if anything else was to happen.
Frankly, Bun tries not to think about it too deeply, sick and tired of working himself up over things he just simply doesn’t have the power to change.
Suddenly, an ambulance tears round the corner, its siren shrieking and startling a flock of birds from the nearby trees. Behind it, another quickly follows.
Out of the first come two patients with minor injuries, each helped carefully out of the back before being gently lowered into wheelchairs. He lets their capable nurses take charge, knowing he’ll likely be needed for surgery instead.
The doors of the second slam open and a person strapped to a stretcher with an oxygen mask over their face is hurried out.
Their entire chest is drenched in blood.
Bun immediately springs into action, taking over the manual resuscitator from one of the paramedics so their hands are free to help push the gurney. He’s updated on the patient’s condition as they speed through hospital and allows himself one last fleeting plea for M to be safe before steeling himself and following his team through the heavy doors of the OR.
Bun loses time when he’s operating. The hours pass quickly, but he knows stiff joints and lower back pain will be waiting for him when the adrenaline wears off. It’s almost comforting in a way, proof he’s worked hard and to best of his ability regardless of the end result.
When he’s successfully stabilised his first patient, Bun is immediately herded next door to another. The young man on the operating table flatlines twice before Bun can get the bleeding under control but once he does he gratefully hands the reigns over to one of the other senior doctors.
After cleaning up, he escapes into the corridor. He slumps against the wall, shivering when his sweaty scrubs meets the cool brick, and lets his eyes slip closed. His mind is surprisingly quiet, a void of white noise.
“Doctor?”
He immediately straightens back up and turns to the nurse with a weak smile.
“Any other emergencies?”
“Not at the moment, Doctor, but we could use you on the ward,” she says tentatively.
“Of course,” he says.
As they make their way there, she tells him there are seven new patients with injuries ranging from cuts to fractures, most sustained in the stampede of people trying to get away from the shooter as they pushed and pulled at each other in their haste to escape.
“Has the Commander been brought in yet?” He asks, mentally preparing himself for the worst as visions of lifeless eyes and gaping wounds flash across his mind.
“Oh, yes. We put him in one of the private rooms. Dr. Oat’s with him,” she says kindly. Bun’s shoulders drop in relief and he runs a trembling hand through his hair. “The shooter hit him in the temple with his gun. He’d already regained consciousness before arriving.”
“Thank you, Nurse,” he says, unable to keep the waver out of his voice. “Please make sure to take a break when you get the chance.”
Knowing Oat’s with M and that his life isn’t in any immediate danger, Bun turns his focus to a woman with a deep gash down her right arm that needs cleaning and stitching. Across from him, Dr. Fai is tending to a patient with a broken leg. She’s pale, her usually immaculate hair and make-up a mess, but her movements are steady and sure. Their eyes meet and she gives him a small, almost indiscernible nod that says I’m here and we’ve got this. Not for the first time Bun finds himself thinking just how lucky he is to not only have the honour of working beside her, but the privilege of calling her a friend.
An hour or so later, Director Kongkiat arrives to let Bun know the shooter was killed at the scene and that Bun will be heading the post-mortem examination. Frankly, Bun’s of the opinion that the job could be given to any one of his interns but he’s too tightly wound to argue.
For the time being, Bun obediently follows the Director outside to address the press. There’s a wall of noise as soon as they step outside, journalists standing side by side with photographers and camera operators as they shout out their questions. Most are standard: how many patients were brought in, their condition, and if there’s been any deaths. The Director deals with them all swiftly and professionally, firm in his silence when he’s badgered for names of the injured.
When Bun is finally able to check in on M, Oat is still there with him. That in itself isn’t much of a surprise, the fact they’re holding hands across the scratchy hospital bed blanket, however, is.
Bun’s bone tired, the emotional stress of the day playing a precarious balancing act with the physical strain of being on his feet for hours. The sight of M siting up in his bed grasping Oat’s hand finally tips the scales. His throat tightens and his eyes begin to burn, the worry, stress, and relief hitting him all at once. He catches himself with a hand against the door frame, swallowing down a choked sob.
He takes a few precious moments to compose himself before announcing his presence. “Have you been here this entire time?” He manages.
Two sets of eyes are immediately on him. “Of course not,” Oat replies and Bun notices there’s a darkened splatter of blood on his sleeve that has him automatically frowning. Despite that, he looks a lot better than he did earlier, still visibly drained of course, but the pinched look around his eyes has eased considerably.
Bun drops into the empty chair by the side of M’s bed. “You’re a fucking idiot,” Bun says before gently taking M’s free hand, careful not to jostle the IV taped to the back of it.
“Don’t worry, I’ve already been suitably scolded,” he admits bashfully. “Oat said there hadn’t been any deaths…” He trails off, letting the question hang hopefully in the air.
“There are a couple of patients in the ICU, but yes Commander, no deaths,” Bun assures him, squeezing his hand.
“Thank fuck for that,” he says, letting his head drop back against the pillows before wincing and slowly lifting it back up with a small sheepish grin that has Bun rolling his eyes.
“What the hell were you thinking not telling us you were back on active duty?” Bun scolds.
“He wasn’t thinking, that’s the problem,” Oat cuts in, tone curt but not unkind.
“Do you know how worried we were?”
M’s gaze slides to Oat before returning back to Bun. “I have somewhat of an idea, yes. It’d only been a few days. I wanted to know if I could handle the physical demand of it before telling everyone. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Or worry anyone.”
Bun feels a swell of irritation pushing at the back of his teeth. “Well, congratulations, you almost succeeded,” he snaps, much sharper than he intended.
The steady beep of the heart monitor M’s hooked up to is suddenly and oppressively loud in the small room, almost as if it’s making a point to remind Bun where they are and to keep his anger in check. Cowed, he doesn’t lift his head until Fai knocks on the door.
“Tan’s here. He’s brought food,” she announces brightly, unconcerned by the uncomfortable atmosphere she’s walked in on.
Bun musters up a strained smile. “Can you go help them, please, Oat? I don’t think I can stand back up just yet.”
Oat looks between them, clearly conflicted, before reluctantly pushing himself up. “Sure. Want me to swing by your office and grab your painkillers?”
“Please. There are some deep heat patches in my desk draw, too.”
Oat leaves after one last worried look back into the room, the door swinging shut behind him.
The silence is stifling. It’s been a long time since either of them hasn’t known what to say to the other.
“I’m sorry,” M says eventually.
Bun slumps down further into his chair with a sigh. “I’m not angry that you got hurt, it’s your job,” he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m not even angry that you didn’t tell us, not really. I just thought that, maybe, we’d all seen enough violence to last us a lifetime. Foolish, I know, considering your profession. I’m angry at the situation, I suppose.”
Bun looks down at their joined hands; M’s roughened by calluses from holding a gun, Bun’s not exactly soft, but hardened in a different way to M’s. Steady and dependable from years of handling delicate tools.
“You know what I thought just before he hit me?” M begins. “I thought, oh, I’ve wasted my second chance. Here I was, gifted an opportunity many don’t get, yet still intent on carrying on as I always had, repeating the same stupid mistakes.”
Bun takes a shaky breath. “Back when Tan and I were on the run, when we got the news you’d been shot, I didn’t have the luxury of worrying about you. I was ashamed you’d been dragged into our mess, yet at the same time so incredibly grateful you had tried to help. But beyond that, well, it wasn’t like we were close, was it? Now… Hell, you might be my best friend, M,” he admits and M gives a wet laugh. “I was terrified when I heard your name among the casualties. And I wasn’t the only one. I’m not saying that to guilt you. I just think you deserve to know that there are people out there who care about you. That you’re loved. You don’t need to keep things from us, not anymore.”
“I know,” M manages through dry, cracked lips. Bun stretches over to swipe a bottle of water off the bed side table before wordlessly handing it over. He waits until M has drained half of it before putting it back for him. “For a while I felt like I was drifting,” he continues. “We had done something incredible, brought justice to so many people, so why wasn’t I happy? Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t necessarily sad, either. Angry? Sure. I was fucking pissed. But beyond that I didn’t know what to feel.”
“I think that’s pretty normal considering what we went through. That’s what my therapist says, at least.”
M chuckles humourlessly, gently rubbing his thumb over Bun’s knuckles. “But you were happy, weren’t you? I know we didn’t talk to each other much immediately after, but you seemed happy, at least. And fuck, why wouldn’t you be? You got justice for your friend and your loved ones were safe. You could finally start building a life here with the man you were in love with.”
“You were betrayed,” Bun reminds him.
“So were you,” M points out and he’s right. Pued was his friend. Rung, too. But that heartache seemed to pale in significance to what he gained. What did M have after everything was over? A gunshot wound and a position he’d been forced into.
“These last few months… Have you been happy?” Bun asks tentatively, hopefully.
“I have,” M confirms easily and something in Bun relaxes. “But not complete. Like—”
“Something was missing,” Bun finishes for him and M gives a stilted nod. “You two looked pretty cosy when I arrived,” Bun comments.
“Knew you weren’t going to ignore that.”
“And?”
“I really fucking like him, Bun.”
“I know.”
“I think I might be ready,” M admits softly. “It was nice while it lasted; simply enjoying each other’s company without that sense of urgency to take the next step, just getting to know each other as friends first. But what’s the point of waiting around when what I want is right there in front of me? Especially when tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. It shouldn’t have taken me this long to realise that.”
The door to M’s room creaks open and Tan slips in, his arms laden down with take-out bags. The smell of fresh ramen from their favourite Japanese restaurant hits Bun’s nose and his mouth immediately begins to water. It’s been hours since he last ate something, and even then all he had time to grab was a lukewarm cup of coffee and a granola bar near its use-by date.
“Wow, you look like shit,” Tan says as way of greeting. He presses a kiss to the top of Bun’s head and carefully places the bags of food at the foot of M’s bed. Behind him trail Oat and Fai, both of them carrying two extra chairs. “How you feeling Mr. Hero?” Tan asks.
“Like I got whacked round the head with a gun,” M deadpans.
“I’ll drive you to ours tomorrow after you’re discharged,” Bun says as he begins to pass out the bowls of food. “I don’t really want you staying alone for the next few days.”
“There’s no need. We’ve already discussed it,” Oat says. “He’s going to stay with me.”
Bun cuts a glance at M who shrinks back against the pillows propping him up. “That’s news to me,” he says, eyebrows raised.
“We had a bit of time to talk earlier,” Oat explains. “It makes sense.”
“No, Oat, it doesn’t,” Bun says slowly as if talking to a child. “Your apartment’s tiny. And there’ll always be at least one person around to help at ours. You’ll be at work.”
“Told you he wouldn’t agree,” M mutters before slurping up a mouthful of noodles.
“Of course I wouldn’t!”
“Babe—” Tan begins before Bun cuts him off with a glare.
“Don’t babe me.”
Tan holds up his hands and goes back to eating.
“You’re staying with us until Friday,” Bun says, punctuating it by snapping his chopsticks apart and pointing them at Oat. “You can have him for the weekend.”
“What is this, a custody battle?” M jokes weakly.
“That’s my final offer.”
Oat groans. “Ugh, fine, deal. You’re right.”
Bun gives a satisfied nod, finally turning to his own steaming bowl of food with the weight of M’s eyes burning into the side of his face.
It’s the least he can do.
Chapter Text
Bun would never admit it out loud but he loves when the house is full.
From the rhythmic thump of music coming from deep within That’s room to Sorawit sitting at the dining room table studying for an upcoming exam as Tan putters around the kitchen making him snacks; the sights and sounds of his and Tan’s home being used and loved after a long day at the hospital is a comfort he never knew he’d been craving. If he’s especially lucky Nam will breeze through the front door with treats from the market or Fai will drop by for a gossip. He’s even come to look forward to Oat tagging along behind him after work to raid their fridge.
If someone had told him a year ago this would be his life within a few short months of arriving back in Viangpha Mork he would have called them a liar, the mere idea of domesticity a foreign concept to someone who had uprooted their life to chase a demanding career, especially someone who had managed to trick himself into believing the memories of the people he left behind were enough to fill the void of loneliness slowly consuming him.
The horror he’d witnessed had pealed him from his bones but love had pieced him back together into a version of himself he always wanted to be. The thought of welcoming M into the sanctuary of his home to heal, to look after, to keep safe feels like the final stretch of a journey he was always meant to take, the destination now in sight on the horizon and lit up like a beacon.
They decide to set him up in the living room so he has easy access to everything he needs without having to wander off too far into the house. It’s mostly for Bun’s own peace of mind more than anything, knowing that if M ended up falling down the stairs or passing out in the shower he’d never forgive himself. M, as always, has proved he’s remarkably resilient when it comes to bouncing back from a serious injury, but a concussion is still a concussion and for as long as M is staying with them upstairs off limits.
To make up for it, Bun pilfers pillows and blankets from the guest rooms, piling up the pull-out couch with every possible comfort M could ever want or need. That, in an uncharacteristic moment of sweetness, even offers up his Nintendo Switch to keep him occupied under the strict understanding that he’s not to mess with any of his saved files. He lets Tan coo over him for all of ten seconds before stomping off with flushed cheeks.
M is tolerant of the fussing for the most part, but that’s probably more to do with the fact he’ll only be confined to Bun and Tan’s living room until he’s handed over to Oat at the end of the week like a child stuck in the middle of a divorce with a visitation schedule of every other week. Any longer and Bun knows he’d start to get annoyed, sniping at him with sharp barbs that Bun would end up matching with his own pointed remarks.
“You really didn’t need to do all this,” M says later that night when the stress of getting him home from the hospital and settled for the next few days is behind them, the house finally quiet with everyone having retreated back to their rooms with full stomachs after wolfing down the stew Bun had stuck in the slow-cooker yesterday. “I can still walk.”
The TV’s on low but neither of them are watching it and the curtains haven’t been drawn despite it being pitch black outside, night having slowly crept up on them. A single lamp next to the couch casts a soft orange glow across the two of them. It’s cosy and Bun can barely keep his eyes open, the past week finally catching up to him all at once.
“Humour me,” Bun says from where he’s snuggled deep into the mountain of blankets on M’s makeshift bed. “You going to be okay down here?”
M stretches his arms high above his head with a groan before sinking back down into the couch. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m well acquainted with your couch by now,” he says, patting the plush cushions fondly.
Bun hums, his thoughts slow and syrupy. “It’s just that it’s a pretty big house, you know? Really creeks and groans in the wind. It took a while for me to get used to it. I can stay down here with you and keep you company if you want, Tan can survive without me for one night.”
M gives him an odd look before his face clears in understanding. “You’re still in doctor mode,” he says.
Bun blinks his eyes back open from where they’d been slipping lower and lower with each passing second, immediately waking himself up from the haze of near-sleep. Embarrassment churns uncomfortably in his stomach as heat floods his cheeks. He clutches at the blanket he’d cocooned himself in, desperately trying to ignore the urge to tug it over his head. It’s more than that, Bun thinks, because M isn’t just his patient. Hasn’t been for a long time.
M shuffles around so he’s facing Bun, his legs drawn up underneath him until their knees are just barely touching. “Look, I’m not going to stop you from hovering over me while I sleep if it gives you peace of mind, even though I really, really hope you don’t, but I’m fine. You’ve seen my medical notes. Hell, you discharged me yourself. I’m okay, Bun,” he says softly.
Bun gives a dramatic huff, uncomfortable with how exposed he feels. “Fine. See if I care about your well-being in the future. Sprain your ankle at the gym? Oh well. Nasty bout of food poisoning? Too bad. Another gunshot wound? You should know how to treat them yourself by now, Commander.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” M easily with an indulgent smile. “But until then I’ll keep my phone close by and call you if I need anything, okay?” he offers.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Nothing happens.
Obviously.
M sleeps soundly the entire night and by the time he leaves for Oat’s a day later he doesn’t even really need any continued supervision. Not that Bun tells M or Oat that, of course. Everyone’s keenly aware M staying with Oat is nothing more than a flimsy excuse to spend time together away from prying colleagues and nosy friends. Considering they’re all still grappling with the unwelcome reality check from the shooting and M’s subsequent injury, Bun graciously let’s them go with minimal fuss.
He quietly mourns the loss of M’s presence around the house until he turns back up on Bun’s doorstep a few days later with a frankly ridiculously sized bouquet of flowers and an uncharacteristically shy expression on his face. Bun’s immediately on high alert, eyeing M and the flowers with thinly veiled suspicion.
“These are for you,” M says and thrusts them out towards him, a couple of petals becoming dislodged and fluttering to the ground in his haste.
“Why, what have you done?” Bun says, unintentionally echoing M’s own words from all those months ago.
Before M can reply, Tan crowds up against Bun’s back and peeks over his shoulder with interest. Bun bows slightly under his weight until he can adjust his footing. “Is there a reason you’ve brought the love of my life flowers? Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll fight for you, I can take him.”
Bun rolls his eyes and elbows him in the solar plexus, earning a pained oof for his trouble. “What’s the occasion?” Bun tries again.
M bashfully rubs the back of his head until his hair is sticking up in small spiky tufts. “No occasion. They’re just a thank you for… Well, for a lot of things, actually. I thought it was overdue.”
Bun notes how his ears are tinged an endearing tomato red. “Hmmm. Better late than never, I suppose.” He takes the flowers from him and brings them up to his nose, relishing the summery scent of yellow roses, pink tulips and white daisies. “Would you like the stay for dinner? The kids are here, too, so there’s plenty to go around.”
“I appreciate the offer, but,” he pauses to take a steadying breath and stands up straight, shoulders back and chest puffed out, “I’ve got a date.”
“You’ve got a date? You dog. Who is it, do we know them?” Tan asks from where he’s still plastered to Bun’s back.
Bun’s stomach swoops. “Stop being so annoying, you know exactly who it is,” he says, wriggling out of Tan’s arms only to turn him around and push him back into the house. “Go make sure the potatoes aren’t burning.” He waits until Tan has disappeared before letting a genuine, excited smile bloom across his face. “Well, come on then, spill,” he urges.
“I had an entire speech ready about second and third chances but he beat me to it in the end,” M rushes to explain, equally as giddy as Bun. “Wouldn’t even let me go back home to my apartment without telling me. Asked me out right there and then as I was putting my shoes back on.”
Bun laughs in disbelief. He can so easily picture Oat blocking M from leaving, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he takes a deep breath and finally confesses, desperate to finally get it all out as M gawks up at him from where he’d been crouched down tying his laces. “I’m happy for you. And so relieved it’s over. I mean, surely even you can admit the pining was getting a little ridiculous,” he adds cheekily.
“I admit nothing,” M says. “But just for that I’m going to be ten times worse now. If you thought I was bad before you’re in for a world of hurt, my friend. You’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Then I take it I should be anticipating a gushing call when you’re home later tonight after your date? Or maybe tomorrow morning…” He trails off, eyebrows raised.
M ducks his head, a sappy grin directed towards the floor. “I like your optimism but yeah, I’ll definitely let you know how it went.”
“Raincheck on the dinner then?”
“Definitely.”
Bun doesn’t know who moves first but they both meet each other halfway in a hug, the flowers awkwardly held out of the way from the crush of their bodies. Bun pours as much love, excitement, and relief as he can into it by squeezing M close to him.
“Don’t you dare break my intern’s heart. Remember I know my way around a scalpel,” he says calmly.
A surprised huff of laughter breezes past Bun’s ear. “Noted.”
“And look after yourself, too, okay? I worry about you constantly,” he admits.
Bun feels M’s breath hitch from where they’re pressed together, his fingers clenching at the back of Bun’s shirt. “I’ll try.”
“I can’t believe you came to see me when you should be getting ready for your date.”
“Of course I did. Seeing you was the first thing I needed to do,” he says simply. Bun’s horrified to realise his eyes are filling with tears. His throat tightens, a sob working it’s way up to push at the back of his teeth. He hides his face in M’s shoulder. “Are you crying?” M asks.
“Fuck off, as if you’re any better,” he mumbles into the material of M’s jacket. He eventually pulls back to hold M at arms length so he can look him over. His eyes are shining brightly and his cheeks are flushed. Bun busies with straightening his collar to distract himself from becoming a sobbing snotty mess. “Are you going in this?”
“Was going to make a quick pit stop at home to freshen up.”
“Good. Wear that soft grey shirt. And leave your hair down.”
M watches him silently for a few seconds before leaning forward and gently pressing his lips against Bun’s cheek in a little peck. “Thank you.”
Stunned, Bun stays standing there at the door until M has scampered back to his car and pulled out of their driveway.
He’s emotionally drained but all the lighter for it. It’s strange, for the longest time Bun has felt as if there’s been something lurking, heavy and imposing, in the dark recesses of his mind, primed to strike and devastate. But now it’s gone, the only traces of it left behind the faint indentations of its once oppressive weight.
He can finally breathe unencumbered.
Later that night when Bun is making himself comfortable in Tan’s embrace, Tan casually decides to drop a bombshell.
“You know M used to have the hugest crush on you right?”
Bun allows himself a small indulgent smile as he cushions his head against Tan’s chest. He must have recently done the laundry because his shirt smells fresh and flowery, not too dissimilar from the bouquet of flowers M brought him that are now sitting nicely arranged on their dining room table in a fancy vase that used to belong to Tan’s mother. “Oh, I know.”
The seconds steadily tick by without Tan responding and Bun assumes that’s the end of it before he adds, “Oat, too.”
“Mmhmm, yep,” Bun agrees easily and Tan barks a laugh.
“You seriously knew this entire time?”
“Of course. I’m not that oblivious.”
Since moving back to Viangpha Mork, Bun’s experienced both the agony of losing old friends in the most painful, definitive of ways and the unmatched joy of new friends becoming family. He’s lucky. Lucky he’s in the arms of the man he loves, lucky he has an incredible support system, lucky he has a wonderful job.
Lucky that he gets to witness the people he cares about flourish and bloom.
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