Chapter Text
The police were finally gone, after taking up far too much of his time milling about his office and ruining his carefully organized stacks of paper. Granted, he should probably be grateful at the response time— five minutes on the dot to when his frightened paralegal had dialed emergency services. But they had taken up his entire afternoon, ruining his chance of getting any sleep in order to catch up on billable work.
Tine prodded tenderly at the dark red bruise under his eye, squinting into the small mirror he kept in his desk drawer. It was quickly purpling and sprinkled with broken capillaries, a testament to how hard he'd been hit. He should probably go to the hospital to make sure nothing had been fractured, but he hated the idea of anyone finding out. And by anyone, he meant Type. His brother already hated the type of pro bono cases he took on the side and would probably use his considerable weight to pressure him out of taking any more.
Tine sighed for the millionth time that night, tossing the mirror on top of his desk and frowning at the damage to his face. Well, at least…at least the assault and battery charge would get him behind bars for a few months. It wasn’t much, but maybe it would be enough to get his client started on her new life. He groaned as his eyelid began to swell shut, his vision blurring as he tried to squint at his computer screen.
It was useless.
Tine sighed again.
He pressed a frightened hand to his chest as his door flew open once more, jumping from his chair, the adrenaline in his body still prepared for another attack. “Damn it, Ai Fong!” Tine hissed, slumping to lean against the side of his desk as his friend stomped in. Fong wasn’t a very intimidating man, even now that he was authorized to carry a gun, but his anger could be thunderous when provoked. “You gave me a heart attack!”
“I gave you a heart attack?” Fong said, exasperated. “Why didn’t you call me? Why’d I have to find out via email?”
“Because I’m sure you have more important things to do than babysit me, Mr. Detective,” Tine said, crossing his arms over his chest and wincing as his slim-fit suit aggravated his sore muscles. “The regular guys handled it just fine, if a little slow.”
“Tine! What’s the point of having a detective friend, if you won’t take the detective friend privileges,” Fong huffed. He crossed the room in a few steps and stared at Tine from the other side of his desk, frowning. “Another one?”
Tine looked at Fong with raised eyebrows. “You know I can’t really get into it.”
Tine glanced behind Fong as someone else stepped quietly into the room. His first thought was just anger at how handsome the second man seemed to be. And then that he looked…familiar? The man’s hair was messy, his thick eyebrows arched as he took in Tine’s office. He had an angular face that somehow managed to still maintain some softness, his shoulders wide but his waist slim. Just like Fong, he carried a weapon under his jacket. Tine could see the slight bulge in the fabric at his hip.
“This is?” Tine asked.
“New partner,” Fong said, eyes not straying from Tine’s face. “Wat, say hi to my idiot, hero-complex friend.”
Tine scoffed. “Excuse me? I got higher marks than all of you in—”
“Hello,” the other man said softly, his wai unenthusiastic. His voice was sweet, but rough, as though from disuse. Approaching Tine’s desk, his eyes narrowed as he, too, stared at Tine’s face. “What happened?”
“Listen, I’m sorry he dragged you into this,” Tine said, shooting as much of a glare as he could at Fong with one useable eye. “I’m sure you have more important cases to get to—”
“Have you seen a doctor?” Fong’s partner interrupted.
“N-no,” Tine said, surprised. “I’ve been working, and I still need to work—”
“Who did this?”
Tine sighed. “Listen, it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!” Fong said. “Tell me what went down or I’m calling your brother.” He raised his cellphone threateningly.
“Bitch,” Tine grumbled, collapsing back into his chair. “I’m not saying anything that even comes close to attorney-client privileged,” he warned.
“I’m not asking you to,” Fong smirked victoriously.
Tine fiddled with the edge of his notepad, trying to ignore the oncoming headache pressing at his temples. “One of my pro bono clients,” he began. “Husband came looking for her here because the firm name is on court filings. Got mad when I wouldn’t…tell him anything.” Tine shrugged. “Whatever. He was arrested. I’m not going to worry about it anymore.”
“What a liar,” Fong said. “How long have you been staring at your face?”
Tine seethed. “Shut up. Anyway, there’s nothing for you to do except annoy me now. Problem’s handled.”
“Alright, alright,” Fong acknowledged. “Get up.”
“What?” Tine said.
“Hospital,” Fong said, raising an eyebrow in challenge along with his phone.
“Ugh,” Tine would have rolled his eyes if he could. “Fine, okay? You win.” Tine glanced over at Fong’s partner and was unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. “Umm, is something wrong?”
The man stared for a moment longer before shaking his head.
////////////////////////////////
“So many hours lost today,” Tine grumbled, closing his functional eye as he leaned back into the waiting room chair. Fong had gone off in search of ice and coffee, posting his partner at Tine’s side to make sure he didn’t run away.
“Why are you thinking about work when you can’t even see?” Fong’s partner said quietly.
“It’s a lawyer thing,” Tine smiled. “Every minute wasted is money.”
“Money,” the man said. By the tone of his voice, Tine knew he didn’t approve. “Did money protect you from this?”
“Actually,” Tine couldn’t help but joke, “it was the lack of money. Pro bono matter, remember? I got punched and didn’t even get paid for it.”
The man was silent for a moment. “Then why do it?”
Tine sighed again. At that point he’d stopped counting. “The pro bono cases I deal with are,” he paused, reaching up to rub at his forehead, “they’re important. To me.” He paused again. “Most of them are domestic violence. And my clients have no access to the law, unless I help them. I mean, not just me, but…the system isn’t fair for a lot of a victims. I’m sure you know that better than anyone, Detective.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“If I have to get punched occasionally,” Tine shrugged. “I mean, I’d rather not—this face is a work of art—but I’d rather me than them. You know?”
“You shouldn’t be so willing to stand in the way,” Fong’s partner said, firmer than anything he’d said previously. “That’s what the police are for.”
“And what if the one who hits you is the police?” Tine said. Tine felt the lightest brush on his hand, prompting him to open his eye.
“Then call me,” the man said, brown eyes wide and imploring.
“Sarawat!” Fong called. “We got a call!”
Sarawat looked over his shoulder at Fong, then back to Tine.
“Go, go,” Tine waved off. “I promise I’ll stay to get the good drugs, okay?”
“Tine,” Sarawat said slowly, as if testing it out.
“Yeah?”
Sarawat shook his head. “Nothing. It was nice seeing you again.”
“Again?” Tine questioned, but Sarawat had already turned around, walking quickly towards an impatient Fong.
A chill slid down his spine.
/////////////////////////////////////////
Ohm made fun of him for the number of deadbolts lining his door.
Four in total, and he made sure all four were slid into place once he was behind his apartment door. Each one made him feel a little safer, even if in total they were an overreaction.
Logic didn’t mean much to anxiety.
As he suspected, his face hadn’t hurt enough for his skull to be fractured. However, the doctor warned that if he had any problems with his eyesight after a few days, he should make a return trip. Where his shoulder and hip had hit the floor were just bruises. The drugs he’d been prescribed definitely could have been better—ultimately just strong pain reliever. Whisky would work better.
Tine collapsed onto his couch, tore into the little paper bag he’d been given, and swallowed a few pills dry. He wasn’t sure he had the energy to make it all the way into bed, much less take the shower that he desperately needed.
Again.
Tine frowned, groaning as he unbuttoned his starched shirt to leave him in just his undershirt. Fong’s partner probably hadn’t meant anything by it. It was probably a completely innocent comment.
He plugged in his phone to charge and set it on his coffee table. He wasn’t mentally prepared to deal with the twenty unread emails in his inbox. That would have to be a tomorrow Tine problem.
Again.
Fuck.
Not again. Never again.
He inhaled slowly, counting to ten as he tried to calm his suddenly-jittery pulse. Exhaled. It wasn’t anything. He was making a big deal of nothing. Sarawat seemed like a normal person. He wouldn’t—
Tine grabbed his phone.
To: Fong – Make it back from your call yet?
He was surprised at his friend’s quick rely.
From: Fong – Yeah. False alarm. What’s up. Everything ok?
Tine stared at the message a moment before sighing.
To: Fong – Yeah. Fine. Goodnight.
He nearly dropped his phone when it began to vibrate.
“What?” Tine said harshly.
“Oh, no you don’t. I know a needy Tine text when I see one,” Fong said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s stupid, it’s—”
“Tine,” Fong said.
“Your partner,” Tine caved. “Do we know him? From somewhere?”
“Sarawat?” Fong said, surprised. “He went to the same university, so maybe we saw him around.”
“Oh,” Tine said. “That…makes sense.”
“Why are you asking about Wat?” Fong said suspiciously. “Did he do something?”
“No,” Tine said quickly. “No, just…my stupid brain acting up again.”
“If I was next to you, I’d hit you,” Fong said. “Stop pretending that PTSD isn’t a real fucking deal, Tine.”
Tine swallowed, heart dropping into his stomach. “I’ve got to go.”
“No, wait, Tine—”
“See you later.” Tine ended the call, tossing the phone back onto his table. He glanced over at his door, mentally ticking off each deadbolt, satisfied when he counted all four.
//////////////////
A few partners were angry at the ignored emails, but Tine didn’t think they would remain that way after catching a glimpse of his face. His paralegal brought him ice packs at a rate of every half hour, so it must have looked awful. He had a hard time seeing it when he looked in the mirror in the morning.
“Type—no, I—Type, I’m fine—” Tine attempted, unable to get a word in edgewise over his furious brother’s call. As the aide to a prominent politician, Type didn’t have many spare hours in a day, but Tine guessed he always made time to yell at his younger brother.
A slight knock sounded at his door, and Tine exhaled in frustration. “Listen, Type, I have to go. I have a client. Call you later.” Hurriedly, Tine set his office phone back into its cradle and rubbed at his forehead. “Come in,” Tine called.
Tine’s heart jumped as he recognized the handsome face that peeked into the room. “I’m sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“No,” Tine said. “It’s fine. You just saved me from another half hour of yelling,” he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Sarawat entered the room cautiously, as though expecting to be attacked at any point in time. His hair was neater than the day before, and he carried two coffees in his hands. “Fong told me what you order,” Sarawat said, sitting down and sliding one of the coffees over to Tine.
“Oh, umm, thank you,” Tine said, accepting the drink. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Sarawat frowned, running a long finger up the side of his own coffee. “I just came to apologize.”
“Oh? For what?” Tine said, confused.
“I made you uncomfortable,” Sarawat continued, looking down at his lap contritely. “I would never—I mean, that wasn’t what—” he sighed. “M’sorry.”
Tine narrowed his eyes. “What did Fong say to you?”
“Nothing,” Sarawat said quickly. “Nothing, he just asked what we talked about at the hospital. And I got the feeling that I may have said something.” Sarawat shrugged uneasily.
“He shouldn’t have,” Tine frowned, shaking his head. “Listen, just—it’s fine. It wasn’t you. Really. I just get these, ugh,” he struggled to fine a word that wasn’t too personal, “bad feelings, sometimes. Even if no one has any bad intentions. Just because they remind of something bad that happened before. So it’s not you, I promise.”
Sarawat remained silent, raising his eyes to look at Tine. There was an emotion in them that Tine couldn’t quite place.
“So, umm, thanks for the coffee,” Tine said awkwardly.
“Yeah,” Sarawat said, chewing on his bottom lip as though he wanted to say something else. He looked around Tine’s desk and pointed at a pad of sticky notes. “Can I borrow one of those?”
“Alright?” Tine said, watching as Sarawat pulled one off and scribbled on it.
“My number and Line ID,” Sarawat said, sticking the note onto Tine’s desk. “No pressure, but if you ever want to talk,” Sarawat said. “I’m real bad at typing, but talk to text works for me, so,” he trailed off.
“No offense,” Tine said slowly, “but why?”
Sarawat sighed. “I want to date you?”
Tine blinked. “Sorry, was that a question?”
“No,” Sarawat said more firmly. “I want to.”
Tine laughed incredulously, but it was weighed down by bitterness. “Get out.”
“What?” Sarawat said.
“Get. Out.” Tine hissed, standing from his chair and pointing to the door.
“Wait, Tine—” Sarawat tried.
“Take one step closer to me and I’ll kill you,” Tine said thunderously. “I don’t care that you’re a detective. We don’t know each other! What, you think you’re entitled to me just because you like how I look? You can take your number and shove it!”
“Tine,” Sarawat said softly, backing up a few steps with his hands in front of him. “I’ll leave. Please. I’m sorry.”
Tine breathed heavily, crumpling back into his chair once the door had shut once more. Men like that were all the same.
Dangerous. Scary. Obsessive.
Again.
So maybe he shouldn’t have threatened to kill a police detective.
//////////////////////////////////
“You better be on the verge of death,” Tine groaned into his phone, pulling it away to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. No. Still 3:29 A.M.
“Tine,” an unfamiliar voice said.
Tine sat up straighter in bed, alarm bells going off as it felt as though his lungs were being squeezed. “Who is this? Where’s Fong?” Tine demanded.
“It’s Sarawat,” the other said. “Sorry, but I didn’t know who else to call from his contacts.”
Tine’s mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusions. “What—what happened? Is it Fong? Is he hurt? What hospital are you at?” He climbed out of bed, stumbling on sleep-numbed feet.
“No, Tine—he’s fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Tine sighed, his heart still pounding as he collapsed back onto his bed. “Then what—”
“Tinneee! ‘s that Tine?” Tine heard from the other line.
“Oh,” Tine breathed. “He’s drunk.”
“Yeah…” Sarawat confirmed.
“Where are you?”
Tine slipped on sweatpants and a large sweatshirt over his sleep clothes, slipping into an old pair of sneakers as he hurried out the door, sliding back each deadbolt.
The street stall was small, with only a few tables set up around it. Fong was splayed across one of them, as Sarawat awkwardly patted at his back. Tine wasn’t sure what to make of the expression that crossed Sarawat’s face as he noticed him.
“C’mon, buddy,” Tine coaxed, raising Fong up by the shoulders. “Where are your keys, huh?”
“Mmm,” Fong whined, shaking Tine off as he reached for his glass, frowning when he found it empty.
Tine sighed and patted at Fong’s pockets, coming up empty. “Any idea?” he finally asked Sarawat, trying not to stew in the awkwardness between them.
“Ugh, no,” Sarawat said quietly. “Maybe back at the station.”
Tine paused, considering Fong’s state. “Did something happen?”
Sarawat sighed. “Tough case today.”
“I see,” Tine said quietly, rubbing at Fong’s hair gently. “I’ll take him to my place, then.”
Sarawat stood up, moving to help Tine hoist Fong onto his back, but Tine held out a hand to stop him. “I got this,” Tine said. Sarawat nodded shortly.
“Sure you don’t need help?” Sarawat said.
And lead him back to his apartment?
“I’ll be fine,” Tine said, adjusting Fong’s position. Sarawat’s voice stopped him as he turned to leave.
“I didn’t look at it,” Sarawat said.
“What?” Tine said, turning his over his shoulder to look at him.
“Your number,” Sarawat said quietly. “I didn’t look at what it was. So…you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Oh,” Tine said. “I…appreciate that.”
“Goodnight, then,” Sarawat ducked his head and then shoved his hands into his pockets.
Tine really didn’t know what to make of him.
Exhausted, Tine dropped Fong off on his bed, sweat dripping from his hair and into his collar. He pulled off Fong’s shoes and jacket, tossing them onto the floor. Fong moaned, and Tine sighed, sitting down next to his bed and leaning his back against it. His eyes drifted to his door, as they often did, where one bolt was not quite slid into place.
He must have missed it in his struggle with carrying Fong.
His heart leaped into his throat at the pounding of a fist against the door, before it was simply thrown open. Tine often just left it unlocked in case his friends stopped by, but he hadn’t expected—
“Tine!” Mil growled angrily, hair mussed and dark eyebrows steeply angled.
“What—” Tine jumped from his desk chair, his textbook thumping to the floor as his knee knocked against the underside of the wood. “P-Phi—”
“Did you think it was funny to have your stupid friends call campus security on me? Huh?” he practically growled, slamming the door shut behind him as he rounded on Tine.
The spike of fear that always seemed to materialize when Mil was around practically doubled with every step forward he took. “I-I didn’t—” Tine shook his head, swallowing around his suddenly dry throat.
Mil’s thunderous expression softened as Tine tripped backwards into sitting on his bed. “You realize that you can’t just do that, right? This is my future, Tine! You can’t mess around like that!”
Tine should have just kept his mouth shut, but his temper flared up at the audacity of that. All the lost sleep, unable to eat, the pain roiling his stomach, his inability to focus, the fear haunting what should have been otherwise happy days. “Then you stop messing around with me!”
Mil frowned. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Tine.”
Tine wanted to scream. With Green, and now with Mil—why would no one leave him alone? Why wouldn’t they just listen? Instead, he could only sigh. He was tired and, he had to admit to himself, scared. “Please leave,” Tine said softly. “I’m sorry if they did that—I didn’t know about it, okay?”
Mil just stared at him for a moment, eyes feeling invasive as they traced over Tine in his sleep shorts and tank top.
“P’Mil,” Tine said, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. His stomach started to hurt, his skin prickling with goosebumps.
“Tine,” Mil said softly, standing right in front of him before Tine could even blink. Tine flinched away as Mil raised a hand to his cheek, but he didn’t have anywhere to retreat. “Why won’t you give me a chance?”
“P’Mil,” Tine repeated, raising his hands to push the other away, but his limbs felt as though they were encased in sludge.
A hand brushed against the back of Tine’s head, and he jerked, sighing in relief as Fong began to snore loudly above him.
The problem wasn’t that Tine remembered things like they happened yesterday.
Tine remembered things like they were happening right now.
He still felt the impression of Mil’s hands on his skin, and he shuddered, shaking his head as though to empty it of the vivid memories. He hadn’t yet found a medicine that would stop the flashes from happening.
He climbed shakily to his feet, absolutely drenched in sweat and his muscles practically creaking with tension. First things first.
He slid the last bolt completely shut, resting his forehead against the cool door.