Chapter Text
Fiat knew he wasn’t worth anything.
A lifetime of being told he was a bad person had convinced him that it must be true. No matter how good he tried, desperately, to be, he was always shoved aside for someone better. Someone who was worth something.
He wasn’t smart. He wasn’t clever. He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t talented.
The only thing he had was his body.
The fleeting relationships with others who he could trick into liking him were all based on it—on the shell of the person he was pretending to be. When they got their hands on his body, they forgot all about the cracks papered-over by his fair skin. What did it matter how horrible he was when they were sucking bruises into his muscled thighs, holding his wrists down like he couldn’t feel pain?
But the pain was the point, wasn’t it?
Because after pain came soothing words and cuddles and care. Hands brushing his hair from his forehead and pressing kisses into his temples. Telling him he was good. Lying to him. But meaning it.
Especially after dinners with his father, he needed that. Needed that lie fed to him. Because even at twenty-five, his father managed to poison everything that made Fiat remotely happy. Because it was foolish. Or childish. Or irrational. Or bad. Fiat was always bad.
He started to feel better only after his third drink, face flushed and head spinning as the bass shook the building. Or maybe that was just his vision. He reached up to loosen his tie and pop open the top three buttons of his designer shirt. He was hoping it wouldn’t take too long for someone to pick him up, as he was barely holding it together.
People who came to places like this didn’t care if he was drunk, but they also didn’t care that he was horrible and unlovable.
He felt the seat next to him move, a drink slid in front of him, and there were hands on his shoulder and thigh, a gripping warmth that he leaned into without much thought. The man was bigger than him, older, poorly hiding the fact of slipping a wedding band into his pocket. At one time, that would have bothered him.
“You good, N’Fiat?” the bartender asked. For some reason, he always felt the need to check up on him when he was hooking his next partner, like Fiat had any standards. Probably just felt sorry for him.
Fiat waved a heavy hand in affirmation, slamming a few bills on the table much harder than he intended as the man slipped a hand around his waist. “Where to, Khun?” Fiat whispered into the shell of the man’s ear, unsteady on his feet.
“Fuck,” the man cursed, fingers squeezing at Fiat’s waist and sliding to do the same to his ass. “I have a room nearby.”
“Let’s go, then,” Fiat slurred, stumbling towards the door.
He was outside, breathing in the humid night air, and then in a taxi, and then.
And then.
The alcohol must have finally triggered a blackout, because he didn’t—couldn’t—remember how he got here. He blinked slowly, head aching and stomach roiling as he took stock of his surroundings.
A hotel room. Okay. He recognized the décor—he’d stayed here a number of times, both for business and pleasure. He was covered with the weight of a heavy comforter, sweating under the sheets. Light spilled in through white linen curtains, causing him to squint as he sat up slowly, gripping his pounding left temple. His mouth tasted disgusting, so he assumed he’d already thrown up at some point. Hopefully not on the man he’d come here with. He moved slightly, lifting up the sheets to take stock of the damage.
He was confused at the fact that he was still wearing clothes.
His button-up was gone, but he was still wearing his tank top that had been underneath. Still in his form-fitting black slacks that he knew he would have never put back on to sleep, especially after—
“Umm,” a soft voice said, and Fiat jumped, turning his head quickly towards the chaise lounge in the corner of the room. It was occupied by a man who was much too large to fit on it, with thick dark hair and piercing eyes and broad shoulders. Unless Fiat was losing it, this was not the man he’d left the bar with. “I left some water for you, on the nightstand,” the man continued, eyes filled with an emotion Fiat wasn’t used to seeing. Not directed at him.
“What—” Fiat rasped. “What happened?” He was used to scenarios like this. But he generally expected to wake up either with the person he went home with, or alone. Not with an upgrade.
The man blanched, eyes flitting down towards the floor before lifting back up to look at Fiat. “Some guy was trying to—” he paused, swallowing. “You weren’t in your right mind, and a man was trying to get you into his room. I intervened, and he left, but you were out of it, so I brought you to my room. I’m sorry if I overstepped, but I wasn’t sure what else to do at that time of night.”
Fiat stared.
“Sorry, I’m Leo,” the man added quickly. “I was coming back from the pool—I’m staying at this hotel—” he cut himself off, cheeks flushed.
“You,” Fiat said, brow furrowing. “You thought you were rescuing me?” he finally said, huffing in amusement as he rubbed at his eyes. “How sweet.” He pushed back the covers, sweeping his legs over the side of the bed and pausing at the head rush.
“Be careful,” the man said, standing up, as though to help him. Fiat wasn’t a small person, but the man—Leo—was freaking tall.
“I’m fine,” Fiat said quietly. “Other than the fact that you ruined my fun.” He glanced up at Leo, admiring the statuesque features and muscular build. “Unless you’re interested?”
“Wh-what?” Leo blinked. “You can barely move!”
“That’d be a bonus for some people,” Fiat muttered, feeling secure enough to stand. He immediately regretted it, falling back down onto the edge of the bed. “Fuck.” He looked up at the handsome man again. “I’m…I didn’t mean…” Why had he opened his big mouth? Of course someone like Leo wouldn’t want someone like him.
“How about you drink some water?” Leo suggested, gesturing to the glass.
Fiat nodded, reaching out to take a few sips. He did feel a bit better to get the bad taste out of his mouth. “Thank you,” he added. Leo’s eyes flitted back and forth between Fiat’s face and his arms, and Fiat suddenly remembered the bruised splotches that adorned them. A few puckered pink scars from cigarette burns that he hadn’t managed to fade. Self-consciously, he put the water down and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Do you have my shirt and shoes? I’ll get out of your way,” Fiat said.
“Yeah,” Leo nodded slowly, reaching down by the foot of the bed to pick up Fiat’s shoes and conjure his stained shirt from somewhere.
Fiat took both of them, shoving his arms through the sleeves and his feet into his shoes. “I’ll get going.”
“Wait,” Leo said.
Fiat raised a challenging eyebrow.
“You don’t want breakfast?” Leo said.
Fiat huffed in amusement. “We didn’t even have sex and you’re offering me breakfast?”
“Was that…a requirement?” Leo smiled gently. Fiat really wasn’t used to this. Unconditional kindness didn’t exist. The question was, what did this man want from him in return?
“But why?” Fiat questioned, eyes narrowing.
“It’s best to eat something after a night of drinking?” the man said, confused. “Plus, I think you threw up most everything in your system.”
Fiat stared at him. He was a little hungry. But. “I don’t understand.”
Leo frowned, tilting his head. “What’s there to understand?”
“Why are you being nice to me?” Fiat pressed.
The man’s frown deepened. “It’s just breakfast?”
Fiat sighed, running a hand through his unkempt, stringy hair. “Okay,” he said quietly.
Leo slipped on his own shoes, and Fiat stood as Leo gestured to the door. His legs were a million miles long in dark jeans, his arms stretching the sleeves of a branded polo shirt. How was it possible for Leo to be so much taller than him? He shook his head. It wasn’t the time to be thinking about things like that.
The elevator ride was awkward, Fiat curling in on himself as Leo pretended not to look at him every few seconds in the reflection of the doors. Fiat wanted to whine in protest, but he shoved down the urge. It was annoying. He was annoying.
Worst of all, he looked horrible. He didn’t know how the handsome man could stand to look at him in this state.
“I can’t believe I forgot to ask—what’s your name?”
“Huh?” Fiat jumped. “My name?”
“Unless, I mean, you don’t have to tell me,” Leo said quickly.
“It’s fine,” Fiat shrugged. “Fiat. I’m Fiat.”
They sat quietly at a table in the hotel restaurant until a server approached, the woman taking a second look at the both of them, eyes widening. “Khun Leo, Khun Fiat!” She bowed low as she placed down their menus, making a quick exit.
Both Leo and Fiat looked at each other in surprise.
“You…” Leo said, shaking his head.
“My father’s an investor,” Fiat said quietly, ducking his head. “I’m not important, or anything.”
“Oh, I thought—” Leo cut himself off, face reddening.
Fiat tilted his head. “Let me guess—you thought I was a prostitute?”
Leo spluttered.
“No, it’s okay,” Fiat smiled weakly. He probably looked like one. He definitely felt like one. He was second-guessing breakfast. “Actually, I should probably go before they assume anything about us and it gets back to my father.”
“I’m sorry, I—please don’t be offended,” Leo said.
“I’m not,” Fiat reassured him, sliding his chair back. “Thank you.”
“Thank—for what?” Leo said.
Fiat smiled, shaking his head. “Nothing.”
The taxi back to his apartment was nauseating, but he managed to get there without throwing up again. He fought the urge to just fall straight into bed, deciding that he needed a shower more than anything else. His stomach rumbled as the warm water cascaded down his body, but he doubted he’d find the will to eat something after he stepped out.
It was Saturday, but he already had two emails from his father demanding to know the status of projects he was working on at the company. There were at least five levels of bureaucracy between Fiat and his father, but his father kept a chokehold on all of his time. People were convinced that Fiat would inherit the company one day.
Fiat knew it would go to Fa.
His father would never give him anything.
With a pained sigh, Fiat retrieved his laptop and sat down at his desk, hair dripping water down his back. He painstakingly typed responses, attaching his works in progress. Read each message fifty times to make sure there were typos.
His father scolded him for taking too long to reply.
Heart and body weary with exhaustion, Fiat swallowed a handful of sleeping pills and went to bed.
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