Work Text:
Charan’s mansion was astounding. It was hard to ignore a century of age and grace that befell the place. “I have a room for you upstairs, my butler just finished changing the linens, so make yourself,” it was barely noticeable pause but Paytai caught it, “comfortable. Do you need something to eat?”
Paytai’s stomach spoke for him, a small growl emanated at the idea of eating anything, even a crumb. Rachata had him locked away as Ramil’s punishment. He hadn’t eaten in four days, surviving off of one glass of water. Paytai held a hand over his stomach.
“If it’s not a bother.” He bowed, feeling dizzy as he tilted his head back up. “Prince Rachata-” Paytai stopped, fear of speaking ill would come back to harm him. His eyes were wide with fear that Charan noticed from across the room.
“He is a strict ruler from what I’ve come to understand. Diligent in his punishment as well.” Charan sugar coated his statement, something that a man who has been serving royals longer than Paytai’s been alive would know how to do with surgical-like precision; a clan of spy and guards know the families more than they know of their own siblings.
It was more of a tea than a proper meal, as Charan explained it would be better for smaller meals until his stomach was used to food again. He was instructed to eat and drink slowly and not to worry about what comes next. He couldn’t. It has been a week since he last got to see Ramil. He wondered what was going on, if his Royal Highness behaved himself, if was polite and presentable, or a nervous wreck. He felt nauseous. The small sandwiches he had eaten felt like they were about to make a reappearance. He didn’t even know where the bathroom was. “Paytai, breathe for me, please.” Charan’s hand was warm and firm on his back, but soft and gentle. “You’re safe now. You’re under Prince Khanin’s protections, Prince Rachata cannot get to you here.”
Paytai gasped for air. He grabbed Charan’s arm. “Ramil. Prince Ramil.” He inhaled and exhaled brokenly. “Is he alright? Have you seen him?” The desperation was clear; grip becoming tighter albeit being weak from starvation and anxiety.
“Prince Ramil is okay. He’s safe, but he’s in hiding.” Charan wrapped an arm around Paytai’s shaking form. “We aren’t able to meet with him just yet. But he wanted us to keep you safe until he got back.”
Paytai felt the smallest victory from not throwing up on his rescuer, but it still took some time for the shaking to stop. Charan and his butler helped him to a small sofa in one of the many rooms littered with Charan’s artwork. This one had a piece that Paytai had seen before. A precursor to the Garden of Eden, a landscape of a small idyllic town where neighbors ate together in glee at a street festival, something just as forbidden to them as the apple in Eden. He envisioned himself and Ramil walking through the rows and rows of food stalls and street vendors in relaxed summer clothes, laughing, smiling, holding hands. He pulled the blanket around him tighter, ignoring his chamomile tea after the first sip. After a while, his eyes began to droop and he fell asleep thinking of a life worth living, one with Ramil by his side.
He woke up to Charan’s butler, setting down a small plate of food on the low table in front of him. Charan wasn’t seen but he could hear in a room somewhere distantly in the house. “Master Charan said you should try eating again, a little more than last time.” He bowed politely as he left the space of Paytai’s accidentally bedchamber. He did eat a little more than the day before but felt his belly stuffed with a third of the amount that he would normally consume at one meal. He re-observed the room that he had been deposited in the night before, it wasn’t quite morning, but the appearance of dawn was starting to make its way in with the warmth coming on from the sun facing side of the palace. Charan, as Paytai knew well, was a professor of the arts, in particular oils, and to see the man’s dedication and addiction to the art form in the man’s natural habitat was astounding. The workroom at the university paled in comparison. Canvases, blank and painted, were scattered indiscriminately around the room and even spilled absently into the hall, like a wild hair had sent him careening into another image that must be completed post haste. It was a dream world that Paytai wished to have. A land of his own to create in.
Charan came into the room after what Paytai assumed was a phone call and greeted him. “If you’re feeling up to it, I think you should shower and go rest upstairs in your room. I’ll have breakfast brought up to you in an hour.” Paytai nodded, still weak and dizzy, unsure how he managed in the dungeon alone all those days.
“Thank you, Professor.” Charan had to help him stand and get up the stairs. They decided that a shower would be too much and that the sheets would just be changed after Paytai was capable of getting clean on his own. Charan did stay nearby while Paytai changed into some lounge clothes, but had to step in when he saw the whip marks on the boy’s back.
“Let’s treat those wounds before they get worse.” Charan walked into the on-suite bathroom and pulled a medical kit out from the linen closet. Paytai blind to the pain, looked at his back in the mirror. He noticed for the first time how many lashes crossed his back, new scabs covered old scars. Ramil had helped when the lashes were few and far between, but he wasn’t here and he hadn’t been the cause this time. After Paytai’s back was sticky with antiseptic ointment, he was tucked into bed, and promptly passed out. The adventure of going up stairs and changing clothes exhausted him.
A cold washcloth was placed on his face as he rolled onto his back. The butler had come to serve him lunch and found him feverish. It wasn’t Charan or the butler. Paytai slowly blinked open his eyes to find the crown prince Khanin attending to his fever. He grabbed the towel hurriedly. “Prince Khanin, please don’t waste your time on me, you’ll get sick.” He protested but sounded weak.
“Paytai, I was more normal than you were a month ago. Calm down.” Khanin pushed Paytai back into the bed, grabbing the towel with the other hand. “Drink this, lay down, and let me take care of you.” Too weak to have any strength of will to deny the prince his cosplay as an everyday person, Paytai resigned himself to his ailments, drinking the medicine that Prince Khanin had provided. “I take care of my people, Paytai. That includes you now as well.” A complicated feeling bloomed in Paytai’s chest that he chose to ignore until he was strong enough to shower where hopefully the steam would loosen it up.
Khanin was fun, Paytai had always thought that, and phased. Paytai remembers when Khanin first visited the Bhuchongpisut castle. The genuine fear for Paytai on Prince Khanin’s face as he had been slapped was different, refreshing almost. A companion, a whipping boy was not uncommon amongst the Emmalians Royals, so his treatment went largely unnoticed by most people. Not with Khanin though. As the Prince always touts, he was normal not that long ago until his life was disrupted for the second time and he wasn’t even aware of that fact either. Paytai was unsure if it was the Assavadevathin blood that ran through his veins or his upbringing as a common man that made him sympathetic to Paytai’s pain.
“Charan is cleaning one of his studios up a bit so that if you get bored you can work on a painting if you want. We’re unsure of when it will be safe for you to leave Assavadevathin grounds.” The words unsaid were when Ramil will be able to return to Emmaly. “I would love to see some of your finished pieces when you have the time.” Khanin added at the end for leveities sake. He left once Paytai’s eyes began to droop again.
The studio that Charan had cleaned up for him was the bigger of the two rooms. He didn't know how to feel about that. He decided that it was so that Khanin could sit comfortably in the room as Paytai and Charan worked. He was always a little surprised at how bratty Prince Khanin could be, getting in Charan’s space, poking his cheeks asking for a smile. Charan would hold back, grimace as a disguise before “giving in” to Prince Khanin. Not because he was a prince but because he was Khanin. He had his own devices to keep himself busy but every now and then he would become enraptured in the art, standing casually behind either him or Charan, silent except for his soft breathing, occasionally asking what they were working on or what the name of a color was. Khanin had passed through the room one afternoon to the kitchen to bother Chakri over the phone about plans for the next ball that upcoming weekend, outfits and such, so Paytai only heard snippets of the conversation but overheard the name of a color, tyrian, being said. A color he used last week. He smiled to himself, pleased to be of some use.
Charan watched him often, when he thought Paytai wasn't watching. A furrow in his brow most of the time but other times an easy smile, bemused at Paytai squawking at Khanin’s teasing.
The times that Paytai was left in the house alone was close to none. Charan always asked him to sit with him in the living room or the studio, which Paytai appreciated, not used to being alone, and certainly not without Ramil for longer than a night. They always ate meals together, conversation based on weather and internal house events, like food preparation and laundry, nothing about what was happening after his dismissal, nothing about his prince.
He’s not sure how aware Charan was about his wounds but once they had finally healed, a thing only known to himself he thought, Paytai was asked if he wanted to learn archery. Charan was seated across from him in the seating area, glasses in hand, almost seemingly bored to tears from reading for the past two weeks. “I don't know if Prince Ramil ever allowed you such exercise, but I think it would do the mind well while we're waiting to hear about his return.” It was the first time someone else had said his name since he arrived. His heart ached. “Some time in the sun will do us well right now.” Charan had made up his mind whether Paytai said anything either way.
He was sore in ways he didn't know possible. His armpits were sore. His arms were over cooked pasta, soft and loose. He had sliced his lip on his last draw with the drawstring. Charan sat him down at the kitchen table and pulled out his medical kit to help take care of the wound. “You did well.”
“I feel like jelly.” Paytai slumped into the chair as Charan prepared the ointment and bandage. Charan laughed.
“That happens. The jelly feeling will go away eventually, after some practice.” Charan rubbed some cooling cream over his shoulder and then dabbed antibiotic ointment on his lip.
“How long did it take you to learn?” Paytai asked, pulling his shirt back on. He relaxed into the chair, taking a sip of the juice that was brought for them.
“I was pretty young, maybe around five, so maybe a year or so. My mother was very proud of my skills.” Charan’s face turned melancholy for a brief moment before going back to his normal neutral expression. “I learned fencing afterwards. I remember liking it better.”
“Which one do you like better now?” Paytai felt an inkling of anxiety. He’d never asked Charan about anything unrelated to art or royals. What usually happened in their one on one conversation, the conversations about the past, about the trauma that he, Paytai, had gone through, had only been about what Charan had laid witness to, what injuries he could see. Likes and Dislikes from day to day were never a topic of conversation. “I’m asking too much, I’m sorry.”
“Art. I like art the best.” Charan smiled. “A mightier weapon against some opponents, some say. But I would say my fencing skills are better than my archery. How about you? Archery or art?”
Paytai didn't reply right away and Charan never was one to push, patience as stone, still as marble. He liked both, weak still from archery but he did enjoy it. It helped take his mind off of what could come next and all the predictions he had made, the fears he envisioned descending upon him and Charan and especially Prince Khanin, a man so new to Emmalian punishments he didn't even know what to fear. The Bchuchongpisut were not weak in spirit only in ego, and would not take lightly to Ramil’s disappearance or Paytai’s peace. He inhaled into his lungs and then again into his diaphragm, letting the air out as quiet as he could. A trick he learned to starve the voices tickling at his brain of everything he’s done wrong in serving the royal Bchuchongpisut Family.
“I like art.” He finally spoke. Charan had busied himself with cleaning up the medical kit but made no move to leave his seat, telling Paytai that he was listening, waiting for him. “But archery was fun too. I’d-” he cut himself off. He was never to want anything. His art was a gift from Prince Rachata to keep himself busy when Ramil had his studies, a distraction that turned into therapy. “I’d like to learn more.”
“I think by the time we're done you’ll have a few tricks to show Prince Ramil.” Charan nodded, making plans for short daily training sessions. Paytai laughed at the comment. “He’s a terrible shot, and I’m training Khanin. So that's saying something.” Paytai’s shoulders hurt from trying to hold in his giggles. Who knew that Charan, the royal guard to the Assavadevathin family, had jokes. Charan scribbled something in his notebook that perpetually lived on the small breakfast table in the kitchen, before closing it. “Go rest, dinner will be soon.” Paytai’s giggles subsided enough for him to nod and head to the living room to relax.
From his spot on the sofa he can see into the studio that Charan had made space for him in. His piece is sitting out still, paint wet, but he spots another canvas behind it that he hadn't noticed before. The piece was only half covered with a drop cloth but that couldn't hide the subject. Prince Khanin’s profile had become easily recognizable on his frequent visits to Charan’s mansion. A golden halo encircled Khanin’s crown as he was looking up into the corner of the canvas like someone taller was standing next to him. Paytai wondered if he drew back the cloth if he would see that person’s shoulder in the painting. He would try to see later. For now, he would just admire the portrait.
Sleep had not been easy even before living in Charan’s home. Prince Ramil had been uneasy long before Paytai’s imprisonment and escape. There had been many a night of him sat next to his prince listening to his woes, or entertaining him in a more arduous manner, one he enjoyed more than the other. It had been three weeks since he’s been away from the Bchuchongpisut castle, and a month since he laid eyes on Prince Ramil in anywhere other than his dreams and his nightmares.
This dream started so peacefully sweet. They were free of any bonds outside of each other, free to walk away from the tight leash they had been tied to by blood and by family. They had been walking hand in hand down a small alley, only them and a stray cat or two in sight despite the noise of the festival nearby. Ramil knew a spot that would have an amazing view of the end of night fireworks. He had grabbed Paytai’s hand and dragged him along. He hadn’t let go, even when they had made it to the small beach on the opposite bank of the crowds. Paytai held out a chicken skewer for Ramil to take a bite of, which he did, long bangs falling into his eyes. Ramil laughed, taking the chicken skewer in his own free hand when he couldn’t see it because of his hair. Before Ramil could shake his head to make the hair fall out of his face, Paytai used his index finger to gently move the hair, hand barely touching the man’s face. They paused, skewer forgot. Paytai couldn’t remember the last time they kissed, in this dream or in reality. Their eyes met, and then their lips, it was soft, gently, unlike his real kisses, the bruising, fearful, angry kisses. He liked them both. Suddenly he felt something wet on his hands. He looked down. Red, everything was red. Dripping from every pore, Ramil bled. He screamed.
He screamed. Charan bolted up from the settee he had been writing reports on in his room. He’d know about Paytai’s hard nights. It was easy to see the bags under the boy’s eyes when he came down for breakfast in the morning. Stripped of his formal attire, he looked so young, far younger than twenty. Sometimes he’d even heard the boy leave his room in the middle of the night to go to the kitchen for a late night snack or drink, something to distract from the lack of sleep, or an unsavory vision. The door was locked for Paytai’s peace of mind, but it was still Charan’s house so he used his master key to unlock the door.
What he found was this. Paytai had fallen off the bed, crying, still somewhere between awake and asleep. His head was dangerously close to the bedside table but he could spot no blood. Charan scooped the boy up in his arms; Paytai was still skinny despite their best efforts. He squeezed the boy tight, Charan’s chest to Paytai’s back as he sat against the headboard, legs wrapped over Paytai’s kicking ones. “Paytai, settle. It’s okay.” He murmured more reassurances until the flailing stopped. Charan released his straight jack like grip but made no effort to move, unsure if it would spur on again, since Paytai was still mostly asleep. When he felt that Paytai was deep enough into sleep to not dream again, he laid him back under the covers, and went to fetch his reports. Charan posted himself in the armchair nearest the head of the bed and continued with his work.
Charan was fast asleep when Paytai finally woke up on his own. Confused, Paytai felt that he should be embarrassed. “What happened?” He said, almost a whisper.
Charan’s eyes were still closed when he spoke. “You had a nightmare, and fell out of bed.” He rubbed his eyes before putting his glasses back on, opening them. “I was worried you would hit your head if it happened again.” Paytai flushed with embarrassment, and bowed at a ninety degree angle to show his deepest gratitude and remorse.
“My greatest apologies, Khun Charan. I mean not to cause you any trouble.” Paytai stayed bowed until he felt Charan’s hand rustle his hair.
“Your bedhead is crazy. Khanin’s coming over for breakfast so I suggest brushing it before he teases you about it.” He patted his shoulder before he reassured him. “Paytai, I would not have you here if I didn’t care about you and your wellbeing. This is your home, if you want it to be.”
Paytai had half stood up when Charan was messing with his hair. “What?” He stood up to full height as Charan started gathering his paperwork.
“Whether you leave when Prince Ramil returns or not, you are both welcome here. Whether disowned, or dismissed, there is always a place for you here. Breakfast is soon.” Charan left the door open a hair when he left.
The idea of home as a place had become so far removed to him as soon as he started his duty as Prince Ramil’s companion. The Bchuchongpisut was his duty. Prince Ramil had become his person. Was this home? Was he allowed this? He shook the thought free of mind and went down for food when heard Khanin’s voice float up the stairs forgetting that he was still in his pajamas with terrible bedhead.
Khanin teased him while straightening his hair. “Ooo, messy Paytai does exist. Eat first then wash up. I won’t tease you this time. At least not too much.” Paytai gave a petite smile before taking the spot at the table that had become his over his near month stay. This moment was as close to peace that Paytai could have, especially while missing his Ramil.
Charan hadn’t been home that evening. Khanin had come to keep him company but something felt off. He was restless. They had dinner and were watching a movie that Khanin had suggested, Legally Blonde. He thinks he’d enjoy it if he wasn’t so unnerved. Thunder crashed outside, lightning soon to follow. Khanin was fidgeting as well, just a little harder to notice on the prince because he had learned how to hide it well.
“What’s going on, Prince Khanin.” Paytai finally asked. “Something’s up, why isn’t the professor back yet?” He paused the movie, moving to stand up. The door opened before he even got both feet on the floor. He tripped and stumbled at the sound of multiple pairs of boots.
“Paytai.” It was a sigh of relief that left Ramil’s lips when he said his name. Prince Calvin and Jay were behind him, Charan bringing in the rear, all drenched, soaked with rain. Khanin asked the butler for towels but Paytai could care less about anything else or anyone else in the room. He needed to touch him. He needed to feel the warmth of his skin, the beat of his heart to know that it was him, that this was real.
“Ramil. Your royal highness, I’m sorry.” Ramil’s boots squeaked from the rainwater still clinging to him when he made his few large strides to stand in front of his companion, his Paytai. There were no words for either of them. Time had said it all, and this moment said everything else. He was cold from the rain, but he wanted to hold onto him forever. He would never let Ramil out of his view again. He couldn’t let him get hurt again. He had to protect him.
“Paytai, I’m so sorry, Paytai. My father. He did unspeakable things to you. I’m sorry I left you alone for so long.” Ramil, Prince Ramil, successor to the Bchuchongpisut throne, sole heir to the Emmalian crown until Khanin’s rediscovery, his person, was crying. His hair had grown longer and shielded his face as he towered over Paytai. He caught himself on Ramil’s jacket and pulled himself to his full height.
“I don’t blame you. For any of it.” Paytai spoke softly, scared. He pushed Ramil’s hair off of his face. “I blame you for nothing but not coming back to me sooner.” He beat his weak fist against Ramil’s chest. There was a mix of tears and rainwater as Paytai buried his face into Ramil’s chest.
They anchored themselves on each other. Charan, in no other terms, ordered everyone to go shower and get warmed up. Paytai pushed Ramil almost all the way up the stairs into his room before he realized that he was chuckling to himself. Paytai lightly smacked him before going to turn on the shower. “I’ll ask Charan about some clothes for you.” Ramil caught his arm before he could leave.
“Stay.” He barely had to say it, the word in his eyes before it even graced his lips.
“Always.”
Charan knocked lightly on the door early the next morning, hoping just to drop off some clothes for Prince Ramil to wear, but found Paytai awake as well, propped up on some pillows. He lifted the clothes into line of sight so Paytai could see why without worry about waking the sleeping prince. He nodded and smiled before turning back to look at the man next to him, petting his hair. Slipping out of bed quietly, he followed Charan into the hall. He bowed deeply again this time for only gratitude. “Whatever I can do to repay you, please let me know. I am forever indebted to you.”
Charan said nothing for a moment. “The weather’s nice today, you should show Prince Ramil your archery.” Paytai sighed and stood back up.
“You’re annoyingly generous from birth, aren’t you?” Paytai rolled his eyes. Charan laughed.
“Whatever makes it easier for you. Khanin is definitely going to point those out.” Charan pointed to his neck littered with bite marks and hickeys. Paytai pulled his t-shirt collar up to his chin. “Come down for dinner, and if Ramil is still asleep let him rest, he’s been traveling a lot. We can make him something fresh when he wakes up.” Paytai nodded, grateful for all of Charan’s actions and support, even before his dismissal, in class and one on one lessons, as a strong and consistent figure in his life even though they haven't been close until now. Charan was undeniably consistent. Whatever possessed him to grab Charan’s arm and pull him into a hug was beyond him.
“Thank you.” Charan was stunned at first but then returned the hug, rubbing a small circle on the younger man’s back.
“Any time.” Paytai pulled back, wiping the few tears that had bubbled up in his eyes. Charan pulled out a handkerchief and helped wipe them away. The door opened, a sleepy Prince Ramil, clad in only underwear and a birds’ nest of hair, stepped into the hall. He looked between the two as he pulled Paytai close to him with a hand on his bicep.
“Play nice with Uncle Charan, Prince Ramil.” Paytai playful patted Ramil’s behind. “He’s been nothing but kind to me. He brought you clothes as well.” Charan had a sly grin that he was trying to hide. Ramil pulled Paytai closer, ignoring his lone audience member.
“Breakfast is ready, Nephew.” Paytai grinned back and followed Ramil’s pull back into the bedroom.
“You call him Uncle? Are you that close?” Ramil asked once back in the confines or Paytai’s room. Paytai hummed as he thought. Charan and him were not that close but they were on their way there. There had been more archery lessons, and more painting side by side. More nightmares. Over all that time, the day to day light hearted conversation got lost in the hours they had spent together. He had a friend in Charan, someone who understood the whims of royals and how their lives were rarely theirs to dream of what would be of their future, something that could be trivially decided if they had displeased their princes. Someone, something disposable if the wrong move was made. He had made that move and he was disposed of, worthless to the Bchuchongpisut. Not in Charan’s eyes, or even Prince Khanin’s. He learned how to spend his time as his own. He was learning who he was on his own.
“Yes, we’ve gotten closer.” Paytai understood that Prince Ramil was asking out of jealousy. “But he will never be you, Prince Ramil.”
“I’ve been disowned, Paytai. I’m no longer a prince. You don’t have to call me that.” He tugged on the sweatpants that Charan had brought for him, angry at the article of clothing in disguise of his anger for his father and for the situation. “I am nothing now.” He pulled on the shirt and jacket as well, before sitting on the edge of the bed, looking like a lost child instead of a man almost two meters tall and the former crowned prince of the Bchuchongpisut family, one of the four reigning families in all of Emmaly. Paytai stepped up to him, putting himself in between Ramil’s long legs to cup the man’s face and raise it to his.
“Oh, Ramil, you are everything.”