“,” Kunpimook doesn’t know how, but they manage to make it to Yugyeom’s room, one of the more common suites on another level, and he sinks into the sofa the moment he gets in. “That was way too close-…”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Yugyeom looking this stressed. The younger man crosses the room in four strides, opening a bottle of whiskey that had been sitting in the mini bar, and pouring himself a drink. His fingers are shaking when he tips it into his mouth.

“You saw him,” he says finally, voice trembling. “I should’ve known, I should’ve known Jaebum was seeing him tonight, , now he’s going to-…”

He finishes the glass, about to pour himself another, when Kunpimook speaks up.

“Stop that,” he snaps, a sharp pain shooting up his leg when he tries to stand. “It’s fine. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Tell Jaebum-hyung that,” Yugyeom lets out a dry laugh, setting the cup down on the table anyway, and Kunpimook watches his fingers grip the smooth edge of the glass surface.

The older man buries his face in his hands. “Tell me it’s not who I think it is. This is just screwed up.”

Yugyeom manages to look more wired than he already is at those words. “You know who it is?”

“Of course, I hear that voice every day over the PA,” Kunpimook slumps back into his chair. “Choi Youngjae, right? Jackson’s secretary?”

Somehow, the thought of any relation between Jaebum and Jackson in this way is harder to take than the idea of Jaebum having an extramarital affair. With the way Jinyoung treats Jaebum, sometimes, it’s almost understandable that the other man would want a breather sometimes. Of course, this doesn’t make the notion any less detestable in Kunpimook’s eyes.

“Choi Youngjae,” Yugyeom echoes, pouring another glass, handing it to Kunpimook this time, and the older man takes an absent sip. “Surprised?”

“Considering the fact that I’ve walked in on him bent over Jackson’s desk more than once, yes, I am, really,” Kunpimook comments flatly, knocking the drink back. “Does Jaebum know?”

Yugyeom’s eyes are wide with alarm. “He…what?”

“Does Jaebum know that his lover is having frequent with his business rival,” the older boy says impatiently.

“Even I didn’t know that,” Yugyeom runs a hand through his hair, seemingly lost in thought.

“Well, duh,” Kunpimook blurts out, affronted. “He’s the one I told you Jackson was busy with all the time. And he’s his secretary. Isn’t that like, a default kind of thing?”

“Yeah, but,” Yugyeom seems to be disturbed by the fact that something so big has been occurring without his knowledge. “Youngjae didn’t give a hint, I mean-…”

“Wait, you know him?” Kunpimook blinks. “Youngjae, I mean?”

Yugyeom bristles. “I arrange their meetings sometimes,” he mutters, walking over to take a seat beside Kunpimook. “When Jinyoung’s being particularly clingy and Jaebum-hyung can’t get away from him, he usually pushes the whole business of contacting him to me.”

“You poor man.”

“It’s alright, I guess, at least he’s civil-…” Yugyeom inhales, closing his eyes for a moment, like he’s trying to shake bad memories. “Does Jackson know?”

“I don’t think so?” Kunpimook shifts uncomfortably on the sofa. “I think we were all under the impression Youngjae was some angel, or something,” he grimaces a little. “All these years, I never thought he was…he was always so timid, you know, I didn’t think he was capable of doing something like this. All that time spent acting daft as a daisy when he was actually sleeping around with Jackson’s biggest business rival behind his back-…damn.”

“Hyung’s not going to let you off easily on this one,” Yugyeom rests his weight on his knees, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “I think he thinks you’re going to tell Jackson the moment you see him again.”

“What, does he think I’m stupid?” Kunpimook says irritably, though admittedly, he thinks that if he’d found this out on his own, not because Yugyeom’d brought him up there, he would’ve told Jackson for sure. “Of course I’m not going to tell him.”

He makes to get up to pour himself another drink, but the pain that shoots up his leg from his ankle like lightning forces him to sit again.

“How’s your leg?” Yugyeom says in concern, putting his glass down to inspect the foot in question, and Kunpimook shifts it away in annoyance.

“It’s fine, I just twisted it being dragged away by you, it’ll be okay by tomorrow,” he mutters, taking Yugyeom’s glass instead and finishing half of it in one go, relief rushing in at the alcohol sliding down his throat.

“And you were the one telling me to stop,” Yugyeom mutters, getting up. “I’ll call the staff for some ice, maybe that’ll help with the swelling.”

Kunpimook swirls the remainder of the alcohol in his glass as Yugyeom makes the call, mulling the night’s events over in his head. He’s surprised at the lack of fear he feels- he did technically just find out something that might just get him into major trouble with one of the most powerful men in the country.

But he realises a moment later, in alarm, that he knows why. It’s Yugyeom, Yugyeom and the confusing rush of emotion he feels whenever he comes into contact with the man that gives him this ridiculous sense of reckless invincibility. Like he could stand up to anyone against them and come out of it alive.

Which is stupid, because Kunpimook’s only managed to survive this long by talking his way into everyone’s good books- conflict, of any sort, would be a step down a deadly slippery slope.

“It’ll come in a while,” Yugyeom says when he puts down the phone, straightening his dress shirt as he resumes his position by Kunpimook’s side. “I ordered some chamomile, too, in case either of us start to go into panic.”

“Great, I think I’m going to need to sleep for the next few years to forget all this,” the older man grumbles. “How I’m going to face Youngjae when I get back to work on Monday, I don’t even know-…”

Yugyeom lets out a short laugh. “You haven’t seen the worst of them, tonight was decent. You know Jaebum’s convertible? The red one he never lets anyone drive, not even Jinyoung? I think they’ve been at it in every way possible in that thing.”

“Shut up, you haven’t heard the stuff going on in Jackson’s office,” Kunpimook scoffs. “I swear, if I went in there with one of those blacklight things in CSI, it’d look like abstract art.”

Yugyeom doesn’t speak for a moment, just staring across the room at the blank television screen.

“You know, tonight,” he muses. “On paper, it’s the celebration of Jaebum and Jinyoung’s first five years. But I just remembered…he first met Youngjae a year ago this night too.”

“By met you mean brought back to a hotel and had with, right?” Kunpimook yawns, shifting closer to Yugyeom’s side. Then, “poor Jinyoung.”

“Oh, I think Jinyoung knows,” Yugyeom murmurs, arm coming to rest absently around Kunpimook’s shoulders. “He just doesn’t know who it is,” he shudders. “God help Youngjae if he ever finds out.”

“You say that like Jinyoung can do anything about it,” Kunpimook laughs, starting to feel light-headed from the alcohol. “Underhanded business deals and wrapping Jaebum around his little finger is one thing, and actually hurting someone’s another, you know.”

Yugyeom doesn’t look convinced. “You haven’t known him for five years. He can be terrifying when he wants to.”

Silence saturates the air for a moment, just enough for Kunpimook to think it over. “Well,” he murmurs, pressing closer into the crook of Yugyeom’s arm. “Fists up and hands clean, right?”

“Not when it comes to Jinyoung,” Yugyeom chuckles hollowly. “He wasn’t brought up rich, you know- the rest of them were. That’s what makes them predictable. But with Jinyoung, you never know.”

“You’ve survived to this day,” Kunpimook pats Yugyeom on the back. “Take that as a guarantee of sorts.”

Yugyeom laughs, the sound soft and reassuring, though he’s supposedly the worried one here, and Kunpimook settles comfortably against him, feeling inexplicably safe despite the circumstances.

“Hey,” Yugyeom begins all of a sudden then, a little uncomfortably. “You know, I’ve just been thinking-…did Jackson ever- you know-…”

“Proposition me?” Kunpimook asks lazily, taking another sip from his glass. “Yeah. Back in college, a couple of times.”

“Did you…?”

Kunpimook laughs, low and bitter. “Nope. Never.”

He wonders if that’s relief he hears in the sigh that escapes Yugyeom’s lips, almost inaudible, or if he’s just being hopeful. “Why, though?”

“Why didn’t I have with him?” Kunpimook thinks about it, for a moment. “Because then he’d stop having a reason to keep me around.”

Yugyeom nods thoughtfully. “Ah. Denial, am I right?”

Kunpimook laughs. “Exactly.”

“You weren’t afraid he might get pissed off and leave?”

“It’s not what you do, exactly, it’s just how you do it,” Kunpimook takes another sip despite the comfortable haze forming over his head. “I just knew how to turn him down without him getting angry.”

“Hm.”

Kunpimook rests his head on Yugyeom’s shoulder, revelling in the warmth that seems to emanate from his body. “Did any of them ever proposition you?”

“Yeah,” Yugyeom doesn’t seem to think much of it. “A couple of times.”

“Who?”

Yugyeom laughs. “Jackson,” he says, as if the thought’s ridiculous. “Back when he just took over his dad’s company, and Jaebum started to irritate him. I think he wanted some way of getting one up on him. I remember wondering how stupid he thought I was, to think I might accept something like that. No offence.”

Kunpimook snickers. “Something else we have in common.”

“It’s a little disturbing, if you don’t mind me saying,” Yugyeom makes a face.

“Youngjae doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

Yugyeom’s about to open his mouth to say a that’s going too far or something to a similar effect when a crisp knock at the door shakes them both out of the conversation.

“That’s fast,” Yugyeom straightens, getting up from the couch, until the door swings open and he freezes.

Jaebum’s standing in the doorway, tucking another black and gold card into his pocket, considerably more dressed than they’d seen him just now.

“Yugyeom, if you’d step outside for a moment,” he says, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his jacket. “I need to speak to Bambam alone.”

“It’s-…it’s okay, hyung, I spoke to him already,” Yugyeom sends a nervous look back, a silent plea in his voice that only makes itself heard whenever he speaks to Jaebum. “He won’t say a thing, he promised-…”

“I suppose you think his promise is valid,” Jaebum sounds a little amused, a little impatient. “Go outside. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Hyung-…”

“Yugyeom,” Jaebum steps in, eyes flashing, and Kunpimook watches, breath held, as Yugyeom stands perfectly still for a moment.

But then the second passes, and he ducks his head, walking out of the room silently. The sight is oddly painful to watch, but Jaebum doesn’t seem to think anything of it, because he closes the door behind him and takes a leisurely step towards Kunpimook. “Bambam, isn’t it?”

“Yessir,” Kunpimook doesn’t think the hyung invitation extends to this moment. “About just now-…”

“I believe you knew who that was,” Jaebum cuts through his words smoothly, as he plucks a cigarette from a box in his jacket, before offering one to Kunpimook, who declines politely. “And his relation to yourself and to Jackson.”

“Yes,” he replies, unable to think of anything else to say. He wonders how Jaebum can muster the audacity to face him after being caught in an act like that- how he’s been facing Jinyoung all this time, too.

“And I assume you know the consequences of Jackson ever finding out about such an event,” Jaebum lights the cigarette, taking a relaxed drag on it, before stowing the lighter in his vest. “It’d cause a lot of trouble, both for Jackson and for Youngjae, and we wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?”

You mean it’d cause a lot of trouble for you.

“No sir,” Kunpimook says respectfully.

“So do we have an understanding here?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Jaebum sighs, seemingly already disinterested in the conversation, heading for the door. Yugyeom’s on the phone, across the tiny space in the corridor, when he opens the door, eyes questioning.

Kunpimook watches with narrowed eyes as Jaebum gestures impatiently for Yugyeom to hand the phone to him.

“Yes, Jinyoungie, I’m with Yugyeom now, we’re heading to the ballroom,” the amount of calm in his voice is infuriating, almost, as he replies to whatever Jinyoung’s saying on the phone. “Yeah, I got held up with a pretty disagreeable guest- I needed to close the deal for the five year manufacturing contract. Yes, we’re on our way.”

The gall of him, honestly.

“I wish he wouldn’t ask so many questions,” Jaebum mutters after he hangs up, handing the phone back without a second glance. He casts Kunpimook a final look, before turning to Yugyeom. “What’s Bambam doing here anyway? Isn’t this your room?”

“He twisted his ankle when I was pulling him away,” Yugyeom says quickly, and Kunpimook obligingly lifts his slightly swollen foot. “My room was closer.”

“Ah,” Jaebum says, sharp eyes flicking from Yugyeom, then to Kunpimook. The older man knows Yugyeom’s said something right- men like Jaebum have codes to follow, and for him to aggravate an injured person might not have the best consequences in hindsight, especially considering said injured person is his business rival’s friend. “Fine, then. We’re going now,” he says to Yugyeom, starting off down the corridor. “I’ll need your help with Jinyoung later.”

You mean you need help distracting Jinyoung later so he doesn’t see you screwing your lover in the neighbouring suite.

“But hyung-…” Yugyeom turns, then, giving Kunpimook a look, and the older man flinches, hoping his eyes convey that it’s fine, just go so he’ll shut up. But Jaebum’s apparently too impatient to notice anything, checking his watch as he looks down the corridor.

“Yugyeom,” and it’s that same voice he’d heard at the suites not too long ago, somehow more imperious and commanding in the tiny space than it’d been in the hallway. Jaebum gestures with an annoyed hand, curling his fingers towards him. “Come with me. Now.”

And Yugyeom’s drawn towards him miserably, almost like a dog on a leash, unable to even look back as he follows Jaebum along the corridor, and the door clicks shut smartly behind them, leaving Kunpimook alone in the room, feeling sicker than ever.

*

Jackson never arrives at the party. Kunpimook awaits a text, or a call, or something, but his phone remains uncharacteristically silent. He’s thankful, if he’s to be honest, because he doesn’t think he can walk around pandering to the older man’s needs with his ankle in this state. Vaguely, he wonders what Jackson’s excuse will be, before deciding that it really doesn’t matter. Jaebum and Jinyoung have enough on their hands tonight, especially with the appearance of this elusive third party, and Jackson’s absence won’t leave a mark.

He’s showered and curled up under the blankets when Yugyeom comes back, the sound of his arrival obvious by the way he tosses his jacket over the sofa in the en suite living room, before walking into the bedroom, irritably loosening his tie.

“Everything go as planned?” Kunpimook calls over the sound of him trudging into the bathroom to wash his face.

“If by as planned, you mean I had to keep Jinyoung busy enough for Jaebum-hyung to disappear upstairs on,” he pauses for a moment, counting on his fingers. “Four occasions,” he grabs a sterilised hand towel, rubbing it into his face. “Yeah, things went pretty swell.”

“That’s just nasty,” Kunpimook comments, as Yugyeom s his shirt with deft, annoyed movements. “How was Jinyoung?”

“Tonight-…” the younger man runs a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. “I don’t know, he was kind of calm about it. Usually he’d freak out when he doesn’t have hyung in his sights, tonight he was just kind of, okay about everything.”

“Maybe he’s getting used to the idea Jaebum has someone else,” Kunpimook lifts his leg out from under the blanket, inspecting his ankle. “Told you he’d just have to deal with it.”

“I don’t think so,” Yugyeom mutters darkly, wandering back into the bathroom. “He’s planning something, for sure- I can’t believe Jaebum-hyung dared to invite Youngjae over to his party with Jinyoung right there, usually he waits until Jinyoung’s busy with work or when they’ve had an argument.”

Kunpimook rubs at his eyes, reaching out with a lazy arm. “Just shower and get over here, I’m beat. Accidentally discovering affairs and being threatened with death for it is hard work,” he glances over at Yugyeom, still staring hard into an indiscriminate spot in the wall. “Don’t worry so much about it- as long as we keep our nose out of where it doesn’t belong, we’re good, remember?”

“That ended the moment you say Youngjae and Jaebum-hyung together,” Yugyeom laughs drily, but something throbs, pained and anxious, gnawing at him like a dog on a bone, behind the lightness to his tone. “It ended the moment you got to know Jackson.”

“I’m still alive,” Kunpimook smiles cheekily. “I’ll take that as a sort of guarantee.”

Yugyeom settles near the foot of the bed, and for the first time, under the soft light scattered down from the ceiling, Kunpimook sees the bags under his eyes, the hollowness behind his pupils, exhaustion that’s been worn into his body, saturating his soul, and it’s then he feels a rush of indignity, of anger, that seeps through the cracks in his mind to pour from his mouth when he speaks next.

“Why do you let him push you around like that?” he blurts out, and it’s the closest he’s ever treaded with regards to the subject. They make it a point, an unsaid rule, never to question each other about the way they work, but Kunpimook can’t help it, can’t help feeling something well up inside him every time he sees Yugyeom forced under Jaebum’s thumb again. “If Jackson ever treated me like that I’d be up and out in seconds.”

Yugyeom laughs, a terrible, heartbreaking kind of sound. “You don’t get it.”

“I don’t have to get it to see that he’s treating you like some sort of dog,” Kunpimook argues. “You’re his cousin, but he doesn’t even give you the respect he should be giving his staff.”

“Have you actually seen the way he treats his staff? How he talks to me is civilised for someone like him,” Yugyeom pushes his hair away from his face, rubbing his eyes wearily. “Just-…you haven’t known him for long enough, you wouldn’t understand.”

Kunpimook stares hard at him for a moment, almost glaring. “Why do you let him do this to you? He doesn’t even let you say no or later or I can’t. Now you’re stuck doing all his dirty work for him and Jinyoung. Just-…” he folds his arms across his chest, the starched fabric of the blankets rustling at the movement. “Why?”

Yugyeom seems to be wondering why, himself, because his dark eyes, usually sharp, focused in deadly concentration, seem to glaze over, like he’s recalling something.

“You know, I told you we grew up together, because my mom wanted me to be just like him,” Yugyeom stands, slowly, taking thoughtful steps forward aimlessly at a glacial pace. “So when he was eleven and I was five, I’d go over to his house almost all the time. And he had this room full of toys. Can you imagine? A room just for his toys. Cars, airplanes, little grand prix and train tracks, you name it, he had it.”

For a moment, Kunpimook imagines the younger man as a little boy, standing reluctantly in the doorway of what must’ve seemed like a glorified mansion, shuttled to and fro like cargo to play with someone twice his age. It’s a painful sight, even as a third party who’d had nothing to do with it staring in from the outside.

“But even with all those toys, he always had a favourite game to play whenever I came around, with his Lego blocks,” Yugyeom lets out a little laugh, like it’s funny, now, thinking about it. “He’d take the box of bricks- a big, red box, and I remember he could always carry it so well because he was so much older and bigger, and he’d just throw the whole thing on the floor,” he makes a careless swinging motion with his arm. “And I remember the pieces would just fly everywhere, till the whole floor was covered in Lego blocks even though the room was so big. And then he’d point to the floor,” he laughs again. “And he’d tell me: pick it up,” his voice seems to go dead when he says that, like he’s heard the echo of those three words in his nightmares so many times he’s forgotten what they actually sound like.

“So I did. Every single time.”

“What the hell,” Kunpimook hisses. “What kind of screwed up brain was he? How the hell did you deal with that?”

Yugyeom shrugs. “I became excellent at cleaning and fixing things. And being optimistic.”

“That’s not the point!” Kunpimook splutters. “That’s like child abuse or some , I swear he could go to jail for that or something.”

“Well the thing is,” Yugyeom continues drily. “I think his father liked the attitude, the whole domineering confident accept-nothing-but-the-best kind of thing, so his parents never said a word. I guess I just kind of grew up accepting Jaebum-hyung had the right to tell me to what to do.”

“Tell me you’re going to stop it,” Kunpimook leans forward, unable to conceal the undertone of urgency in his voice. “What if he wants you to do something worse than just making sure Jinyoung doesn’t see him getting off in some hotel or dragging him back after he gets drunk? What if he wants you to do something-…I don’t know, something illegal? You’re just going to say yes?”

“He won’t,” Yugyeom says, though he doesn’t sound so convinced. Kunpimook sighs in frustration, tossing the covers aside.

“Why’d you put up with all that after you grew up?” he bites out. “You could’ve gotten out of it when you were sixteen or seventeen, right?”

Yugyeom tosses the face towel in his hand onto the dresser top, turning away from Kunpimook. “Sure, I hated him when I was young, but-…I hated me more, you know? I hated not having as much money as he did, hated my mom for bringing me back there even though I said I didn’t want to, hated the idea of staying this way for the rest of my life,” he shrugs. “And Jaebum-hyung, every time my mom was about to bring me home, after I’d picked up everything and put it back, he’d reach up to the shelf and give me one of the toys in that giant room of toys of his, and he’d tell me that if I just did everything he told me to, I’d never have to be as poor as my family again,” he’s wandered, now, to the bottle of whiskey on the dresser, before pouring himself a glass. It’s unreal, the detached way he recounts all this, like he doesn’t care, or that he’s killed everything in himself that was once capable of that. “I guess I bought it.”

“You know you’ve got to stop it, right?” Kunpimook persists. “Look, why don’t you just stand up to him? You can just-…”

“You’re telling me what to do now, too?” Yugyeom’s voice takes a 180 degree turn, then, cracking like a whip across the tiny space, flaring and dangerously sharp, and it stuns the older man into silence. In a moment, though, the searing emotion that’d flashed in his eyes extinguishes itself, and he downs the rest of his drink, turning away in embarrassment. “Sorry, I’m not thinking straight-…”

“No, I-I’m sorry,” Kunpimook’s fingers wind into the soft covers, gripping tight, head lowered. “I was being insensitive. I just-…” he bites his lip, only daring to look up for a second and feeling something tighten in him when he finds Yugyeom looking straight back at him. “I can’t-…” it’s oddly difficult to say the one sentence in his mind, when he’s spun lies the length of novels on the spot without breaking a sweat. His mouth and mind had seemed to be one entity as compared to the moment now, when the words seem to get tangled and choked on the way from his heart to his lips. “I can’t-…can’t see you-…” he gestures half-heartedly. “Like this.”

He doesn’t look up- he can’t, not whilst wondering what line is it he’s crossed this time, what taboo it is he’s broken, and it feels like he’s committed a crime, which is ironic as anything, because all he’s done is tell the truth. But, then again, in their profession, in their relationship, woven on sweet lies and cool indifference, he knows something like that should only warrant capital punishment.

Yugyeom doesn’t speak, for a second, and though the older man would assume him to be thinking of what to say, fabricating lies and twisting words in ways only the two of them know so well, there’s something deeper in his silence, something woven into the stiffness of his shoulders and the steel in his posture.

Then he does something unexpected- he crosses the room slowly, dark, diamond eyes still lost in some sort of searching reverie, like he’s only halfway into this world, the other half wandering in whatever complex dimension he loses that great mind to every so often, and Kunpimook doesn’t move for a moment, taken aback by this uncharacteristic development.

So if something as simple as that can rattle the older man, it’s no surprise that he thinks his heart almost stops when Yugyeom leans down, gradual and leisurely, to press a soft kiss on his lips, surprisingly capable fingers guiding the other boy’s chin forward, opening him up.

It’s too much, too much reality and emotion and truth all at once, everything Kunpimook’s sworn to keep under suffocating control for as long as he lives, but like water through a dam weakened over time the desire for it bursts through, and his arms slide around Yugyeom’s neck almost unconsciously, pulling him closer.

When they break apart Kunpimook’s gasping for air- he hadn’t realised the need for it in the priceless half a minute that’d just passed, and for a moment they stare at each other, minds turning like clockwork, trying desperately to calculate the appropriate response and justification for what’d just happened and failing miserably.

“You should,” Kunpimook pushes him away, face burning. “You should go and shower.”

“Yeah,” Yugyeom seems slightly dazed, stumbling to his feet, fingers fumbling with the robe in the closet and closing the door quickly behind him once he enters.

But it can only be said that they are, after all, professionals in the business, so in the short span of Yugyeom’s shower they come to ironically, the same, safe conclusion.

The Yugyeom that leaves the bathroom and the Kunpimook that smiles at him from the bed are those that have convinced themselves of the fact that neither have admitted so openly and weakly to something as ridiculous as love, or affection, for that matter, and both are satisfied.

(Or not, depending on how you look at it.)