When Pete woke, he was lying in one of the mansion's hospital beds, with two other, empty hospital beds in the room. It wasn't as private as the kind that the family members were put in. But it wasn't the regular one with more beds. If Pete wanted privacy, as one of the head bodyguards, this was as good as it got.

His body felt like he'd been through a shredder. The pain was more numb than he'd thought it would be. But it was still there, pinching at him, reminding him that he was still alive. The doctors fussed over him before he started receiving visitors.

Tankhun was pissed at Kinn for not returning Pete to him without bullet holes. Kinn visited as soon as he heard Pete was awake to hear Pete's side of the events that occurred in the prison cell. Apparently, Tawan was still missing. Arm brought mansion gossip while Pol kept intercepting and bringing Pete's food from his grandma, or else Pete would get in trouble. Pol claimed he only used to eat it while Pete was unconscious because it was disrespectful to let it go to waste.

His fourth day in the hospital, Porsche was sitting in a chair, his legs crossed at the foot of Pete's bed, as he ate from a bag of chips that was part of a hamper that Chan sent to Pete.

"You're eating my snacks."

"Shush, you," Porsche said. "You're a shiny hero because you got shot protecting Khun-Asshat."

"Khun-Vegas," Pete said. All this time and this was the first time anyone was mentioning him to Pete. "Where's he?"

Porsche cringed, looking at Pete with guilt. He was dressed in a shirt and jeans, but he'd pulled his sleeves up to his shoulders, revealing a big bandage on his right arm, while the left arm was in a sling. The bag of chips was wedged in the sling.

"We're not supposed to talk to you about him."

"I gathered as much when Arm ran from the room at the mention of Vegas' name."

"Kinn doesn't want you worrying."

"Where is he?"

Porsche sighed.

"He's fine."

"Did he get shot?"

The last thing Pete remembered was falling to the ground and watching Khun-Kun raise his gun at his son. He'd been aiming for Vegas in the first place. He was going to silence him before he spilled all their secrets. And yet, Porsche was saying he was fine. Kinn had mined Pete for information on the incident, but he hadn't offered up much in return. Pete had no idea what to think.

"No, he did not get shot."

"You're terrible at giving progress reports."

"He's alive. Vegas nearly killed his father after he shot you."

"What?" Pete asked, trying to sit up again, but thinking better and remaining down. "He nearly killed his father."

Porsche looked at Pete, as if trying to figure out how to tell what he was about to tell.

"When we got there, you were lying in a pool of blood, Tawan was missing and Vegas was punching his father like he was trying to kill him. And then..." Porsche trailed off, shaking his head. "He wouldn't let anyone come near you because he thought you'd died.

Pete couldn't believe it.

"He was crying on your body like... it almost... It looked like he was mourning a loved one. It was weird."

Not meaning to, Pete's hands caressed the bandages on his chest that were hiding the bullet wounds, thinking of all Vegas had said.

It was crazt, the thought that Vegas had memories of intimacy that he shared with Pete. Memories that Pete didn't have. Of all people, Pete? It didn't make sense.

"He's been asking to see you but Kinn won't let him."

"So he's still," Pete licked his lips. "He's still here."

Porsche scoffed.

"He's got his father's ring. Khun-Korn claims that Vegas proved his loyalty by putting his father in a coma, but do you want to know what I think?"

"What?"

"That ring's a fucking leash. Vegas can't do shit as long as he's wearing it. Plus," Porsche nodded at Pete. "There's you, too. I imagine he'll never work against Kinn if Kinn has you on his side."

It was all so unfathomable. Especially since Vegas himself had admitted to hurting Pete. Knowing what Vegas was capable of, Pete could imagine it. If he'd caught Pete in his house, the sky was the limit to what Vegas must have done to Pete.

And yet, Pete had shared a part of himself with Vegas. To the point that Vegas was crying over Pete, putting his father in a coma, on Pete's behalf.

"Yep." Porsche crunched on a bunch of chips. "I know that look."

"What look?"

"Word of advice," Porsche sat back in his chair. "Take a breath. Because, one way or another, you're going in the deep end."

Pete stared up at his friend.

"That's useless advice, Porsche."

Porsche shrugged, hummed, and put his legs back on the bed as he went back to his chips. Pete wanted... well, he wasn't sure what he wanted. He was curious. Yeah, maybe that was it. He would like to know. Because not knowing, not understanding what this was all about was a frustrating thing to imagine, because there was the very real possibility that what Pete was imagining was way worse than what had actually happened. Maybe a conversation was all that he needed. A quick chat. Nothing major.

And he couldn't exactly ask Kinn for it. Kinn was already keeping Vegas away.

"I want to talk to him."

With a chip halfway between his mouth and the bag, Porsche looked at Pete.

"I'm assuming we're talking about the time-traveling boss."

"Porsche."

"Kinn would hate it. Tankhun would kill me. You're asking for a lot here."

"If it was you, wouldn't you want to know?"

Porsche ate his chip, his frown deepening into a full on pout.

"Fuck it," he said. "I'm sure it's something a mind-numbing blow job can fix."

For a moment, Pete thought Porsche was talking about giving Vegas a blow job. Before he realized that Porsche was talking about Kinn and...

"Gross, Porsche."

"Fuck off. I'm doing this for you."

"Oh, I'm so sorry that you have to perform sexual favors that you would have performed, regardless."

"Meh," Porsche shrugged. "I have a big heart," he said, magnanimously. Then he got serious. "Are you sure about this though? Because," Porsche scratched his nose. "These Theerapanyakul men are... a lot to handle."

Porsche wasn't saying that lightly. He'd received attention from both Kinn and Vegas. And Pete had seen what that affection had gotten Porsche. Heartbreak. isolation. Punishments. Imprisonment. Maybe worse things had happened that Pete didn't even know about. If that was what Porsche had gotten from the calmer, nicer, more adjusted cousin, Pete didn't want to imagine what the crazy cousin would be like when his attention shifted to Pete.

But still, "I'm sure," Pete said.

Porsche nodded at him.

"Okay. If that's what you want."

Pete nodded back.

"It's what I want."

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One more chapter :)