Hold me close and we'll just leave it all behind

All this time I sink

Professor Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham adjusted his spectacles, his gaze sweeping across the classroom. A sea of young faces stared back, some engaged, others struggling to contain yawns. Then, his eyes landed on a familiar mop of black hair tucked towards the back.

"Macau," Pete began, his voice a touch louder than usual, "perhaps you could share your thoughts on the symbolism of the whale in Moby Dick?"

Macau, caught off guard, flushed. "Uh, well, khun Pete," he stammered, "I think it represents..." he trailed off, the weight of his professor's gaze heavy on him.

Pete, sensing his discomfort, softened his tone, "Anyone else?" A small number of hands shot up, offering their interpretations of Captain Ahab's obsession and the elusiveness of truth. Macau relaxed, scribbling notes furiously.

After class, Pete lingered at his desk, students filing out with their backpacks and mumbled goodbyes. As Macau approached the desk, he was stopped by Pete.

"Sorry about that in class, khun Pete," Macau muttered.

"No need to apologize," Pete said, gathering his papers. "But next time, try to come prepared. I have been noticing you zoning a lot in my classes for the past few months. You have a good mind, Macau, don't be afraid to use it. And if there is an issue, do not hesitate to ask for help."

"I know khun Pete," Macau sighed, "It's nothing actually. I am sorry, I will start focusing again, khun. Have a good day." "Good day to you too, Macau."

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


"Ready to go, Khun Macau?"

Macau hoisted his backpack, the weight pulling on his thin shoulders. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

The sleek black car Kit drove seemed extravagant parked amongst student vehicles. As they pulled away from campus, Macau stared through the tinted windows at the carefree students milling about. He yearned for that kind of normalcy, a life where he didn't need a bodyguard, a life where his older brother, Vegas, wasn't the CEO of a multi-billion dollar tech company that made him a target, a life where they had to constantly live in fear of their father.

The drive to Vegas' high-rise office was tense. Macau fidgeted with his phone, the screen dark. He hated these visits on days like today; where he knew they would be a mix of interrogation and lecture.

Kit escorted Macau through the gleaming lobby, the receptionist greeting them with a practiced smile. The elevator ride was an agonizing climb, leaving Macau's stomach churning. They arrived at Vegas' corner office, the panoramic view of the city dwarfed by the tension in the room.

Vegas, a lean, sharp-eyed man in a perfectly tailored suit, looked up from his computer. A frown creased his brow. "Macau. Kit."

"Hey, hia," Macau mumbled, feeling like a child again.

"Kit, you can wait outside," Vegas' voice was clipped.

Kit gave a silent nod and exited, closing the door with a soft click. The sound echoed in the vast office, amplifying the silent accusation in Vegas' gaze.

"What's wrong?" Macau blurted.

"What's been wrong all semester, Cau?" Vegas countered, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Another D in Theory and Criticism? That's not what we discussed.You know papa is already mad about the loss this company is facing. If he gets a whiff about your dropping scores, the end result will not be good."

Macau's face flushed, "Theory and Criticism is hard, okay? And it's not exactly my fault why papa is extra mad these days. If anything, it is yours."

"Everything seems hard for you lately, doesn't it?" Vegas sighed. "Except video games, that is. Top of the leaderboards again, I hear."

Macau slammed his backpack on the plush chair. "So what? At least I'm good at something. Unlike you, who has been failing this company and getting both of us in trouble with papa."

Vegas leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Look, Macau, I only want what's best for you. You have the potential to do great things. This... this slacking off, it puts you at risk."

"Risk?" Macau scoffed. "You're the one who puts me at risk with your stupid company! You think I like having a bodyguard following me around like a shadow? You think I am not in danger when you fail to manage this fucking company?"

"Language." Anger flared in Vegas' eyes. "This is my job, Macau! It's how I try to keep you safe! Do you think I enjoy living in constant fear?"

The slam of the heavy oak door echoed in the office. Macau, his face flushed red, stormed out, leaving Vegas alone in the sudden silence. He watched the door for a beat too long, then sank back into his chair, the polished leather cool against his skin.

With a sigh, he reached for his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. The pressure built behind his eyes felt more a reflection of the situation than simple fatigue. He'd tried, damn it, he'd tried to be reasonable. But Macau, his hot-headed, stubborn little brother...

The frustration bubbled up again. He slammed his fist down on the desk, sending a crystal paperweight skittering across the polished surface. It stopped just at the edge, teetering precariously. With another sigh, Vegas reached out and straightened it.

"Nop," he called into the intercom, his voice strained. "Come in here, please."

A moment later, the door opened silently and Nop entered. His presence was a constant reminder of the danger they lived in, a danger that fueled Vegas' overprotectiveness.

"Get me a car, Nop," Vegas rasped, "Somewhere... loud."

Nop's brow furrowed slightly, but he simply nodded. "A bar, sir?"

"Just somewhere with noise," Vegas mumbled, pushing himself out of his chair. He needed to drown out the echoes of his own failure, the pressure of his father and the anger in his brother's voice.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The first few swallows did little to dull the ache in his chest. The argument with Macau, the worry etched on his brother's face, it all replayed in his mind. He was about to drown his sorrows in another drink when a movement caught his eye.

Across the bar, a group of friends had taken a booth. Laughter spilled around them, but it was one member in particular that held Vegas' attention. The man, young and undeniably beautiful, his features sculpted as if by a master artist, had eyes that seemed to hold a universe of stories. Their gazes met, a spark igniting in the dimness.

A reluctant smile tugged at Vegas' lips. There was something about him, an undefinable allure that whispered of a welcome escape. He straightened his tie, a ghost of his old confidence returning. Maybe, just for tonight, he could forget the weight of responsibility and simply be a man attracted to another.

He caught the bartender's eye and signaled for another drink, this time a more playful concoction, a silent invitation sent across the crowded room. The beautiful man seemed to pick up on the gesture, a playful tilt to his head acknowledging it.

Just as Vegas was about to rise and walk over, a sharp ring pierced the air. He fished out his phone, his stomach clenching at the caller ID. Frustration flickered across his face, a war waging within him between duty and desire.

With a sigh, he answered the call, the urgency in his voice a stark contrast to the playful vibe of moments ago. As he listened, his expression hardened back into the dutiful son persona.

He glanced across the bar, but the beautiful man had vanished, leaving only the echo of a missed connection and a lingering sense of what could have been. With a resigned nod to the bartender, Vegas settled his tab and slipped out of the bar. The night's distraction offered only a fleeting glimpse of escape, leaving him more aware than ever of the life he couldn't leave behind.