TRACKS

wedding plans 4

The Therapanyukul dining hall carried the soft clatter of cutlery and gentle conversation. Plates of warm congee, fresh fruit, and tea were set across the long table. The atmosphere, at first glance, seemed lighter than in recent weeks.

Porchay was happily talking about some fabric samples from the wedding shopping trip, Porsche nodded along, Tankhun fanned himself dramatically over the amount of planning still ahead, while Babe sat quietly, one hand resting on his growing bump, nibbling at toast.

Sky and Phoenix exchanged quiet whispers at the far end of the table, heads close together as they shared a private joke that drew a small smile from Phoenix.

But beneath the surface of all that chatter, tension was heavy

Vegas sat two seats away, his untouched tea cooling by his hand. He glanced at Pete more than once, as though waiting for the smallest acknowledgment  a look, a word, anything. But Pete never turned his head. Not once.

When Porsche cracked a joke and Tankhun nearly spit his tea, Pete’s lips curved just faintly, but when Vegas cleared his throat to add something, Pete’s expression didn’t shift. It was as though he wasn’t even there.

The others noticed.

Porchay glanced between the two, his brow furrowing. Porsche exchanged a look with Kinn, who subtly shook his head ......don’t push it. Babe bit his lip, his eyes darting towards the two elders

Finally, Tankhun, never one to hold his tongue, broke the quiet tension.

Tankhun: Honestly, this house feels like two different rooms at once. One side planning weddings, the other side… colder than the morgue.

Everyone froze. Vegas clenched his jaw, staring at his plate. Pete lifted his teacup with steady hands, took a sip, and set it down still without a word.

Kinn cleared his throat, trying to smooth the air.

Kinn: Let’s just… keep the focus on the weddings, yeah? We’ve all got enough to handle.

But the silence between Pete and Vegas only deepened. Each second of it screamed louder than any argument.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The morning dragged on, the air in the Therapanyukul household heavy despite the sunlight spilling through wide windows. Breakfast had ended in awkward silence, everyone scattering quickly after sensing the storm brewing.

Vegas lingered behind, watching Pete walk away from the table, collected and untouchable as always. That silence that cold wall it was worse than any fight they’d ever had.

By the time Pete slipped into their bedroom to fold away his jacket, Vegas followed, shutting the door harder than he intended. The sound echoed like a warning.

Vegas: Enough. Pete, enough. You can’t keep doing this to me.

Pete didn’t turn. He calmly hung his jacket in the wardrobe, smoothed the fabric, and reached for a fresh shirt as if Vegas weren’t even in the room.

Vegas’s voice sharpened.

Vegas: enough of this now Pete ....we can't go on like this for Christ's sake this is not us

Pete adjusted his cuffs. Silence.

Vegas’s chest heaved. He crossed the room in three strides, his hand slamming against the wardrobe door, forcing Pete to stop.

Vegas: Say it. Say something. Hate me, curse me, anything  but don’t you dare treat me like I’m invisible.

Pete finally looked at him. Calm. Cold. His voice even, measured.