The Silence Of Metawin.

Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

Grabbing the steak knife next to the spoon on his table, he yanked what little hair Third had and pulled him away from his dear, sweet Win, ending the horrible, horrible locking of lips that had set him off. He clutched the knife tighter and ripped though his jugular vein with efficiency, having years of practice to know exactly where it was and exactly how much force was necessary. Blood sprayed everywhere, covering the table, Win's face, his own face, and even landing into his coffee.

It was cold anyway.

Win sat and watched, motionless, as Bright proceeded to bite into Third's neck, ripping out a huge piece before spitting it onto the table, as though the taste was foul.

A smile slowly crept onto Win's face as it dawned on him what just happened.

"Dr. Vachirawit."

Bright didn't respond, he had begun slicing into Third's chest, seeking out the dreaded heart that had once loved his Win before he had been able to.

"Dr. Vachirawit."

He continued his search. It took more effort than anticipated to get through the bones. There were so many ribs that-

"Dr. Vachirawit."

Bright blinked and saw the look of concern on Win's face. Third was nowhere to be seen and neither were the copious amounts of blood that had coated everything a minute ago.

"My apologies, Mr. Metawin." He took a deep breath through the nose, out through the mouth, collecting himself. "I must have been lost in thought for a second."

Win looked torn between wanting to believe him and wanting to push for the truth, but he let it be. "Well, as I was saying, Third and I do need to catch that movie. I told him to go wait in the car. I truly do hate when he embarrasses me like that. Public displays of affection? Really? Are we one of those couples now?" To send his point home he quickly glanced over to a couple across the room, aggressively shoving their tongues down each others throats, drool surrounding their mouths as if Super's glue.

Bright and Win broke out into laughter, laughter cut short by the blaring of a car horn from outside.

With a sigh, Win stood up, extending his arm. Bright shook his hand with a sad "Farewell," grasping his hand for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary.

Win gave him small smile then headed for the door. He got to the exit and then turned around. "Until Friday?"

Bright smiled. "Until Friday."

The car horn blared.

During the two days leading up to his date, er, appointment with Win, Bright did all he could to make himself, his house, and especially, his food, presentable.

In regards to himself, he went out shopping in search of a new suit. One of his favorite pastimes, besides cooking, involved him trying on suits costing well over thousands of baht, promising he had the intent to buy something, swearing he would come back later but always going instead to his own tailor, getting a custom made suit done in 24 hours. He loved messing with the young, minimum wage employees, making them do his bidding and hold his stuff or fetch him ties and answer him truthfully when he asked 'Does this make me look fat?' The look of pure horror that the employees gave him, and he made sure to get a different play thing every time, was more than worth it.

His tailor, however, would have none of it.

As soon as he opened the door, Rachel Suppasit had over a dozen trained, professional, yet young apprentices swarm him, each holding their weapon of choice: measuring tape, pencils, fabric swatches, coffee to appease him when he's in one of his moods.