Chapter Text
Today’s weather forecast; imminent shitstorm across Greater Bangkok.
Hong Pichetpong’s footsteps echoed off the smooth, cream-coloured walls of the hallway, heeled boots clicking along the polished marble. When he caught his reflection in the pristine window overlooking King Street, he winced. This pink bunny costume wasn’t doing shit for his skin tone. A withering sigh escaped him and he tugged the plastic mask into place.
Singing telegrams still existed. Who knew? He had actually laughed upon seeing the tiny advertisement in the Village Voice’s Help Wanted section, but curiosity had led him to dial the number. His laugher had stopped abruptly when he’d heard exactly how much people were willing to pay in exchange for his humiliation. So here he was, one day later, preparing to sing in front of a perfect stranger for a cut of ฿1,900. ฿1,900 might to sound like much, but when your roommate has just booted you out onto your ass for failure to come through on rent - again - leaving you no place to live, and your checking account is gasping for oxygen, pink bunnies do what pink bunnies must. At least his round, fluffy tail would cushion his fall when his ass hit the sidewalk.
See? He’d already found a sliver lining. Maybe the shitstorm would hold.
Or not. Over the last week, he’d been on thirteen auditions, trudging on blistered feet between callbacks and will-definitely-never-call-backs, smiling and reciting lines for bored production executives. Toothpaste commercials, walk-on roles for daytime soaps… hell, he’d even auditioned to play a father in a diaper rash ad. They’d all but laughed his 22 year old ass out of the building.
Too bad they couldn’t touch him. Nothing and nobody could. He was from fucking Pattaya.
While Hong usually kept that fact to himself, he couldn’t help but admit that Pattaya had prepared him for this constant rejection. It had given him the brass balls to say “their loss” every single time someone in a business suit decided his acting skills weren’t good enough. That he wasn’t good enough. One word kept him going, kept him boarding the subway to another audition. Someday. Someday he would look back at this pre-stardom experience and be grateful for it. He’d cozy up to Nani Hirunkit on the red carpet and have a damn good story to tell. Although he might just leave out the pink bunny suit.
Unfortunately, on days like today, when a shitstorm cloud was riding low above his head, following him everywhere he went, someday seemed a long way off. ฿1,900 couldn’t plug the hole in the shitcloud, it could only keep him eating properly for the next week. As far as his living situation went, he’d figure something out. If it meant taking the bus to Pattaya and sneaking into his old bedroom for the night, he’d bite the bullet. The next morning, he’d slip his feet back into his boots and get back to pounding the pavement, his parents being none the wiser.
Through the eyeholes of the bunny mask, Hong glanced down at the piece of paper in his hand. Apartment 4D. Based on the song he’d memorised on the way here and the swank interior of the building, he knew the type who would answer the door. Some too-rich, middle-aged douchebag who was so bored with his life that he needed to be entertained with novelties like singing bunny rabbits. He’d close the door when he finished, text his main squeeze some emoticon-heavy thank you, and forget all about this little diversion on his way to play indoor tennis.
Hong's gaze tracked down lower on the note in his hand, and he felt an uncomfortable kick of unease in his belly. He’d met his new boss at a tiny office in Asok, surprised to find a dude only slightly older than himself running the operation. Always suspicious, he’d asked him how he kept this place afloat. There couldn’t be that high a demand for singing telegrams, right? He’d laughed, explaining that singing bunnies only accounted for a tenth of their income. The rest came in the form of strip-o-grams. He’d done his best to appear flattered when he’d told him he’d be perfect for it.
Would he go that far? Taking his clothes off for strangers paid a damn slight more than ฿1,900. It would be so easy for him to take that leap. As an actor, he had the ability to detach himself and become someone else. Being the object of attention didn’t bother him; it was what he’d trained himself for. That kind of income would guarantee him a place to live, allow him to continue auditioning without worrying about his next meal. So why the hesitation?
He ran a thumb over the rate young-dude-boss had jotted down on the slip of paper. ฿6,000 for each ten-minute performance. God, the security he would feel with that kind of money. And yet, something told him that once he took that step, once he started taking off his clothes, he would never stop. It would become a necessity instead of a temporary patch-up of his shitstorm cloud.
Think about it later. When you’re not dressed like the fucking Trix Rabbit. Hong took a deep, fortifying breath, the same one he took before every audition. He wrapped his steady fingers around the brass door knocker and rapped it against the wood twice. A frown marred his forehead when he heard a miserable groan come from inside the apartment. It sounded like a young groan. Maybe the douchebag had a son? Oh, cool. He definitely wanted to do this in front of someone in his age group. Perfect.
His sarcastic thought bubble burst over his head when the door swung open, revealing a guy. A hot-as-hell guy. A naked-except-for-unbuttoned-jeans guy. Being the shameless hussy he was, his gaze immediately dipped to his happy trail, although, on this guy, it really should have been called a rapture path. It started just beneath his belly button, which sat at the bottom of beautifully defined ab muscles. But they weren’t the kind of abs honed from hours in the gym. No, they were natural, I-do-sit-ups-when-I-damn-well-feel-like-it abs. Approachable abs. The kind you could either lick or snuggle up against, depending on your mood.
Hong lassoed his rapidly dwindling focus and yanked it higher until he met his eyes. Big mistake. The abs were child’s play compared to the face. Stubbled jaw. Bed head. Big, Hershey-coloured eyes outlined by dark, black lashes. His fists were planted on either side of the door frame, giving him a front-row seat to watch his chest and arms flex. A lesser man would have applauded. As it was, Hong was painfully aware of his bunny-costumed status, and even that came in second place to the fact that Approachable Abs was so stinking rich that he could afford to be nursing a hangover at eleven in the morning. On a Thursday.
He dragged a hand through his unkempt black hair. “Am I still drunk, or are you dressed like a rabbit?”
His voice was rough from sleep. Probably not his usual voice. That had to be the reason his tummy did a backflip. “I’m dressed like a rabbit.”
“Okay.” He tilted his head. “Should I be drunk for this?”
“If anyone should be drunk for this, it’s me.”
“Good point.” He jerked his thumb back towards his dark apartment. “I think there’s some tequila left-”
“You know what?” This is my life now. How did I get here? “I think I’m all set.”
He nodded once, as if out of respect for her decision. “So what now?”
“Are you…” He consulted his slip of paper through the round eyeholes. “Nut Thanat?”
“Yeah.” He leaned against the doorjamb and considered him. “I was named after my grandfather. So, technically, I’m Nut Thanat Danjesda the Second. How’s that for fancy?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Just making small talk.”
“Is this a typical Thursday exploit for you? Get a lot of forest creatures on your doorstep?”
“You’d be the first.”
“Well, then. Call me Pink Bunny the First. How’s that for fancy?” When he laughed, he was grateful for the mask that hid his unexpected smile. However, this situation was getting more ridiculous by the minute. He definitely didn’t have time for this. At one o’clock she was auditioning for a small theatre company’s ironic production of Lassie. Priorities, Hong.
Hong cleared his throat, letting the horrifically stupid lyrics imprint on his brain. Lyrics he hadn’t written, thank God. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get out of the suffocating costume and forget this ever happened. Until tomorrow. When he was scheduled to dress like a giant bumble bee. For fucks sake.
Make every performance count. Channeling Liza Minnelli, he cocked one hip and raised the opposite hand.
To my hot shot honey bunny
Last night we went places and had some fun-ny
You brought me home and we skipped the small talk
Now I’m daydreaming about your perfect—
“Stop.” Nut shook his head slowly. “Jesus, please, make it stop.”
Hong let his hand drop to his side. “You better be complaining about the lyrics and not my singing.”
“I—sure.” He scanned the hallway, looking relieved when he saw that none of his neighbors had overheard. “Who did you say sent you?”
He stared back at him, dumbfounded. Not that he could tell with the mask hiding his face. “You had more than one girl over last night?”
“I was celebrating,” he said defensively. “Don’t be a judgemental rabbit. They’re the worst.”
“O-kay, my work is done here.” He turned tail, literally, and started walking back toward the elevator. Over his shoulder, he called, “Zoe sent me. You might want to write that down.”
“Is she the redhead?” Nut called back. When Hong stopped in his tracks, he smiled to let him know he’d been kidding. Maybe. “Hold up. Can you just wait here a second? I should give you a tip.”
As he fumbled in his jean pocket, Hong smirked. “Which tip are we referring to here? I did just sing an ode to your penis.”
“Please don’t remind me.” He drew ฿500 out of his wallet, pinching it between his fingers. “Just one request, though. I want to see your face first.”
Hong felt a stab of irritation. What the hell did it matter what he looked like? Everywhere he went, every part he read for, critical eyes poked and prodded him. Too thin. Too curvy. Too tall. Too short. Never what they wanted. And just this morning, he’d been told he had a stripper's body. The fact this wealthy party guy was holding money over his head in order to judge his appearance only tripled his annoyance. “Why? If you like what you see, will you invite me inside? You haven’t even showered off the last girl yet.”
He actually had the grace to look a little ashamed. “I—“
Hong didn't give a shit about his answer. “Would you expect me to be flattered?” He clutched his chest dramatically. “Please, oh keeper of the golden penis, let me worship your flawless phallus.”
“Careful.” His shame morphed into irritation. “You’re starting to sound a little jealous to me.”
“Jealous?” Oh, that did it. The shitstorm cloud above his head darkened, lightning bolts shooting through its sides. Kicked out of his apartment, not a single callback in weeks, and leaning toward stripping. He’d caught him on a bad fucking day. Honestly, good days were getting harder to come by, and right now, he could think of only one thing that could help. Wiping the smug superiority off the Penis Prince’s face.
He bit down on his lips to plump them up, then reached up and removed the mask. Satisfaction danced in his bloodstream when his jaw went slack, brown eyes melting into a deeper shade. That’s right, buddy. I ain’t half bad. As he strode toward him, he straightened from the doorjamb, a groan working its way free of his throat. He saw the intention in his expression, knew what was coming. It didn’t escape him that even though he wore a thick pink bunny suit, he was looking at him like he wore a mesh crop top. Nut Thanat Danjesda was an interesting character, he’d give him that.
“Jealous?” He repeated before shoving him into the apartment, bringing his back up against the inside wall just beside the door. “Sweetheart, I would rock your world.”
Not giving him a chance to respond, he surged up on his toes and melded their mouths together. Ohhh, snap. There was zero hesitation on Nuts part, just a long, expert pull of Hong's lips. As if he’d let go of a trapeze and he’d caught him in midair. The kiss hit the ground running, mouths opening, tongues fighting to take the lead. One strong hand found Hong's chin and pulled it down further, allowing Nut to slant his head and deepen the kiss even further. Shock exploded behind Hong's eyes, and he swayed a little under the wave of heat. Affected. Nut was affecting him in a way he wasn’t familiar with. He’d kissed a lot of guys, but he’d never felt dread over the idea of stopping. Nut pushed his tongue deeper, making a hungry sound and sending it vibrating into Hong's mouth. He echoed it. Louder. His head fell back and Nut moved with him, keeping their lips locked together, as if he couldn’t allow Hong to get away. What was happening here? Hong was losing control of the situation. Get it back.
Hong pulled back and sucked in a deep breath. Nut’s mouth was damp and parted as he tried to draw in his own oxygen, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. “Who the hell are you?”
Swallowing the odd feeling in his throat, Hong plucked the ฿500 note out of Nut’s fingers. “I’m gone.”
He blew into the hallway, sensing him staring after him. With as much dignity as one could muster while dressed like a pink bunny, he bypassed the elevator and took the stairs, two at a time.