Chapter Text
White calls Black and Black tries to find the quietest pocket underneath this overpass so he can try to listen. “—charges are getting dropped!” Black hears. Black’s heart beats so hard it hurts his ribs. This is great news. The best news. He’s been living with the dread of what was going to happen to White.
“Let’s celebrate,” Black says.
They go to Black’s favourite bar. It’s dark, and the floor is sticky, but it has air conditioning which makes it the height of luxury. There’s at least three backroom high stakes card games that go down in the back and the air conditioning is a real selling point for those high rollers.
Black is there first. He circles it a few times and cases the joint to make sure no one they’d rather not see is there. Black isn’t entirely convinced that this situation isn’t a trap, that clearing the charges isn’t a way to deflect blame away from the authorities if the gang met with an unfortunate extrajudicial end. But the bar seems to be a bar and Black could use some good news.
White walks in, literally glowing, happy enough that it barely bothers Black that Sean has an arm thrown around White’s shoulders. White runs the last couple of steps to throw himself into Black’s arms and that soothes any annoyance that might remain. When he lets go he beams a smile at Black’s face. “P’, we’re going to be ok,” he says. It cuts to the centre of Black in the way that only White can. White knows exactly what Black worries about and gets right to it.
Black swallows around a thick throat and nods.
Sean puts a hand on White’s hip and White lets himself be reeled in, tucked against Sean’s side. Sean can’t keep White safe, but at least right now he’s not actively putting him in danger.
The rest of the gang filter in. Yok and Gumpa, Yok still walking a bit stiff from his gunshot, Gene, Gram, and Nuch all together, come after. Nuch is the only other one to greet Black with anything but a nod. She hugs him, holding for long enough that he has to hug her back or it’ll be awkward.
The conversation flows around them. White is the only one who tries to pull Black into the chatter, but Black just wants to watch. He’s grateful that they’re alive. That’s all he needs. He never needed the gang to like him, that wasn’t his goal. He wanted to fuck shit up, and he wanted them to pull through, in that order. They didn’t need his sentimentality for either of those goals. White loves him, and that’s enough. Gene is happy, and that’s more than he could ask for. If he had less than this he would be satisfied. To have all of this should be celebrated.
So he does.
***
Of course it can’t be that simple. Black is back in classes, trying to recover his average after White tanked it. The boy writes beautiful essays but knows nothing about jurisprudence.
Nuch checks her email and then swears. It puts Black on high alert. When she turns to him, her face is dark.
They hole up in one of the study rooms in the library.
Gram is pacing back and forth. “How can they do this?”
“The dropping of charges was in the process, non-finalised, and we always knew that more evidence could be discovered or new charges could be levied,” Nuch says. Her voice is even and she is in lawyer mode. She hasn’t even graduated but she’s been their designated lawyer since the gang got arrested. Who else could they afford, for one? But also who else would care so much about their case? They trust her.
But it means she has to deliver bad news.
White and Sean sit across from Nuch, clutching each other’s hands. “But why is it just Sean?” White asks.
The rest of them are still clear. It’s just Sean who is being hit with assault, breaking and entering, and sabotage charges from the attack on Tawi’s factory, the time they were going to put the bitterant in his drinks.
“It can’t be evidence,” White continues. “They don’t have any proof Sean was there, not more than the rest of us.” What they have is a witness who swears that Sean choked him out. Sean did do that, but there’s no way the guard saw it. Sean described the event to the rest of them, and he came from behind. Guard never saw him. So the guard is giving false witness. It’s a lie about the truth.
“He’s a good scapegoat,” Black says. He’s had twenty minutes to think about it and he knows he’s only scratching the surface. He can feel the pieces starting to assemble in his mind. Sean has no family, no connections. He’s got the criminal profile, it’s hereditary. Pinning him for the crimes means no one has to challenge any preconceived ideas they have about who breaks the law. Not the way that White—scion of society, even if he disavows their parents—or Gram—comfortable middle class child—do. But why not Yok? They have Yok dead to rights, injured while committing a crime.
This isn’t random.
This is pointed, somehow. A message. Or an instruction. If they wanted to punish the group, they could. But whoever it is, let them go. That’s a show of power, ‘Look what I can do, the law is nothing to me.’
Black has to ask himself who this is meant to manipulate. Are they supposed to give up Sean as the price? That feels too simple. It has to be a show of force. Whoever pulled strings to get them all released the first time wants something. And holding Sean is the bargaining chip they think they need to get it.
Who cares about Sean?
White, obviously. What can White do? What would someone want from him?
“P’,” White says, turning wide, wet eyes on Black. Fuck. White is hurting over this, over stupid Sean. That’s unacceptable. Black can’t let White be hurt like this. Black is going to do whatever it takes to protect him—oh. Just like that, he has it.
***
Black announces himself at Todd’s building when he arrives. No more sneaking in, no using his fob and hoping it hasn’t been de-activated. If he’s right, he’s been summoned and there are niceties to observe.
The receptionist hands him a badge with his name and picture printed on it. Not a guest pass, not something that proclaims him a visitor, a temporary intrusion. This badge was made for him, ahead of time.
The sick pulse of fear that has been beating in him since the new charges against Sean were leveled gets an undercurrent of anger. He thought maybe he was wrong about this. But he isn’t, is he? This is Todd fucking with him.
Black goes up to the top level and the executive offices. An executive office isn’t just a room with a desk, it’s a suite of rooms. Todd inherited these from his father and Black would be able to tell that even if he hadn’t been in here before Todd’s dad died. It’s all dark wood and leather. Todd prefers green velvet and chrome. Todd prefers big windows and imposing views to solid furniture and dark caves.
Todd stands up when Black walks in. Black had been expecting a bit more posturing. He thought Todd would ignore him and pretend to work, reinforcing how much Black is here on his sufferance. But he doesn’t.
“You came,” Todd says, smiling, like this is a social visit. Todd puts his hands on his hips and it pulls his shirt open, exposing the hollow of his throat. Something silver shines there.
“You wanted me here, so I’m here,” Black says, also doing Todd the courtesy of not pretending he doesn’t know why he’s there. “You gonna let Sean go?”
“I’m willing to do it,” Todd says.
The breath rushes out of Black. He didn’t realise how worried he was that Todd wouldn’t until he said that. Black presses his hands against his stomach to hide his relief.
“It wasn’t easy to get the charges dropped, you know,” Todd says. “Your little gang made a lot of powerful enemies.”
If Todd is going to monologue then he must be in a good mood. Black wants to keep him that way. “As powerful as you?” Black challenges. That’s what this is about, after all. Todd’s power.
Todd smiles at him, with teeth. “I’ll choose to take that as flattery.”
Black hasn’t tried since he was twelve. After White was taken away, Black tried to be a good kid. Tried to help his mom, tried to do the stupid fucking society shit. He went to receptions in shiny shoes and slicked back hair. He wore ties and greeted heavily perfumed rich adults who pinched his cheeks. But Black isn’t good, and he was a bad kid even then. He got told that often enough, after all. Fighting his true nature was exhausting and pointless, so he gave up.
If there was ever a time to pretend, though, it’s now. He can fake it for a while, he can swallow down his distaste, he can play nice, if it means helping White.
“Am I wrong, though?” Every word fights its way out against his inclination to throw himself at Todd and choke the life out of him for playing with their lives like his toys.
“You aren’t wrong,” Todd steps out from behind his desk.
“What do you want in exchange for Sean?” Black grinds his teeth, imagining biting down on flesh and tearing. He probably should stretch the negotiation out, do more pleasantries, but he doesn’t see the point.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Todd says, still smiling. “I want you, Black. It’s always been you.”
And isn’t that just true. Both of them orbiting each other like black holes. Todd wants him.
Black still wasn’t expecting it. It seems like such a cheap price.
Sex is sex, Black thinks, and if that's what Todd wants then it's easy enough. He can be a shitty, cold lay and Todd can power trip whatever he wants from that. Sex can't make Black feel dirty or small, if that's what Todd’s after.
Black's hands go to the button on his pants, the practical dark ones with all the pockets. He keeps his eyes on Todd, fierce, daring him. Todd rolls his eyes.
"Oh please," Todd says. "You think that's what I want?" Black doesn't know what to say because… yeah, he did. "I can get a willing fuck anywhere." He steps close to Black and tilts his head. It pulls his collar wide. Todd's put him on the back foot but it had felt like a fair supposition. It's the thing Todd had wanted before, had still reached for even when Black was halfway out of his life. Before Todd pushed him the rest of the way out. And it’s something Black had never given him. "I don't want that," Todd says, doing up the button on Black's pants. Black can feel Todd's knuckles against the skin of his stomach. "I want this." He tousles Black's head, lingering long enough for Black to get the point, and then he flicks him in the forehead. He steps back, goes to the bar and pours some watered-down scotch. Black knows it's watered down, that his easy drinking is a power play for the older businessmen who keep looking for his father behind him and can't accept taking orders from a kid. "Tawi had Techit. I'm going to have you and your beautiful brain."
Everything in Black recoils against the idea. He shakes his head.
Todd shrugs. "Then Sean goes to prison." Todd swirls his glass. He doesn't make the mistake of looking at Black to see how his statement lands on Black; Todd acts so certain he’s playing him right. "White can be comforted by the knowledge that you still have the courage of your convictions."
The kicker is that White wouldn't blame him. Black could go to White and lay out the terms and White's eyes would fill with tears and he'd say he understood, but Black would know that he'd had the power to step up and protect his baby brother and hadn't. For the first time, he could actually have made a difference for White and wouldn't do it.
"What do you want me to do?" The words are gravel in his throat.
Todd smiles, wide. It makes him look young, makes him look like the kid that Black knew back when they were best friends. His stomach lurches.
"Not much," Todd says. "You know all of the players just as well as me, I want your advice on their weak points."
"You want me to hurt people." Black knows what he's good for.
Todd shrugs, "Only if they piss you off or you feel like it." He catches Black's stare. "You're not a thug—and besides I have those." Todd puts down his drink and comes up to Black, judging the distance and staying just out of arm's length. "You don't even know how special you are, do you? Your family, your degree, your perspective. You see things… things others don't. That's what I need."
Black can see it. Black knows every corrupt fucker in the country, he's been at parties with them, at school with their sons. He's been obsessive past that, building mental dossiers of where the money comes from. He's thought of every way to attack them. He'd thought about using the law before he'd realised it wasn't worth the paper it was printed on.
Fuck.
He could be helpful to Todd. That list Todd gave, Black does have those qualities.
Todd isn't Tawi, he has the power to be worse because he's better. Smarter, more hungry. Todd has vision.
They'd talked about it. Todd wants to remove inefficiencies. There's too many relationship networks in this country, he said, makes it hard to reliably source things, makes it slow to manufacture. Everyone else is invested in maintaining those mutual aid links because that's how they all got rich. But Todd hates the elite just as much as Black, he doesn't care if they all go down and nothing is left but a gleaming set of processes and factory lines that keep him rich. Every opaque backroom deal is something Todd would like to throw into the light.
Todd could cut the knots until it all fell down. This is how America got rich, he said, they don't hide their corruption, they use buzzwords. Thailand needs my favourite one: disruption. And if the terms aren't good they can be renegotiated. Jeff Bezos demands that no other businesses can be protected and claims none for his—he can self-protect at scale.
"What if I kill you instead." Black can picture it, can see his hands wrapping around Todd's neck, the way his eyes would bug out. Just because Black couldn't do it before doesn't mean he can't do it now.
"You can leave any time," Todd says.
***
Black does leave. But it’s not forever. He leaves so he can go spend time with White in his shitty apartment while they wait for Todd to do his bribery and influence trading. Not that White or Sean knows what’s going on. He just sits with them while White frets, and he drinks a lot. Maybe Black will gift the room to him, Todd made it pretty clear that when—if—this deal goes through, he expects Black’s permanent presence in his penthouse.
Eventually, Black decides it’s pathetic that he’s drinking alone and makes White join him. Black figures, that’s my baby brother, I can drink him under the table. But somewhere along the way Black didn’t account for Russian drinking culture, which seems to be in a class of its own.
“I had to learn, P’,” White says, big, earnest eyes behind his glasses like he hadn’t decided to waterfall some shots to catch up to Black and is still less affected. “It was the only way to make friends.”
“That’s, that’s fucked up,” Black says, like the only way Black knew how to make friends wasn’t through direct, violent action. “I thought your school was supposed to be fancy.”
White giggles. “It was, we had fancy vodka.”
“Babe, I think you’ve had enough,” Sean says, ruining Black’s illusion that Sean isn’t there.
“Don’t tell him what to do,” Black snaps.
Sean glares at him. But he doesn’t say anything. Black smirks. That’s right. Know your place, Sean.
“I’m ok,” White says, and nuzzles Sean’s neck. Sean tilts his head to give him easy access.
Black is going to hurl. He checks in with his stomach for a second in case that isn’t a metaphor. No. He’s good. He’s keeping it all down.
Sean backs off and they drift back into silence. White finishes his cup. When he does, he spins it around in his hand. “I almost called mom,” he says. Black chokes, spitting his drink back into his cup. White hands him a napkin. “Then I remembered she wouldn’t help, no matter what. Not for you, and definitely not for Sean. But I thought about it.” Sean wraps an arm around White and pulls him in. Black can’t even begrudge him. Black would do the same thing if he didn’t feel like all of his limbs had been filled with sand at the thought of their mother. “And then I thought, this is how it all starts, isn’t it? Someone has someone they care about that they’re willing to bend the rules for, and then it all falls apart. Rots from the inside.” White blinks, slow, and when he opens his eyes, they’re shiny. “We’re all like this. And the thing is, I’d do it. If it would work, I would. If it was for either of you. How are we supposed to fight that, P’? How can we make it better?”
“Shit, no, White, don’t cry,” Black says. His limbs still feel heavy but he’d literally wake from the dead to stop White from crying. Black pushes his way across the table and throws Sean off so he can crush White into his arms. “It’s ok, you don’t have to. You don’t.” He pets White’s hair, the way White used to like when they were little.
Black locks eyes with Sean and they come to an iron-clad, binding understanding: White shouldn’t cry. He hates to agree with Sean about anything, but some things are more important.