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In one universe, Jun got to have the breakfast he wanted on a random Wednesday morning, so Thame’s possessive streak began while hiding in a closet full of Earn’s clothes.
In another universe, a delivery rider forgets to bring an extra container of chili oil with Jun’s congee, so Jun goes to work intent on disrupting the peace and security of the first person he encounters.
“P’Po.”
“Mm?”
“Your ex-boyfriend is an evolutionary stage below a flatulent bubble, huh?”
They’re in a tranquil garden, and Po is meant to be filming behind-the-scenes footage for a fruit snack commercial that Jun and Nano were booked to do at the last minute, but Mick brought the wrong product from the office, and Nano’s van is stuck in traffic, so everything is running late by about three hours. Jun and Po have been sitting on the edge of a fountain under a sun umbrella for the past thirty minutes exchanging vague conversation and watching the rest of the staff calmly panic.
The sight of all Po’s synapses firing at once is like a fireworks show for Jun, and those wide, baffled eyes flit almost manically back and forth between Jun’s. In case there’s some kind of auditory shock to accompany the expression, Jun waits, but Po disappoints him on that front. Pity.
Nodding solemnly, Jun says, “I thought as much,” and pretends to lose interest. He lifts his phone and thumbs through videos of martens hunting reptiles in an extremely specific hashtag. He’s trying to resemble an unaffected monk while watching a cuddly beast massacre the throat of a lizard.
Po doesn’t give Jun the satisfaction of a response, though, and only after a solid minute of stubborn silence does Jun give in and peek up through his fringe.
The gaze he meets is flat with suspicion. “You don’t know who he is,” Po says, but there’s a grain of doubt in his voice.
Good. He’s learning.
Jun raises both eyebrows and turns off his phone screen, leaning away to force Po into moving the shade of the umbrella over him. He’s nice like that. “Why would you say that?” Jun asks.
“You phrased it as a question,” Po says. “If you knew, you would have been more specific.”
Jun tips his head to one side. “Maybe I’m not interested enough to comment on your exes, phi.”
“Just interested enough to ask about him,” Po counters.
“Oh! Just the one, then? Interesting.”
Po thins his lips, seemingly annoyed with himself for giving up a detail.
Jun grins. Child’s play. “Long-term thing, I’m guessing? Can’t imagine you’ve ever been single for long, phi.”
“Why do you always flirt with me?” Po raises his eyebrows back. “You don’t mean it.”
Jun holds his gaze with a slightly curvier smile. “You don’t know what I mean,” he says.
Verbally sparring with Po is more worth his time than most other things he could be doing. Po doesn’t care about fame and isn’t impressed by Jun’s clever mind. He just likes Jun. For what other quality, Jun doesn’t know, but puzzling that out is fun on its own.
Across the garden, Ming shouts, “Nano’s here!” and there’s temporary relief among the staff as Nano yawns his way down the path until Tae lets them all know that Mick is still in traffic with the product they need.
“Nap time!” Jun says cheerfully. He pushes up off the fountain, intending to cajole Nano into sprawling on the grass with him. To Po, he adds, “You can hold the umbrella over us, babe.”
•
“This is definitely him.”
“Eighteen seconds.”
“It took me that long? Shameful. Don’t tell anyone.”
Dylan rolls his eyes and tosses Jun’s phone back to him. Sure enough, the timer on the screen reports 00:18.24 as the time to beat for hunting down exes of charming documentarians. Dylan leans in to study the unremarkable man on Jun’s laptop screen. “‘EarnCorps,’” he reads. “Gross. Douchebag named his company after himself.”
Jun snatches a handful of popcorn from the bowl on Dylan’s lap and ignores the stinging smack to the back of his head. “His face doesn’t have enough stress lines,” Jun says.
“Bet he has a fire emoji and the word ‘grind’ in his Instagram bio,” Dylan says.
Jun checks. “Close. It’s a quote from The Avengers. In English. With a fire emoji.”
Dylan lets that sink in, his expression blank.
“So,” Jun says.
“P’Po let this man touch him,” Dylan says.
“Hm,” Jun decides.
•
The moment Thame gets home, Jun presses the wall switch, flooding the living room with light. Thame freezes like a startled fawn with anime eyes, caught red-handed with Po’s chat window on his phone screen.
“How much has your new boyfriend told you about his ex-boyfriend, current boyfriend?”
Thame adjusts his bag strap, switching from shocked to shifty. “Um,” he says. “Not much. Not recently. And what do you mean, ‘current’?”
Hm. So Po brought up Earn early on, did he? Presumably before Jun joined the picture, then, in that vague prelude when Po somehow managed to light the fire that Thame lives his life by nowadays.
“Shall we combine our information?” Jun says pleasantly.
Thame cranes his neck to peer past Jun. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Uninterested!” Dylan shouts from his room.
“Good luck, though!” Nano shouts, also from Dylan’s room.
“And Per’s with P’Gam,” Jun says. “Follow me to my war room, shall you? I made snacks.”
Thame hesitates. “Why are you—?”
“War room!” Jun says, turning his back. “Snacks! Justice!”
Thame sighs and follows him to the kitchen.
•
“First of all, your new boyfriend’s ex-boyfriend was a tech bro.”
“Oh.”
“I expected more disgust. I was revolted.”
“Why are you doing this, Jun?”
“Because when the public inevitably learns about our leader’s one true love, we can’t allow our fans to be shamed by P’Po’s dark and torrid past with a man who probably injects protein powder into his eyeballs. So let’s have him killed.”
“Jun—!”
“Metaphorically!”
“Don’t we have enough to do with the music video?”
“This is bonding time, Thame.”
“We weren’t bonded already?”
“I think you’ll find that when you’ve lived as long as I have, friendships take on deeper levels in times of strife.”
“You’re four months younger than me, and this is weird. And he’s my boyfriend!”
“Well, this guy lost your boyfriend’s money on crypto.”
“How much do assassins charge?”
“Atta boy. Have a seaweed crisp.”
•
“Oh, and I also found some videos on YouTube from the launch party for his company’s app. He looks at P’Po riiiight there. Then he skips over him to thank the tech industry as a whole or whatever. Here, let’s go back and watch it in slow motion. I wonder if P’Po helped him a lot. Certainly seems like something he’d do, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
•
Pepper arrives home while they’re hunched over six screens—two tablets, two phones, and two laptops—and stands in the doorway of the dining room for seven minutes before Jun decides to acknowledge him with a nod.
“I’m guessing this isn’t about protecting MARS’s future,” Pepper says.
“Sort of,” Jun says.
Thame—deep in the weeds of an old comment section in which Po’s friend group vivisected his dying relationship with Earn—flares his nostrils at Jun’s phone screen in contemplative rage.
Jun rubs his back supportively, beaming at Pepper. “We’ll be careful,” he says, mostly meaning it.
Pepper says, “I’ll go look up how resumes are formatted nowadays,” and leaves.
•
Around two in the morning, Jun pretends to fall asleep on the table so he can eavesdrop on Thame’s inevitable phone call with Po.
“Hey.”
“You’re up late.”
“So are you. You should be asleep.”
“If you wanted me to sleep, why’d you call?”
Jun rolls his eyes behind closed lids.
“I think I already know the answer to this, but I want to ask you anyway.”
“Mm?”
“That first time we really talked—you remember?”
“Mm….”
“You weren’t talking about me, were you? Was that about your ex?”
“…Mm.”
Jun raises his eyebrows, then forces them back down.
Thame’s silence stretches.
“Thame?”
“Thank you for trusting me, P’Po.”
When Po audibly blushes with a shy laugh, Jun permits the smallest of genuine smiles into his arm where no one can see.
•
After he hangs up, Thame says, “Jun.”
With his eyes closed, Jun says, “Yes, friend?”
“Find this jerk.”
“Within the hour, captain.”
•
In fact, it takes Jun nine hours to track down Po’s extremely disappointing ex—but only because he needs beauty sleep and a few hours of Assassin’s Creed for research.
All told, it actually does take him about an hour: a quick drive to his third-favorite exclusive club where Jun learns from the bartender that Earn likes to take his clients to a high-end Japanese restaurant located on the top floor of a discreet five-star hotel Jun knows very well.
Two of the concierge staff meet him and Thame in the lobby, and when Jun asks for his usual spot in the restaurant, both of them smile and assure him that they can arrange for it to be freed for him in a few minutes.
Thame asks him, “How do you know everyone here?” as they’re led to a wide booth at the back of the restaurant by Aria, the young Chinese seating hostess Jun greeted by trading air-kisses on either cheek.
“Slept with the night manager,” Jun says brightly.
He didn’t, but as soon Thame frowns and nods in respectful silence, Jun decides that he did, actually.
Once seated, he peruses the set menu, wrinkling his nose at the seasonal changes. He liked the unagi appetizer. “I want edamame,” he says. “Tempura for you?”
“Are you sure he’ll be here tonight?” Thame asks, narrowly scoping out the entirety of the restaurant. When Jun doesn’t answer, he seems to belatedly hear the question and says, “Oh, uh, sure.”
Jun smiles, closing his menu. He’ll order the set and foist off whatever foods he doesn’t like on Thame. “Y’know,” he says warmly, “I didn’t think you had a bloodthirsty bone in your body.” He swings an arm around Thame’s neck. “It’s heartwarming to see you this feral over your very first man.”
Thame turns his menacing eyes on Jun. “I’m not stupid,” he says. “‘Current boyfriend’? ‘First man’? I know you’re scheming, Jun.”
Jun gives his shoulders a fond squeeze. “For once, my intentions are completely surface level,” he says solemnly. “A tech bro killed my family.”
Before Thame can point out that he watched Jun voice-call his mother yesterday to ask her if one can use dish soap to wash tomato sauce out of one’s stuffed elephant, Jun beckons the waiter with a debonair smile.
When the man of the hour himself arrives with a retinue of wide-eyed, aspirational tech ducklings, Jun smiles with every tooth in his arsenal. He’d point out Earn to Thame, but Thame was locked on him first, not a single iota of amusement present anywhere in his stone-cold killer face. He stares at Earn as the odious man sits at the neighboring table, just far enough out of earshot to be heard but not understood. Thame’s nose twitches with mild hate.
“You know,” Jun says, “We should make out sometime. The three of us.”
“Focus,” Thame says.
“I am.”
“On him.”
“Ew.”
“Jun.”
“Fine, fine. If I must.”
They don’t have to discuss or review The Plan they concocted on the drive over here. It’s Jun’s latest masterpiece, consisting of a full script, many clever insults, a brilliant excuse for them to be here at all, and the dismount will be so devastating to Earn’s ego that he’ll never leave that boring, Brutalist apartment building he lives in ever again.
Unfortunately, the reason they don’t have to discuss or review The Plan is because Thame stands up from their booth and walks directly over to Earn, neatly avoiding a collision with the waiter bringing their edamame and tempura.
Thame clears his throat, and Earn pauses mid-smarmy joke with his mouth open in a smile.
Ah well. This is less work.
“Do you need something?” Earn asks.
“Evidence,” Jun says to himself, lifting his phone.
Thame jerks his chin up and asks, “Are you P’Earn?” with quiet disdain.
“Yes,” Earn says. He’s sensed some of the murderous intent in Thame’s thunderous face, judging by his quick glance around the room. Other diners are subtly watching the scene play out. “And you are?”
One of the tech ducklings is either asthmatic or a MARS fan, staring worshipfully up at Thame while panic-breathing through her hands. Her colleague hands her a glass of water.
Jun thinks, Oops, and slides to the edge of the booth to—
“I’ve been working with a former colleague of yours, and I’m thinking of investing in him,” Thame says, smooth and unemotional.
Jun pauses, glad he didn’t stop recording. Sits back, lifts his phone again.
“I heard you worked together,” Thame continues, “and I want to know if you’d recommend him.” There’s the slightest arch to his voice as he adds, “His name is Po.”
Earn’s face shows a quick flash of confusion, but the word “invest” seems to rev his engine. With an oily friendliness, Earn says, “Ah, Nong Po? He’s a little green, but he did good work for me.” His smile widens. “But he wasn’t working on any projects when we were tog—working together. May I ask what you’re investing in?”
“A very important long-term project,” Thame says, completely without irony. He finally smiles at the duckling, whose lungs have all but collapsed. “My company’s already put him on a high-profile production.”
“That’s excellent,” Earn says quickly. “I’m glad he landed on his feet.”
Thame turns his attention from their fan back to their mortal enemy, his smile transforming from warmth to weaponry. “He’s where he belongs now,” he says. “Talent like his deserves to shine.”
“Absolutely, absolutely,” Earn says, nodding vigorously. “Maybe you’d also be interested in what we’re doing with EarnCo—”
“No, thank you,” Thame says. “Just the reference was all I needed. He’s exactly what I’ve been looking for. And I think he’ll appreciate hearing your feedback.” He nods over his shoulder at Jun, who waves.
The fan squeaks.
While Earn visibly spins his wheels trying to figure out what’s just happened, Thame signs the fan’s wallet and jokes that he’s given her good luck for getting tickets. He poses for a selfie, too, which Jun thinks is the tiniest bit tacky, but he can recognize when a win needs to be shoved in someone’s face, even if they don’t fully understand how they’ve lost.
All the better, really. One day, Earn will understand how total his defeat has been. For now, he’ll be haunted by the sneaking feeling that he was thoroughly and publicly embarrassed by someone rich and famous.
Jun sends the video to Po while he takes one of Thame’s deep-fried slices of sweet potato from his side of the table.
•
Po confronts him at the house three days later, scowling.
“You set up Thame to do that.”
Jun is now an Assassin’s Creed devotee. He waves his pinky in greeting without looking away from his Switch screen. “Didn’t, but absolutely enjoyed the show,” he says.
Po says, “Yeah, right.”
“Believe what you need to get by,” Jun suggests.
“Thame basically moved in last night,” Po says.
Jun pauses his game and looks up. “Sorry?”
Po smirks and folds his arms. “You said something about holding hands being a milestone?”
“That’s not exactly what I—is that why I can’t find my seaweed snacks?”
Po says, “They were delicious,” with a smug tilt to his hips.
Jun gapes. “Excuse me, why am I being punished? I thought you’d appreciate seeing your ex shown up in public and your current boyfriend talking you up.”
Po eyes him for several long seconds, then shakes his head. “I didn’t say I didn’t,” he says. “But you’ve had your fun now, right? You’re done?”
“Define—”
“Jun.”
Sighing, Jun flaps his hand. “Okay, okay, I’m done. All I wanted was chili oil and this could have all been avoided.”
“What?”