Chapter Text
Crowds always make Chay nervous. He’s wearing long sleeves beneath his uniform shirt, only his hands and face exposed. Still, packed in tightly around the orientation stage, Chay feels vulnerable to all the bodies moving around him.
It only takes one accidental touch to see something he can’t unsee. He pulls the long white sleeves of his undershirt down over his knuckles.
It’s far too warm outside to be dressed like this.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Ohm says beside him.
Chay smiles weakly.
“I know, and it’s so worth it.”
Chay pulls his sleeves tighter over his fingertips and bounces on his toes as Wik steps onto the stage.
~*~
At Ohm’s shameless encouragement, Chay skitters nervously up to the MC after the performance. He did answer the trivia question correctly, he reminds himself. Though he thinks inwardly that it might be more polite to leave Wik alone and not bother him about it.
He considers turning around. But then, some internal, intrusive urge stops him.
It’s probably the only chance I’ll ever get to meet P’Wik , he reminds himself. It doesn’t hurt to at least say hello.
He takes a deep breath, and approaches.
“Ah,” the MC laughs awkwardly, startling when he turns around to see him. “I’ve run out of t-shirts. I only prepared three shirts for three questions. I’m so sorry.”
Wik’s expression falls at the same time as Chay’s. He gives Chay an apologetic look.
“That’s—that’s alright,” Chay stutters, eyes locked on Wik.
He feels a bit silly for having walked up here at all. Someone else answered the trivia question before him—just because he knew all the other possible answers doesn’t mean hers was any less correct.
What did he think would happen? That some kind of ridiculous fanfiction romance would blossom just because he has a stalker-level knowledge of Wik’s music videos?
He fails to fight down an embarrassed blush.
“Thank you,” he bows in Wik’s general direction and quickly turns to make his escape.
“You got more than one answer.”
The voice is quiet and low and smooth. Chay would recognize it among a thousand, or even a million. He’s heard it every day, maybe even almost every waking hour, for years on end.
Wik.
Chay stops in his tracks, then turns slowly back around.
He wants to say something smooth. Something clever that will make Wik smile, impress him or at least amuse him.
Instead, he barely manages, “Huh?”
Great one, Chay.
“Can I give you something else instead?” Wik offers. There’s a half-hidden smile behind his words.
For a moment, Chay almost thinks he might be flirting. He brushes that thought away as quickly as it comes and reminds himself that it’s Wik’s job to be friendly to his fans—but not before Chay’s brain fills in all the most inappropriate possible answers from every deeply self-gratifying fanfic he’s ever written or read.
Stop it , he scolds himself. Don’t be creepy.
Still, Chay can’t help the rush of tickled joy that floods him at Wik’s attention.
“Really?” Chay asks, already dizzy with the thrill of just getting to exchange words with his idol. “Can I?”
If his words pose a hint of challenge, that’s not entirely his fault. Wik did just give him a very dangerously open-ended offer, after all.
Don’t. Be. Creepy.
Wik’s eyes drop, just momentarily. Chay feels them like something physical brushing against his collar bone, like soft fingertips dipping beneath the edge of his shirt.
He needs to stop, before he embarrasses himself.
Where are these thoughts coming from?
Chay has never been the type to have filthy thoughts about people he just met. If he’s honest, he feels a little disappointed in himself for thinking like such a caveman.
Not to mention, his particular brand of oddity makes physical intimacy a bit challenging. He would have to be with someone he trusted entirely—someone who knew about his ability, and who would be willing to sit down with Chay every day and let him experience the whole vision that fate, or the universe, or whatever it is, has in store for him.
At least once the vision plays through, Chay is always home free until he next sleeps.
For that individual, at least.
Small blessings.
“What do you want?” Wik asks from behind a soft, coy smile.
Chay’s skin tingles at the question. A tiny thrill zips through his tummy.
A kiss , his mind settles on, and he can feel himself blushing already.
He knows Wik doesn’t mean the question to be without limits. He’s sure he intends something small, but—
Chay reminds himself once more not to be a creep. What’s wrong with him?
Still… go big or go home.
“I really want to be in this faculty. Can you be my guitar tutor?” The words spill from his lips before he can unthink them.
Wik’s countenance falls slightly, the telltale signs of polite discomfort veiling his expression. He hesitates, seeming to weigh how best to let Chay down.
“I’m sorry,” Chay stutters. He means to say more, means to at least make a polite goodbye, but the adrenaline rush from just getting to speak to Wik at all is beginning to catch up to him, melting his brain into a gooey soup of Wik lyrics and internal self-deprecation.
He nods politely—all he can really manage in this flustered state—and turns to leave.
“What’s your name?” comes Wik’s voice, beckoning him back once again.
Chay stops.
Is he ever going to let me leave?
Not that Chay minds.
He can’t help the smile that curls across his lips as he turns around. At this point, this whole situation can only be funny.
Maybe Wik wasn’t quite so uncomfortable after all. Maybe he just genuinely doesn’t have the time, which would make sense.
Hope blossoms in Chay’s chest once more.
“My name is Porchay,” he answers.
Wik nods, an expression of thoughtful determination coming over him. He asks for a marker from the MC, whose existence Chay has at this point entirely—quite shamefully—forgotten, then returns his attention to Chay.
When Wik steps forward into Chay’s space, it’s all Chay can do not to flinch backward on instinct, years of carefully avoiding the touch of strangers kicking all his well-honed alarm bells into overdrive. He holds himself steady by sheer shock and force of will, eyes wide.
Wik pauses. His eyes search Chay’s, as if he caught the sudden tension in Chay’s posture and can’t quite decipher it.
Slowly, he reaches forward with the marker and writes a large, blocky W on Chay’s chest.
Chay’s shirt catches on the marker’s felt tip. Wik places his other hand flat against Chay’s chest to steady it—right over Chay’s racing heartbeat.
They’re standing so close.
Wik’s expression remains trained downward, but Chay feels, somehow, like he has his full attention. He forces himself to take a deep, calming breath, far too aware of how Wik’s hand rises and falls along with Chay’s unsteady lungs, the weight of it sending warmth sinking like sunlight into Chay’s ribcage, spreading through him like the clouds parting after a storm.
Chay feels at peace.
And then… the peace is shattered.
A warm, soft fingertip brushes over Chay’s collarbone, dipping just barely beneath the edge of his shirt. It trails livewire static across Chay’s bare skin.
No! he thinks to himself, panic closing his throat.
But it’s too late.
The world falls away.
~*~
Chay is in his bedroom.
Which is a strange place to be, in someone else’s future.
It’s even stranger to look down within the circle of his sweat-slick arms—Wik’s sweat-slick arms, he reminds himself—and see… himself.
… Naked.
“ Chay ,” he rasps—but it’s Wik who is speaking, lips soft where they trail over the flushed, clammy skin of Porchay’s shoulder, tasting salt.
Liquid pleasure radiates through his body, emanating from the tight, velvety squeeze of—
“Fuck,” Chay gasps in Wik’s voice. “So good, baby. Is this okay?”
He lurches forward and they both moan, Porchay’s legs wrapping around Wik’s hips.
Oh my gosh.
Oh my gosh .
“Yes,” Chay hears himself moan—not himself , but from the other him, the Porchay arching and writhing beneath him, gasping from the hard, wet slide of— “So good. Please—P’Kim—”
~*~
“What did you just say?”
Chay blinks. He feels faint, and a bit dizzy, but he always feels that way after a vision.
Wik—Kim?—is staring at him, hands frozen in place on Chay’s chest, withdrawn just enough to separate skin from skin.
So the vision was cut short, then.
Chay flinches back on instinct, afraid of eliciting the common reactions he sometimes receives of concerned bystanders trying to touch his forehead or hold his chin to check on him.
It only ever makes things worse.
If Wik touches him again, Chay knows the vision will continue until it has played out. And after what he just saw, well… he’s very torn on whether or not he wants that to happen.
Wik looks… stricken.
Chay blushes.
“Um, sorry. What was that?” he manages to squeak out.
It can’t be real. Not this time. Not… that . Not… him . He must be influencing it somehow—fooling himself.
What did he even just see ?
Wik stares at him for a long moment.
“Nothing,” he finally, quietly says. “Nevermind.”
Oh no.
Oh no .
That means he had to have said something really embarrassing.
He really hopes he didn’t moan.
He has to get the hell out of here. Now .
Behind him, Chay can feel Ohm’s steadying grip on his clothed upper arm, reminding Chay that he’s still there. Wik shoots Ohm a curious look.
“Thank you, P’Ki—P’Wik,” Chay stutters out as quickly as he can, then steps back even further and bows deeply. “Thank you so much. I’m so honored to have met you.”
It’s taken years of mastery, but Chay has found that the most efficient way to mask complete and utter internal panic is, in fact, an equal combination of relentless politeness and relentless use of the past tense.
Make an apology. Make an escape.
Have a meltdown when you’re alone.
He never should have done this. He turns and flees as quickly as he can without running, leaving a baffled Wik in his wake, marker still hovering in the air before him.
~*~
Kim watches as his cute, flustered fanboy stumbles away.
It was difficult not to notice his sudden change in demeanor. One second, the boy was blushing and—dare Kim say it— flirting , and the next, he was white as a sheet, whispering Kim’s name like it was a secret message sent by the gods.
Kim’s real name, wide-eyed and breathless.
Like he was suddenly… what? Afraid?
Like he recognized him, from somewhere other than his music.
That kind of behavior isn’t just weird.
It’s suspicious .
And the kid’s friend clearly knew that something was going on, clinging to him like an over-concerned mother.
As cute as the guy is, Kim can’t ignore red flags like that.
He unlocks his phone, sending off a quick text to Big. He mouths the name as he types it, shaping each letter with his tongue, committing it to memory.
Porchay.
~*~
“Bro,” Ohm hisses at Chay’s heels. “Did you just—?”
“Yeah,” Chay answers, staring straight ahead. His cheeks are still hot. “His hand went over the edge of my collar. He touched me.”
“Dude!” Ohm exclaims. “That’s dope! What did you see?!”
Chay presses his lips together and shakes his head.
“Oh no,” Ohm gushes, sounding far too excited. “Was it something, you know… juicy? I love it when your visions get weird.”
“I don’t,” Chay gulps.
“Oh my gosh it was !”
Chay spots a bench along the sidewalk. He plops down on it and leans back, taking a moment to breathe, before he starts digging through his bag for some aspirin.
“It was—” he cuts off, not sure if he should say.
“Come on , Chay. I thought you were immune to being weirded out by now. You have to tell me. Especially if it’s so weird it’s even got you shaken.”
Chay withdraws his water bottle from his bag and takes a swig before downing two pills. He hopes they work. Sometimes they don’t.
“I prefer the boring visions,” he hisses. “It’s none of my business what other people are going to get up to in bed at some indeterminate time in the future. I’d much rather see two inane seconds of staring at a phone screen, or sitting in class.”
“Uh huh,” Ohm drawls. “So it was something sexy. Oh my gosh, does Wik have a really embarrassing kink that you can never unsee?”
“What did I say?” Chay demands, trying to distract Ohm from the contents of his vision. “While I was in the vision. Wik acted like I said something. It wasn’t embarrassing, was it?”
“Nah,” Ohm reassures him. “You kind of just blanked out and then called him Kim, whoever that is. He seemed a little weirded out, but beyond that I think you’re good.”
“Oh,” Chay sighs. “Okay. Good.”
“So what did you see?” Ohm presses.
Chay buries his face in his hands.
“Chay, come on!” Ohm begs. “You always tell me.”
Ohm is never going to let this go.
Chay knows that he has to tell someone about this. He can’t just pretend he didn’t see it. He needs someone to reassure him that he’s not losing his fucking mind .
Unfortunately, the only other person who knows about Chay’s visions is Porsche, and Chay is absolutely not having this conversation with his overprotective older brother. Not that Porsche is even around much these days, anyway.
“Chay, come on, please—”
“It was me!” Chay blurts, slapping his hands down onto his lap and clenching them together.
Ohm stops and narrows his eyes. “You? What was you?”
“I saw myself,” Chay repeats, heat rising again to his cheeks. “We were, uh, in my room.”
Ohm’s jaw drops. “Wait.”
Chay nods, pressing his lips together tightly. Heat floods his cheeks. Even his eyes get a bit hot and red.
He kind of wants to die.
… But then he’d never get to have sex with Wik, and…
…he kind of wants to have sex with Wik.
Holy shit.
“ Wait ,” Ohm repeats. “I thought you said what you saw was—” he cuts off. “Oh my gosh, Chay. Were you—?”
“Shhhh!!!!” Chay hushes Ohm, glancing around. Most of the other prospective students are still gathered by the makeshift stage, listening to the next speaker.
Holy shit.
Holy shit .
Chay is going to have sex with Wik .
He isn’t sure if his sudden dizziness is from the vision, or the thought of Wik even slightly reciprocating Chay’s years-long, one-sided, definitely wildly unhealthy obsession that he likes to call a crush.
“Chay,” Ohm hisses, his voice lowering in volume but rising in pitch, “how, like, intense was it? I mean, were you—”
“Ohm,” Chay pleads. “Please, stop. I’m going to melt into the floor. It can’t be real.”
“Will it happen soon? Oh my gosh—is Wik going to be your first time?”
“I don’t know !” Chay squeaks. “I mean, I don’t think I looked very different, but things like that are hard to tell through someone else’s eyes.”
Chay looks down at his shirt.
“This was hanging on the wall of my room though,” he notes, “next to all my Wik photos.”
“Oh no ,” Ohm deadpans. “You’re going to fuck Wik in front of your shrine ? I take it back—you should definitely be embarrassed. Very, deeply embarrassed.”
Chay drops his head back into his hands and groans.
“Ohm!”