(BL) In His Frame

I don't remember how it started—all I know is that I was trapped again. They were back. Touching me. Everywhere.

I cried out, over and over, "Stop, stop, stop—please…"

But they didn't stop.

Not until I heard another voice—familiar, safe, real.

Phu.

I felt his arms wrap around me like a shield, his warmth grounding me as I thrashed in panic.

"Baby, open your eyes—it's just a bad dream. I'm here. You're safe. Open your eyes," he whispered, desperate but gentle.

I opened them slowly, the room still spinning, my breath ragged, my chest heaving. I was crying—hard—and mumbling things I couldn't make sense of. Fragments of the nightmare still clung to me like smoke.

But I was in his arms.

I was in his arms.

Phu held me close, cradling me like I was something fragile. He ran his hand slowly down my back, his voice steady.

"Breathe, baby. Just breathe. I've got you. You're safe now."

And as I clung to him, trembling, trying to follow his rhythm, something in me finally began to ease—just a little.

hu gently brushed my hair, his fingers moving through the strands with care as I sat quietly in his lap. His warmth, his steady breathing, the weight of his arms around me—it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart again.

"Want to shower, baby?" he asked softly.

I looked up at him and nodded, still too shaken to speak much.

He stood, helping me up with him, and walked me over to the bathroom.

"Go ahead and take your time. Ten minutes or so—I'll make us something to eat," he said, brushing a kiss to my forehead.

"Okay," I whispered, stepping into the cold spray of the shower. I let the water hit me, sharp and grounding. I needed the cold—to numb the storm in my head, to feel something that I could control.

Meanwhile, Phu was in the kitchen, pulling ingredients together—simple comfort food, something warm. His movements were quiet but focused, his mind half on the food, half on me.

Then his phone rang.

He glanced toward the hallway, just to make sure—he could still hear the water running.

He picked up the call. "Hello?"

A familiar voice answered, not his father's—but one that carried authority.

"It's Ton. Your father would like to speak to you. In person."

Phu's jaw tensed slightly, but his voice remained calm. "Sure. I'll be there by two."

As he ended the call, he turned back to the stove, but his mind was elsewhere now.

Something was coming.

And whatever it was—he was going to protect Ian from it, no matter what.

Ian stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead. There was a softness in his eyes, a little less haunted than the night before. Still fragile—but breathing easier.

Phu looked up from the kitchen and smiled gently.

"Done, baby? Come on, let's eat something. I just made noodles."

I returned his smile, small but real.

"Sure, baby," I said, walking over, drawn more by him than the food.

The aroma of the broth filled the room—simple, comforting. The kind of thing that didn't ask questions. Just warmth.

While we were having our meal, Phu glanced at the clock and gently said,"I have some work at 2 pm… but I'll be back by 6, okay? Will you be alright here alone?"

I nodded, then looked at him. "You'll really be back by six, right?"

He reached over, brushing my hand with his thumb, and gave a small smile. "Yes, baby. I promise."

We finished the noodles in comfortable silence, the warmth of the food doing more than just filling our stomachs—it filled the silence between pain and healing. After we cleaned up the kitchen together, we moved to the living room.

I sat facing the TV, legs curled up, while Phu sat across from me, facing me instead of the screen.

I noticed him staring.

"What is it, Phu?" I asked, turning slightly to meet his gaze.

He smiled, that soft, fond smile he only gave when he wasn't teasing.

"Nothing," he said, eyes warm. "Just… looking at my pretty little cute boyfriend."

I felt my cheeks flush despite everything, and for the first time in a while, the corners of my lips curved up naturally.

I laughed, the sound light and unforced for the first time in days. "Really? You're such a sweet talker."

Phu grinned, leaning in a little. "Well, I only sweet talk the one who's mine."

I rolled my eyes, blushing a little as I nudged his knee with mine. "Lucky me, huh?"

He leaned forward, brushing his nose against mine in a soft eskimo kiss. "No, baby… lucky me."

And for a moment, the world outside didn't matter. There was only us, wrapped in quiet comfort and soft smiles—trying, slowly, to feel normal again.

I glanced at the clock—it was just past 12 p.m.

"Ian," Phu said gently, "I need to shower and head out soon. I want to be there by 1:30, so I have time to prepare everything."

I nodded with a smile."Sure, baby. Go shower and get ready. I'll just watch something while you're at it."

He leaned down, kissed the top of my head, and smiled. "Okay," he said, before disappearing into the bathroom.

I flipped through the channels, half-watching the screen, half-lost in thought. Just being in his home, in his space, made me feel a little safer.

About 40 minutes later, Phu came down the stairs—fresh from the shower, wearing a crisp white shirt tucked into fitted black pants, his formal shoes polished. He looked effortlessly handsome.

I stood and walked over to him, slipping my arms around his waist with a playful grin."My baby looks really good."

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around me. "Well, of course I do. I'm Ian's boyfriend—I have to look good."

I laughed and kissed him softly. He kissed me back, lingering for a moment before pulling away with a teasing sigh.

"Don't tempt me now, baby. I really have to go."

"Fine," I pouted, playfully.

He gave me one last quick kiss, then reached for his keys.

Left alone in the quiet house, I curled up on the couch, scrolling through series until I found something light—something that could help me forget, even if just for a little while. The screen flickered in front of me, voices filling the silence, helping drown out the lingering echoes of everything that had happened.

I hugged a pillow to my chest, the soft fabric warm against my skin. It wasn't much, but it was enough—for now.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, across town, Phu was on my way to meet my father.

The city rushed past outside the window, but inside the car, everything in me was still—sharp, alert. My fingers tapped steadily against the steering wheel. Not out of anxiety. Not even hesitation. It was control—tightly held, deliberately measured.

I had questions. And I came for answers.

I glanced at the time—1:27 p.m.

Three minutes early.

Just enough time to steady myself. To brace for whatever my father—and Mr. Ton—had planned.

Because after what they did to Ian, I knew I wasn't walking into that house as just a son.

I was walking in as a man with someone to protect.

And I wasn't leaving without making that very clear.

I walked over to my dad's study.

The door was slightly ajar. Inside, I saw them—Mr. Ton, my brother, and my father—seated like they'd been expecting me.

So that's how this got to him. My brother. Of course.

I didn't flinch. Didn't pause.

Because the moment I saw him sitting there, I knew—he was the one who ran to our father.

He always does.

Not out of concern.

But to control the narrative.

To stay one step ahead.

He didn't even look at me when I stepped inside.

Just sat there, hands clasped, eyes fixed somewhere past me—like I was nothing more than a shadow walking into the room.

I took the empty seat anyway. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate.

The silence didn't last.

"You know, Phu," he said, his tone calm—too calm. "I always thought you were a man."

A pause.

"But now I hear you've got yourself a pet."

He still wouldn't meet my eyes.

"I don't care what you do behind closed doors. Keep it discreet, keep it quiet, keep it meaningless—and I turn a blind eye."

Then he turned to me, sharp and cold.

"But I heard… you're serious."

I sat there, listening.

Letting him spit out every bit of his carefully polished disgust, his thinly veiled contempt for Ian. Like love was weakness. Like loyalty was shameful if it didn't fit into his world.

I didn't interrupt. Not yet.

But when he was done, when the silence returned like a challenge, I looked him in the eye.

"I am a man, Dad," I said, voice steady. "That's exactly why I chose to keep one person—and stay loyal to him."

"I don't care about gender. I care about love. And I know what I feel for Ian… is real. I love him. And I always will."

His expression didn't change, but I saw the flicker. He wasn't used to being confronted—especially not like this.

"I also know about your game with Ariya's father," I continued, my tone colder now. "Should I still call you Dad… or Mr. Pichai Inthanon instead?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Because I know how this ends. I know you'll disown the child who doesn't follow your script. Who dares to think for himself."

I leaned forward slightly.

"But I'm not that boy anymore. And I'm not scared of you."

My brother was too shocked to even react.

I stepped forward, voice shaking but firm.

"If you're unhappy with my relationship, then come to me. But you went after him—with a group of cowardly, mindless men. For what? To hunt him down like he's some kind of animal?"

My fists clenched at my sides, anger burning in my chest.

"What the hell is wrong with your head? How disgusting can all of you be? If you truly think two men in love is wrong, fine—have your backwards opinion. But to do that to him? To break someone like that, to invade him like he's not even human?"

I swallowed hard, voice trembling now.

"Why mess with his life if you think men don't feel pain? Do you think he can't break? Do you think what you did was just a lesson?"

I shook my head, disgusted.

"No. What you did wasn't about right or wrong. It was violence. Cruelty. Cowardice."

There was a heavy silence after my words—thick, suffocating. My father didn't speak right away, his expression unreadable, like a mask worn for too many years.

Mr. Ton, however, remained unmoved. Arms crossed, the same smug indifference etched across his face.

"You speak with so much emotion, Phuwadon," Ton finally said, his voice unsettlingly calm. "But you're letting feelings cloud your judgment. That boy… he was becoming a distraction."

I took a step forward, fists clenched.

"A distraction? He's not some obstacle. He's my partner. The one you and your thugs brutalized like he was nothing. Like he didn't matter."

My father finally turned his gaze to Ton.

"Is this true?" he asked, voice low.

Ton didn't respond right away. Instead, he gave a humorless chuckle.

"He wasn't touched until he refused to walk away. We gave him a chance. He didn't take it."

My blood ran cold.

"You're saying he deserved it?"

"I'm saying he chose it," Ton said flatly.

I looked straight at my father. My voice came out steady, low—but burning.

"You asked me here, so listen carefully. I'm not ashamed of loving Ian. And I will never walk away from him. What you let happen—what he did—was cruel, inhuman, and unforgivable. If you don't do something about this, you'll regret it. Don't mistake my silence for weakness. I've seen cruelty. But don't think I'll ever stay quiet again."

Ton's jaw tightened, but I didn't care.

I turned to him, stepping closer until I was just a breath away.

"Listen to me carefully," I said, my voice low and deadly calm. "If I ever see your shadow near Ian again… even if I hear your name whispered around him… you'll be sorry. And I promise, you won't see it coming."

The room fell into silence once more.

Not a single word was spoken.

But the message had been delivered.

As I stepped out of the room, I found one of Ton's bodyguards standing near the door.

I stopped in front of him.

"Who punched Ian in the stomach?" I asked, my voice low but sharp.

He hesitated, then pointed toward another man leaning casually against the wall.

I walked over, every step steady and deliberate.

"Was it you?" I asked.

He looked at me and smirked.

"Yeah. That was me—right before I bit and sucked on his lips."

Everything inside me snapped.

I turned my head slightly—just enough to glance back at my father and Mr. Ton.

Then I spun and drove my fist straight into his stomach.

He dropped with a grunt, clutching his gut, but I wasn't finished. My knee connected with his face as he fell, a sickening crack echoing through the hallway.

Rage blinded me.

I climbed over him, fists flying—again, and again, and again. Blood splattered across my shirt, my knuckles, the floor. I didn't stop until he stopped moving.

Silence.

Heavy, stunned silence.

I stood up, breathing hard, chest heaving.

I turned, locking eyes with Ton—his face pale, finally shaken.

"Make sure you remember everything I said." My voice was calm, but my eyes burned with fire.

Without another word, I walked off—leaving behind blood, silence, and a promise that I meant every word.

My brother, who had been silently watching everything unfold—the anger, the blood, the harsh truth—finally turned to our father.

His voice was low, but steady. "We can't ignore this anymore, Dad. We have to do something."

Our father didn't answer right away.

He stared down the hallway where I had disappeared, lips tight, eyes shadowed with something unclear—regret, maybe. Or guilt.

After a long pause, he let out a slow breath and said quietly, "I need time to think."

My brother's expression tightened, but he didn't argue.

The silence that followed wasn't relief.

It was the heavy presence of something buried for too long—now unearthed, raw and undeniable.