Chapter Text
Pran pulled up to the gate and double checked his map to make sure he was in the right place. It seemed so. It was already a hot, muggy day, even this early in the morning, and he could feel the sweat pooling in the small of his back against the vinyl seat of his truck. He pulled up to the guard and rolled down his window.
“Hi, I’m Pran with the ‘It’s Prantastic!’ food truck.” He gestured out the window to the writing on the side of the van with the cheerful ‘It’s Prantastic!’ logo in bright bold letters. He could see the exclamation mark at the end of it and once again inwardly cursed Wai for convincing him it was better with one. ‘It’ll draw people in, Pran. You have to radiate some positivity if you want to attract attention!’ he’d said. But Pran didn’t really have an exclamation mark personality, so he often felt like it was just mocking him from where he could see it in his side mirror.
“Hands inside the vehicle, please, sir,” the guard said, checking something off on her list. “We’ll do an exterior and interior inspection. Please put the truck in park and unlock the doors.” Pran saw another guard step forward with what seemed to be a mirror on a long stick that he put under the truck to look for anything suspicious in the undercarriage. Pran leaned back into the seat, crossed his arms, and rolled his eyes.
This all seemed like overkill, if you asked him, but no one was asking him, so he just waited for it to be over. It was just a tv show set, was all of this really necessary? Pran hadn’t even wanted to do this, but when the fan club had reached out to him, it had seemed like a good business move. They’d pay upfront for the whole day and he could just stay in one place and serve whoever ordered. It made sense for him to do it, and it would be easier than chasing the busiest spots in the city.
He heard the back doors open and turned around to make sure they weren’t messing with any of his equipment. The guard with the mirror stick just gave a cursory scan and rummaged through some of the boxes on the top shelf before stepping backwards and down to the ground, leaving the door swinging open.
“Hey! Sir! Could you shut the door?”
“We’ll also be giving you the banners that are to be placed outside your truck,” the guard with the clipboard said right outside his window. Pran startled and turned back to her. She was much closer than she had been. “They’re pretty self explanatory to set up, but if you need any help, one of the crew can assist.” She said it with a slight smirk, like if he needed to ask for help, she’d judge him. Whatever, she probably was judging him anyway, Pran decided. She didn’t look like she had an exclamation mark personality, either.
--
Pran parked the truck and hopped out to get the water and electricity plugged in to the correct spots- any time he didn’t have to use his own stored water or gas was a blessing. He figured he’d get the oven and the grill started while he set up the banners.
Fifteen minutes later, he still couldn’t figure the damn things out. There was a long vertical pole that hooked into a base, but it didn’t seem very secure. On one of them, the banner was already inserted into the base, but when it was opened to the top of the pole, it was clear the whole image wasn’t showing. The other one didn’t have the banner pre-installed, and Pran was squatting over it, muttering to himself when he saw the first sign of life he’d seen since he got there.
“Ah, ah! Sir, could you help me, please?” Pran called politely, waving down the guy walking past him a few meters away. It looked like the crew were starting to arrive, since he had a gym bag thrown over one shoulder. He was wearing loose jeans and an open button up over a t-shirt, and his hair hung soft and loose around his head. He looked strong and muscular underneath the t-shirt, freshly showered after the gym. He pretty much screamed ‘crew.’ The guy came to a halt and looked over, hesitating, before changing directions to walk towards him. Pran started explaining before the guy had even gotten all the way to him.
“Sorry to bother you, Khun, but I can’t figure out these stupid banners! The guard said the crew could help me out if I had questions, but she didn’t seem to like me very much, so I didn’t want to go back and ask her. Would you mind giving me a hand?” The guy was smiling as he approached and he set his bag down. He had a really nice smile, Pran thought.
“Ah, Ink? Don’t worry, she’s more bark than bite.” He laughed. He had a nice laugh, too. “Although her bark can be pretty judgemental, sometimes. Alright, let's see what we can do,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
Pran explained the ‘not-fully-unrolled’ banner situation to him while he went back to figuring out the other banner. A few seconds later, the guy came over to help him.
“Easy fix, actually, you just have to twist the pole up the rest of the way and it locks into place. What’s the issue here?” Together, they managed to shove the banner into base and then extend it all the way.
“Oh, wait! I think there are little feet to stabilize it, too. That would make sense.” The guy bent down and rotated a bar out underneath the base. Pran watched him do it, trying not to look at the shapely ass outlined by the jeans as he bent down, and then went over and did it to the other banner as well. Then they were able to position the banners on either side of the truck.
“Thank you so much for your help, uh...” Pran realized he hadn’t even gotten the crew member’s name, and sheepishly dipped forward in a wai.
“Pat. My name’s Pat. What’s your name?” Pran gave a huff of laughter. He was pretty sure one of the actors in this show was also named Pat, so it must get a little tedious for this Pat. Although he supposed it wasn’t that uncommon to have similar names, and it was likely that they never interacted directly. The actors were probably shuttled in directly in the late morning and then shuttled out while the set was being broken down.
“Nice to meet you Khun Pat, I’m Pran. I run the food truck,” he said, pointing behind him.
“Ah, just Pat is fine, Pran. Huh, ‘It’s Prantastic!’’ he said, in a jovial tone. It sounded right coming out of his mouth, as if he was someone who did have an exclamation mark personality. Pran moved a little closer to him, to be in the path of his smile. “I like it, that’s a good one!” And he was smiling widely at Pran, who found himself smiling back. Pat’s nose scrunched up and his smile made his cheeks nice and round. His good mood seemed to be contagious.
Pran had to look away or he would do something embarrassing, like asking this guy who he had just met for his line ID, but something about him was just so open and inviting. Pran wanted him to stick around longer, and he wasn’t sure how to keep him there. He looked at the banners, hoping some inspiration would come. A stupid little chibi face with intense eyebrows smiled back at him. The other face had less distinct features, but its face was set in a frown with a fierce look in its eyes.
“I don’t really get it, to be honest,” he said suddenly, thinking about how much some people loved this show. Even he, who didn’t watch much tv, hadn’t been able to avoid at least some information about it trickling through into his awareness.
“Get what?” Pat asked. Out of the corner of his eye, Pran could see him following his gaze to the banners and then turning back towards Pran, a smile still lodged on his face.
“The appeal of this show. I feel like people like it just because the actors are hot,” he said, pulling out the little round stickers that he had been given. He was supposed to use these instead of his own stickers when sealing the food containers to give to people. They had small pictures of the main actors in the series on them. “Like, look at this guy. He knows he’s hot. I bet he’s insufferable,” he said, pointing to the one with normal eyebrows, scowling at the camera.
“You don’t think he’s a good actor though?”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ve seen either of them in anything, I’m not sure I even know their names, but the hot ones never really have to be that good.” Then he realized he was insulting Pat’s work, and looked over to mumble out a hurried apology. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean that it’s not well made! I’m sure the production is top quality. I mostly mean the story and acting. I’m not sure what it’s about, but these teen dramas are usually all the same. And people just watch them for the actors. You know what I mean.”
Pat's forehead was crinkled and his head was tilted to the side. Pran was pretty sure he’d messed something up.
“So you haven’t seen the first season?” Pran gulped. Shit, he had insulted him.
“N-no, I mean, um. I don’t really watch a lot of shows, anyway.”
“Huh. I guess that explains it. I don’t know,” Pat said, swinging back to look at the banners. “I quite liked the first season. I thought the pacing was good and the main actors had good chemistry.” Pran didn’t want to make him angry or anything, so he just nodded and fiddled with the stickers he was still holding.
“Ah, right. Well, maybe I’ll give it a shot then.” He clicked his mouth shut, not wanting to dig the hole he was in any deeper. Pat just laughed.
“For some reason, I don’t believe you. If you don’t even like the show, why are you here?” He didn’t say it angrily. It sounded more like he genuinely wanted the answer.
“It made sense. The day was prepaid by the FC.” Pat nodded and walked over to pick up his bag. Pran chanced a glance and his body language didn’t seem angry.
“Well, I hope you have a better time today than you’ve had this morning,” he said, walking backwards to wave. “I should get to work.”
“Wait!” Pran called after him. “Um, do you want a sticker?” Pat actually laughed out loud at this- not a chuckle, but a full belly laugh. But it did get him to stop.
“No, thanks. I don’t really need a picture of those two.”
“Well, here. You can have one of my original ones then.” Pran grabbed his usual roll of stickers and trotted forward. There were ones that said ‘Have a PRANtastic day’ and ones that said ‘You’re PRANtastic!’ “Which kind would you like?” He asked, realizing that he had come to a stopp closer to Pat than he had meant to. Their foreheads, both bent over the stickers in Pran’s hands, were almost touching. Pran looked up into Pat’s eyes and his breath caught a little.
“This one!” Pat grabbed one of the ‘You’re PRANtastic!’ ones and popped it onto his own chest with a loud thump. “Thanks.” He winked. Pran gulped.
“Any time. Maybe I’ll see you around later. For lunch?”
“Yeah, maybe you will.” And then he was gone.
Pran turned back to his truck and hummed as he turned on the stove and started chopping the ingredients he would need for the day. He’d salvaged that pretty well, he thought.
--
Later that day, Pran was starting to realize that this wasn’t shaping up to be as easy a day as he had expected it to be. Normally, there was a lunch rush and then after the busiest two hours, he either ran out of food for the day or the customers mostly dried up. Whichever came first spelled the end of his day.
This was different. People seemed to get off work at different times all throughout the morning and afternoon. They trickled in at various times, always wanting something hot and freshly made. He’d been able to adjust the way he was preparing things, but it meant he’d been constantly on his feet, either preparing or serving, for several hours now. He was tired and hot and pretty grumpy. And, Pran realized, Pat had never come back for lunch. He must’ve gotten too busy.
Just as he started another pot of rice to cook, pulling the just-finished rice out of the cooker, he saw a lot of commotion from the entrance to the set. It seemed like there was a major break in the schedule. There were several people coming out of the doors, and even from this distance, he could see that there was an eye in the hurricane of the mob of people. There were two central figures that everyone seemed to want to talk to. At one point, one of them stopped and stooped down to take a selfie with what seemed like one of the assistants. Pran rolled his eyes. Great. Now he was going to have to deal with the talent.
He sighed and turned to stir the curry to check if he should start more. He decided he should, so he bent down to his minifridge and pulled out some onions that he’d cut earlier. When he raised his head back above the counter, there was a face in the window of his truck, much closer than he’d expected anyone to be able to get in the short time he’d been looking away. He let out a yell and dropped his container of onions on the counter. They spilled everywhere.
“Dammit!” He spat, as he hurried to pick up the salvageable ones and sweep the ones on the floor into the trash. He looked back at the face in the window. Accompanying hands were clenched on the edge of the metal counter and the man they belonged to was leaning over it, practically inside the truck. The face was grinning at him. “You should let people know when you’re behind them. And you shouldn’t be that close, it’s unsanitary.” Pran took a towel and waved it in the direction of the face, trying to get him to back up. The irritating man flinched back briefly, and then poked his head right back in once the towel was gone. Pran sighed.
He was one of the actors, Pran realized. He wai’d and muttered a short “Khun,” that was just on the right side of respectful, figuring he shouldn’t alienate himself from the people that were the reason he was even here today.
This was the actor with the scowl on the stickers he’d been forced to use all day. From this distance, Pran could tell that the contouring around his cheekbones and hairline were intense, and his hair was parted severely on one side and gelled down very neatly. His character was probably pretty uptight, although Pran had to admit that he looked better smiling like this than he did when with the scowl that was in all the pictures- it made his face shine. Actually, he looked a little familiar. Pran froze and tilted his head, trying to place that smile.
“Ah, Pat!” he said as he realized who it was. He looked so different like this, all made up and styled. But that meant- wait- that meant that Pat- his Pat- or, well, the Pat from this morning, was the main actor in this series. And then Pran remembered what they’d talked about this morning: how these shows weren’t good. How the actors probably weren’t good. Fuck. Pran had insulted Pat’s show and acting abilities directly to his face. He started backing away, trying to find somewhere to get away from the smiling face outside.
But of course, there wasn’t anywhere to go in the small truck, and his hand came down on a burner. He gasped and lifted it to his mouth, cursing. He turned to the small sink and ran some water over it, decidedly not looking at the man outside. He wasn’t sure what to do. He’d really fucked this up in several different ways. He’d not only insulted one of the actors, he’d also insulted the hot guy he’d been waiting for all day. Pran’s stomach churned and he turned the water off. Then he turned it on and off again four more times as he took relaxing breaths, the routine soothing him. He’d apologize, he decided. He’d just have to suck it up and apologize.
He squared his shoulders and turned, drawing a breath to just get it over with, “I’m-”
“I’ll take four of the curry ones,” Pat interrupted.
“Do you want the meal with those? You get rice,” he said automatically, his brain trying to shift gears. Pat smiled and shook his head. At a loss for what else to do, Pran simply picked up the ladle and dipped it into the batter, pouring four small puddles of it onto the griddle and spreading them out to the right size. Setting the ladle down, he glanced up to see that Pat was watching what he was doing intently. He picked up the batter squeeze bottle and made the swirls that would adorn his curry Khanom Tokyo. He could swear he saw Pat’s head track the movement of his hand as he replaced it in its holder.
“Your hand is ok?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” He used the tongs to place a few small pieces of curry chicken in each roll. As he started to roll them closed, he figured he should say his piece before he lost the chance.
“Khun Pat-”
“I told you, just ‘Pat’ is fine.”
“Khun Pat, about what I said earlier-”
“I know! You were so quick to judge when you’ve never even seen anything I’ve done! I’m hurt!” Pran looked up and he was dramatically clutching his hands together over his heart. Pran rolled his eyes.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t really mean it.” He trailed off after that, not sure how to make up for how rude he’d been. He gathered the small rolls in their paper cup and tried to hand it to him over the counter.
“Ah ah, I think you’re forgetting something,” Pat said in a singsong voice, gesturing at the roll of stickers lying to the side. Pran sighed and grabbed one of the stickers, slapping it on the front of the cup, and then shoved the cup at Pat. He took it this time and popped one right into his mouth. He chewed obnoxiously at first and then as he tasted it better, he closed his eyes and let out a small moan that Pran wasn’t sure he was even aware of. Pran couldn’t help but stare. He loved to watch people enjoy his cooking and Pat was being completely shameless about it.
He ate all four rolls in less than two minutes, and Pran was feeling pretty smug. He was about to offer to make a few more for him, when several girls came up and asked to take pictures with Pat. He nodded and smiled, making a peace sign with his fingers as they giggled and leaned in close. Pran wiped down the counter until it was shiny, growing more and more irritated.
Once they had left, he huffed out, “Could you please not do that in front of the truck next time? I have other customers, you know.”
Pat’s mouth dropped open for a second and then he looked around at the slowly emptying lot. Pran’s face was heating up, but he kept eye contact with Pat and didn’t rescind what he’d said. Pat threw his head back in a big laugh and it almost made Pran want to laugh, too.
“And this is the thanks I get for helping you this morning.” He tutted and shook his head like he was disappointed in Pran. Just then, someone called his name and he turned to indicate that he was on his way. He looked back at Pran and held up the empty cup to tap at the sticker. “You did admit that you thought I was hot, though.”
He laughed again and darted backwards as Pran threw some napkins at him.
“Can I pay you to be less confident?”
But Pat is already walking backwards and waving at him. “I already get paid enough.” His wink and his smug grin should be infuriating, but all Pran could do was watch the back of his head as he turned and jogged back into the building. Shit, he was never going to be asked to work this set ever again, Pran was pretty sure.