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The thing about the two of them, Pran thought, was that he remembers them being rivals ever since they were small snotty children fighting over who gets to play at the river bank first. There was a tree back there, there still is, one they used to climb until their limbs ached and their hair was damp with sweat so it almost looked as if they’d just swam in the cold, murky river.
The old deal was that whoever gets to it first, whoever gets first anywhere, they get the spot for as long as they want it. Pran remembers the time he had gotten to the river first and when Pran and his sister came shortly after, the two of them almost got into a fight over it but then Pa was drowning, Pat stood frozen on the spot and Prat had jumped into the water and gotten her out.
Things changed a little after that. Pat was not as fierce when they’d compete over whatever random thing-of-the-day they managed to find worth competing over but, things weren’t that different as well; their parents still detested each other. Their fathers still tried with all their might to ruin the others’ business, their mothers fought over whose son is the brightest and whose son will have the most beautiful girlfriend.
Well, girlfriend. Pran finds it ironic how their attempts at manifestation backfired terribly because not only did neither of them have a girlfriend, they had pretty much all but confessed whatever they started to feel for each other when they talked about the kiss? the other night at the beach. Prat still thinks the whole thing was a bad idea, starting with the damned trip Pat had wormed himself into.
Yes, he’d been avoiding Pat. What else was he supposed to do? There was nothing they had to talk about and it only further irked him whenever Pat would randomly pop up in front of him, lips parting to say what Pran knew would just hurt him more, things he truly didn’t want to hear.
But Pat was Pat, which also meant that he was annoying and all of a sudden he was everywhere. Worst place being Pran’s home, when he tried to get to him with a poor excuse of having to deliver some documents related to the bust stop their two faculties worked on together.
Then, there was the trip and Pat antagonising his friends and just inserting himself into their group, into his life, and Pran was so mad Pat just wouldn’t let it go, wouldn’t leave him alone. When damned sweet basil, of all things, paired them to stand face to face on a flimsy piece of newspaper, Pran wanted to combust in rage. Or something else.
Pat had been so close. One minute, one fucking long minute they had to stand so near they both could feel the other breathe, stare into each other’s eyes and not do a thing apart from those. Pran hated it. Pat seemed as if he was having a freaking field day. At one point, when their chests touched, he could feel Pat’s heart hammering against the ribcage and for a moment Pran believed the other was as affected by their closeness as he was. Then Pat had stared into his eyes and Pran felt fear and anger merging with shame and he’d looked away for a moment, but Pat was too quick to call him out for it.
“Avoiding eye contact also means you lose,” Pat’s breath was warm against his cheek. Pran turned his head back and stared into the other’s eyes. If Pat wanted to turn this into a competition as well, Pran would gladly participate.
Pat’s eyes were searching, brows furrowed. “Just give in if you can’t do it anymore.” His voice was softer than the usual tone they addressed each other with, “Talk to me.” The newspaper was getting smaller and Pran was not breaking eye contact until Pat’s eyes started jumping from his lips to his face, then eyes and he was pushing against Pran closer than they should be. Their noses brushed and Prat felt electricity break out on his skin, hairs raising up and Pat’s lips were so close he could feel the heat they radiated before he was moving away, falling; Pat’s right arm bracketing his head to shield him as they fell into a heap on the warm beach sand.
He remembers the intensity of Pat’s gaze and how the boy appeared to be inching closer towards his face, as if he was going to kiss him right there, in front of everyone, and then Wai had gotten involved and things got even worse.
“Tell me what’s running through your mind,” Pat had said when Pran found him on the beach later that evening. “What game are you playing? You’re making me so uncomfortable.” And it had been so sincere Pran was on the verge of breaking down and spilling everything that’s been torturing him for the past few days, months, years. But anger was still shimmering low in his stomach and he wanted to kick at the sad puppy face Pat had on.
“You’re not the only one feeling uncomfortable.” He bit back with a frow and turned his gaze towards the waves, watching them crash against the shore. Did Pat think he was as unaffected by this whole situation as he’d been faking to be? He sighed audibly and looked back at Pat again. “Don’t make it more complicated than it already is.” He could feel himself coming to the verge of tears and Pat had just looked even more confused than before. “Please, just— leave me alone.”
And Pat did leave him alone. Or, to be more precise, Pat stopped forcing him to talk and just continued pestering him with his presence, constant ramblings, his damned smile and silly laughter.
The day after, when they ended up in the ocean, Pran trying to wash off the mud from his shirt and shorts and Pat at his sides enveloping his body in his presence, Pran felt lighter than ever before. It reminded him of their playful banter back in middle school and Pat was smiling so brightly that for a moment Pran felt he couldn’t tell which way the Sun was again. When they were drying Pat had spoken, laying down on the sand, head propped on his elbow.
“Will you tell me now what’s been going on since that night?”
“Can we not talk about that?” Pran felt annoyance creep in once again. “Fine.”
Surprised with how quickly Pat had dropped the topic, Pran observed his face for a few moments while the other was staring at the ocean. “Do you hate me?”, he’d asked, open and vulnerable all of a sudden and Pat had just smiled.
“I used to ask myself if you’ve ever done anything to make me hate you.”
“Have I?”
“Ever since I’ve gotten to know you, my life has been much tougher. Whatever I do I had to compare it to you.” “You must hate me a lot for that, don’t you?”
“I should. But, we were forced into everything that’s happened by others. It wouldn’t be fair.” Pat raised himself and sat up, eyes looking intently at Pran. “What about you?”
Pran had a flashback to that night Pat stayed over and they spoke about Ink. He’d told Prat he hated him that night. He wished he could take those words back, he wished he’d had been more sincere and told him more, called him a dumbass because Pat was so blind he couldn’t see. But there was no use in thinking about what’s already been said. Instead, he told Pat how angry he'd been when he got transferred. At him, at his own mother. And Pat had apologised, sincerity painting his voice.
“It’s okay. It was just— anger. Not hate.” And they’d smiled at each other.
Pran hated it all, how they were pushed into this animosity from the moment they were born, how they just couldn’t be close. Pat had felt the same.
“Do you want to try it for a while? Just sit here and care about nothing.”
God did Pran want that. Stay on that beach forever, listening as the waves met the shore over and over again and in that small pocket of time he could pretend that they were okay, that they were just Pat and Pran and not their last names and friend groups. He could feel his own palm sliding over the sand until it met Pat’s and their fingers brushed. He wanted to tear off his own skin and breathe in with how much his chest ached from that single contact of their bodies.
He didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know what to do. How could they act nicely around each other from now on when all they’d ever known was competing with rage and tearing each other down as their families did nothing else but fuel the fire burning within their bodies?
“Have you ever pictured what it would be like if our parents didn’t fight?” Pat had asked, curious. Hopeful. Pran stared at the ocean a few moments longer.
“If our parents weren’t enemies,” he turned towards Pat and stared into his eyes, a glimpse of a smile tugging at the corners of the boy’s lips; Pran mimicking.
He didn’t finish the sentence. They knew. They could pretend all they wanted and play the game of push and pull until the universe implodes on itself, but they both knew.
Pran could feel the end of that sentence burning inside him like a newborn star but he would rather die right there on the spot than be the first one to give in, first one to bare his own emotions fully. First one to lose.
—
Surprisingly, things were normal after their talk at the beach. Pat was his usual self, but even more open, teasing him all day long until Prat could feel himself redden with embarrassment. The night came and the people in the group were getting paired up by vegetables once more in order to determine the sleeping locations and a not-quite-small part of Pran wanted them to be paired up again but he quickly squashed that thought when he saw Pat smiling brightly and staring at him from the side. They would probably kill each other if they were forced to spend the night in the same room again. Or worse. Pran didn’t want to find out what that “worse” entailed.
But then Pat had gotten paired up with Wai and had kept pushing his friends’ buttons so much that Pran was certain another fight would break out between the two of them. A small, tiny part of him wanted Pat to hurt; for having been pushing him this way for days, but when he realized his friends were teaming up to go beat Pat up when the boy went to bed, he freaked and defended Pat which made his friends all the more suspicious of whatever has been happening between the two of them for the past few weeks.
Wanting to ease their suspicion and at the same time save Pat from getting killed he blurted out that Pat and he had only been fighting over Ink, how she refused Pran’s feelings because she likes Pat more so he’s feeling broken hearted which means you have to stay up here with me drinking, all night. It honestly wasn’t that far from the truth, Pran mused.
It had worked. His friends had gotten drunk and once their heads hit the table, Pran walked over to the beach to collect his own thoughts for a moment. He was tired, so damn tired. Of everything.
He knew whichever God held him in His favor stopped doing their work because Pat was there and intention was written loud and clear on his face. Prat couldn’t do this tonight. There was only so much heartache a heart could take and his own was drowning and gasping for air ever since the night Pat had said he liked Ink.
Before he could leave, Pat had firmly gripped his forearm and then they were sitting on the sand, backs against the lantern lit boat. If he were to forget the context of the whole situation that led to their silence, Pran could almost pretend it was romantic.
He watched, his body trembling within, as Pat traced four letters in the sand and their eyes met.
“You won’t allow me to talk about it, so I’m not talking.” Pat whined out and Pran chewed on the inside of his cheeks. Smartass, he thought. As Pat added a giant question mark next to the word K I S S , Pran broke his silence.
“It’s nothing.” He put all of his energy into wanting it to sound as indifferent as possible.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not trying to mean anything.” God, he sounded like a petulant child even to himself.
“If you don’t say it, how will I figure it out?” Pat had asked, his face so vulnerable and and sincere and, fuck. Pran wanted to slap either himself or Pat. Maybe even both. “How can I possibly understand you?”
“You don’t need to understand because I don’t want you to understand me either.”
At Pat’s sigh and lack of response he continued. “Just mind your business.” Something inside his chest wanted him to talk on and bite with his words, something inside him craved reactions from Pat. And then Pat mentioned Ink and Pran’s whole body froze on the spot.
“I talked to Ink.” Pran could feel his heart hammering up and down. “I don’t think I like her like that.”
Prat’s whole body began thrumming with warmth and he hoped it wouldn’t show as much as he felt it. “How do you like her then?”
Pat looked into his eyes and smirked. “You don’t need to understand because I don’t want you to understand me either.”
And there it was. They were back to the only way they knew how to speak to each other, the only way they knew how to get reactions from one another. The game was on.
“Pft,” Pran’s lips were too damn close to stretching into a full blown grin, “I knew it. You’re terrible at flirting. No one likes you back.”
Pat laughed. “You’re the one to talk. I don’t see you’ve succeeded before, right?”
Pran felt more alive with each passing second. This he knew how to do. This something that was friendly and yet antagonizing, something that danced so close to that word flirting — so much so he could feel his cheeks heat and stomach tighten.
“I haven’t? Isn’t there a guy that followed me here all the way from Bangkok, wanting to make up with me?”
“Oh, really? There’s also this other guy that refused to talk to me all day long. What do you think that means? Oh! I’ve got him confused about his feelings for me.” Pat was not smiling. Pran’s heart skipped a beat.
He felt irritated because he felt caught, of all things, and with a huff he turned to Pat, letting his left arm rest on the side of the boat as support. “Why don’t you just admit it?” He bit back at Pat. He was not going down first. Never.
Pat mirrored his posture. “You like me already. Just say it.” His eyes were going back and forth from Pran’s eyes to his lips and then back to his eyes again. Pran felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“I don’t like you.” He raised his eyebrow in defiance.
“You do.”
Was Pat inching his head closer with each sentence or was it his own self?
“You’re the one that likes me.” Another eyebrow raise. “It’s so obvious that you like me.” He twitched his eyebrow for each word as if that would make it truer. Pat watched him with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Fine,” he’d said. “Let’s compete then.” A small pause. “I will show you how I flirt.”
Pran’s breath hitched.
“I’ll go after you and sweep you off your feet.”
The nerves in Pran’s stomach danced in a strange way. “Game on,” he’d managed to reply, body thrumming with defiance. “I’ll make you get on your knees and declare your love for me.”
Pat huffed in disbelief. “Someone like you is going to fall for me in no time.”
“You’re all talk.” Prat wanted to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off Pat’s face. “Make it happen first, then brag later.” Had they been sitting this close the whole time? Pran could feel the goosebumps crawling up his arm. He wanted to believe it was just the chilly air.
And it was like everything that ever happened between them, everything they ever competed for. They would race on three, they would hit on three, they would answer honest questions and open themselves to the other — all on three. The only way this one differed from the others was that, to both of them, even before it began it felt like it was already going to be a dead race. But where’s the fun in that?
“Whoever falls in love first, loses.”
—
Later that night, once they’ve separated and gone to bed, Pran’s phone pings with an incoming LINE message. It’s almost three in the morning and he wonders who it could be. Unlocking his phone, he squints at the sudden brightness and almost immediately regrets his decision to check who it was.
< just a friend
goodnight baby.
2:47 AM
Prat groans into the pillow, cheeks hurting from how annoyed he is and from how much he’s been smiling at the same time. He falls asleep dreaming he’d continued that sentence the other day on the beach.
“If our parents weren’t enemies, I would be imprinting the shapes of our tangled bodies in this sand as many times as it takes for the ocean to never wash it away.”
Pat had beamed at him and pulled him towards his body, against the sand.
—