Work Text:
I've been the best, been the worst, been a ghost in a crowded room
I took a chance, took a turn, took a dive, and it led to you
So many times that I wish we could be anywhere but here
So many times that I wish I could see what you see so clear, so clear
) : )
The house is quiet when Pran enters.
The light of his mom's office is out. There is no classical music coming from his father's study. The ticks of the clock resonate inside Pran's chest, a dull sound that echoes in the hollow behind his ribs. He takes his shoes off, placing them neatly next to his parents’. He steps further into the house, afraid to make a noise just like when he used to sneak around past bedtime for a late-night snack.
He stops in the living room, bag hanging low on his shoulder, at loss. Grains of sand stuck between his toes, hair tacky with sea-salt, shirt askew. He feels out of place, smelling like fish and sweat, like the worn out leather of a bus seat. A stranger invading someone else’s home with pictures of himself framed on the walls.
Like a child, he feels the overwhelming urge to curl up and cry.
A light suddenly comes on and his mother emerges from the hallway, arms tight around her sleeping robe. Her eyes are puffy, her skin pale. She hasn’t been sleeping well. He knows the shadows under her eyes are his fault, just like the shadows inside his mind are hers.
Pran swallows, eyelashes already brimming with tears.
"Hi mom. I'm home."
His mother’s tired face crumbles and she stifles a pained noise behind her hand. Pran expected a lot of things – anger, for sure; disappointment, surely; relief, of course, after a few days without any news from her son. But all he sees now in his mom’s eyes is sadness, the same sadness weighing on his shoulders since her hand had left a burning imprint under his skin.
“Oh, Pran.”
She opens her arms and he sinks into them with a sob. She embraces him immediately, caressing his hair and rocking him like she used to after he had a nightmare as a child.
“Shh, it’s okay baby. It’s okay.”
Pran wants to believe her. He wants his superhero mom, the one with the answer to everything; the one who worries and makes him text I’m home when he goes out late with his friends; the one who packs him a week worth of food when he comes visit. He wants the mom who didn’t take him away from everything he knew, but he also wants this mom, the one clinging to him like she never expected to see him again.
“Mom, I...”
“Shh, I know.”
She pushes back and frames his snotty face between her hands, drying his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. He sniffs and lets her arrange uselessly his bag over his shoulder, lets her straighten the collar of his shirt. She gives him a once over and pats his chest, clearing her throat, her composure completely back on.
“Get some sleep, yeah? We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He nods once, meeting her eyes.
“Tomorrow. Okay.”
She caresses his cheek one last time with a tight lipped smile and then turns back, disappearing into the hallway quietly.
She doesn’t turn the lights off.
--
The text comes at 1am.
(Just a Boyfriend): Are u ok?
Pran rubs his eyes and puts back his fringe, arm flopping on the mattress. He thinks about not answering but changes his mind, even though he knows each word will erode more and more their fragile resolve. The thought of leaving Pat on read simply floods him with revulsion.
Yes. You?
(Just a Boyfriend): Yeah.
Pran bites his lips, the screen making his eyes burn.
I’m glad. Good night.
(Just a Boyfriend): Night.
Three little dots blink for a long time under the word, and then stop. He keeps on looking, but they don’t appear again. His fingers hover, insecure. There are so many things he wishes to stay still, but no words to tell them.
He thinks of the sea and the breeze, of Pat’s arm draped across his chest, warmth filling every cold space inside of him. He thinks of his mother’s embrace, of her perfume trailing after her, of her laugh as he burns his tongue to get to taste her soup before anyone else. He thinks of tomorrow and her anger, her disappointment, her worry. He thinks of Pat’s tears as he said goodbye, of a reality without his silly smiles and silly shirts. Pat thanked him for a bravery he feels devoid of now, for a fight he is tired of.
Maybe one man can’t change the world.
Uncle Tong’s words come back to mind. Junior’s reluctance to follow his mother, her concerns for her son’s future in a place she saw nothing but regrets. Yet, Tong had carved a place for himself there, after years of work and dedication. What made his sister give up on her dream, but not him? Why did nobody question her when she left, but her brother’s choice to stay was not reasonable?
Being friendly with Pat seemed impossible, once. Helping one another was against everything they were taught. Loving each other was a fantasy, a daydream Pran indulged late at night when the world stopped moving forward, when he could wonder about the what if in the privacy of darkness.
Yet, somehow, they made it that far. They stood up against every obstacle on their way, and thrived. Regrets turned memories, dreams turned tangible. Everything they were warned against turned around somehow, the promises of a life with Pat way more vivid than he could have imagined before.
What made his sister give up on her dream, but not him?
Pran realizes he already has the answer.
He inhales deeply and exhales, letting go of the emotions wearying his lungs. It feels like the first breath he takes since they left the sea behind.
His phone comes back to life as he unlocks it, flooding the room with light. He received Pat’s last text twelve minutes ago. Pran lets his fingers dance in a well-known pattern and doesn’t hesitate before pressing send.
I love you.
The answer is instantaneous, as if Pat was just waiting for him.
(Just a Boyfriend): I love you too.
(Just a Boyfriend): ) : )
Pran smiles.
They’ll be okay.
They won’t let the world change them either.
) : )
Pat roughly dries his tears with the collar of his shirt before stepping through the door. He toes his shoes off and nudges them aside, a trail of sand spilling on the floor. His family is in the living room and seems engaged in a loud conversation, his mother hushing his dad as Paa’s high voice tries to overlap their father’s booming tone.
He feels a pang of guilt for having involved his sister into his mess. He is annoyed, angry, and sad; ready to jump off his skin. He missed them, but he misses Pran even more.
All goes quiet when he enters the room.
“Pat!”
Paa is the first to react, standing up as if to join him but halting right after, the smile freezing on her face. He knows how he must look like standing there, with dirty clothes and disheveled hair, tears tracks down his face, glaring at them with burning eyes. A picture of disappointment and failure.
Words get stuck in his throat. For the first time in his life, he is scared to look at his father in the eyes.
He turns and goes for the stairs, taking three steps at a time and ignoring his mom calling after him, ignoring his dad’s silence. He walks and walks around his room, chest heaving. There is a buzz under his skin but he doesn’t know how to let it out, he doesn’t know if he wants to scream or run or cry.
There is a knock at the door.
“Pat? It’s me.”
He sighs and presses his forehead against the wall for a second, trying to settle into himself once again. He opens the door and Paa strides in without hesitation, putting a plate on his desk.
“I reheated some leftovers. ‘Cause I’m the best sister in the world.”
He swallows a lump of emotions and smiles at his sister. “Thanks.”
She grimaces, hands on her hips, looking at him up and down with her head tilted like she still had glasses on.
“You stink.”
He rolls his eyes and goes to sit heavily on his bed, hands hanging between his legs. He feels loose and undone, like a puppet without strings. After a beat Paa joins him, crossing her legs next to him, knees bumping into another. The touch is childish, the familiarity of it comforting.
“How are you?”
He turns his head away from her, lips twisting on a lie. She grabs his wrist loosely, leaning her head to try and catch his eyes.
“Pat. It’s gonna be okay.”
He huffs, doesn’t want to let his sour mood burst out and hurt Paa for nothing. He remembers the promise he made to her years ago in this same room. A promise he broke the moment he dared himself to step into Pran’s carefully organized life and mess things up a little, just to see what could happen. Just to feel a little less bored, a little less lonely. Happy, in the end.
Turns out he is hurting the people he loves the most just because he wanted something for himself, for once.
“Pat,” Paa shakes him a little and he blinks out of his daze, finally looking at her since he came back. “Dad is... dad wants to talk to you. He feels bad, you know?”
“As he should.”
“Pat, come on. Don’t be petty, it makes you even uglier.”
He tuts at her but can’t bring himself to play the annoying big brother.
“Paa, I don’t... I don’t want to talk about this tonight.”
“But...”
“Paa. Please.”
She sees his red rimmed eyes and sags, her pursed lips wanting to say more but accepting his request silently.
“Okay. I’m staying the night here. Tomorrow we’ll talk this out, yeah? Trust me, it’ll be fine.”
He nods reluctantly, drained from energy. She sighs and stands up in front of him, ruffling his dry hair in a gentler manner than usual.
“I hate to see you like this, big bro.”
Pat raises his head and she takes the opportunity to squish his cheeks between her hands, moving his head back and forth with a cooing noise like someone trying to soothe a baby. He indulges her for a while before poking her hips hard. She squeals and jumps away on a curse.
“Asshole! I’m leaving, die in your own misery!”
He snorts.
“Good night, sis.”
She gives him the finger before closing the door. He hears whispers in the hallway, some shuffling around and then steps finally going down the stairs. The house goes quiet.
He leans back on the bed, eyes boring a hole through the ceiling. His mind clears little by little, thoughts slowing down.
From their first glance at one another to their hands linked in the back of a bus, the world didn’t stop turning. It's such a simple truth, in fact. It’s all still there: his rugby trophies and medals catching dust on their shelves; books and papers spilling from his bag where he threw it angrily before leaving; the cord of the tin-can phones sticking out of his drawer; a few silly post-it notes with Pran’s handwriting pinned above his bedpost.
It’s all still there, different worlds sharing the same space in chaotic harmony. Between the secret brush of their fingers to professing his love for everyone to see, Pat saw the beauty of different parts of their life colliding and, instead of breaking their universe, making something new and stronger. Why should they accept that not being together was coming back to the harsh reality, whereas the years without each other had felt like a drawn-out lonesome dream ?
Still, back on the beach, the anguish behind Pran’s smiles had been real, too. Pat saw his longing for a life he knew and felt safe in, Pran's sorrow wearying him down like it was his own. His fear to give up something for another turning every memories bitterweet. Pran had been so strong and willing to lose a part of himself, but Pat never wanted their love to be a sacrifice. He knew then he had to let go for the both of them, a step ahead from Pran and stretching him too thin in his effort to keep up.
He wonders if Pran is okay. He wants to know what happened with his parents, if his mom was mad, if they talked or not. Pat pictures him tucked warm under his blanket, a cute cheek squished against his pillow. He misses Pran already. His crooked smile on that rock as Pat challenged him to give and to take. The rise and fall of Pran’s chest against his back, his forehead fitting perfectly in the curve of his nape.
He once said to Pran he would be lucky to be with someone half as good as Pat. It felt so silly in retrospect. There was no such luck involved between them. They loved each other because they knew each other, and they knew each other because they chose to.
Pat laughs, a few weak hiccups jolting his chest. Then he breaks his promise once more.
Are u ok?
At first he thinks Pran won’t answer. Maybe he is asleep and at peace, safe in the knowledge that his life clicked back into place. Maybe he is awake too, realizing they are just silly guys living in a silly world and the best challenge is to outsmart it all together.
Pat holds his breath. Insecure.
(Pran<3): Yes. You?
Yeah.
(Pran<3): I’m glad. Good night.
Night.
A lot of words collide in his brain as he types out a string of nonsense, things like i miss you and sweet dreams ;) and i can’t give you up im sorry so sorry and let me selfishly love you more but Pat is not cruel. He deletes everything and lets his phone flop on his chest, blowing toward the ceiling. He will wait, as long as it takes. As he always did, as he always will.
The text comes after a while, and he is ready to answer.
(Pran<3) I love you.
I love you too.
) : )
Pat’s insides come alive once again.
It was time for a challenge.
) ; )