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For Pran, fastidious habits with no grand purpose give him structure, a small piece of his life he can control without question. He's sure that as a young child he must've been messy sometimes, must've had his mom cleaning up after him or telling him to put away his toys, but he can't remember it, really.
What he does remember, though- the first time he does something unexpected. It's nothing noteworthy, just a time in class where they were simply asked to draw their houses. He tries not to think about the annoying kid next-door when he imagines it, does his best to recreate what's in his mind. The house comes out as a fairly classic shape, but still with some special details of his own. Then, he brings out the colours, and of course he knows their home is boring white and beige. He finds himself grabbing blue and yellow, though, and it ends up looking outlandish. It's not reality, not his house or anyone's for that matter, and he waits for the teacher to call him out on it.
No one does. He feels silly for worrying, even as the imperfection, the lie, tugs at him.
The second time something unexpected happens, it's not just his imagination in a drawing. It's the first time he keeps a heavy secret from his parents. It's a chain of dominoes that may as well have been set off by a bomb.
A boy jumps in through his window, holding a hand over his mouth to quiet him before offering a hidden olive branch in the form of a watch.
The rest is history, as they say, but it stays carved into his every action, every thought and feeling.
——
There's almost never been a time that him and the kid next-door weren't at odds, opposites to each other in most ways.
The line between what's expected of them and what would be natural is infinitely blurred, but it would be lying to say he didn't enjoy the rush of competition, of doing his best, win or lose. Of seeing that same face always across from his, equally as invested in the dance going on between them since they could remember. The indignation, pointed smirks, loud bragging, a shared language between them. Just as the sun rises and sets without question, so too are they caught in preordained orbit.
But the trajectory of that orbit still bothers him at times, when he wishes they could relax for just a moment. When he wishes he didn't have to strive for his mother's proud look for getting the highest grade in class, scoring a winning goal in soccer, receiving more Valentine's gifts- all the focus on leaving the kid next-door and his dad scowling. The motivation in their accomplishments is beyond just them, a reflection of whatever reason their parents had to be just as petty as schoolboys kicking each other in a classroom.
Teachers praise them for doing well as much as they complain about the boys' constant fighting. They must not care to think about how deeply the two variables are driven by each other.
In the rare times when there's no one but them, without the need for posturing in front of parents, teachers and peers, even if that kid annoys him, and he annoys that kid, and the way they bicker is almost no different from usual-
Speaking in hushed tones, two tin cans and a string between them, Pat teases about getting one more answer right on their latest exam. Pran teases about him getting caught goofing off in class. The comments are light, just a habit, the weight of circumstance pushed into an inside joke.
He laughs, and so does Pat, and he wonders if this is a taste of freedom.
Time marches on relentlessly.
——
For all the expectations set by his parents, the rivalry with Pat, the incoming pressure of high school and beyond, Pran has never been jealous. He's been spiteful, even abrasive if Pat bothered him too much, but never jealous of him, or anyone, at least not over anything serious. They push and pull as equals, only bare percentage points apart in most cases.
It's in grade 8 when he has a simple revelation. There's always been the kid next-door, and the kid next-door's little sister, only a year younger. The boys are the center of attention, of their parents' grudge, and despite what connects them, she keeps her distance, too. When she joins them in middle school, something shifts. While being friends is untenable, she's more open whenever she spots him in the hall and greets him, dares to ask how he's doing, even complains about her brother and asks Pran to knock his ego down a notch or several.
He watches her walk away, and thinks about how she's never had to worry about obsessively comparing all of their successes in school, of recounting fights and victories, constantly keeping tabs on each other. That doesn't mean she's entirely free of it all, but it's not nearly the same. She may be kept at forced distance, but him and Pat are a contradiction; forced apart and together all the same.
As Pa joins her brother to head home one day, Pran hears him make a comment about her being overly friendly. He doesn't catch her reply as they start walking away, but Pat turns to look at him with a sly grin and wave before moving on. The further they move into the distance, the more he wishes he had someone to walk with, too. If only he could go with them.
——
Most nights are unremarkable, but some are eternal. It’s been a long week of school, of homework, of sports, of Pat's infuriating teasing- the list goes on. His ceiling is boring, he counts numbers, recites science facts and imagines upcoming art projects. None of his menial thoughts bring him any closer to sleep.
A newly bought guitar takes up space in a corner of his room, but even if he knew how to play it, it’s far too late to be making that much noise.
His body buzzes with energy, the need to do something, and he wishes it knew what he needs to do is sleep. He really wishes he didn't know what it wanted was to throw a tin can across to the other house, the urge to see that boy's face smiling across from him as he talks about some stupid thing he did. Pran would already know what happened, but the tale was always grander, more dramatic coming from his mouth.
Their tin can talks are infrequent, lessening as they went from being little brats to taller brats, the immaturity of it embarrassing even as it belonged only between them.
It doesn't matter right now, because Pat has the cans stored in his room. The last time they spoke in secret was over a month ago, before Pat's last girlfriend. He's easily flirtatious, and easily fooled, evident when Pa mentioned how said girlfriend ghosted him after getting him to buy her something. None of it feels too serious other than the brief sting of annoyance and betrayal. Nothing that he'd ever want to put up with, still, and his parents are fine with him being more invested in his grades than much else.
That wasn't the first time, and won't be the last, but it won't stop pulling at him, bothering and distracting him the way only Pat does.
Way past midnight by now, Pran dares to open his window and step outside. The dark carries a faint glow from the half-moon above and the streetlamps below, and a warm wind tussles his hair. His heart pounds deep in his chest. It's Pat who tends to bridge the gap between their houses, approaches with his enthusiastic personality until he gets a response, even if in annoyance.
He probably isn't awake, a heavy sleeper, and this risk isn't worth taking. Pran reasons he'll knock and wait a couple minutes before going back to the safety of his room. And so, he knocks on the opposite window, then hurries to sit down on the roof in case someone spots him.
As the eerie quiet continues, he knows it's pointless. A snore from Pat’s room promptly confirms that. Now he can give up on this silly attempt, go back to his room and hope the effort and anxiety of this finally drags him into sleep.
Yet, he finds himself staying there, feeling all too conscious of the wall between them, and of Pat, unknowing, deep in his dreams.
Pran breathes in humid air, and lets himself sit on the cool tiles of the roof a bit longer as he looks up at the moon.
——
Getting closer to Pat is both a dream and a nightmare.
The days pass, and Pran didn’t know it was possible to be even more aware of him than he already was. Things that were typical for years took a different tint. Looking at each other in class to silently glare, or judge, or speak without words was commonplace, but more often now he keeps breaking away in less than a second.
Unfortunately for him, Pat is both meddlesome and unyielding.
He's the only one in the bathroom, washing his hands when Pat comes in, takes a look around, and then backs up against the door to hold it shut. As an incredulous expression shows on Pran's face, Pat responds with a grin.
"Hey, you," he starts without any grace. "Aren't you acting too cold?"
Pran lets silence hang in the air briefly, shows the displeasure clear on his face.
"Since when? We aren't friendly in the first place." And now you're trapping us together in a bathroom, he holds back from saying, still facing the sink mirror instead of looking over.
"Yeah, but I'm not dumb." Debatable. "And I know you're thinking that's a lie." He says, crossing his arms. "What’d I do that’s so awful you don't wanna look at me?"
Pran's gaze cuts back at him, and in the next moment there's a noise as someone smacks into the other side of the door, cursing that it didn't open as expected. Immediately sheepish, Pat dodges out of the way to let whoever in. Walking in, the newcomer hesitates for a moment at the two of them, but quickly remembers what he came in for. Pran takes the opportunity to escape before his stalker gets any more bright ideas.
In the midst of their rivalry, they're used to fights, jabbing each other with words and kicks, stepping on each other's toes in almost every way imaginable. Though he doesn't know the reason, it's amazing to him how immediately Pat sensed it. Sticking his nose into people's business isn't unheard-of; being on the receiving end, however, Pran regards the action a little closer to his heart.
For the rest of the day, it's obvious how miffed Pat is about his failure in the bathroom. When the teacher turns to write on the blackboard, chalk scraping across it, he throws balls of paper in Pran's direction. One bounces off Pran's head to land on his desk. Their teacher would definitely recognize the dreadful handwriting crumpled in it if she saw. The thought of Pat getting scolded, his mouth twisted, expression bewildered as he tries to deny wrongdoing is so clear in his mind that a huffed laugh breaks through.
Instead of giving him up to the authorities, Pran finally grabs the paper ball off his desk to unroll it.
look at me? - It reads, inspiring the terrible habit of rolling his eyes.
As much as he’d rather do anything than listen to a pest, he obliges, pointedly widening his eyes and tilting his head when he stares directly in Pat’s direction as if to respond- there, okay, are you happy now?
That might not stop him from being even more of a bother later, but for now, it’s enough.