Archive of Our Own

one.

Despite the lucrative job opportunities he’d had waiting for him in Singapore, the not-inconsiderable reputation he’d built for himself there, Pran knew from the start that returning to Bangkok was inevitable. It was home, it had always been home, and though he knew it would’ve been more rewarding to stay in the long run, no career could keep him away. After all, he was still a sentimentalist at heart, the kind who kept a box of old keepsakes tucked away on the bottom shelf of his closet no matter where he lived.

And so, it wasn’t too much of a surprise when he felt uneasy stepping into a bar he’d never been to before, wondering if he should’ve gone to one of his old haunts instead. Or, you know, simply stayed home. After all, his parents were there, his childhood bedroom was there - and most importantly, he thought rather drowsily, his childhood bed was there.

Holding back what would’ve been an embarrassing yawn and an even more ungraceful stretch, Pran ordered a beer and sat at the end of the bar. His eyes lifted from his drink every now and then as he took in the relaxed atmosphere, the low lighting, the soft murmurs of the other patrons. The place was relatively empty, save for a few groups of friends and the odd couple here and there. It made the hairs on Pran’s arms prickle at the realization that he was the only person who was completely alone. Usually, he liked the occasional bout of solitude, but something about his current situation felt a little awkward. He was starting to wonder if the looks the bartender was sending him were meant to be friendly or pitying.

Then, a stranger sidled up to the bar, his elbow brushing against Pran’s as he did. He turned to look at him with an apologetic flash of white teeth. “Sorry,” he said smoothly before turning back to the bartender. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

It took Pran a moment to realize the man was talking about him; his eyebrows quirked in curiosity, but he said nothing, electing to take another sip of his beer instead. He couldn’t help but watch the man take his own drink with a nod and another bright grin, then settle down just a few seats away. The man was undeniably attractive - tall and broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that Pran suspected could be quite fierce when need be. He wore his collared shirt with the first three buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, accompanied by white pants, black brogues, and an expensive-looking watch adorning his wrist.

“Do you like it?”

Pran blinked, momentarily stunned. “Pardon?”

“My watch, do you like it?” the man pressed, lifting his arm so Pran could get a better look. It was nice, sure - black watch face, gold bezel, brown leather strap - but he honestly couldn’t say it was what he’d really been looking at. “I see you’ve got one of your own. What is that, a Casio?”

“Er - yeah, it’s…it’s kind of old, to be honest,” Pran admitted with a soft laugh. “Not worth nearly as much as yours, I’m sure.”

“But it must be worth something to you if you've been holding on to it for this long,” the man reasoned, surprisingly earnest. “Forget the cost; if it belonged to your great-great-grandfather or something - ”

“Not that old,” Pran corrected, a smile slowly starting to spread across his face. “I only said ‘kind of’.”

“Sure, if you wanna be picky about it,” the man said, though he was grinning, too. “What’s the story, then?”

“You’re assuming there is one,” Pran pointed out, now turning to fully face him, tucking one ankle behind the other. He certainly didn’t miss the way the other man’s eyes watched him hungrily as he shifted in his seat. “What if I said I could throw this out tomorrow and it wouldn't mean a thing?” The man’s jaw tensed almost imperceptibly. Pran smirked. “Not a fan of the idea, are you?”

“Can’t say I am, no,” the man replied through clenched teeth.

“And why is that?” Pran asked; he was really starting to enjoy himself now. “Actually, that reminds me - just the other day, I was thinking about getting rid of my earphone bag. I usually replace the cord whenever it starts to fray, but maybe it’s just not worth the effort anymore. What do you think…stranger?”

The man leaned back, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a hard line. “Well, as a stranger, I don’t think my opinion should matter to you. But as an…” He paused, his eyebrows lowering in a way that inexplicably tugged at something in Pran’s stomach, filling him with heat. “...interested party, I’d tell you that I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Interested, huh? And how far would you go?” Pran said, his voice low. He delighted in the way the man’s breath hitched in response, his eyes now darkening further with desire, not displeasure.

“What were we talking about again?” the man asked, another grin playing on his lips. Pran let out an internal sigh of relief, pleased to see him smile again; he was starting to worry that they’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and wouldn’t be able to find their way back. “But before we get ahead of ourselves, I wanna be able to call you something other than ‘cute Casio guy’ in my head.”

Pran clicked his tongue in disapproval. “What a way to ask for my name. Do you use that line on everyone you meet in a bar?”

“No,” the man replied, blinking innocently. Pran’s heart fluttered at the sight. “I use it on everyone I meet no matter where I go.”

It was almost embarrassing how quickly Pran’s face fell. “I see. So what you’re saying is that I’m nothing special,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the man’s overconfidence. “Then in that case, I think ‘cute Casio guy’ will have to do.”

The man didn’t seem deterred, though; if anything, he seemed prepared to persist further. “Well, what am I to you?”

“Right now?” Pran asked, his mouth twisting. “Nothing.”

“How about Pat?” he offered with yet another winning smile, extending a hand. “Does that work?”

Pran shrugged but accepted the outstretched hand regardless. “For now, I guess,” he hummed. Pat wordlessly raised an eyebrow, prompting Pran to return the favor, though Pran merely lifted his chin in return, challenging him. After a moment’s pause, Pat opened his mouth as if to say a name he wasn’t supposed to know, then snapped it shut with a scoff and a shake of his head.

“I probably deserved that,” he muttered, more to himself than to Pran. Pat then briefly turned back to his beer, seemingly swallowing a generous mouthful without really tasting it, and sighed. “Can I be honest with you?” When Pran motioned for him to do so, he continued, “It’s been a while since I tried flirting with someone new. So…I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Is that so?” Pran asked, hoping he sounded more sympathetic than patronizing. “Did you…just get out of a long-term relationship or something?”

“Or something,” Pat nodded. “My entire life, I was told not to be friends with this one guy, and…well, you can probably guess what happened.”

“Something about forbidden fruit always being sweeter?” Pran teased, biting his lip in a poor attempt to stop himself from laughing. “Sounds like something out of a TV drama. So, where is he now? Why aren’t you together anymore?”

“He’s, uh…” For a moment, Pat seemed lost for words, like he hadn’t quite thought this far ahead. “He moved to Singapore.”

“What a coincidence - I just moved back from Singapore,” Pran remarked. “What’s his name? I might know him.”

Pat snorted. “Is Singapore that small? But if you really wanna know, his name’s…um.” Pran watched, amused, as Pat let out a noisy exhale, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck, irritated. When it seemed like Pat wouldn’t be able to answer anytime soon, Pran leaned in close, gently placing a hand over Pat’s.

“Now I feel bad for him,” Pran murmured. “He must not mean that much to you if you can’t even remember his name.” Then, slowly but surely, he started to slide his hand up Pat’s forearm, his fingertips brushing the folds of Pat’s rolled-up shirtsleeve, his thumb pressing into the crease of Pat’s elbow. Pat shivered. “How do you think he’d feel if he knew you forgot all about him?”

At first, all Pran got in response was silence, Pat staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Then, Pat’s shoulders slumped, defeated, his bravado entirely gone. “Pran,” he whined, dragging out one syllable into at least three. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Pran withdrew his hand from Pat’s arm, eliciting another disappointed whimper from his boyfriend’s mouth. “You were doing so well until you had to come up with a fake name. I didn’t think that’d be any trouble for you.”

“It’s not,” Pat said defensively. “It’s just - we haven’t seen each other since yesterday. I can only go so long without kissing you, you know.” The bartender raised an eyebrow but said nothing, continuing to clean his shot glasses with an idyllic hum.

“Believe me, I know,” Pran drawled. Pat stood, moving in close to press a tender kiss against the corner of Pran’s mouth, the kind that Pran pretended to resist but always made his heart skip a beat like he was fifteen all over again, then settled into the seat beside him. “And I just knew you wouldn’t be able to last longer than me.” The bartender coughed.

“Fine, fine, so I lost this time,” Pat admitted, sighing. “But next time - ”

“Oh, we’re doing this again?” Pran said teasingly, knowing very well that Pat wasn’t about to let this go; after all, Pat had managed to make a competition out of sorting their sock drawer, and he didn’t even own that many socks.

“Best two out of three,” Pat insisted. “Whoever wins gets to pick the new paint color for our bedroom walls.”

Pran rolled his eyes, albeit fondly. “Or you could just leave all of that stuff to me. Just last week, you couldn’t even decide between two different sets of chopsticks - and you say I’m the picky one. What makes you think you can commit to a single color, huh?”

“So you’re saying you won’t do it?” Pat challenged with a raised eyebrow and an outstretched hand, now curled in a fist. Sighing, Pran gave Pat another withering look before returning the fist bump, his eyes crinkling with affection nonetheless when Pat beamed in response. “Okay, here’s how it’s gonna go…”

“You’re setting the stage this time? Maybe you really should’ve majored in performing arts.”

“Pran, I’m serious - ”

“Also, can we talk about how your opening line was ‘I’ll have what he’s having’ - ”

two.

To say Pat was restless was an understatement. His leg was bouncing rather obnoxiously, his knee occasionally bumping the underside of the counter. Things were quiet today - too quiet, if he wanted to be cliché about it - with barely a phone call, email, or customer to attend to. Family businesses could be slow at times, sure, but usually, he was the one out dealing with clients, not sitting around, waiting for something, anything, to happen. Today was a different story, thanks to his parents being out of town on a weekend trip and his sister attending to her sick girlfriend (Ink was fine, thankfully, just a little feverish). Now he was the one looking after the store, literally watching the minutes tick by.

Sighing loudly for the umpteenth time, Pat was starting to seriously consider closing up shop for the day, if not for the security system that would notify his parents of his so-called wrongdoing. It was times like this where he felt like a teenager all over again, that feeling of wanting to sneak around, only this time, he didn’t feel enticed by the thrill of potentially getting caught. His relationship with his father had been hanging by a thread for a while now and he didn’t want to be the one to cut the final string, not when his mother was trying to bring them back together for Pat’s sake.

“He’s coming around,” she would say, stroking his hair. “You’ll see.” Pat would protest every time, protest the fact that she was doing too much work on his behalf when it was his father’s fault, had always been his father’s fault, but she’d simply wave him off with a smile and ask him if he’d eaten.

Another exhale. Pat turned back to his laptop to check his inbox for client requests, only to find a few newsletters he’d been too lazy to unsubscribe from and had instead resigned himself to deleting on a daily basis for the rest of his life. Groaning, he started to run through a mental checklist of the store’s inventory - were there any labels that needed reprinting, any shelves he could rearrange for fun, maybe? - when the door swung open, scraping softly across the floor. He looked up from his screen, thrilled at the prospect of finally getting to talk to someone, only for his heart to stop for what felt like an eternity.

“Hello,” the newcomer said politely, though with a hint of uncertainty, probably because Pat was staring at him like he’d never seen another human before. But honestly, who could blame Pat when the person he was looking at was Pran, the boy - no, man - he thought he’d never see again? “Are you…oh. Pat?”

“You remember me,” Pat said breathlessly, immediately wincing at how giddy he’d sounded.

Pran let out a warm, amused chuckle, approaching the counter with a dimpled smile; now Pat’s heart felt as if it were about to leap right out of his chest. “You make it sound like we haven’t seen each other since we were little kids. It’s only been…how many years?”

“At least eight,” Pat replied. “How’ve you been? You look…you look really good.” And it was true; in high school, he remembered Pran being unusually shy at times, almost like something about Pat made him nervous. Now, he stood tall yet relaxed, eyes shining with confidence. Most of Pat’s memories of Pran were of him in his various school uniforms, all neatly pressed and buttoned up, but today, he was in jeans and an oversized striped sweater, the neckline hanging low enough to expose his collarbone. Suddenly, without warning, Pat wondered if Pran’s skin was as soft as it looked, and where had that thought come from?

“I was working in Singapore, but I’m back home for good now,” Pran said, oblivious to Pat’s unexpected inner turmoil. “I’ve got a couple of months before I start my new job, so I thought I’d use the time to fix a few things in my apartment - which is why I’m here.”

“You sure your dad’s okay with that?” Pat asked, glancing warily at the store across the way. The last thing he wanted to do was drag a decades-old feud into what he hoped to be a pleasant reunion, especially when his last run-in with Pran’s family had been nothing but a mild argument when he’d accidentally stolen their parking spot at the grocery store.

Pran cocked his head to one side, his mouth twisting rather mischievously. Pat’s heart thumped pathetically at the sight; had Pran always been this gorgeous? He remembered thinking Pran was cute in a sort of boyish way, remembered teasing him in high school so Pran would scoff and scowl and on the rare occasion, smile, but this felt like something else entirely. “His store doesn’t have what I need,” Pran said. “So I’m hoping you’ve got what I’m looking for.”

“Right, um.” Pat’s mouth had gone dry. “What do you need?” Still smiling, Pran took out his wallet, then pulled a slip of paper from one of his card slots and held it out for Pat to take. When he did, their fingers brushed, sending shivers up Pat’s spine. What’s wrong with me today? Pat wondered, smoothing out the neatly-folded note with trembling hands. Maybe I just didn’t get enough sleep.

His tumultuous thoughts were momentarily interrupted by the sight of the smiley face printed on the paper Pran had given him, causing him to grin as well. Smiley faces had always been Pran’s thing - doodles in the margins of his notebooks, enamel pins on his backpack, stickers on his locker door. It reminded Pat of a particular day in which he’d stayed home from school, sick and feverish and convinced he was dying. He’d woken up from a nap to the smell of food and was surprised to see a mysterious container sitting on his balcony, still warm. Inside, he’d found fried rice and green beans and fried eggs, but what he remembered most was the smiley face drawn on top in nam phrik sauce. Though he’d never been one for spicy food, he’d eaten every last bite. When he’d brought the empty container to Pran the next day, he’d claimed to know nothing about it, even going so far as to walk away with flushed cheeks and an exasperated huff when Pat insisted it could’ve only been him.

“Pat?”

He startled at the sound of Pran’s voice, bringing him back to the present. “Yeah?”

“If you don’t have everything on my list, that’s okay,” Pran said, eyeing him curiously. Then, he smirked. “Or…are you just having trouble reading my handwriting?”

“No, no!” Pat said a little too quickly. “You have really nice handwriting, actually. Better than mine.”

“That’s not really saying much,” Pran teased. “But…thanks.”

“So, um - ” Pat cleared his throat before he could say something stupid, like your hair looks really nice or where do you live these days? or I think I missed you more than I ever thought I would. “We have most of this in stock, but I’ll need to put in a special order for a couple things. Can you wait about a week? Might even take as long as two.”

“Sure,” Pran shrugged, leaning in close to offer Pat another dimpled smile, and had he always smelled this good? “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Pat blinked. “I mean…” But Pran was laughing now, apparently charmed. Pat silently wondered if it had always been this easy to make Pran laugh - all he remembered was Pran glaring at him when he was getting on his nerves or staring at him when he wasn’t, and Pat had never known what to make of the latter. Now, the erratic thump-thump-thump of his heart seemed to be telling him what he wanted it to mean, all of the pieces slowly starting to fall into place.

“Careful,” Pran said, still grinning. “It almost sounds like you missed me.”

“What if…” Pat hesitated. “What if I did?”

Pran’s eyes widened, surprised. “...what?”

“I know we weren’t exactly friends, but…I think I wanted us to be,” Pat confessed. “At least, that would explain some things.”

Pran opened his mouth, then closed it, his expression hardening. “What do you mean? What ‘things’?”

Pat took a deep breath; the air suddenly felt too thick, filled with the sort of tension that seemed to only exist whenever he was around Pran. It felt like the time he’d heard him singing a love song in his bedroom and wondered, not for the first time, if Pran had a crush on someone in their class, or the day they’d been assigned to sweep the school courtyard together and he’d watched Pran for a little too long whenever he paused to take a drink of water or whenever the sunlight hit him just right, or the moment Pran was being transferred and was about to leave Pat behind, possibly forever, and Pat could only stand there, staring at him, his chest feeling tighter and tighter with -

“Pat,” Pran repeated, firmer now. “What are you trying to say?”

“That…maybe I was always trying to get your attention for a reason, and not just to be annoying,” Pat said slowly, still processing it himself: the time he’d plastered Pran’s desk with heart stickers so he’d have to peel them off one by one while thinking of Pat, or the time he’d volunteered to take Pran to the nurse’s office after he twisted his ankle so he could torment him with bad jokes to distract him from the pain, or the time he’d slipped into Pran’s bedroom to return the empty container, only to give him a hundred different excuses for why he wanted to stay - and why did he want to stay?

“You are annoying,” Pran said, more out of instinct than anything, though there was a sort of hesitation in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Can we - can we not talk about this right now? Please?”

Pat nodded, swallowing, and began to process Pran’s order in stifled silence. Part of him desperately wished he could take it all back, to go back to when Pran was smiling and laughing and they’d started to feel less like old rivals and more like old friends, but another part of him wanted to put it all out there, to tell Pran how he really felt. It seemed like the kind of thing he would do, after all.

“Pran - ”

“Pat - ” They both let out quiet, nervous chuckles. “Sorry, go ahead.”

Pat inhaled sharply. “I was just gonna say that, uh…it’s really good to see you. And sorry for having a weird epiphany on you out of nowhere. I’m sure you don't wanna hear it.”

“Actually, I do.” Pran offered him a tentative, almost teasing smile. “I only said I didn’t want to talk about this right now, didn’t I? I never said we couldn’t talk about it later.”

Pat could only stare at him in disbelief before breaking out into a wide, relieved grin of his own. “Then…dinner? I know this place where you can get all the wontons you want. Or just three, if that’s more your thing.”

Pran scoffed, leaning closer to rest his elbows on the counter; the twinkle in his eyes would’ve made Pat dizzy, were he not already sitting down. “How specific. Where did you get that number from, huh?”

“Lucky guess?” Pat offered. “But I’m serious, when are you free?”

“Hm…how about tonight, around seven?” Pran hummed. “I’ll meet you there, just tell me where it is.”

Once Pat scribbled down the address for him on a fresh slip of paper, Pran tucked it away in his wallet, then turned on his heel, ready to leave. For some reason, despite knowing they were going to see each other again in a matter of hours, Pat didn’t want him to go just yet. “Hey,” he called softly. “Should we exchange numbers, in case something comes up?”

“Sure,” Pran said, taking out his phone and handing it to him while Pat did the same. Of course, once Pat typed in his number, his contact information immediately popped up. Pran’s contact name for him was a simple Pat 🐶❤️, accompanied by a selfie of the two of them from the time they’d had a picnic in the Singapore Botanic Gardens, Pran’s face half-buried against Pat’s neck in joyous laughter. However, when Pat glanced back up, the Pran standing in front of him now looked absolutely murderous. “Pat.”

“...yes?” Pat said slowly, confused.

“When did you take this photo of me?” Pran practically shoved Pat’s phone into his face, eyebrows knitted together in anger, nose scrunched up in a way that made Pat desperately want to kiss it, not that doing so would help him one bit. “You were the one who wanted us to have matching contact pictures, so where did this come from?”

“Well, I think you look cute - ”

“I look drunk - ”

“Maybe a little, but look at the way that your dimples - ”

“There’s drool on my face - and pen ink, too, look - ”

“Fine, fine, I’ll change it back. You’re no fun sometimes,” Pat said with an exaggerated pout. Then, he smirked. “And speaking of fun…looks like someone just lost.”

Pran blinked, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. “Wh - no. No, I didn’t.”

“If you only asked when I took that photo of you, I might have let it go,” Pat sing-songed; he couldn’t help but rejoice in the stunned look on his boyfriend’s face, considering it was a look he didn’t get to see very often. “But when you said I wanted us to have matching photos - ”

“Pat - ”

“ - it was all over,” Pat finished gleefully, getting to his feet so he could join Pran on the other side of the counter, though judging by Pran’s expression, he was already starting to regret it. “It’s a good thing I remembered to ask for your number before you left, huh?”

Pran exhaled noisily in a way that suggested he was trying his best not to seriously consider which items among the store inventory he could use to kill Pat and then hide the body - Pat saw him eyeing the heavy-duty tool carts over his shoulder, which wasn’t at all comforting - then folded his arms across his chest, unimpressed. “...fine. So I lost. But we did say best two out of three, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Pat agreed, stepping closer so he could wrap his arms around Pran’s waist and pull him in. Despite the look on his face, Pran allowed it, his hands automatically coming to rest on Pat’s shoulders. “Maybe we can talk about that over dinner, too. What do you think…baby?”

Pran’s face softened for a split second, then soured once more. “...I hate you.”

“I know you do,” Pat cooed, smothering Pran in kisses until he finally cracked a smile.

three.

At times, university felt like a treasure trove of mixed emotions for Pran, or more accurately, like a locked treasure box he didn’t want to open up again anytime soon. Of course, he’d made many fond memories that he held close to his heart, but some memories now left nothing but a bitter taste in his mouth. Still, he knew being invited to speak at an alumni event was an honor that he couldn’t turn down, so here he was, walking back onto campus with his head held a little too high in the hopes that no one would notice the apprehension in his eyes.

“Good morning,” Pran seemed to say about a dozen times as a number of starry-eyed architecture students recognized him in passing, offering them polite, if slightly strained smiles. His expression dropped entirely as he neared the rugby pitch, his throat tightening at the sight of the currently unoccupied bleachers.

“Pran,” Pat whined in a very Pat-like way, clutching Pran’s waist like his life depended on it. “I’m thirsty.”

“And? You don’t need me to help you drink your water,” Pran retorted, trying not to laugh. Just a few feet away, sitting on the bottom row of the bleachers, their friends were cooing and making kissy noises at them, much to the chagrin of Pat’s exasperated coach. “Pat, come on. The team’s waiting for you.”

“And I’m waiting for you,” Pat replied, pouting. “Humor me? Please?”

“Sometimes, I think that’s all I ever do,” Pran sighed, carefully prying Pat’s hands away from his hips before they could wander even further. He then reached into Pat’s bag for his water bottle, uncapping it and holding it out for him. When Pat didn’t move, staring at him with big, round, puppy-like eyes, Pran groaned. “Pat, seriously, we’re not doing this right now.”

“So you’re saying we can do this later?” Pat said, grinning. At Pran’s unimpressed glare, he finally accepted his water bottle, then took a generous gulp and passed it back to Pran. “Thank you, baby.” He stood as if to head back out onto the pitch, only to pause, bend down, and smack a sloppy, wet kiss against Pran’s forehead, sprinting away before Pran could retaliate.

“Pat! - ”

Shaking himself, Pran continued on his way, though as he did, only more memories seemed to come to mind, each one more vivid than the last. He reached into his bag for his flashcards despite already memorizing his speech word-for-word, looking for something - anything - to distract him from the uneasy feeling that had made a home for itself in his stomach.

“I know you wanted to hang out tonight, but I have a lot of studying to catch up on,” Pran said with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. Maybe tomorrow?”

Pat looked at him curiously, head cocked to one side; it wasn’t the first time Pran thought he resembled a dog, and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last. “Can I help?” he asked. “We could go over your notes together if you want.”

“Are you sure?” Pran said tentatively, trying not to smile. “It’ll be pretty boring for you.”

Pat shrugged. “Probably, but…at least we get to be together, right?” Pran couldn’t help but grin, pleased, stepping aside so he could let Pat into his room. “And who knows, you might even get a better grade because of me. I’m your lucky charm, after all.”

Pran let out a long-suffering sigh. “...never mind, get out.”

Moments later, Pran realized he’d been mumbling under his breath, going over the phrases that he found difficult when he’d first practiced, without really paying attention to where he was going. He was now facing the road opposite the rugby pitch, bringing him a little too close to a certain other place that he wasn’t ready to see again.

“Relax,” Pat said, watching Pran pace back and forth in front of him, his fingers tapping anxiously against his hip. “No one’s going to see us, Pran.”

“Famous last words,” Pran retorted, though without much heat. “I’d be less worried if the bus were on time, but it’s already five minutes late. What if your dad drops by to see Professor Pichai? What if someone from one of our faculties sees us? Or - ”

“Pran,” Pat said, softer this time. He held out his hand, gesturing for Pran to join him on the bench. “It’s our first trip together - if you don’t count our honeymoon - so don’t stress out, okay? Just think of all the fun stuff we get to do this weekend!” He then wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “We did book a pretty nice room, after all.”

“Pat,” Pran said exasperatedly.

“Good for staying up late watching movies and sleeping in, of course,” Pat said, grinning. “What were you thinking, huh?” Pran scoffed but went to sit beside him regardless, letting Pat interlace their fingers together with a reassuring squeeze. “...we don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I can cancel our reservations.”

“Don’t be silly,” Pran said firmly, placing his other hand over Pat’s. “You know I’d go anywhere with you, it’s just…waiting here where anyone could see us makes me nervous, that’s all.”

Pat’s eyes widened, surprised. Then, he pinched Pran’s cheek. “Aw, Pran,” he cooed, laughing when Pran immediately knocked his hand away without missing a beat. “You know I’d go anywhere with you, too.” Pran rolled his eyes, though he still shuffled closer, dropping his head to rest on Pat’s shoulder with a drowsy sigh; he’d just submitted a project worth a significant portion of his grade that had taken up a significant amount of his time, which was why Pat had suggested they get away for the weekend in the first place. Pran had been reluctant at first, anxious at the thought of lying to their parents yet again, but the pull of having a romantic getaway with Pat had been too strong for him to decline.

“I’m probably going to sleep on the bus,” Pran mumbled as Pat carded his fingers through Pran’s hair. “So tired…been seeing nothing but 3D models and color swatches in my dreams.”

“Now that your project’s done, you can dream of me instead,” Pat suggested.

Pran made a face. “...gross. Why would I do that?”

Pat laughed again. “I guess you wouldn’t, since you already have the real thing.” He expected Pran to make another face, to smack him on the shoulder, to do something to express his usual distaste for Pat’s overly flirtatious behavior, but instead, Pran simply smiled and closed his eyes, silently tracing circles on the back of Pat’s hand with his thumb. Grinning, Pat adjusted his position somewhat so both of them would be more comfortable, then let out a contented sigh. “...we didn’t get the bus schedule wrong, did we?”

Despite the ache in his chest, Pran smiled to himself, his eyes tracing every line and every curve of the bus stop pavilion as if to commit it to memory. It wasn’t the exact one he’d helped bring to life, what with it having been upgraded a few times over the years, but the thought was still there.

“Pran?” His breath hitched at the sound of his name in a heartbreakingly familiar voice, turning reluctantly on his heel to look his ex-boyfriend - though really, “ex-boyfriend” sounded too harsh, while “former boyfriend” sounded too detached - in the eye. Standing a mere ten feet away was Pat, staring at Pran as if he were seeing a ghost, though his expression quickly turned bittersweet. “Guess I should’ve known you’d be here, too.”

Pran swallowed. “...Pat.” He looked good, as handsome as ever, more grown-up than Pran would’ve expected in a button-up shirt and fitted slacks, though there was a dullness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Did they ask you to give a speech as well?”

Pat nodded, humming noncommittally. “Do you…we could head over together, unless that’d be weird.”

“Not at all,” Pran said, his voice hollow. They naturally fell into step together; for a moment, Pran thought Pat might’ve gotten taller since they’d last seen each other - in passing at a graduation party, their gazes locking from opposite sides of the room before they were both inevitably pulled away by their respective friend groups - only to realize that it was Pat’s posture that had improved, making him appear more confident than ever, if not for the tight, unyielding pull of his mouth. “So…how’ve you been?”

Pat seemed surprised by Pran’s question, as if he hadn’t expected him to be the one to initiate small talk. “Oh, uh…good. Busy, mostly, since I’m working full-time now. I haven’t really had time for anything else. You?”

“I see.” Pran wasn’t sure what to make of Pat’s answer, if Pat was expecting another question - a specific question - to follow. “I just got back from Singapore a few weeks ago, so I guess I’m the opposite - haven’t had much to do lately, though that’ll definitely change once I start my new job next month.”

“How was Singapore?” Pat asked, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. It hadn’t escaped Pran’s notice that their arms had accidentally brushed more than a few times, sending shivers up his spine, almost like their hands were gravitating towards one another without a second thought. “It must’ve been amazing.”

“It was,” Pran replied. “I learned a lot really quickly, met some interesting people…” It was only when Pat visibly tensed that he realized what he’d implied, albeit unintentionally. “Made some good friends, that is.”

“That’s good,” Pat said, not sounding at all like himself. “What brought you home? The new job?”

“Home is home,” Pran shrugged. “I had great offers in Singapore, but there were opportunities for me here as well, so I decided to come back. And I missed my family, my friends…emails and video calls definitely help, but it’s just not the same.”

“For the last time, Pat, Singapore is only one hour ahead. There's no need to be so dramatic.”

Pat chuckled, readjusting the angle of his arm, currently propped up on his bed with his chin in his hands as he laid on his side, so he would be more comfortable. “Still, shouldn’t you be sleeping by now? I thought you had a presentation in the morning.”

“I do, but I can stay up a little longer,” Pran replied, trying and failing to hold back a yawn. Pat couldn’t help but take a screenshot, knowing full well that Pran would strangle him if he saw the size and contents of the photo album he’d quickly amassed on his phone. “I wanna hear the story of that weird customer you texted me about earlier. And I promised you a lullaby, didn’t I?”

Pat beamed, nodding. “You did. But you can always record yourself for me so you don’t have to do it every time we talk.”

“You don’t want a live performance anymore, huh? I see how it is,” Pran said with a dejected sigh. “I bet you wouldn’t actually listen if I did record myself. Next thing you know, I try to play a new song for you, and then - ”

“And you say I’m dramatic,” Pat snorted. “Are you really working on a new song?”

“Sort of, but I haven’t really had the time to sit down and focus on it,” Pran admitted. “At this rate, it probably won’t be finished until after I come home.”

“I can’t wait until you do.” Pat's smile softened; he lowered his head to rest his cheek against his bedsheets so he could better admire Pran’s face, as if he hadn’t already memorized the curve of his smile, the shine in his eyes, the depth of his dimples long ago. “...I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Pran said quietly, affectionately. “So, am I going to hear this story of yours or not?”

“I’m sure your parents love having you back home,” Pat said, clearing his throat, trying not to let his eyes linger on the slight downturn of Pran’s mouth as he spoke. He’d gotten too used to doing something about it, rather than simply wanting to do something about it, that he wasn’t sure what to do now, how to tell Pran that things would be okay when he no longer knew if they would be. “You’re staying with them, right?”

“Actually, I already have my own place, but I do go home a few times a week,” Pran replied. “My mom’s been working on some new recipes and wanted to test them on someone that wasn’t my dad, not that he was complaining.”

Pat tentatively tiptoed into Pran’s bedroom with a guilty smile, where Pran was folding his laundry, humming idly to himself. “So, Pran…”

“What did you do?” Pran asked without looking up, his brows furrowing in suspicion.

“I - ” Pat then sighed; there was no point in pretending to be offended when his boyfriend knew him all too well. “...I accidentally swapped the measurements for the salt and sugar. Do you think it’ll still taste good?”

Pran groaned in a way that indicated it very much wouldn’t taste good, getting to his feet with a huff. “Seriously, Pat? We’re going to have to throw it out and start over!”

“I know, I know - I’m really trying, I swear,” Pat promised, following Pran as he pushed past him into the kitchen. “You labeled everything so nicely, but when I’m looking at the containers from above and it all looks the same…I’m sorry.”

Pran turned to look at him, his gaze softening. “It’s okay. To be honest, I did the same thing when I was first learning how to cook. You wouldn’t believe how much inedible sticky rice I made when I was a kid.”

Pat chuckled, relieved. “That sounds so cute…and gross. Do you think you could help me with the new batch of marinade?”

“Of course,” Pran said, taking Pat by the hand and gently tugging him along. “I still don’t trust you with paring knives, after all.” He lifted their joined hands with a pointed stare at the bandage wrapped around Pat’s thumb. Pat offered him another sheepish smile in return, though it soon melted into a fond grin when Pran brought Pat’s hand up to his lips so he could kiss his bandaged knuckle. “Come on, I’ll make a chef out of you eventually.”

“Speaking of your parents, I see them more often than they probably want to,” Pat said with a wry laugh. “The grocery store, the suppliers…I even saw your mom at the mall a few weeks ago. I tried to say hello, but she ignored me.”

“That sounds like her,” Pran said, shaking his head, looking more resigned than Pat would’ve liked; it reminded him a little too much of their “honeymoon”, where at times, Pran’s mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely.  “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying, but…it’ll be a while before she comes around, if ever.”

“I’d probably have better luck with your dad,” Pat continued as they approached the front entrance of the university’s main building, now surrounded by a sizable crowd. A few people looked their way, curious, but for the most part, no one seemed too interested in approaching them. “He came by the other day when one of our deliveries ended up at his store, and he actually asked how I was doing. He also said something about you being sick when you first got back?”

Pran let out a quiet, embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, I probably picked up a stomach virus on the plane or something. I was in bed for a few days, it was awful.”

The moment Pran woke up, he knew something was wrong - after all, there was no arm slung across his midsection, no warm breath against his cheek, no snores rumbling in his ear. It was just him, Nong Nao, and the cool side of the mattress. Frowning, he got out of bed, wincing when he heard Pat coughing profusely in the bathroom, likely rifling through the cabinet for medicine.

“Pat, are you okay?” Pran asked with a gentle knock on the door. “You don’t sound too good.” Pat could only respond with another chest-rattling cough, eventually stumbling out of the bathroom looking pale-faced and bleary-eyed.

“Should head back to my room so you can get ready,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse. “I’m fine, it’s just a bad cold.”

“Looks like more than a bad cold to me - you’re shivering, and you probably have a fever, too,” Pran pointed out. “Go back to bed, I’ll make you some rice porridge. And if you need to see a doctor…”

“I’m okay, Pran, really,” Pat insisted, punctuated by a loud, sad sniffle. “Don’t want you to miss class.”

Pran raised an eyebrow, then began gently nudging Pat back in the direction of his - their - bed. “You must be really sick if you’re not begging me to stay. Whatever happened to needing a boyfriend to help?”

“Injuries aren’t infectious,” Pat replied, briefly turning to offer Pran a weak, yet warm smile that made him fall in love all over again.

“True,” Pran replied, rubbing his nose in an attempt to conceal his reddening cheeks. “But it’s fine, I can miss one day of lectures. You shouldn’t be alone when you’re this sick, especially when it could get worse.”

Pat half-collapsed onto the bed with a grunt, then pulled the covers up under his chin. “...I always knew you cared.”

Pran snorted, shaking his head. “I’m your boyfriend, silly. Why wouldn’t I care, huh?” Pat beamed, reaching over to grab Pran’s hand with what little strength he had and squeezing in silent gratitude. “Let’s see…water, medicine, food - do you need more blankets or pillows? Or if there’s anything you want from your room, I can take your key.”

“That’s okay,” Pat said, yawning, his eyes already beginning to drift shut. “Already got you here…don’t need anything else.”

“I see you’re not sick enough to stop being cheesy, so I guess that’s a good sign,” Pran sighed, ruffling Pat’s hair. “I’ll be back in a few minutes - I’m just going to email my professors first, then I’ll get your medicine.” Pat hummed, turning on his side to nestle his cheek against Nong Nao, but not before letting out another pitiful cough. Pran leaned down to drop a brief kiss against Pat’s forehead - and he was right, Pat was definitely feverish - then left the room. When he returned soon after, Pat had somehow acquired the sweatshirt Pran had been wearing last night, his nose practically buried in the fabric. “...Pat, I was going to wash that.”

“Wash it later,” Pat whined. “It smells like you.”

“You know what else smells like me? Me,” Pran said dryly, sitting on the edge of the mattress so he could give Pat his water and medicine. “Don’t you want to cuddle me instead?”

“Told you already, I don’t - ” Pat paused for a brief coughing fit “ - don’t wanna make you sick, too.”

Pran smiled. “Fair enough,” he said quietly. “I’ll go make breakfast, shout if you need something. Sleep for now, okay?”

“That does sound awful,” Pat agreed with a sympathetic grimace. “It’s good that you had your parents with you.” When Pran didn’t reply, he snuck a glance in his direction, confused, only to be reminded of how gorgeous Pran was, of how much time Pat had spent simply staring at him, admiring him, as if he couldn’t get enough of him - and he couldn’t, he never could. “Pran?”

“Actually, my…” Pran cleared his throat. “My boyfriend looked after me. I live with him now.”

Pat inhaled sharply. “...oh. That, uh…that’s nice of him.”

For some reason, Pran almost looked guilty, like he’d betrayed Pat’s trust somehow. “Yeah, he…he was a big help,” he said slowly, uncertainly. “I’ve been teaching him how to cook, and he’s pretty good at it these days. He didn’t burn anything, didn’t mix up any of the ingredients…”

“Sounds like a great guy,” Pat said, more sarcastically than he’d intended. “Did he do the dishes, too?”

Pran’s expression hardened. “Of course he did, along with all the other housework while I was sick. He even fixed our kitchen sink when it sprung a leak. You don’t get to act jealous when we broke up five years ago, Pat.”

“Jealous? Me?” Pat scoffed, knowing full well that he needed to stop before he made a fool of himself - or maybe it was already too late, given Pran’s death glare, which he was more familiar with than he’d liked to admit. “I have nothing to be jealous of, because my boyfriend is amazing, too.”

Pran immediately stopped in his tracks. “Your…boyfriend?”

“He leaves handwritten notes on the bathroom mirror before he goes to bed so I’ll see them when I’m getting ready for work in the morning,” Pat replied, tilting his chin upwards as if to challenge him. Pran’s eyes narrowed in response. “I keep my favorites in my wallet and the rest on a pinboard above my desk.”

“Yeah? Well, my boyfriend gave me a photobook of us when he came to visit me in Singapore,” Pran said, the beginnings of a smirk starting to play on his lips. Pat had almost forgotten how smug Pran could be sometimes, how it only made him want to kiss him even more. “He had it specially made to celebrate our anniversary - hardcover, glossy, full color. No expense spared.”

Pat shook his head with a dry, humorless laugh. “You really think that’s a good anniversary present? For our anniversary, my boyfriend made a studio recording of himself singing the song he wrote for me and put it inside a teddy bear so I can listen to his voice whenever I want.”

“You’re the one making this all about presents,” Pran shot back, flinging an accusatory finger in Pat’s face. “I bet your boyfriend doesn’t send audio messages of him doing silly voices when he knows you’re stressed at work like mine does.”

“And I bet your boyfriend doesn’t leave sample sizes of his cologne in your car so you can have his scent with him wherever you go like mine does,” Pat hissed. The two of them had come to a stop in the building’s foyer; people were definitely staring at this point, their mouths hanging open in shock.

“My boyfriend texts my parents to check up on them whenever I tell him they’re sick or injured, even though they don’t like him,” Pran said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, my boyfriend sends my parents handwritten cards and handmade gifts on their birthdays, even though they don’t like him, either!” Pat retorted. “I bet neither of our boyfriends ever get a reply, huh?”

“Obviously!” Pran snapped. “But it doesn’t matter if my parents like him or not because we make each other happy, so we are never breaking up. In fact, now that we live together, we’re planning on getting a dog.”

“What a coincidence,” Pat said with a derisive snort. “My boyfriend and I started volunteering at an animal shelter last week because we’ve been talking about getting a dog, too.”

Pran stepped closer until they were almost nose-to-nose, mouth twisting with contempt. Pat very nearly groaned out loud as Pran’s scent filled his nostrils, reminding him just how much he’d liked to bury his face against the crook of Pran’s neck, to inhale deeply over and over again until he made Pran laugh - or until he became too overwhelmed with desire, whichever came first. “Talking about getting a dog?” Pran said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “My boyfriend and I are talking about getting married.”

Pat shuddered; Pran’s lower register never failed to do things to him. “Just talking?” he managed to say. “My boyfriend and I made a list of potential wedding venues. Oh, and we already decided where we’re going for our honeymoon!”

“Don’t lie to me,” Pran said, rolling his eyes. “You keep calling him your boyfriend, not your fiancé. Are you even engaged?”

“Well…” Pat frowned, suddenly caught off-guard. “...no, not yet. Are you?”

Pran seemed hesitant, too. “No, but…but I bet I’ll get engaged before you do.”

“And I bet I’ll get engaged before you do,” Pat countered. “My boyfriend already bought me a ring, after all.”

Pran’s eyes widened. “...huh? How do you know that?”

“He asked me to help him transfer some old emails onto a hard drive the other day and I saw the receipt in his inbox,” Pat replied. “I think he secretly wanted me to find it.”

Pran made an incoherent spluttering noise before he managed to find his voice again; Pat couldn't help but notice that his ears had gone pink in the process. “I…well…my boyfriend already bought me a ring, too. I visited him at work a few days ago, and he literally had his receipt out on the counter.” Pran paused. “He’s…not very subtle sometimes.”

“Well…looks like it’s up to our boyfriends, then,” Pat said, extending a fist. “Whoever gets engaged last loses.”

“Seriously? We’re doing this again?” Pran asked, staring at Pat’s hand in disbelief.

“Why? Are you afraid you’re going to lose?” Pat challenged with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Pran huffed, raising his hand to bump his fist against Pat’s. “Of course not, because I won’t.”

For a moment, their hands lingered mid-air, knuckles pressed together, their eyes locked in a heated gaze, both of them slightly breathless from the intensity of it all, hearts racing with exhilaration because they’d missed this, this familiar feeling of knowing what was going to happen next, but not knowing how it was going to happen, and suddenly, Pat desperately wanted to kiss Pran, and Pran desperately wanted to be kissed by Pat, but then -

Then, at the exact same time, they burst into laughter, knees practically buckling beneath them, both of them struggling to grab onto each other’s shoulders to keep themselves from falling over in delirious exhilaration, because honestly, how else was it going to end?

“This might be the dumbest thing we’ve ever done, and we’ve pretended to be ex-boyfriends for five years,” Pran managed to say between giggles.

“Pran, my stomach hurts,” Pat whined, clutching his midsection; he was practically wheezing. “I feel dizzy.”

“Let’s - stop laughing - let’s sit down somewhere and catch our breath before we get kicked out,” Pran insisted, slinging an arm around Pat’s shoulders so he could pull them aside to collapse onto a nearby bench. “...I think I have a headache now.”

Pat snickered, then dropped his head to rest on Pran’s shoulder with a satisfied hum as their hysterical giggles finally died down. “Should we call it a tie for once? Or we could say you won since you technically had the final say. This was fun, but…I don’t think we can keep this up forever.”

“I don’t think so, either,” Pran agreed, smoothing out Pat’s ruffled hair. “How about this - I’ll pick the paint color for the bedroom walls, you pick the new living room curtains. You spend more time working in the living room, anyway.”

Grinning, Pat lifted his hand to affectionately bump his fist against Pran’s once more. “Deal.”

and one.

“Do you really have to cover my eyes? This is our apartment - ”

“I’m trying to surprise you, so please pretend to be surprised - ”

“Ow - Pat, you just made me stub my toe on the coffee table!”

“Sorry,” Pat said sheepishly, briefly releasing Pran’s face so he could squeeze his shoulder in apology. “Watch your step, okay? We’re going out onto the balcony - ”

“I would watch my step if I could see,” Pran retorted without missing a beat, swatting at Pat’s hands to no avail.

Pat shook his head, sighing. “So picky,” he lamented. “Fine, fine, you can look now.” The moment he let go, he stepped back to watch Pran’s face light up with wonder at the sight before him.

They’d had several date nights on their private balcony, of course, it was one of the main reasons Pat had saved up to afford this particular apartment in the first place, but today, he’d made it look extra special. Like so many times before, he’d strung up lights along the railings and among the trees, strategically placed fake candles on the planter boxes and benches. This time, he also repurposed some tent poles and spaced them evenly apart, then carefully tied some sheets together and placed them on top to form a shaded area. Underneath, he’d laid out a few air mattresses and covered them with blankets and quilts and pillows; nestled among them was Nong Nao and Pat’s singing teddy bear, which he’d named Parakul (“Very original,” Pran had remarked when Pat first told him). There was a picnic basket waiting for them as well, packed with all the food and snacks he and Pran had prepared earlier in the day, along with a projector hooked up to Pran’s laptop, currently pointed in the direction of their living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

“So?” Pat asked. “What do you think?”

“I think that if you propose before I do, we’re going to have a problem,” Pran replied, though he was grinning as he said it. He let Pat take him by the hand and lead him into their makeshift tent, laughing when Pat pulled a little harder, sending them both tumbling down onto the mattress, then turning them over so he was on his back with Pran now straddling his waist, hands braced against Pat’s chest. “Pat, come on. Dinner first.”

“What if we did dessert first instead?” Pat murmured, pressing his thumbs into the crease of Pran’s hips. Pran made a face, lightly smacking Pat on the shoulder for good measure, but otherwise made no effort to get up. “...Pran?”

Pran didn’t respond, instead electing to lower himself further down so that their chests were pressed together, his hands sliding up so he could tangle his fingers in Pat’s hair; he kissed Pat briefly, but sweetly, catching Pat’s bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away. He then tilted his head, his mouth brushing the curve of Pat’s ear. “We can call that an appetizer,” Pran murmured, his grin broadening when Pat visibly gulped.

Once they were settled underneath an excessive amount of blankets and the television drama they’d been watching was queued up, Pran unpacked the contents of their picnic basket while Pat arranged the mountain of pillows around them so they had a comfortable backrest, making sure that their stuffed dolls were facing the screen. “Have you decided on a color yet?” Pat asked, sneaking a piece of shrimp out from underneath Pran’s nose and popping it into his mouth. “Your paint swatches have taken over my desk.”

“Soon,” Pran replied, nudging Pat aside before he could steal an entire corn fritter next. “How about you? I haven’t heard anything about the living room curtains lately.”

“I’ve been too busy with helping Pa move, but I’ll definitely start looking this week,” Pat said, his face lighting up when Pran silently offered to feed him another shrimp. “Oh, that reminds me - Ink said my dad asked about you when he stopped by to help.”

Pran opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say. “About…me?”

“I guess he must’ve heard from Pa about how sick you were when you first got back,” Pat said quietly. “Apparently, he wanted to know if you’d started your new job yet. It’s kind of weird that he asked Ink and not me, but…well, I guess I haven’t talked to him in a while, so.”

Pran’s face fell somewhat. “Pat…”

“It’s okay,” Pat promised, squeezing Pran’s hand. “I think it’s a good sign, actually - he genuinely wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe my mom was right about him starting to come around.”

“And I think I might be able to finally convince my mom to invite you to dinner,” Pran said with a small smile. “It’s not like our parents don’t know we live together, so they can’t avoid the topic forever. Especially since we’re planning to…”

“To get a dog?” Pat suggested, chuckling at Pran’s good-natured eyeroll. “A very important step in our relationship, of course.”

“Of course,” Pran agreed, grinning when Pat leaned in to press a kiss to his dimple. “What else would I be talking about?”

Later that evening, the two of them were lying on their backs, fully buried under their nest of pillows and blankets, pleasantly drowsy and comfortably full. Their lips were kiss-swollen, having spent the better part of an hour making out, but neither of them felt particularly compelled to go any further tonight despite their earlier remarks.

“Pran,” Pat murmured, feeling like he had to whisper; the only sounds he could hear were the faint rustling of the trees and Pran’s steady heartbeat beneath his cheek. Pran hummed in response, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with the hem of Pat’s t-shirt. “You’re not getting…bored with me, are you?”

“What?” Pat didn’t need to turn his head to know that Pran was frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Well, this whole game was your idea, so…I thought that maybe you were feeling bored,” Pat admitted. “Like our relationship hasn’t been exciting enough or something.”

Pran let out a soft laugh. “I think we had enough excitement when we were still in school, don’t you? All the drama, all the sneaking around…I like this a lot more. Where we can be ourselves - or just be something else for a day for fun, and not because we have to.” He then lifted a hand to grip the back of Pat’s neck; Pat looked up, his breath hitching as Pran’s forehead came to rest against his. “Besides, I thought you might want the chance to act again every once in a while. Didn’t you like it?”

For a moment, Pat was lost in Pran’s imploring gaze, his adoring eyes. “I did,” he said. “I especially liked playing the role of ‘hot stranger in a bar’.”

“Of course you did,” Pran snorted. “And I loved being ‘long-lost childhood rival that you belatedly realized you had romantic feelings for since high school’.”

“But that one is true,” Pat said earnestly, leaning in to close the gap, to kiss Pran once more. Pran continued to hum, this time against Pat’s lips, wrapping his arms around Pat’s shoulders to pull him closer. “And I guess we were already used to playing ex-boyfriends. Remember that time your mentor almost caught us kissing in the library and we had to pretend we were fighting over the last copy of some random book on the history of agriculture?”

“Horticulture, but yes,” Pran chuckled, lifting his chin so Pat could nuzzle his face against Pran’s neck. “What about when we went on that double date with Pa and Ink? Your mom video-called you and you accidentally answered before we were ready - I had to dive under the table and almost hit my head.”

Pat winced at the memory. “You still bruised your shin, though. Good thing we always have remedy cream at home.” They went quiet again for a few minutes, reminiscing about the past lives they no longer had to lead while simply enjoying the warmth, the familiarity, the comfortable silence that only they knew best. “Pran.”

“Hm?” Pran sounded drowsy, like he was seconds away from falling asleep.

“You were right,” Pat said quietly.

Pran offered him a sleepy smile in return. “I probably am, but what about?”

“About liking it best when we get to be ourselves.” Pat shifted his position somewhat so he could get a better look at Pran’s face, his fingers lightly pressing into Pran’s side. “Because I’m most like myself whenever I’m with you.”

Pran’s eyes seemed to twinkle like nothing else could when illuminated by moonlight, like all the stars in the universe had found a new home, and just like that, Pat was falling in love all over again. “Funny,” Pran said, tenderly cupping Pat’s jaw. “I was going to say the exact same thing.”

“Really?” Pat breathed, completely spellbound.

This time, it was Pran who leaned in for a kiss, his eyelashes briefly fluttering against Pat’s as their lips met. “Yes, really.”

It wasn’t long before they were lost in each other’s embrace once more, kissing slowly, sweetly, like they had all the time in the world - and right now, as far as they were concerned, they did. After all, there were two ring boxes nestled at the bottom of their picnic basket, forgone but not forgotten, waiting patiently for another day. Or, if they were honest about it, for another competition, though they already knew that both of them would win no matter what.