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Chapter Text

Pran and Pat have been engaged to one another for as long as he remembered. It was a fact, like any other, that Pat deemed true as much as any other facts his parents spooned him while growing up. One day, he would stand in front of the altar in his best suit, looking Pran in the eyes and answer, “I do .” People would clap and cheer, his parents would be proud of him, and he would finally take up his mantle as the co-owner of the biggest construction company in Thailand that would emerge of their union of family and fortune.

The seal of the deal would be a quick peck, nothing more and nothing less, and the marriage would be one of convenience rather than love.

Pat and Pran would then continue to spend their lives, ruling and living next to each other, in comfortable friendship ‘till the end of the days. There would be heirs, one day, but it wouldn’t matter anymore from who they came from, as the company would be big enough to handle multiple.

Before they could get to that point, however, there was a lot of history to consider. Some might be surprised to hear it, but Pran and his family didn’t always get along.

Actually, Pat wasn’t that sure about what happened before he was born. Over the years, he caught some glimpses of what transpired, and had done his best to form a somewhat clear narrative of it. The point in case was that his father, young and dumb, had somehow taken a scholarship from Pran’s mother. Obviously, a bad move, and their long-term friendship was shattered and exchanged for a long-time rivalry. All the way up to Pat and Pran’s birth.

To be completely honest, Pat found it a little weird that both their parents decided to buy a house next to each other, get into the same business, and both get pregnant of their first kid at the same time regardless of their rivalry (or perhaps exactly because of it) but – well, coincidences happened, though if the monks were to be believed, it was fate all along.

Fate, that started with the birth of Pat and Pran. No, technically, it started a couple of years after Paa was born, Pat’s younger sister by a few years.

Pat and Pran had been told time after time not to get involved with the kid next door. Then, instead of avoiding getting involved, their relationship evolved into an almost automatic rivalry. As their parents prided on their wins over the other, they too turned into enemies. Alas, kids are kids, and sometimes, they don’t listen, and things transpire that might not be completely following their parents' wishes.

Luck was an understatement when it came to Pran being there, when Paa was almost drowning in that pond and Pat couldn’t even move a limb. He felt so panicked and at loss, and when Pran yelled at him and jumped after Paa, it suddenly cleared a lot between them.

“How can I hate the person that saved my sister’s life?”

Were the exact words he asked his parents, later that evening at home during dinner. It was quiet for a long time after that, but both Pat and Paa thought themselves to be right.

When his parents happened to be lost in life, or in need for advice, they often went to visit a temple and see a monk. This time too, they did exactly that, taking Pat with them. One of their employees stayed home with Paa, still recovering from the water and the shock.

Apparently, they weren’t the only ones in dire need for council that evening. Pran’s parents didn’t even seem surprised when they met – Pran’s mouth hung open as they greeted one another without an inch of spite. The monks let them inside, delivering them great news and an even greater dilemma.

They had done a couple calculations, several tests, asked for advice to the cosmos and had gotten to a conclusion that changed all their lives completely.

“Your sons, Pat and Pran, are intertwined by fate. If they are forced to separate, bad luck will fall upon them and the ones surrounding them. However, if they are allowed to be together, good luck will be theirs.”

It started with playdates, twice a week. They met on neutral ground, both families often seated as far away from each other as physically possible. Instead of asking them to stay apart, their parents pushed them together and looked the other way. Confused, but not against this new development, Pat took Pran’s hand and declared them friends.

Fundamentally, Pat and Pran were very different. While Pat was more of an extrovert, sometimes bordering on crazy with his ideas and plans – Pran was more introverted and quieter. He listened to Pat’s plans, thought them through, and suggested ideas to improve them. That’s how they started their first project – a treehouse connecting their rooms through their balconies.

Pat and his dad did most of the heavy lifting, Pran and his mother spend days decorating it.

While first hesitant, when their playdates started increasing, their parents’ doubts also started dissipating.

Pat didn’t know at the time, but from the moment they started being friends, both the companies started striking major deals. At the point the treehouse was build, their fathers both agreed to focus on different parts of the industry. One import and export to other countries, the other local ask and demand. Sometimes, when needed, they’d consult each other.

As for the matter about the scholarship, neither Pat nor Pran were entirely aware if that had ever been cleared. But Pat guessed, after working together for so long and being forced to stay together, old matters make place for newer, more pressing things.

Because the monks ended up being right. If Pat and Pran were allowed to be together, good luck fell upon them like rain. And with good luck in business, came good luck in money. Their family’s businesses grew and grew, and before Pat knew it, he spent his every awaken second with Pran at his side.

The following development was an obvious one to all of them. Even Pat, nowadays even with all the second-guessing and doubts surrounding it, understood how it all began.

Because it was him who’d said it first. Yes, he was a kid echoing words he heard somewhere, and children’s words should be taken with a grain of salt – yet... Pat could remember the surprised, but proud looks their parents had shared.

“I love you, Pran. I wish I could marry you and spent my whole life together with you.”

In his defense, he was an affectionate kid. His wish was granted with ease, plastering the term ‘fiancés’ onto them before either could even understand what exactly it implied.

“Pat... me too,” Pran had whispered, blushing like a tomato. Pat remembered wanting to tease Pran, poke his dimples and call him cute, but being too stunned to do it. Maybe if he had, things wouldn’t have gone how they did. The promise was made, their fates more intertwined than ever.

That was how Pat got engaged to Pran, and Pran engaged to him. That was why, now, years into the future, he was waiting for his fiancé to come down from his penthouse apartment – who was he, Rapunzel? – in his newest car. The car still smelled like leather, it’s steering wheel still a little foreign, but its motor was willing to soar.

Which he couldn’t, because his fiancé was taking his fine time joining him. Toying around with the sound system, Pat distracted himself until finally the door opened and closed. He barely glanced up, recognizing Pran by the scent of his laundry detergent.

Seriously, why couldn’t he be like any other rich kid and use after-shave, or for the sake of it, perfume?

He didn’t say anything in greeting, neither did Pat. Starting up the engine, he drove onto the road. After a while, the suffocating atmosphere overwhelming the coolness of his car’s expensive air-conditioning, he was forced to break the silence. “... Do you know the address?”

Pat could feel Pran’s gaze on him, burning. Then, “I’ll put it in your navigation system,” Pran sighed, “Why did you decide to take your new car to a charity event?” The disappointment was evident in his voice.

Pat ignored it, a thing he’d gotten good at after all these years. “Oh, it’s a charity event?” he’d forgotten. Or perhaps he’d never known. His personal maid reminded him of today’s couple appointment only this morning.

“The project literally carries our names, Pat,” Pran reminded him. “At least pretend to be interested during the opening ceremony, okay? This housing for low-income families will help a lot of people.”

Pat nodded. He was good at pretending to be interested in things. After all, he still pretended to be interested in Pran, right?

Okay, that was perhaps a little bit on the harsher side, even if it was inside his mind. Pat did like Pran, and he was interested enough to remember his likes and dislikes, his frustrations, and daily needs. Hell, he remembered his smell, so surely that said a lot, right?

He liked Pran – in a friendly, normal, everyday kind of way. Not in the engagement and marriage kind of way. Regrettably, that ball had started rolling long ago, and whatever Pat tried to do to stop, all his efforts turned to waste.

Which was the reason for the stilted conversation, the awkward glances, and plain ignorance when it came to each other. Even at the university, earlier that day in the newly communal student-diner – that Pat and Pran’s family had funded in effort to straighten out the tense history between the architecture and engineering facility – they hadn’t shared the same lunch table. Usually, they’d politely eat together and discuss things that were expected of them, sometimes just talking about the things only the other could understand, but today both Pran and Pat had anonymously decided to eat with their respective group of friends.

It was nice, Pat hoped to do it again in the future.

It wasn’t that he disliked being engaged to Pran. Honestly, he was pretty used to being the famous fiancés that people recognized everywhere. It’s just that sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder, what if they weren’t?

Weren’t forced like this.

Pat just wanted to know what it was like to be free. To explore the green grass on the other side of the path. To date around – to fall in love and chose his own partner.

Well, maybe not necessary those last two. He didn’t see himself as that much of a romantic, no, that was more a Pran thing. Pat knew because Pran always was the one planning their engagement anniversaries – which was still a thing that Pat just found weird.

“Pat, we can’t do this right now,” raising a brow, Pat shot a side-way glance at Pran. He wondered if Pran was thinking about their last discussion as well. “We need to appear at least on talkative terms out there.”

Ah. Wrong guess. Still, the fault clearly didn’t lie at his side. “You told me you didn’t want to talk.”

Pat could feel the sigh that followed, even if it was inaudible. “I didn’t want to talk about—about our engagement. Talking in general is fine.”

“We only ever talk about our engagement, what else is there to talk about?” Did he imagine the way Pran cringed at his words? It was too late to take them back, anyway, and they were the truth.

Their whole lives revolved around their engagement, that was the reason why Pat wanted out to badly.

There was a moment of silence, in where Pat wondered what Pran’s next step was. Would he go through with it, change the topic like what happened after the so many fights in the past they had about it? They had been younger then, less serious. Pat was old enough to know what he wanted, now.

“It’s our duty,” Pran’s voice was soft, making Pat wonder if the words were even meant for him. He scoffed, loudly, to which Pran cleared his throat and spoke up louder this time. “It’s what’s expected of us.”

At least, the conversation was comfortable this time. Last time, tensions had risen so high along with their voices, Pran had been seconds away from crying. When Pat recognized the way he started blinking so rapidly, trying to conceal his emotions, he’d rolled his eyes and let the topic go. He hated hurting Pran more than he hated the engagement, it wasn’t ever worth it. It had taken too long for Pat to break Pran’s emotional mask, over the years, he didn’t want to lose that.

However, even if Pran didn’t want to talk about it, it was a thing they would eventually need to talk about.

“It’s also our lives,” Pat reasoned. “We accepted our so-called future wedding our whole lives, but have you ever seriously considered what it actually implies?”

“You have?

Why did Pran sound surprised?

“Of course.” The car slowed down, nearing the parking lot that was reserved especially for them. Only a year ago, this had been a barren hill of land at the edge of Bangkok. Slums had been haphazardly built and re-built, trash and poverty evident everywhere. Their parents had chosen it as the perfect place for housing to those in need.

Pat remembered vividly how it’d been. To see all those people thrown out of their own hand-build houses, how the slums had been run over to make place for flats.

Flats that would never be affordable to those poor people, even though it was called a charity project. Such was the world of business. Such was the world Pat had once thought to be evident.

Just like his marriage, just like the company…

“You know I don’t want this either,” Pran finally agreed to the first. Though he had before, it had never been as straight forward as this. Maybe a part of Pat always assumed that Pran did want the engagement, that’s why he was feeling so surprised now. “But it’s been decided a long time ago, and even if I want to change it, we are now adults, Pat,” why was Pran so good in sounding disappointed when calling his name? “I’m not a whiny baby anymore.” The unlike you was left unsaid.

Yeah. Back when they were young kids, Pran often cried and whined about. Pat would always act silly, making sure to distract him and make those little dimples appear. His ma smiled so sweetly whenever he did that, and Pran’s mother gave him extra dessert.

How much of their relationship had been set up, how much of it was natural?

“I’m not whining either,” Pat answered. Because that’s what Pran had been implying, right?

“My parents religiously believe in the words of the monastery – it’s my duty to follow their guidance,” in character, Pran’s words sounded perfectly picked and practiced. He expertly avoided Pat’s complaint.

Truth to be told, even though Pat often complained and even suggesting breaking the engagement to Pran – they both knew very well they never would. They had everything; money, luck, happiness – and if the monks were to be believed, it was all thanks to their close bond. Thanks to fate which had connected them and granted their parents their biggest wishes.

But that were the wishes of the last generation. This generation had other desires.

This generation also couldn’t go against their parents' wishes. Pat would never dare to disappoint his father on purpose.

So, all they could do was eat lunch together, complain about their parents to each other, fight about their eventual marriage, and—

Live through unfair and idiotic charity events, like this one.

They had arrived, Pat chose to park as far away as possible. Making them force to walk a little before they reached the entrance. It was a habit they had gotten into, so long ago that Pat didn’t even recall when it started. In the car, they would be Pat and Pran – normal friends, like everyone else out there. On the path towards their destination, their walk would slowly be pulling them together, so that when they arrived, they could be who they were expected to be.

“Napat Jindapat and Parakul Siridechawat,” a young woman in suit greeted them, “Thank you so much for visiting us despite your busy schedules.” Pran nodded at her as he wai’ed, and Pat half-heartedly followed suit. He could feel Pran’s eyes on him immediately, because of course he would be the only one to point out Pat’s lack of respect. “Follow me.”

Seeing an opportunity to annoy Pran even more, he leaned in, to whisper in his ear while they entered the building. More people greeted them, though Pat barely paid them attention, his eyes only on Pran. “Busy schedules she said, what were your plans if you weren’t forced to come here?” Pran didn’t react, luckily Pat had only just started. “I was thinking of going clubbing with Korn, get a fancy cocktail and watch him flirt with girls and fail.”

The raise of Pran’s brow meant Of course he’d fail, Korn is a gay-in denial. Giving it a second of thought, Pat realized that Pran definitely had a point there. He nodded. “True. I could pretend to be a nice wingman, but the moment the girls see me, they won’t leave me alone.” He sighed dramatically. “Rich and handsome, I have it so rough.”

This particular boast, deemed no reaction from Pran.

“What about you, fiancé?” Pat was leaning even closer to Pran, hooking their arms to make it look casual. “You took your sweet time coming down from your tower. Were you playing around with your guitar?” a habit that Pran’s parents hated, but Pran loved. Pat liked to watch Pran play as well, it reminded him of simpler times. “Or did you have plans as well? Ride your motorcycle around town, meet some friends on the way.” When Pat thought about it, something stirred inside his stomach. “Oh right, you don’t have many friends. Well, except me, of course, so I guess you could go clubbing with—”

“Pat,” Pran interrupted him with a hiss. They had arrived in front a big banner, with celebration tape underneath it ready to be cut.

Responsibilities called. Pat hoped Pran had a speech prepared, because he hadn’t listened a word to the woman’s explanation just now. Hell, he hadn’t even noticed she’d been giving them a tour.

“It’s nice to see you two get along so well,” she ended whatever she’d started. Pat blinked, Pran spoke up.

“It’s only natural,” he smiled, so professionally and fake Pat wanted to kick a rock. “We’ve been engaged for a long time. We love each other a lot.”

Love. The public’s reason for the engagement between the company giants Jindapat and Siridechawat. Fate. The explanation by their parents.

But between Pat and Pran, there was nothing of the sort. They were just two teenage boys trying to survive university and the immense pressure that came with their family name. They just happened to be childhood friends and happened to be engaged due to an immature promise. Love was nothing more than a fairytale for them.

Man, Pat really needed that drink.

Chapter Text

There was a certain degree of ridiculousness at how long Pran stood in front of his mirror, trying and changing his outfit numerous times. If it had been Pat, Pran knew that his childhood friend wouldn’t even have hesitated twice before pulling on the first clean thing in his closet – and he’d still look good wearing it, anyway.

He knew it wasn’t completely his fault, it was just the way he’d been raised. Always act perfect, look perfect, speak perfect. Growing up as a kid, the expectations of his parents had only grown with every year that passed. Pran was used to living up to every single one of their numerous expectations as much as any other person changed underwear every day.

Actually, Pat might be the exception on that rule, and wasn’t that just a disgusting thing to think about.

His phone buzzed, announcing that his friend was waiting downstairs, probably impatient. Folding up the latest disapproved outfit, he eventually settled for the first. The weather wasn’t too hot today, and the sweater was soft and smelled good while still looking decently formal over his suit trousers.

Downstairs, Pat was in shorts, though the shirt he wore was white and ironed. If Pran were to guess, Paa had probably prepared it for him. The maids weren’t allowed in Pat’s room, and he had the habit of messing up his wardrobe every other day. Pran and Paa had made it their personal affair a long time ago to at least bring some order in there.

Well. Pran wasn’t allowed in Pat’s penthouse, so it was only Paa for that part. In Pat’s family villa, he was welcomed like it was their own. In Pat’s old house, Pran and Pat literally owned it – joined together and gifted as an engagement gift. It was being maintained and cleaned by a couple of maids who lived next-door, but it was always deserted. They had their own personal penthouses, way more luxurious and closer to their universities. They even had dorms right next to campus, right over each other like yet another string of fate binding them together. Pran liked staying there, bringing his friends over and feeling normal. Pat had never spent a night there up 'till this day.

They spent the ride bickering; a familiar past-time for both. If they weren’t complaining about their families, then it was complaining about their life, complaining about the other.  Pat and Pran were childhood friends, sure, fiancés officially, but between the two of them… Pran wondered if maybe, they were more akin to rivals.

The thought was illogical, but it was difficult to shake. Simply because… Pran had a suspicion Pat disliked Pran. In the past, it’d been impossible, but lately...

“We only ever talk about our engagement, what else is there to talk about?” childhood friends would have more to talk about, right? Wouldn’t only address the sad parts of their life, but create happy moments together instead? However, that wasn’t the dynamic between Pat and Pran.

Not anymore.

Obviously, it wasn’t always this way. Pran barely remembered the time their families were actual rivals. He recalls the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, looking at Pat as a kid. He remembered Pat’s hand and the way he pulled Pran into a friendship he’d never had before. He knew the feeling of joy when playing and talking with Pat, the care-free attitude that complimented his tendency to worry, the crazy plans that Pran grabbed and transformed into even crazier ideas.

They were memories he was fond of. Memories he held close to his heart, in pictures and little tokens underneath his bed.

Just like the responsibilities and expectations he was spooned in, Pran’s whole life revolved around the two of them. They orbited, pushed closer, and pulled further, around the other but could never ignore that magnetic pull – the fate – that was there.

Just like that ugly feeling in the bottom of his stomach, that was fed by Pat’s beautiful smiles and kind words. Fed by the first time he told Pran he loved him and Pran said it back – naïve as any other kid to believe Pat. Later, Pran realized that ugly feeling was actually butterflies. The feeling you get when you liked someone.

That made perfect sense to younger Pran. The engagement was only talk at that moment, but then Pran ran his mouth saying he agreed with it. It was impressive, how even his young mind strung along a story to his parents. Saying it’d be good for business, that perhaps this was the fate the monks had always mentioned.

He was the one getting his parents to agree with the engagement.

He was the one who was to be blamed for all of this.

“My parents religiously believe in the words of the monastery – it’s my duty to follow their guidance,” his voice was steady, he didn’t need to think about the answer anymore. He’d said it so many times before, training it in front of the mirror. Even in front of his friends, like a guise.

He was the one who ruined his friendship with Pat. All because of a dumb crush and an even dumber assumption – that Pat liked him back.

Pran wished he could take back those words. Before he knew it, they’d started growing apart. Since they still spend so much time together, Pran didn’t think much about it in the beginning. But the first time Pat brought it up, the first time Pran got to know the truth, that’s when he started to see the signs.

Pat was right, the engagement was all that was holding them together at this point. Perhaps if it wasn’t there, he would want nothing to do with him anymore. After all, all their conversations were indeed only about their duty and their families. While Pran once knew so much about Pat, he never asked about his private life anymore. The one time he did try to enter Pat’s privacy – he’d been kicked out, literally.

To make matters better (or worse), that was also the moment Pat had told him he didn’t want the wedding. Pran, shocked at the words, had done what he did best. Suck it up, roll his eyes and tell him that it went two ways, asshole. So Pat wasn’t allowed in Pran’s private life anymore either – not that he’d even bother trying to breach the line.

Their arranged marriage was exactly that – arranged, for business purposes. Their time spent together was forced. There was nothing else to do for Pran to take everything he’d learned growing up and to start acting his part.

Acting like he hadn’t once had a huge crush on Pat – going as far as writing song after song about him. Acting like he wasn’t a child anymore, that he didn’t want to whine and cry when things didn’t go his way – and they never did, really, that was why he was studying architecture and not music. Acting like he was the perfect heir and the perfect fiancé.

“It’s nice to see you two get along so well,” the women who toured them around was a close associate of his father. They met every week, going over finances and the latest market prices. Pran knew his mother disliked her because she was jealous, but he also knew that his father only had eyes for Dissaya. Love was blind like that, sometimes.

He had to give the obvious answer, just to be safe. She might tell his dad. “It’s only natural. We’ve been engaged for a long time. We love each other a lot.”

The woman cooed, not surprised at all. Then Pran was pushed on the stage, Pat trailing after him like a lost puppy, and he started his carefully prepared speech.

Just them, playing their parts, in this huge game that was called life.

As soon as their most pressing duties had been performed, Pat disappeared from his side. Pran was a master in pretending he didn’t notice, though the corner of his eye was looking out for him at the drinks table. Pat had picked up one of the champagne glasses, basically downing the drink in one go. It was a little odd, seeing as Pat usually disliked fizzy drinks.

The old man conversing with him about how much his family gave to the community and how much he appreciated it, – all dumb pleasantries – held on too tight on Pran’s shoulder for him to escape and get his own drink. He smiled, nodded, and pretended to give a fuck.

It was exactly because he couldn’t be bothered about the topic, just humming along to every update and idea the man rattled on about, that he had no distraction other than following Pat around the event.

Pat and Pran were so utterly different. Pran saw Pat making his way from woman to man, greeting them like old friends, smiling with so much charisma and clinking their glasses together. He looked like he belonged among the crowd, the center of attention, being liked by everyone. Where Pat was social and extraverted, Pran was stilted in his conversations and introverted. Business was the only thing he talked about, simply because it was the only topic he could come up with. He wasn’t funny, good in storytelling or just had that air around him that demanded attention.

He was just Pran, awkward and lanky. While Pat at the other side of the room, was like a free bird fluttering around being at home wherever he landed. Once, Pat had stayed beside him at events like these, both new to them. Maybe Pran had gotten too used to his presence, which is why he was still unskilled in small talk when he was alone.

“What do you think, mister Parakul?”

Pran thought that this whole event was a show to make rich people feel better about themselves. Nevertheless, he nodded, agreeing to whatever he had said. The old man looked delighted, so he must’ve answered right. While he continued, Pat had been settled down next to a blonde-haired girl close to the exit. She was leaning over, offering him a drink she’d picked up especially for him and Pran should’ve looked away.

He didn’t. He never did. He was really thirsty.

The evening progressed slowly. At some point, Pran lost sight of Pat. He would’ve been worried, scared that he’d run off with the American-looking girl in his new car – but the girl was still there, giggling with her friends, without a doubt about the rich Jindapat heir who she’d shamelessly flirted with.

Pran was good at pretending to give a fuck when it mattered. He was also good at pretending he didn’t notice some things, when it came to it. It made sense, Pat being easy on the eyes and easy to talk to, of course he’d get attention wherever he went, even more because he was rich. Seeing a girl approach him like this wasn’t something Pran hadn’t seen before. They swarmed around Pat and his easy spending habits.

In fact, he was rather skilled at dealing with it.

Finally seeing an escape on his latest discussion, he excused himself and walked towards the drinks table – grabbing his own drink, along with a second. Pat wasn’t around, but Pran had seen him head to the bathroom, probably to relieve himself of all the champagne he’d drunk.

The giggles stopped when he neared the group of girls. He held out the glass towards the same blond-haired girl, raising a brow. “Care for a walk?” he asked her, voice as blank as he could get it. She blinked, but nodded, knowing not to disagree to a request from someone so powerful.

Pran held out his hand to show her the way, and together they walked towards the garden. It was quieter and colder outside, which made the tense air between them feel even more dry. Pran tried smiling, though he wasn’t sure if it was effective. The girl looked confused but interested.

Would she go for the two of them, if she could? It’d be a sure way to get the money and privilege she’d flirted hard with Pat for. How funny. Sadly for her, Pran was way too gay for that.

Finally, he stilled, taking out the envelop he held in his back pocket for moments like this. “What—what can I help you with?” She was polite, at least. Definitely not as smiley as with Pat, but that was to be expected.

Moments like this, Pran was like the evil rich mother. He took her hand, pushing the envelope on her palm. “This should be enough, feel free to count it.” Pran sighed at her struck expression. He really hated doing this. He really hated how used he was to doing it.

However, it was for their family and for Pat’s future. If anyone took a picture of them together, if their parents got wind of this… Pat was too naïve, too giving, a fact Pran knew way too well.

“Please stay away from Pat,” he nodded to himself. “As well as me, from now on. If it’s not enough, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

And the girls never meant it, not when they realized the luxury, they could get by dating the rich Jindapat heir. There was only Pran who knew the truth and could protect them from the heartbreak.

These threats were the top of the cliché, but they had worked in the past and would work in the future. Pran might not be good at social interaction, he knew how people thought. He knew the power of money; that was one of the things he’d learned from a young age.

Fate might sound special; love might sound cute. But in the end, money was what connected him and Pat – money was what would connect them in the future.

The event ended soon after, and before Pran knew it, he left Pat’s car with a half-hearted wave – not a word spoken about the girl – in front of the building where his penthouse was located. He stared at the car driving away for a while, remembering what Pat had said before he left it.

“Let’s eat lunch separately Monday as well,” Pran had granted his request with a nod, still feeling a little guilty about the girl. It was like a cycle. Every time he did it, he would feel like shit for a day, and then it’d pass again. After all, the amounts were big enough to live off for a year or two, so surely, he did them a service.

He ignored the front entrance of the building, instead walking around to the underground parking. Soon, he found his baby where he last left it. The blue coating still shined as brightly as the day he bought it. Stirring up the engine, he drove off towards his dorm.

Because his whole Saturday had been spent with family and business affairs, Pran decided to spend his Sunday on school and friends. Wai texted him around 1, asking him if he was up for a drink later that day with their friends. They liked going on Sundays because the bars would be less crowded – less people to recognize the famous Parakul son – and they didn’t have morning classes on Monday anyway – unlike suffering Engineering students.

He agreed wholeheartedly, revigorated with motivation to get this model done as soon as possible.

Still, he ended up being late half an hour to their appointment, yet Wai greeted him like he was early. It was weird, to know it didn’t matter that much to normal people, but his parents always scolded him to be on time growing up. The casual atmosphere around his friends was what Pran saw as freedom.

The cheap bar with its cheap drinks, Pran’s cheap and comfy clothes, the lack of fake laughter and kindness – just friends together, drinking and having fun. Even though his friends were but a small group, Pran appreciated them so much.

The bar was rowdier than usual, a crowd had formed in front of the small make-shift stage at the other side of the room. Pran asked Wai about it, who shoved a glass of beer in his hand. “What’s going on?”

The genuine smile turned into awkward laughter, Wai’s hand going through his hair before he reached for his own beer and sipped it. While Pran waited on the answer, Wai’s eyes looked almost panicked. Something weird was going on, something that Wai didn’t dare to tell him.

Usually, something like this only happened when it involved—

“Pran, my boy!”

Korn. Okay, although not entirely right, Pran wasn’t that far off with his guess. Pat’s friend slung his arm around Pran’s shoulder, slurring into his ear.

Pran knew most of Pat’s friends, just like Pat knew most of Pran’s. Through passing each other in the hallway, awkwardly acknowledging the other and forced awkward introductions. Because they attended different faculties, Pran didn’t have much reason to interact with the engineers.

Thinking about it, maybe that should’ve been the first sign they were growing apart. Even in high school, their group of friends had been common ground. Now, Pran automatically tensed by Korn’s presence.

And the way he said, my boy, what was up with that? “Korn,” Pran acknowledged him, hesitantly.

“Join us,” Korn slapped his shoulder with his free hand. Before Pran could say anything in reply, he was dragged away from Wai by the engineer. Shooting Wai a look asking for help, his friend just shrugged and mouthed something that looked suspiciously a lot like sorry.

Within one blink and the next, Pran was suddenly in front of the stage, staring up at Pat maniacally bashing the drums through the cheers of the crowd. His childhood friend was wearing a sleeveless top, adorned with the words ‘baseball mom’, and Pran’s mouth refused to close at the sight.

In his defence, it’d been a very long time since Pran saw Pat in something else than his university jersey or a suit.

He was stunned, until the star caught his eye and stopped the show. “Pran!” he yelled, smile big and genuine like he was glad to see him. Which wouldn’t make sense, because Pran was dangerously close to threading into forbidden territory. Pat stook out his hand, inviting him to come up and break the rule. Like in a daze, he took it with both of his own hands, and was pulled up. He couldn’t even break out a greeting before Pat continued. “Play with me!”

“Eh?”

“I’ll get you free beers, come on!”

The silly request kickstarted Pran’s brain. “We are rich,” he said, because he had money enough to buy his own alcohol, thank you very much. Rolling his eyes, Pat gestured between himself and Pran, then the crowd around them. “Just like old times.”

Pran thought about it. Maybe that’s why Pat was here as well, to feel normal, to act normal, and to simply have fun. It was a glimpse he had so long longed for, a crack in the door he wanted to peer through. “Never by 25 hours?” he suggested, eyes automatically drifting towards the guitar. Picking it up, he strummed a little to check if it was tuned. Decently, it turned out.

“Nothing mainstream like this!” Pat shook his head, “the one we wrote together, back in high school!”

The last note turned false, Pran’s hand slipping while he tuned it. Like nothing occurred, he turned it back the other way, making the harmony complete. He felt his heart beat in his chest, and he nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Pat’s eyes turned narrow as the corners of his lips turned up, and Pran played the first chord while he walked up to the microphone.

Chapter Text

Pat was having an amazing day.

Aside from the fact he slept through his alarm thrice, having woken up last minute to just spray some deodorant all over his torso before grabbing the first somewhat crinkle free shirt he came across, to take his personal elevator to the parking where some idiot decided to park too closely to his newest baby, making it a hassle to enter the jaguar. He sped so hard he was sure he would have a fine or two to pay next week, not that that was anything new, to make it to class just in time before their professor took attendance.

Korn had laughed at him when he entered, making him realize he was wearing his shirt inside out and give a slight show to the few girls in engineering while he put it on properly. Pat took in stride, especially since the professor was especially nice to him after that. Class went fine, and now he was comfortably seated at his friends’ lunch table, ignoring his vegetables and rice in favor of picking out the best bits – meat. He had a permanent eye on his phone, waiting (im)patiently for the next text of the girl he’d met last Sunday, making him only half pay attention to the banter around him.

He was having an absolute blast of a time. Living the life of a teenager in his prime. It was brilliant.

Until the sound of someone clearing his throat made Pat aware that the banter had stilled, followed by an awkward cough. Pat looked up from his phone (and lunch) to see his friends staring at him.

“What?”

Korn moved his caterpillars up and down in a way that made Pat focus on his eyes and—ah. It was not him they were staring at, it was something behind him. Still in a funny mood, Pat took his sweet time turning around, pretending it was a horror movie.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, with the way Pran stood there stoic like a plant as he waited for Pat to stop the game. However, Pat was stubborn and was having fun playing this game, he didn’t want to be interrupted now.

“Ah!” he said, as fake as could be, “you scared me. I didn’t expect you to be here.” Because obviously, they agreed not to have lunch together anymore, right? This recent agreement hadn’t changed in Pat’s eyes, even if he was slightly in debt to Pran for his buzzing mood.

“Who did you expect then?” Pran rolled his eyes, “stand up and follow me, I need to talk to you.”

Pat’s eyes narrowed. There was something wrong with the way Pran was speaking to him, never had it felt so cold, at least not to him. It could sound practiced, professional, but never cold towards him. To others, yes, plenty, but not to Pat.

The mood fell just like the temperature.

Pat pointed towards his abandoned tower of rice and vegetables. “I’m in the middle of lunch.”

“You hate peas and carrots, and there isn’t enough fish sauce in the world that will make you eat the plain rice on its own.” Pran shrugged. “You’ll end up buying chocolate ice-cream before your next class anyway, you finished lunch.”

The whistles and impressed remarks of his friends were promptly ignored by both. Pran knew him far too well, sometimes. “My friends need me,” Pat tried, one more time. There was a voice inside his head telling him there was something wrong with Pran. That he needed to run and hide from it, for it could never mean good news.

“I need to talk to you,” Pran repeated himself. “Come with me. I’ll buy you ice cream on the way.”

Shooting a helpless look to the rest still seated at the table, Pat abandoned his tray and followed Pran outside.

They ended up at the far side of campus, underneath the cover where Pran parked his bike. As soon as it came into view, Pat fastened his pace to reach it before the other. He always loved it when Pran took out his motorcycle for a ride. Even more if he was allowed to take it out for a spin himself or sit on the back behind Pran when he drove it. Once, they’d gone out for a drive when they had been stressed out by their families and wanted some distraction. When they stopped in the middle of nowhere, Pran had told him that this was what freedom felt like. Pat had answered he could relate, but that it was only a dip in a greater ocean.

They had their second fight, right there, where nobody could ever hear them. The first had been in his apartment, when Pran showed up uninvited.

There was still a lingering of guilt for the way Pat had turned Pran away that day, though his pride made him unable to apologize for it.

Still, for that reason, the sight of the black motorcycle soothed him. He touched it, expecting a remark about his dirty and greasy hands – but none came. It was quiet, even when Pat started leaning against it. Hadn’t Pran said he wanted to talk?

“Weren’t we getting ice cream?” Pat pouted, imagining how funny it would be to take a picture leaning against the bike licking his ice-cream. He could send it to the girl he was texting, as well. She’d probably find him cool, regardless of whether it was his own bike or not. When Pran didn’t answer, Pat chose the easy way out, one that always worked.

He started teasing his fiancé. “We’ve been together for so long,” he posed, sighing dramatically. Sometimes he thought he should enter a play, with how good his acting skills were. “You don’t care about me anymore. Our sweetness is now gone.” Just like the ice cream.

However, instead of exchanging that frown for a fond smile, Pran tensed even more. The lightness in the air Pat had tried to build up evaporated in mere seconds, leaving Pat feeling like there was something pressing down on them. This wasn’t how their friendship was. Pat should always be able to make Pran smile.

“What did you want to talk about?” Eventually, he asked, feeling far too profound. “Pran?” he tried when the other still didn’t answer.

Pran swallowed thickly, looking anywhere except at him and Pat felt the need to reach out, turn that chin towards him and make that complicated expression in his fiancé’s eyes disappear. “All right.”

Not even a fraction of his brain understood what Pran was agreeing to.

“Let’s stop it.”

Pat’s pocked buzzed, probably a text from his friends or the girl he was flirting with, yet he made no move to answer it. Pran’s words had caught him, nailed him to the ground. With how serious he was, there was only one topic he could be addressing – the topic they always talked about – but surely…

Surely Pran would never agree to breaking off the engagement, would he? This was a joke, right? Both of them complained and fought about it, but there were no stakes hanging on it. It was just a dream, just freedom they’d both given up and confided in each other when it became too much. This…

“Are you kidding me?” the question came out harder than expected, and Pran’s surprise was not hidden on his usually trained poker face. Pat could see him, expression open and vulnerable, and wanted nothing more than take it back and embrace his-… his friend. His best friend?

(What were they if they weren’t fiancés? What they had now, what should they call it? If they weren’t engaged, were they back to being friends? Was it as simple as that? Or were they right at the start, bordering on enemies, from before fate started to determine their lives?)

“No, I’m serious,” Pran shook his head, halted in the middle, and then shrugged. Finally, he raised his gaze, meeting Pat’s eyes. His earlier hesitance had been replaced by determination, but only to be seen in the light of his eyes. The expression on his face was blank, nothing to be read. “Let’s cancel our engagement.” (No dimples to be seen.)

Was it really as simple as a couple of words?

Was this his freedom, handed on a platter, that Pat had longed for so long?

Then why did it not please him in the slightest?

Instead, it brought worry bubbling in his stomach. A headache with troubles coming up in his head. A frown of confusion when he couldn’t understand what Pran was thinking.

Soothing words of agreement should be his reprise, yet it wasn’t a thing he could permit himself to say, nor wanted to say. “Pran,” Pat gently pushed himself off the motorcycle, nearing Pran like he was a startled animal with his arms open to catch him. “What happened, why are you suddenly-?”

“I’ve thought about it and you’re right. All our lives, we were told to follow fate and marry when we’re old enough. But we both know that it’s just because our parents dictated us so. From two kids who weren’t allowed to be friends, without understanding, we became two kids who couldn’t be just friends.”

Pat was speechless. Pran pushed his open arms away, softly, and Pat let them fall to his side. “It’s better to stop it now, before it’s too late. Aren’t you happy?”

Was it happiness he was feeling; was that what the knot in his stomach meant? Pat didn’t know. Pat didn’t understand a thing. He was searching, endlessly, for the right thing to say as an answer, but nothing came up. This was what he wanted, this was what they had fought about for so long.

“Yeah,” Pat felt himself saying, though the words seemed far away, “I’m happy.” He should thank Pran, who nodded at the reassurance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to my parents first, tell them it’s me who broke it off. I know your dad won’t be happy if you said it first.” He would not, Ming was a hard father and a seasoned businessman. He had great expectations for the future and even greater expectations for Pat – who ran faster each day to catch up to them. He was used to them, though, even if he was scared to break his wishes.

But that wasn’t the point, that wasn’t the right solution. Pat shook his head. Maybe they should say it together, both at the same time, call their parents and get dinner with them and say it right there. He tried imagining it, tried to brace himself for the disappointment in their eyes. Underneath the table, he’d grab Pran’s hand for support and Pran would squeeze it back, to reassure him—

Would he squeeze it back? Would he even take his hand? Were they friends, still?

“Let’s—wait with telling them. Stay engaged officially for a little longer.” Finally, Pat was back in the moment, his voice steady and determined in his own ears. He hoped it translated towards Pran, because in reality, Pat had no idea what he was doing.

Pran raised a brow. “Why?” He rolled his eyes, like the thought disgusted him, and where did that come from? Never before had Pran acted like this, Pat hated it. “Do you want us to get married after all?”

“…No,” Pat didn’t know. But he hoped, he would soon. He hoped, that with the time remaining, he could find out what was left if they weren’t fiancés. He could find out why he wanted so badly to know exactly that. He could find out—. Maybe nothing. Maybe it was all just an excuse to soothe himself, to put off the disappointment of their parents.

His pocked buzzed again, twice this time. Pran’s eyes flickered to it for half a second before he pretended he hadn’t noticed. “Okay,” there was something in the corner of his eye, but Pran turned away so abruptly Pat couldn’t find out what it was. Stepping forward, he grabbed Pran’s shoulder.

Pran stopped, didn’t turn completely, but turned his head to shoot a look at Pat. He looked tired, done, with this conversation. Perhaps even with Pat. There was nothing to be seen, in the corner of his eye. Pat must’ve imagined it. “Sorry, just... you promised me ice-cream, remember?”

Pran blinked at him. “Right,” he cleared his throat. “Let’s go.”

Content, Pat waved the motorcycle goodbye and jumped to catch up with Pran, who’d already started walking. He hummed towards himself, mentally calculating how much ice-cream he could eat and how much he could mooch off of Pran’s.

Experience told him at least 3 cones. Nice. Ice cream was exactly the thing he needed right now, the solution to all the weird feelings playing inside him. He bumped shoulders with Pran, who tensed a second before bumping back.

Yes. They could still be friends, if they weren’t fiancés anymore. And now that he still had an excuse to spend time with Pran, Pat would make sure to reaffirm his position in Pran’s life, exactly how he liked it.

Friends.

Friends helped each other out, right?

It was a small coincidence with a hint of self-spot for Pat to lose the keys to his new car on campus. He went around to ask the security, but the lost-and-found had nothing of Pat’s interest except a surprisingly new looking earphone case. Pocketing it while the guard wasn’t looking, he left the room with a sad expression.

Technically, he could call one of his father’s assistants and ask him to pick him up, or even book a taxi, but his phone was on its last breath and somehow it felt like giving in. There was no doubt he’d get a long and loud reminder to be more responsible for his goods and a reprimand because he simply hadn’t been home in ages.

However deserved that last one was, Pat was too tired to deal with it today. Going out on Sunday, having morning classes on Monday and – ignoring today’s surprising talk with Pran – a long Tuesday; well, Pat just wanted to have a nice lie down and forget today’s troubles by drifting into a peaceful sleep. Left with no other choice, he decided to walk towards his campus dorm.

Why he was still surprised to find out he did not have its key on him, and even if he had, there was no furniture in there anyway, he did not know. He blamed it on the sleepiness. Giving up, he sat down against his door, wondering if nodding off right there and then would be okay, or if it’d be a sure way to get pick-pocketed of his last remaining bills.

The dorm had been a gift from his parents when he entered the university. It was stupid, really, considering he owned several buildings and a penthouse in one of the highest skyscrapers of Bangkok. However, they’d insisted he had to accept it, so he had taken the keys and then tossed it out of mind out of his thoughts. A bit too literally.

The hanger on the door in front of him caught his attention, picking at his brain like he was forgetting something obvious.

Oh.

Perhaps, does Pran actually make use of his university dorm? Their parents had looked for the place together, and Pran being Pran, had been way more involved in the process than Pat had. Maybe that was why he personalized it like this. There was no way he used it when he had better places to stay.

Right?

The answer was no, apparently, because soon after footsteps could be heard nearing and before Pat could pretend he became the protagonist of a horror movie again, a voice accompanied it. “Pat?”

“My savior!” whoops, had he said that out loud? Looking up, he could see Pran standing in front of him with a plastic bag in his right hand, judging the boy – that was him! – sitting on the ground in front of his door. Of their doors. Pat’s mind must be going funny with how tired he was, this all seemed ridiculous. “Can I sleep at your dorm?”

“What are you doing here?” Pran asked instead of answering, making Pat grunt in fake-annoyance. The quirk of Pran’s lips made him giggle. Hadn’t he said this exact same thing to Pran, once? It felt like a lifetime ago. Hah. An engagement ago!

“I lost my carkeys, forgot my dormkeys, and then my phone’s battery died so,” he shrugged. Pran was his friend, this was what friends did! Help each other out! Aside from the fact that he was already in debt to Pran for helping him flirt on Sunday – the real reason for his dead phone battery – he’d make up both pretty soon, Pat was sure of it!

Pran sighed, in such a Pran way Pat wanted to stand up and use his hands to make the ends of his mouth quirk up instead. He didn’t, though if he had, he was sure it’d be funny. “I’ll call your parents,” yet what Pran said wasn’t funny in the slightest!

This time, Pat did stand up to stop his—friend. “No, please don’t.” Pat shook his head, shooting him a look that he hoped communicated the hassle he’d be in if Pran did what he said. If it was Pran, he could understand and read him, even relate. Pat was sure of it.

They stood there, stuck in their standoff for a while. Then Pran turned around, and Pat wondered for a second if he’d leave him out here after all, now that their relationship was unknown. Yet, half a second after opening his door, he side-eyed Pat.

“What are you waiting for, come in.”

Pat must be part cat, because the speed and finesse he used to slip inside was unparalleled. His eyes feasted as he looked around, taking in every part of the small condo and finding that everywhere he looked, it yelled Pran Pran Pran inside his brain. Grinning, he stopped in the middle to turn and stare at Pran. His friend was waiting for him to talk, but Pat soon realized he had no right words to say what was on his mind.

So he said the polite thing. “Nice place.” It really was. Made Pat feel at ease the moment he came in. Smelled like laundry and manly perfume. Pat wondered why Pran never wore the perfume outside. Or was this just his natural musk?

“Thanks,” Pran abruptly turned away, walking towards the open door which revealed a glimpse of the bedroom. “You can have the couch. The bathroom is through the bedroom, I’ll be washing up first.” The fact he didn’t expect Pat to do the same was left unsaid, but Pat could practically feel the judgment.

Which is why he followed Pran into said bedroom. Pran halted, throwing him a confused look. “What are you doing?”

Pat was already arranging a couple of blankets he’d nicked off the couch on the ground next to Pran’s single bed – which respective rich kid had a single bed? He grabbed one of the pillows from the bed before Pran could protest, propping it behind him. Nope. Still not good enough.

“I am not sleeping on the couch,” Pat grinned, “We’re friends, right? Friends do sleepovers, so let me sleep here.”

Pat looked at him like he was crazy. It wasn’t a new look whatsoever.

“Also, I know you won’t allow me to share your blankets while still in the clothes I wore during the day. Lend me some,” he made sure to put up his biggest puppy-eyes. “A shirt would suffice; I sleep in my boxers anyway.”

Defeated by his charms, Pran gave up. “At least wash up first, then.” He was holding open the bathroom door, eyes skirting between them.

Pat used his newly found cat-powers to rush into the bathroom before the offer was rejected. His shirt and pants already half discarded – Pran had seen Pat in less, back when they played football together and showered and changed in the communal rooms anyway – on the way. “And pick up your laundry!” Pran scolded him, making Pat laugh because that was exactly the reaction he always got.

“Yes, wifey,” he mumbled underneath his own breath, glad to hear that Pran had closed the door and there was no way he’d heard his taunt.

Pat must admit, he was looking forward to this friendly sleepover with great enthusiasm.

Chapter Text

Pran wanted to believe he had his life all sorted out. After Sunday – after the inevitable heartbreak and sober realization – he’d been determined to rid himself of everything he didn’t need; of the feelings that were just in the way and relationships too undefined to understand. Asking Pat apart, telling him he agreed to break off the engagement, it was supposed to go smoothly.

In retrospect, one word from Pat had him doubt his own decision, but Pran liked to pretend he was the self-confident and reserved person his parents believed him to be. He understood the hesitance on Pat’s part, opened his arms for the opportunity to wait a little longer before bringing the disastrous news. Before he would see the disappointment in his parents’ eyes and pretend his own didn’t mirror them.

Yet, it hadn’t stayed with that one word and quick promise to postpone the inevitable. Now, Pat was inside his bedroom, wearing only shorts and waiting for Pran to toss the shirt he had prepared to preserve some of his own sanity. He had made himself a bed on the ground right next to Pran’s bed already, grinning at him as he waited and—

Pran’s self-control must be incredible because he totally did not think about jumping the half-naked boy, no, not even for one second.

(If he repeated that, one day he might believe it.)

“Here you go,” he tossed the shirt, aiming at Pat’s face in revenge. The other didn’t even notice the small annoyance in his actions or was simply too used to ignoring them. Instead, Pat sniffed the fabric before putting it on, making him roll his eyes at the familiar antics. Pran sometimes wondered if Pat knew they were out of affection; the eye-rolls and shrugs. If he didn’t, Pran hoped he would never know in the future either. Because by then, surely, he would’ve put enough space between them to move on.

Space that Pat was not giving him at the moment, as they both laid on their backs staring at the ceiling without a thing to say.

Actually, there were many things haunting Pran’s mind, but none of them were appropriate to start a conversation about. Trying to find one that was, he busied himself by making a mental list of things that Pat should never hear.

The first one was that Pran had heard it. The walls of his dorm were thin, and the door was even thinner, so hearing the nickname wifey had successfully stopped Pran in his tracks and short-circuited his brain. He’d looked at the door, mouth dry and unsure of what to reply. If he should reply. Thinking back now, he was glad he hadn’t. He would’ve replied that wifey was an outdated gay stereotype that Pat probably got from watching some random BL – BL’s that Pran used to binge with Paa when they were younger – and that the roles in their relationship didn’t need to be defined like that. However, there was no relationship to speak off in the first place, so that topic had been a bullet well dodged.

The second one was about earlier today, before Pran hadn’t told Pat what was on his mind and instead just ended it right there. Cut off the infection before it could spread even further, a limb more or less didn’t matter as long as he could walk. It was a moment of stupid weakness, when Pat had said ‘but my friends need me’ while said friends had been making funny faces behind his back the whole time. Pran’s real feelings had been on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out. ‘But I need you.’ Yeah, Pat could never know that, Pran would rather cut off another limb. Pran saved the moment expertly by saying ‘but I need to talk to you.’

Before Pran could even think of a third, a sudden buzzing sound broke him out of his thoughts. In the corner of his eyes, he saw Pat breaking out of his own spell to check his phone. There was a sweet smile on his lips while he unlocked his screen.

He had a distinct idea on who it could be. What that smile meant when it wasn’t directed at him.

It was the third thing he’d been wondering about endlessly, locked deep into his heart behind a thick wall. Was it official, were the girl from Sunday and Pat dating now? There was a feeling of defeat, every tap on the screen’s keyboard that Pat sent to someone else than him. Jealousy was an ugly monster, one that Pran had carried inside him for too long. Was it safe to ask? Now that they’re no longer engaged, there should be nothing stopping both of dating someone else.

He needed closure, now more than ever. Pat was acting weird, being too close and too clingy, claiming the space that had always been there for Pat before but that Pran had finally decided on blocking off. He had to ask—

He should ask. Pat would surely tell him about it without any hesitation, even if it would break Pran all over. That’s why he actually didn’t want to say it out loud, but Pran had to, he should, to convince himself to move on.

“P-“ he didn’t get far at all, the single letter barely having left his mouth. It was more of a sigh, followed by a loud intake of breath, when he heard the first notes.

There weren’t many recordings of them playing it, so there was no doubt about it. It was the song Pran had written years ago, in high school, when he had been so sure Pat might’ve felt the same after all. Before they entered university, and everything changed between them.

Pat must be watching a video of last Sunday. Part of Pran wanted to ask him to show it to him, wanted to see proof of them playing together on that stage. Wanted to see the smile Pat had shot him which Pran could write a thousand songs about, a smile he wanted to cherish by carving it into a heart, wanted to claim those lips as he smiled at Pran like that…

Heart beating in his chest, Pran had been floating by the end of their performance. For a second, he had hope again, that he could walk to Pat and actually capture those lips as his—

When a girl climbed up on the stage, stealing the hug that Pran claimed as his. “That was amazing,” her high voice, over the cheering, had yelled at Pat. She’d ignored Pran completely. “Was that meant for me? The lyrics?”

And when Pat had said “Yes”, dedicated their song to someone else, Pran had come crashing down harder than ever. He should’ve known, really, but his naivety took the better of him.

The girl captured those lips in Pran’s stead. Pran had felt like he was drowning. Between the cheering that had grown louder, Pran escaped the stage in favour of the bathroom. He needed a break, splash some water on his face and wake up from this nightmare.

He took too long, staring in the mirror. As if to burn salt into the freshly opened wounds, Pat had appeared next to him. His lips had been covered in dark red lipstick, drawn into a smirk as he caught sight of it in the mirror.

“Thank you,” Pat had said something akin to those words, Pran’s brain muffled them. “I’ve been flirting with her for ages, but she never seemed interested.” His laughter sounded awkward, his hand going through his hair. The message was clear; Pat had approached her first.

Even though all the attempts at protecting Pat’s innocent heart, Pat had long set his mind on someone already. Pran’s effort had been in waste.

The surprise wasn’t a surprise, really.

The next matter, then, that Pran couldn’t tell Pat. All the things Pran had done in vain to protect him. It was a bad excuse, anyway, saying he’d done it because the girls all had bad intentions. Not all of them would’ve approached Pat for his money, Pran knew better than anyone that he had many lovable qualities. Still, the excuse had sounded rightful in his mind, as well as all the money and empty threats he’d whispered to the girls.

In reality Pran was a jealous and possessive kind of man, not even being able to share his fiancé’s love. It had been the last drop, the concluding sign, for Pran to break off the engagement after all.

Fate and their parents be damned, Pran could not go through with it. To one day marry the man he loved, to live next to him and see him fall in love with someone else. To see him suffer because of a twisted plot of fate. To be met every day with the reality that Pat would never love him back—

Selfish, possessive, jealous – Pran hated that part of himself. The only way to cleanse it was to release all the feelings associated with it, as well as the person.

Yet that person was lying next to him, far enough to not touch, but close enough to smell and hear. If there was really something as a sixth sense, then Pran would even claim that he simply felt Pat’s presence. In his heart, in his mind, in the electricity in the air.

He wanted to have space, damnit. Why was Pat being so clingy suddenly.

The song had ended without Pran noticing, the silence between them returning, so palpable he wondered if he could touch it. Suppressing the urge to reach out, he tried again.

“You.”

“Pat-.”

They tried and sighed at the same time.

“You go first,” Pran decided to wait a little longer. The list wasn’t finished yet, he had still much to hide. He could hide it for a little longer, hope to lie for the rest of his life.

It was quiet for a heartbeat until Pat spoke up. “Do you like someone?”

It would’ve been better if it stayed quiet longer. Maybe Pran should’ve gone first, because where did that come from?

It would be better if he did. Pran turned the question around, a dumb tactic that always worked to distract Pat. “Do you?”

Not this time, though.

“I asked first,” but Pran didn’t want to answer first. He could somehow understand where Pat was coming from. After all, he’d asked to break off the engagement. He never had before, always so stubbornly denied any of Pat’s suggestions. Gone into the discussion because it was a joke, a curse on his own heart he had thought he could handle, and only Pat could understand.

Having someone he liked himself would perhaps lighten it, but there was no one. There had never been anyone else than Pat for Pran. Couldn’t even imagine anyone else than Pat from Pran.

Pat didn’t take his silence well. “How about we say it at the same time?” he suggested, voice sweet and pleading. “At the count of 3.”

Pran didn’t answer, he didn’t have to. Pat already started counting, trusting on his friend to keep to the unspoken agreement. He hated how much faith Pat had in him, sometimes. How well (yet not at all) he knew Pran’s thoughts.

“One...” Pran closed his eyes? What should he say?

“Two...?” was there even a right answer? He had no time to think.

No time, the only solution was— “I do.”

“Yes.”

Ah. He’d been so worried about the right answer, he hadn’t even considered he didn’t want to know Pat’s.  It was a confirmation on a question he didn’t dare to ask, and it hurt even though it was expected. He couldn’t even focus on the hurt, because Pat sat up suddenly, leaning on his mattress with big and surprised eyes seemingly without a hint of pain in them. Pran blinked his own emotions away before turning to his friend.

“Who?” he asked, and this time Pran had prepared his mask.

“What about you?”

“I asked first, and you know who!”

Of course, the girl Pat had used Pran’s confession in lyric to flirt with. Oh, perhaps that was another thing to never be spoken out loud. The real subject of the Just friends' lyrics. Even though Pat had guessed it in a joke, making Pran panic for a second, before picking up his heart, stuffing it back and moving on. At that time, he’d been so hopeful.

“Why?” Pran tried, hanging on the last rope of reprise.

The moment Pat opened his mouth, Pran knew this wouldn’t end well. “Well of course, I could wingman for you like you did for me!”

Did you expect your future husband to help you find love while he suffers away quietly?

Pran didn't know where the thought comes from, he only knew he threw it far away behind several doors never to surface again. Instead, all he answered was “Oh...”

When Pat grinned at him like he’d suggested the best thing ever, he tried to make his dimples appear in his own smile. The lack of light helped; Pat didn’t notice it was fake.

“It’s eh…” it’s been you. It’s always been you. And now I have to magically pretend it’s anyone but you, but you see, there’s no one who I love as much as I love you. Nobody, not even my parents or my closest friend, who I like as much as I like you.

That was the confession Pat could never hear, above all others. It felt good to admit it to himself, though.

It was a confession nobody could ever hear, so closely locked up in his own heart it was. Even though to all the reporters, all the business partners of his parents and everyone in the world except them, it were the words he always told as an excuse. It was a lie that was the full truth.

If someone had to know… If someone could ever know. If there was anyone other than Pat that Pran liked most, well, it had to be… “It’s Wai.”

Pran mentally apologized to his best friend. To the mountain of bullshit and the lies that would follow. He would explain to Wai, make him understand. If it was Wai, Pran could tell the truth to his friend.

Using the darkness as a cover, Pran tried to access Pat’s reaction. It was quiet for a couple of beats, like the person in front of him had trouble assessing the lie, trouble believing it. For a second, Pran wondered if Pat would see right through it. That maybe, Pat could see right through his mask after all.

Wonder close to hope, closer to fear.

Then his confused expression made way for a grin, followed by a daring twinkle in his eyes. “Of course it’s Wai,” Pat whistled, like he wasn’t surprised in the slightest at Pran liking boys, and even more, it being Wai. The first one didn’t hurt, after all, they spent so many years engaged and it had been Pran’s stupid meddling that was the cause of it all, yet the second…

Maybe it wasn’t the darkness blinding Pat, maybe he had been blind all along. It should be a relief, though it felt like a knife in Pran’s heart. After Pat so violently stabbed him, he continued twisting it in a tortuous way.

“You two are always together, constantly hugging and clinging to one another. Even though you don’t like being casually touched,” Pat shook his head. Pran wanted to correct him, though he had no right words to do so. Technically, Pat was right. Pran didn’t like casual touches, because he wanted more when it came to Pat. That was why every brush of hands brought chills down his spine and made his heart kickstart into overdrive. Shying away from Pat’s clinginess out of their duties was a way to protect himself, before Pran would start to believe there was more between them after all.

“Wait, is it mutual?” Pat continued speaking like a maniac, totally lost in his own head. “Have you confessed? Dude, Wai totally likes you back, just look at the way he looks at you!”

Not me, at us. The way he looks at us.

Maybe Wai knew the truth all along. The way he sometimes stared at Pat and Pran, the knowing look in his eyes. The way he pretended their riches and arranged marriage wasn’t the only thing defining them.

Ah. Maybe Wai was lying as much to Pran as Pran was lying to Wai. Another white lie couldn’t hurt then.

“You should just confess what you feel to him!”

Finally the word vomit stopped, leaving Pat without breath and Pran totally unrailed. Again, he thanked the darkness and the fact he was lying down in his comforting bed. He felt unhinged, floating, falling, shaken and petrified all at once. He kept blinking, keeping the tears out of his eyes and trying to make sense of the image in front of him.

Pat was the last person he wanted to hear those words from.

“I—“ love you. Not Wai.

“If it’s you, he will like you back!” Pat grinned. “After all, you’ve got so many likable qualities, even I like you!”

Fuck. Pat with his stupid way of saying things that made and broke his heart at the same time. He pulled the knife out to let it bleed, Pran could hear the blood gushing out. He put his fist in front of it, trying to still it, wishing he could let it connect with Pat’s cheek instead.

Instead, he swallowed loudly and did as he always did. Putting up his mask, he rolled his eyes (in secret affection). Pat took his actions well because his grin increased. “Good luck buddy, don’t worry! I got your back!”

Pran had to turn away, soon, before he could not control the mask anymore. “I—“ am a masochist for liking you. The only thing left to do is to stop it, before it gets too bad. From now on, we are just us – not friends, not fiancés, but simply Pat and Pran. Let there never be anything else between us from now on.

Needing space and reprise, Pran forced out the words. “Hate you.”

Yet all Pat did was laugh, like it was a joke. A joke on his heart, maybe.

“Whatever you say, friend.” Turning around, Pat left the conversation, yawning as a sign he was going to sleep. Pran wished his words could be true, he hoped to lie to himself as much as he lied to Pat.

Tomorrow, he’d have to message Wai. Explain everything. It wasn’t something he looked forward to.

He laid there for a while, staring in front of him and hearing his own words echo in his head. Making plans for tomorrow, he thought maybe he could do it. Maybe this really could be the last drop for him to move on. If it meant fake dating his best friend for a little, it was fine. If it meant breaking the news to his parents and being met with disappointment, that was fine at all. Maybe using Wai as an excuse would be a good thing, his mom absolutely adored Wai. Not a bad word could leave Wai’s mouth.

And Wai would accept, especially if Pran sweetened the deal with some money. A full-blown habit now, when it concerned lies and Pat.

Everything left unsaid wouldn’t matter anymore from this moment on. The list would be put behind a wall, one day to be blurred in long-past memories.

Feeling the first tear finally escape his eye, Pran made a promise to himself.

Chapter Text

Pat woke up to a bitter taste in his mouth and the alarming smell of something burning. Sitting up abruptly, it took him a while to orientate himself before he realized where he was. Pran’s dorm had somehow been both expected and unexpected in the best way. They had been friends their whole life, so it made sense when Pat could recognize all of Pran’s little quirks and habits between the furniture on the ground and the post-its on the wall.

Less familiar was the casualness and normality in the way the dorm was designed. Pran, just like Pat himself, had been brought in up extreme luxury – they owned more than they needed, had money plenty to spend and yet not make a dent in their fortune. Yet the dorm was sparingly designed. Comfortable, for sure, with everything that a young man needed of their age, but there were none of the expensive brands that both their family houses had.

For the first time ever, Pat wondered how Pran’s penthouse looked like. Was it also as simple as here? Why, instead of disliking it, did Pat’s heart grew fond at the thought? Now he really needed to find an excuse to enter Pran’s place, sometimes.

Since they were friends, it shouldn’t be much of a problem. To be exact, they were even the best of friends!

Pat’s mind abruptly conjured scenes of Pran standing in front of his own door with a lost expression. He closed that door and quickly stood up, mentally preparing to extinguish the fire which seemed to come out of the kitchen. Grabbing his blanket, he ran towards the source, already half throwing it before he even came to a full stop.

A yell escaped from under the fabric, followed by a curse and a really familiar voice saying his name. “Ai’Pat!”

He finally stopped to pull back the blanket, revealing a red-faced Pran with toast plastered on his white shirt. His hands were covered in condensed milk, and his glare was so fierce that Pat could only considered it cute. The laugh that escaped him was free and loud.

“What do you think you’re doing, Pat!?” once again, Pran yelled his name and all it did was make Pat laugh even more. Soon, he was wiping away the tears forming in his eyes, blanket forgotten on the ground. He was pretty sure some of the spread had gotten on the edge of the fabric, though it wasn’t like Pran and his maids weren’t used to that. Back when they’d been young, it had been a sport for Pat to sneak into Pran’s bed and leave crumbs all over his matrass.

“I thought I smelled a fire,” finally calm enough, Pat was able to explain himself. “But now the only fire I see is your cheeks, you’re blushing.” He commented on Pran’s flaming cheeks, extending his arms over the kitchen island to check if they would feel hot. Pran’s dimples appeared in a scowl that Pat knew was a hidden smile, slapping his hands away.

Pran shook his head, turning around to take two more slices out of the toaster. When he came back, he pushed the already prepared plate towards Pat before making his own toast – with significantly less sweet condensed milk. “I made you breakfast,” Pran explained.

Feeling the grin on his face growing, Pat picked up the bread that was prepared exactly as he liked it.

They both finished breakfast right there, talking about nothing. Pran seemed to be in a hurry, and seeing as he was wearing his uniform’s shirt, he must be having classes soon. To Pat’s absolute delight, he hadn’t noticed the sticky stain on it yet. The morning felt so peaceful, now that Pat knew they would always stay a presence in each other’s life – as friends, that was.

Pran’s slight stress did make Pat realize that if he wanted to ask anything of importance, he’d have to shoot his shot soon. And well, Pat was anything but unresolved when it came to solve the questions in his mind.

“You’re still participating in Freshy Day, right?” Pat asked, after reassuring his friend he’d buy new condensed milk since Pat had managed to finish it all. Pran had looked like he only half believed him, which made Pat even more motivated to hand-deliver it to him soon. Not today though, since he had classes until late and then dinner with his parents. But maybe tomorrow, after he won Freshy Day.

Pran nodded, seeing as he was still chewing the last of his breakfast and he wasn’t as uncaring as Pat to speak with a full mouth. “Yup.”

“Nice.”

For a second, Pat took the time to stare and smile at his best friend. Until Pran cleared his throat. “So eh, anyway, you should go back to your place now. I need to leave.”

“I’m staying,” Pat decided on the spot. He didn’t feel like going home yet. “Going home now is too much hassle, I have class this afternoon. This place is closer,” he shrugged.

“You can’t!” Pran sputtered and Pat was a little surprised about that.

“Why not?” he asked, but there was no reply from Pran. The other glared at him for a while before visibly giving up.

He waved his hands. “Just, don’t touch anything!” Pat saluted, planning on doing exactly that – “and you’re doing the dishes!” – but maybe not doing that last thing. He nodded, agreeing with Pran before helping him leave the house. He pushed his friend in the back, grabbed his jacket and helped him put it on.

For a second, he considered kissing him on the cheek and waving him away. The weird thought passed as quickly as it came, Wai’s grumpy face appearing in its stead.

“Good luck in class!” Pat yelled anyway, after he successfully removed Pran from his own condo. He stood there, watching the figure of Pran disappear out of the hallway, a little too long. Shaking off the weird feeling, instead Pat decided to cheer on the small victory.

Now he could relax in Pran’s place and turn the place upside down in the meantime. No way he was just going to sit idle at the opportunity.

Seeing as the furniture and lay-out was still the same as yesterday, instead Pat focused on the small details; the pictures and post-its hanging on the wall, the decorations he had on his bedside table. For a second, Pat considered opening the shelve itself just to get some blackmail material for later, but that was just a little too far even for him.

The pictures were exactly as he expected. There were two with Pran and his parents; one from back when he was a baby, Dissaya showing off the bundle of cloth on front of their house, the other from a recent political event they attended. There were more pictures of Pran himself, growing up with the years in different homes. There was one of him in front of the door of this place, even, holding out the key like it was something precious.

Of course, there were pictures of them together. So many Pat couldn’t even be bothered to count them. He felt filled with pride, knowing that their relationship was so important to Pran.

Lastly, there were pictures of Pran with his other friends. Many, but not as much as Pat’s, pictures with Wai.

How hadn’t he seen it coming?

The bitter feeling Pat had woken up to that morning made its appearance again, until Pat could somehow place it as disappointment. Not entirely sure at what, he blamed himself for not noticing his best friends’ (and ex-fiancé's) crush on his friend. If he’d known before, maybe they—

Pran had always been so stubborn on not breaking up the engagement before. What had made it change now? Maybe there had happened something between the two, something Pat didn’t know – couldn’t, because Pran hadn’t even told him yesterday – that made Pran finally agree.

Pat and Pran were free.

Then why was he clinging so hard to the last remains of their relationship?

Pat ignored that thought immediately, instead replacing it with more fun ones. Like opening Pran’s sketchbook, laughing at the silly doodles about his life Pran had been making since middle school. His best friend was adorable.

When his phone rang and Pran gave him a quest to prove his worth as a friend, Pat promised to come as soon as possible. That was, after he’d gone through every picture saved on Pran’s hard drive. At least there, Pat’s pictures vastly outnumbered Wai’s.

After successfully delivering the usb-drive, Pat met up with Ink for an iced tea, and then went to class. Altogether a very satisfying morning.

“Where’s Pran?” Korn asked out of nowhere, interrupting Pat who was debating the importance of the right amount – read as: none – of chili's in his curry. Hearing his name, he was reminded of his friend’s love for spicy food, making him shudder in a long-forgotten memory of self-made dinner by Dissaya. He shrugged as an answer, throwing down his spoon in frustration.

For a second, he thought of complaining to his friends that Pran had called off the engagement. Instead, he settled on; “We aren’t eating lunch together anymore.”

“Ever?”

“Probably?” Pat really didn’t know. He’d eaten breakfast together, just this morning, as friends. Lunch had always been a fiancé thing – so he assumed that was completely called off as well. For something that Pat had suggested, he felt awfully sad at the loss of a personal assistant who would separate all the peppers and exchange them for his favourites on his plate.

Maybe he could steal some of some of Chang’s instead, only when he executed his plan, the others plate had already been completely emptied. Looking around the table, he was the only one left eating.

Forfeiting to his fate, he picked up the spoon and ate as much as he could stand, before downing a bottle of water. His friends laughed, amused at his antics, so loudly he almost missed the buzzing of his phone.

Unlocking it, he was greeted by two messages. One was from Pran, thanking him for the drive. The other was from the girl he’d been flirting with, asking to meet up after class.

Nice. It was going perfectly according to plan. Maybe tonight he could finally officially ask her out. Sure, they’d kissed briefly after Pat finished serenading her (with Pran’s help) but that was only a kiss. Pat was a big boy, and most importantly, only recently unchained from the responsibilities of an engagement – he had to make this play big!

He sent a kissy face to his friend, and a thumbs up to the girl.

After class, he waved his friends goodbye to go to the arcade where they'd agreed to meet.

She stood waiting at the entrance, phone in her hand, wearing a cute green dress. With her other hand, she tried keeping her hair from her face – the wind relentlessly blowing. Pat had parked a little away, and as soon as he reached her, he put his jacket around her bare shoulders.

“Hi,” he greeted her.

She greeted him back with a bright smile. “Hi Pat.” (Pat didn’t take notice of the lack of dimples in her cheeks, he did not think of how he’d love to feel the dent in their cheeks.)

The date went fine. Although she wasn’t as competitive as Pat, nor did she love racing games as much as him, she was a mean throw when shooting hoops, and her comments of disgust as they shot zombies off the screen made him laugh everytime. Obviously, Pat won every game.

“Want me to drive you home?” Pat suggested after they ate dinner at an outside stand. He had just finished paying the owner a generous tip. Pointing towards his car, he raised a brow at her.

She opened her mouth and hesitated. “I--” she started, sobbed, and suddenly their date wasn’t going so fine anymore after all. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry, Pat.”

Pat was confused beyond believe. Everything had seemed perfect up until now, had he said something wrong? Had he come on to strong? He’d just thought it would be perfect to go for a drive, look at the stars, and then ask her if he wanted to be his girlf—.

For some reason, rethinking his plan, Pat found something off about it as well. He blinked a couple of times in rapid succession, making the girl assume it was her fault. All of sudden, a whirlwind of words left her, leaving Pat ablaze.

“You’re very handsome, and super nice, and that’s exactly why I can’t do this. Actually, one of my friends made a dare to me. She told me if I could seduce the infamous Jindapat heir, she would stop flirting with the boy I have a crush on. I thought I’d be easy, even though she said every girl abruptly stopped in pursuing you because they got money, at least I’d have one of the two, and--” she wasn’t done, but Pat’s mind had gone into overdrive. So many questions left him reeling.

She’d flirted with him because of a dare?

She knew of his identity?

She had a crush on someone else? Then why did she kiss him? (Why did he kiss her?)

“They received money?” somehow was the question that made it out loud. The girls at the charity event, at the parties, the bars he attended – they received money?

She didn’t reply, words choked up in humiliation – even though it was Pat who should feel cheated.

It should’ve made him angry, leave him mad for answers and explanation yet – he knew exactly where it came from.

He knew exactly why she hadn’t received it.

Distracted by that realization, it took him a while to find out that his own heart wasn’t broken by her words. He patted her shoulder, suddenly feeling that anything more would be too intimate, before giving her the doll he’d won - in one of the crane games. (It wasn’t as nice smelling as Nong Nao, anyway.) “It’s fine,” he said, though he didn’t know who he was consoling.

Then, he walked towards his car on his own. He spent the evening at his penthouse on his own. None of the incoming text messages were answered.

Tomorrow came in no time. Although he had no classes, Pat was busy the whole day. His band was only performing one song in the Freshy day Music contest – that did not make them any less motivated to rehearse. They played the same song – an upbeat poppy melody that was recently popular on the radio – over and over, until Pat swore he would dream about playing it.

It was the normality of his friends, of the song, that made Pat uncomfortable. He had had this great realization yesterday, wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about it, yet all his friends just greeted him like nothing had occurred. Like the cogwheels in his brain weren’t very slowly turning, trying to make sense of it all.

Hell, they didn’t even ask him how his date went.

…Not that he’d told them.

Why hadn’t he told them?

They met Pran and the rest of the architecture gang on the way to get their artist passes.

“Good luck on beating us,” Pat said, because he would never pass on opportunity to tease Architecture. That, and Pran’s grimas showed his dimple in the best way.

It was not his best friend that answered, instead, it was Wai who slung an arm around Pran and pulled him tight. “Thanks buddy, but we all know who’s winning tonight.”

Pran smiled shortly, before he was pulled away by his friend – was Wai just Pran’s friend anymore? Had they always been this close, or was it a recent development?

Pat watched Pran give everyone their artist passes, ending at Wai’s with a big and dramatic peck on his forehead. It made him frown, something ugly brewing in his stomach, and he was about to step up to them when Korn interrupted him.

“Ready?” he asked, head turned away to where the stage was. “We’re up in 5.”

Shaking away whatever that had been, Pat nodded. “Hell yeah.”

People cheered as they took the stage. When Korn introduced Pat, he flashed his signature grin, and soon the song started. Getting into the familiar feeling, Pat tried to lose himself in the music.

Only he couldn’t. At this point, he knew the song so well, playing it was automatic and boring. His mind went on a drive on its own, towards the nearest destination: Wai and Pran, watching them from the side.

Being engaged to Pran, Pat had known Wai as Pran’s best friend for years. He also knew that Wai didn’t like him much, though however much he’d prodded, neither Wai nor Pran would explain to him why. Just the other day, Pran had told him he had a crush on Wai, and now they were acting like this...

Wait, had Pran said a crush, or that he liked him, or that he loved him? Suddenly, the details seemed very vague to Pat. The only thought in his head as they finished the song was how long they had been hiding this from Pat; how long had they been together?

Was it perhaps Wai who had made Pran break off the engagement? Surely that wasn’t the case. Hell, if Pran really had been dating someone all this time, surely, he would've told Pat! They were fiancés for f—

They were best friends for f—

They were... Pat and Pran. All they talked about was their engagement, all they fought about was breaking up. If he took that out of their relationship, Pat had believed them to be friends. Yet, Pat had always pushed Pran away – stopped him from threading into his personal space. However, when Pat had done so two days ago, he himself deemed it fine.

Leaving the stage, Pat felt so uncomfortable. He needed to know more, desperately. Instead of following his friends backstage, he waved them off and approached Ink. They had met up only yesterday, yet it felt like a lifetime ago now.

He was sure that Ink complimented him, though he waved it away. He wanted to watch Pran sing, now more than ever, even though he’d seen it a thousand time before.

“Hey, I’ve never heard this song before. Did Pran write it?”

Yeah.

Yeah he did. Pat could recall the first time he heard it. They had just graduated from high school, both euphoric because they would finally be adults. They had chosen their university together, their majors on purpose.

However, Pran had looked a little forlorn, so Pat had softly bumped his shoulder. They had understood each other without speaking, because Pat knew Pran would rather study music – and Pran knew Pat knew. Before that time, Pat himself had never thought about what he wanted to do in the future. He had always just accepted his parents' vision for him.

Later that night, Pat had sneaked into Pran’s room. The last time he ever had – because they received the penthouse as a graduation gift.

Pran had been strumming his guitar, the same chord playing over and over, mind away in a far and distant land.

“What’re you playing?” Pat had made him jump.

The look on Pran’s face had been aloof, like he’d been caught doing something bad, yet... it hadn’t taken much nagging for Pran to play the song for him. Afterwards, he made Pat promise not to tell anyone about it. He claimed the song was inspired on a movie, or a book; Pat hadn’t even asked the name.

The song had been beautiful.

The song was beautiful.

Pran was playing it in front of everyone, same aloof smile on his face.

Chapter Text

They won.

Wai kept glancing at Pran, sending him winks and nudges that he could easily translate into I-told-you-so's because, yeah, Wai had told Pran that using that song would give them a clear win. Pran hadn’t been sure, not even about sharing the sheets with Wai in the first place, but his friend had sounded so enthusiastic about it he couldn’t refuse him.

Part of him also thought, why not? It was just a song he’d written once. The meaning it once had, had no importance anymore. Even though he struggled so many hours, finding the right chords, finding the right words...

In the end, that was also why he agreed on playing it. Now, it was out there, and it had served its purpose. It was just a memory of the past, a fleeting emotion, melodies blown away in the wind.

(Pran was being really poetic about something he was pretending didn’t matter to him.)

After a group hug, Pran and his friends decided to celebrate their victory at a nearby bar. Usually, Pran wasn’t the kind that liked to drink, but today he really felt like he needed it. Hell, he deserved it. Shooting one last look behind him but not finding the one he was unconsciously looking for, they left school premises.

An hour later, maybe two, Pran was getting comfortable against Wai’s shoulder. He was feeling a little tired, and after downing that last beer, the room was spinning just a bit. Luckily, Wai had a really nice and understanding shoulder, so his friend let him enjoy his buzz just like that.

Wai was such a good friend; Pran was so glad to have met him in his first year at university. Where Wai was wild and dapper, Pran was thoughtful and apprehensive – they corrected each other’s wrongs perfectly. There were few others (only one) who complimented Pran’s overthinking mind so well.

The reason why Wai’s name had been the first to come up when looking for a fake crush, was because Pran knew he’d understand. And truthfully, he had. Thankful was an understatement, when it came to his friendship with Wai.

His eyes had been slowly closing, getting more comfortable against Wai’s neck, when his head was tapped. Annoyed, he looked up to meet two brown eyes, before finding the whole Engineering gang standing next to their table. All of a sudden, Pran was completely awake, sitting up in a flash.

It was Korn who wai’ed first and spoke up. “I heard there was a party here,” he said, grinning, “and we were wondering if you’d like some more company?”

Engineering? Wanting to party with Architecture? “And here I thought you’d be a sore loser and ignore my invitation,” Wai crossed his arms mockingly, and Pran’s head whipped to the side so quickly he felt a bold of nausea come up. Swallowing it down, he looked at his friend with big eyes.

Then back to Korn when he answered. “We never say no to a good party,” he shrugged, and that was that. Suddenly, tables and chair were being moved around, and the total people doubled.

Pran’s head was reeling, but not from the alcohol anymore. He had no idea what was going on. Wai, feeling his distress, slung an arm over his shoulder. Pran shoot him a hesitant smile, ignoring the heated stare from those fierce eyes across him.

The party continued like nothing weird was going on. There was a couple of mocks exchanged, followed immediately by felicitations that dissolved the tension, and then it was almost like everyone had been friends forever. Pran was aware his and Pat’s friends did know of each other, but he had never imagined them actually interacting. Architecture and Engineering were known rivals, friendships between them rare; this is why they had never forced the two groups to mingle.

Yet here they were, mingling on their own, like they had been doing it their whole life.

He sipped his beer, thanking Korn when he complimented the song they played, and then Wai started a whole explanation about how Pran wrote it and he was swiftly turned into a blushing mess. Pushing Wai in an attempt to shut him up, Wai only winked at him in reply.

They stared at each other for a while, Wai looking way too pleased with himself, and Pran wondering what the ever-loving fuck was going on.

Until a cough interrupted them. It wasn’t hard to guess who it came from, even though Pran was quite intoxicated, his heart would always recognize anything he did. Pran looked away from Wai, finally meeting Pat’s piercing gaze.

“So,” his ex-fiancé started, the tone itself already making Pran feel light-headed. That, or he really should lay off the alcohol from now on. Going by the slight red under his eyes, Pat had downed a couple of beers as well, and Pran knew how straight-forward he was without, he was even worse when he had actually drunk something. “It’s true then.”

Wai raised a brow, in that cocky, self-assured expression that was asking for a fight only he could. “What?” he asked, rather rudely. Pran knew that Wai didn’t like his ex-fiancé. More than once, Pran caught him speaking bad about Pat, but he always swallowed the words for Pran’s sake. Now that they weren’t engaged anymore, now that Wai was fake-dating Pran pretty much, Pran suddenly felt a little scared for his friends.

“Are you two dating?”

Someone at the other side of the table shocked in his glass, luckily diverting the attention to helping him instead of the glaring match between Wai and Pat. Pran was stunned, stuck between watching the two of them. Eventually, Wai was the first one to give up, shrugging. “What if we are?” He pulled Pran closer, to underline to his point.

Pat didn’t even hesitate. “Prove it.”

“What?” This time, it was Pran who felt like chocking. The rest of the table was still occupied with Mo, who’d apparently spilled his whole drink over himself and the ground. That, or they made it appear they were busy, just to miss whatever was going on between the three of them. Pran very much wished he could also pretend it had nothing to do with him.

What the fuck was Pat doing? They had been on good terms, just the other day, yet suddenly he seemed adamant on looking for a fight. Couldn’t he at least pretend to be nice, let them enjoy their victory? Instead he seemed set on ruining his night.

Pran couldn’t understand the expression on his face, the taunt in his words.

Trying to figure it out, he hadn’t even noticed Wai scooting closer to him. He rolled his eyes, meeting Pran’s for a second, before answering Pat’s dare. “Sure,” he scoffed, right before his lips connected with Pran’s.

Wai had kissed Pran before, though it had just been a quick peck on his cheek. Though both Pran and Wai were affectionate by personality, kissing friends on the lips wasn’t really considered a normal thing. Then again, if they were pretending to date for Pat, then it did kind of make sense.

Which is why, along with Pran’s sudden calmness thanks to his intoxicated brain, he didn’t pull away or make any sudden moves. Instead, he leaned a little to the side, making the kiss look more realistic, while thinking about Pat kissing that girl on stage.

Right in front of Pran’s eyes.

It was just lips touching, nothing special, yet when they separated Pran felt breathless for all the wrong reasons.

When Pran came by, Pat and Wai were standing up. Korn was whistling from the side, and the rest of their friends were acting like their noses were bleeding.

It was like their earlier staring competition hadn’t been interrupted. Pran felt so utterly lost, he couldn’t figure out what was going on. Why was Pat acting like this was such a big deal, when he had his own girlfriend to kiss? Pran knew Pat was protective by nature, especially when it came to his own friends and items – one of the things that had made Pran fall in love with him in the first place, one of the things that had broken his heart too many times – but this was ridiculous. There was nothing going on here!

Finally, Pat let go of Wai’s gaze, instead focusing on Pran. “Come with me,” he said, sounding like an order and a plea at the same time. For a second, Pran considered it, until his brain started making sense again.

He wasn’t the same person as before anymore, he didn’t have anything to talk about with Pat. Not about this. He shook his head, slumping back into his seat, closer to Wai who also finally sat down.

Pat was left as the only one standing. He looked around, searching for anyone to side with him, but no one said anything. Then, scoffing, he pushed his chair out of the way before walking away on his own. Pran followed him out of the corner of his eye, saw him shaking his head and cursing.

Before he got any crazy ideas, he looked away. Pran didn’t owe Pat anything, just like Pat didn’t own Pran anything anymore.

“What was that about,” Wai muttered under his breath, still loud enough for the whole table to hear. There were some replies, too muted over his own thoughts to make out. He didn’t have an answer either.

The party continued soon, though a little quieter without Pat’s presence, and it took Pran’s slow mind at least half an hour to realize Korn was also missing from the table.

At least Pat wasn’t alone then. Somehow, that made Pran finally able to move on. Deciding to lay off the alcohol, he ordered a coke, and laughed at Chang’s story about his failed project.

The words ‘Come with me’ ended up haunting Pran, but not because of the incident at the bar. The day after Pat walked out on them in the bar, Pat walked into him in his dorm’s hallway. Literally, as well, because he had been looking down on his phone, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to attend this event and finish his own project at the same time. Maybe he should just time-travel to the future and let himself be cloned, because that was looking more likely than actually being able to finish the project with a passing grade at this point.

At least, walking into a human body wasn’t as bad as walking into an actual wall – though with Pat’s tendency to work out (Pat kept insisting it was just how his body was, but when Pran looked between him and his father, he seriously doubted that fact) – it wasn’t far off. Pat’s chest was rock-hard and distracting enough for Pran to still for just a second instead of running away.

Pat saw it as an opportunity. “Come with me,” he said, again, tone completely different as he grabbed Pran’s free hand. Pran, panicked on the inside, looked between his own door, Pat’s hand on his and his phone, and then abruptly pulled his hand away.

Pretending nothing was amiss, he shook his head. “I don’t have time for your games right now, Pat, I have a project to finish.” Giving Pat no time to react, he walked into his own dorm and shut the door behind him.

“What the hell is he doing here?” he whispered to himself, leaning against the closed door trying to calm himself. He’d figured this place was safe, that there was no way Pat would come (back) here, yet here they were. Ignoring the dramatics of his own actions, Pran put one ear against the wood and listened until he could hear footsteps walk awat, followed by a closed door. Sighing, he slumped against the ground.

Seeing Pat right then, he had a sudden bout of fear pass through him. Up until now, he’d been able to forget what happened the night before, letting bygones be bygones and blaming it on the alcohol. He’d even deluded himself that nothing special, nothing weird, had passed.

Yet here Pat was saying exactly the same thing, going out of his way to reach out to Pran, and Pran simply… couldn’t handle it.

He wasn’t a coward by nature, nor did he fear Pat or anything. He just decided he needed some time and space. Pat probably wanted to ask when him and Wai had gotten together, and to tell the truth, they’d never gotten up to thinking of a backstory for that anyway so… He used it as an excuse to justify avoiding Pat at all costs, to cover up the real one.

It wasn’t the first time, nor the last time he saw Pat literally appear out of nothing to approach him. There was a couple of days later in the morning, where he saw Pat waiting outside his door. Pran texted Wai he’d be late, knowing Pat would be forced to leave soon for his own class, and then waited until Pat eventually gave in. Usually, he wasn’t one for missing classes, but sometimes sacrificed needed to be made.

Midday the next day, Pat suddenly stood there with Korn and his tray, looking like a puppy asking to sit with them. Pran had pretended he wasn’t hungry, giving his seat next to Wai to Korn, and then bolted to the toilet.

He saw Pat turn to him, just for a second, opening his mouth and – he’d almost heard the “Come with me,” before he started humming to himself.

Man, how he was mourning the loss of his headphones.

It didn’t stop. The whole week, Pat approached Pran several times. Every time, Pran made some kind of excuse not to follow him. Pretending he had no time to talk. Spoke to his other friends, like he didn’t notice Pat’s presence.

He did. He always did.

Why was he so insistent, anyway, couldn’t he get a hint by now? It was making Pran doubt, making him wonder why he was so stubborn. Back when they were fiancés, at least Pat had ignored him outside of lunch and their public appearances. Pat as a friend was so much clingier, so much worse.

And it was everything that Pran had once wanted, but never gotten. This wasn’t supposed to be how they were, not anymore!

Of course, there was one time where Pran couldn’t avoid Pat, however much he wanted to.

Unusually, they arrived after Pat’s family. Most of the time, his parents were set being well on time, but today they had a prior engagement with a business partner. They suggested for Pran to go ahead first, but doing so would’ve made him feel like a sheep in the lion’s den – without Pat’s or his parents’ presence by his side – so he made up an excuse that he had much schoolwork – which wasn’t a lie – so that he could go together with them.

Ming, as well as his wife, noticed them as soon as they entered. Pran wasn’t even sure what the event they were attending exactly was today, a bit out of character for him, but he simply couldn’t be bothered. He wai’ed towards his… ex-parents in law, greeting them politely. Not even a second later, he could feel the familiar heat of Pat at his side.

He greeted his ex-fiancé as well, and was mirrored by Pat, playing the roles they had in public.

Which reminded Pran they still hadn’t confronted their parents about the abolishment of their engagement. At first, Pran had agreed with waiting because he too was a little scared, if he were honest. Wouldn’t it be better to rip off the bandage quickly and cleanly?

If they were in public, neither parents would make a big deal out of it – they cared too much about their images for that.

And in itself, wouldn’t that answer the question Pran was so scared to confront? It would resolve all of his worries in one go.

That thought, as well as the insistent stare Pat was giving him, gave Pran finally the courage to break the silence between them. “Pat,” he said his name first, trying to figure out the water between them.

The fake-smile fading, instead being replaced by something deeper, Pat whispered back. “You’re talking to me now?”

Well, it was to be expected that Pat would’ve noticed Pran ignoring him. Pran could hear the pout, but couldn’t read it on his face. They were too good at pretending sometimes. He decided to ignore the jab and get directly to the point.

“About our engagement…” he started in a whisper.

“So now you want to talk about it?” Pat’s voice shot in height, making their parents break conversation to look over to them for a second. Pran smiled, waving them away, before shooting a glare at Pat. He too, was too good at pretending. Those words released a memory from not so long ago, yet it felt like a lifetime.

Pran had said he didn’t want to talk about their engagement. Pat had retorted they didn’t talk about anything else. “Of course, what else do we have to talk about?” Pran answered, suddenly understanding a thing he never wanted to know. He really didn’t want to talk about Wai and their fake-relationship.

“Pran,” Pat looked taken aback for a second. He turned away from Pran, and for a second Pran felt his stomach drop. Pat had taken a step closer to their parents, on the point of addressing then. He looked almost manic, as if he was about to do something crazy, and Pran quickly followed him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

Instead of dropping a bomb, Pat was oddly calm as he interrupted their parent’s talk. “Could you excuse us for a second?” he asked, “I need to ask Pran something.”

The way his mom’s expression softened when she looked at them and nodded. Like her son-in-law couldn’t do anything wrong. If only she knew. “Of course, sweety,” she allowed them.

“Be back soon, though,” Ming warned them, before going back to their own conversation.

Pat reversed their grip, this time hard enough Pran couldn’t escape, and felt himself be dragged away by Pat.

No.

No. No. No! If Pat got him alone, he might ask things Pran couldn’t answer! He needed the safety of the public, of his parents when things went wrong! But he wasn’t strong enough, refused to make a scene, so all he could do was follow Pat into the glass elevator.

As if on a mission, Pat swiped a card that appeared out of his suit’s pocket, pushing the highest number on the skyscraper. “What are you doing?” Pran asked, confused and panicked.

“That should be my question,” Pat said, before turning back towards him. “You avoid me this long, and now you want to talk about our engagement? Isn’t that a little unfair?”

“Is it?” Pran retorted, unable to keep the words to himself, “Isn’t that exactly how you’ve always acted before?”

He didn’t know where he got the sudden drive from, but something had been bubbling inside him for so long, and it was very much on the edge of exploding. “What do you mean?” Pat asked.

And really, Pat asked for it, so Pran would answer! “Ever since you kicked me out of your place when uni started, you’ve avoided me any chance you got. You wouldn’t talk to me about anything except your family, and wouldn’t even say hi to me in class!” Pran had known, after the confrontation at Pat’s penthouse, things were bad. But at that point, he had hope he could fix it. He had thoughts that maybe it was his fault, maybe he’d been too clingy, and Pat just needed space and time. However, all time had given him was fight after fight!

And now! Now that he finally accepted the truth that had been right in front of him! Now that he was willing to let Pat go and let himself go, even if it would disappoint their parents… Now—

“From meeting and talking everyday like normal friends, suddenly everything was stilted and forced! You know how bad I felt? How lonely it was? I thought I’d done something wrong! Every time I tried to reach out and ask what’s going on, you shut me out!”

Eventually, Pran had just went along with it. He’d lived through Pat pulling back out of their friendship, putting that wall between them, and he’d just handed him the bricks.

“I-“ Pat wanted to interrupt him, probably correct Pran, but he wasn’t done yet!

“And when I’m finally willing to accept it, when I finally move on and give you that freedom you kept nagging about, you suddenly turn around and start following me like some lost puppy! Can you imagine how confused I was? You left me alone for so long, why can’t I have a moment for myself, huh?” He was out of breath, or heaving, Pran wasn’t sure anymore.

Pat blinked, and Pran swore that he imagined that tear. The glass elevator wasn’t properly lit up, the city’s lights were probably playing with his sight.

“I… I did that?”  

“Yes!” Pran shouted out. Finally, he’d said what had been on his mind for so long!

“Oh,” Pat had no answer for him. Not that any answer would’ve pleased Pran anyway. He leaned against the elevator’s doors, before bashing the back of his head against the wall. Once, twice—

“What the- “before Pran could properly stop Pat, ask him what the hell he was doing, the lights of the lift promptly shut off. He could feel it stop moving, as well, and then he saw Pat fall through his knees to sit on the ground.

Where he’d been standing just a second ago, the emergency button was blinking. In his idiocy, Pat had pressed the button. Wanting nothing more than to ask him what he’d done, he looked down, but then Pran saw it. 

The city lights hadn’t been playing tricks on him. In fact, they had been preventing him from properly seeing.

Pat’s eyes were red, and he looked to be on the verge of crying.

Chapter Text

If Pat were to visualize it, it would be like this. All this time, he had been walking along a beautiful path. On his right, there was a meadow with flowers, on his left, a huge forest with tall trees reaching into the sky. The path always went straight, the scenery never changing. He longed to go to the right, to the clear horizons that were calling out to him, but he also longed to go left, to the unknown that was tempting, but scary to explore. Because he never caught a glimpse of what was on the left, to the right he had gone.

Strayed off the carefully created path, trampling over perfectly fine flowers in search of his freedom. But as he had been walking, all this time, all the horizon showed him were more flowers to be trampled on. Still, he followed it, obsessed with this so-called freedom, not seeing the damage he left behind him.

Now, he had finally arrived at the end of his horizon. Finally ended on the bottom of the grassy slope – and he was stuck in the deep. There was no more horizon for him to explore, and only destruction in his wake.

It’s when he realized that he should’ve gone to the left; to the dark and unknown trees that spoke of mysteries and hidden secrets. Perhaps even the secrets hidden in his own heart. He had a taste of the truth in his own mind, but it was so far away, and he felt so deep.

An all-time low.

He wasn’t really the creative kind, though, nor the dreamy kid next-door kind of guy – no, that was someone else’s role – and yet… the feeling lingered. It stung. So he portrayed the feeling as something practical, to understand the problem at hand.

He had never cared about trampling the flower before, had not spared it a spare thought. Now he wasn’t even able to keep himself standing down on them, feeling completely undone at hearing the ravage he’d done in his best friend’s life.

Not just his friend, his fiancé, the one he liked much more than just a friend.

(He finally realized.)

“Isn’t that exactly how you’ve always acted before?” The grass had seemed so much greener at the other side.

“I… I did that?” 

“Yes!” Pran shouted out.

“Oh,” he felt a little light-headed suddenly, seeking to balance himself by leaning backward. The world was spinning, and it looked blurry, like something was hurting his eyesight.

Not something. Not hurting. Tears, threatening to spill down. Pat’s father always told him crying was wasted energy. He hit the back of his head against the wall, in a failed attempt at stopping them.

He could not cry. He was supposed to be the strong one!

As he fell down, he couldn’t stop all of them. One carved its way across his cheeks, like realization carved cold traces in his heart. Yet this was nothing in comparison to what he’d done to Pran. He meant well, he thought it was the rightful path, though now… He’d been stuck in egoism.

“I’m sorry,” the apology felt silly and out of place. That was the only thing he could come up with? Pat contemplated standing up again, but felt too weak, slumping more against the wall. The lift had stopped moving. When had it stopped moving?

He could feel the pants of his suit strain his movement, feel the pockets filled threatening to spill out. The necktie was suffocating him. Truly, he hated dressing up so much.

Pran was suddenly in front of him, crouching, though Pat hadn’t even noticed him coming. He shook his head, blinked rapidly, tried to wipe the one that’d escaped his grasp away before Pran saw.

Pran was quicker. He caught it with his thumb. They both watched it fall down. As expected, Pran sighed, but it wasn’t one out of frustration or irritation. It was a sigh filled with…

With…

“It’s fine,” Pran whispered towards their hands, and something inside Pat told him it wasn’t about the apology. His eyes twinkled, big but accepting, revealing the real meaning of Pran’s word. It’s okay to cry.

Two arms were hugging him, pulling him closer to a warm body that smelled like home. Pat hid his face in Pran’s shoulder, unable to stop the tears, and wondered why he’d ever tried to hide them from Pran anyway.

Why he had acted so mean to him. Why he was so stupid and stuck in his own head looking for something, when everything had been next to him all this time.

It had taken him literal heartbreak to realize. Maybe that was why he was crying. For what he’d done. For what he’d lost. For the hope he was scared to lose, or to have imagined.

He’d been so stubborn, wanting to talk to Pran, wanting to make it right and give him…—but it had never been as easy as just making it right. Not just an apology and it was forgiven and forgotten. He just… hadn’t seen it. Too obsessed in his own loneliness and epiphanies.

Pat wasn’t sure how long they were seated there. It must’ve not been long, because the lift still wasn’t moving when Pran spoke up. What a shitty elevator. “You know, I should be the one being comforted, not you.”

Pran was right. Once again, Pat didn’t have the right words to answer. Once again, he trampled on the pretty flower. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, it’s all fine,” Pran leaned back, forcing Pat to do the same and look at him. Pran’s hands were steady and comforting on his shoulders, but they also were restricting and terrifying. “Are you okay?”

Now he could see, Pran had been crying as well. Worse, his whole face was red, his nose runny, and Pat once again hadn’t even noticed. Stuck in his own well, like a frog trying to catch a glimpse of the world outside but failing. “Are you?” he tried to make up.

In response, Pran crunched his nose as he stood. Several tears fell as he did so, and some sudden strength made Pat follow them up so that he stood as well. “I’ve never seen you crying like this before,” Pran observed instead of answering. There was uncertain space between them now, after they had shared their thoughts and feelings.

For a second, Pat worried he’d been wrong to give in – caught glimpses of his father’s disapproval reflecting in Pran’s eyes (he saw himself), – but then Pran continued with; “you look ugly when crying,” and it made Pat choke on a laugh. Pran was making jokes about the tears, told him it was fine, that it was okay to feel, and to show, when he was together with Pran. The hesitant smile made any similarities disappear.

“Nothing else was ever important enough to cry about.” The way Pran looked at him made Pat realize what exactly he’d said, but he wouldn’t take it back now. “You want to know something stupid?” Pat started, going to hell with it, “these past days without you at my side, I felt so depressingly lonely the whole time. And now that I know that I did the same thing to you all these years – I feel like such an asshole.”

“Damnit, Pat, don’t say that about yourself. It’s fine—“

“It really isn’t, Pran. You can be honest with me, like you were just now. I deserve it,” he had enough of pretence, of pleasantries, between the two of them. He always had.

Maybe that was what the forest had been promising him. “Just because I felt wronged, I treated you and our engagement like it was something expendable. I only thought about my own side.  While both you and—while you are very important to me.” Pat had realized, it wasn’t just Pran’s friendship that he longed for. Nor even his partnership. He had always wondered why it felt so wrong between the two of them, why it made him feel uncomfortable. He’d blamed it on the engagement, told himself that friendship would fix it.

Pat had taken a step closer to Pran, trying to get his point across, but Pran had backed up against the glass wall. Pat looked between the dark cityscape and Pran’s face – and truly, the green horizons had nothing on him.

“Then…” Pran swallowed, Pat’s gaze fell to the movement, and then followed it up to his lips. “If we’re not engaged, do you want to be friends?”

However, friendship had felt even more wrong.

It was the bitter feeling of jealousy that taught him the truth. Made him act stupidly impulsive.

“No,” he whispered against Pran’s lips, before capturing them with his own.

They were soft and warm, and tasted just a little like salt. Pat was sure he wasn’t off much better. Nobody really wanted their first kiss to taste like salted tears and runny noses – yet Pat didn’t care. He finally understood what he really wanted, after all those years.

It was too quick. Came and went like lightning. Pat stood, forehead against Pran’s, hoping for a sign. Yet all the world did was start moving up again.

And Pran.

Pran was kissing back, hard, like he’d wanted the same. Alarm bells should be going off inside of Pat’s head. After all, he was kissing someone taken. Someone he couldn’t have. But Pran was kissing back with all the vigor like Pat hadn’t been the only one desperate for it.

It felt amazing and horrendous at the same time. How had they arrived at this? Pat couldn’t make sense of it in his head anymore. All he had wanted was to find a reason to talk to Pran, to make him stop avoiding him. He’d been running around with the earphones in his pocket for days, trying and failing to find an opportunity to give it back. Pat had even asked one of his maids to embroider something in a fabric case he’d bought, so that Pran could hang it around his neck and never lose it—

They separated. Maybe it was because Pat was distracted, having grown tense at his own whirlwind of feelings. Maybe it was Pran, who started crying even harder. This time, Pat wanted to be the one to catch his tears, tell him it was okay, but Pran backed off.

The elevator bell rang, announcing they arrived at their destination. Not that they were going anywhere specific anyway. Just up, up, up. High in the sky.

In between one blink and the other, Pran escaped out of the elevator doors. Finally catching his own breath after the kiss, Pat didn’t hesitate a second to chase him. “Wait, stop!” he yelled, at Pran who was running across the impossibly long hallway towards the rooftop. He wasn’t listening.

“Please,” Pat begged, sprinting even harder. Pran was the quicker one between the two of them, a fact they had discovered after countless of chases and competitions on who could be the first. Pat always pouted, and Pran would always grin at him when he won. That always made the loss worth it.

This time, it wasn’t a loss Pat could afford, so he decided to play dirty. Something he knew would make Pran react, even if it was in annoyance.

 “Wifey!”

Pran stumbled over nothing, falling straight with his face towards the floor. Pat was just in time to catch his fall. That night, he’d noticed the reaction Pran had had when he was teasing him. Hell, back in the prime days of their engagement, their high school friends would call Pran Pat’s wifey all the time. Pran would scold them, saying he disliked the term, and that it was old-schooled. We’re both husbands, he would proudly correct them, Pat standing at his side.

Pat had always found it cute. He’d always kept the nickname in mind, for one day to tease Pran, but it had so much more meaning now. Now that he finally understood why Pran answered as he did.

Maybe it was true when they said that exercise got your brain working – at least, it seemed to do the trick for Pat.

“I’m sorry for calling you that, but… Can you listen to me now?” He told Pran, who he was holding in his arms on the highest floor of one of the fanciest hotels in Bangkok. Pran sagged, closing his eyes and turning away his head. He didn’t want to answer, Pat guessed.

That’s fine, he had many things to say himself. He could fill up the silence, speak for two even.

“I need you to listen to me, okay?” he started, “Actually, I just need you, here, and if you don’t want to listen that’s fine as well. However, if you’ve ever needed me to listen to you, if you’ve ever needed me, there, then please hear my words and give me your reply – it doesn’t have to be today, or tomorrow, or this year, but just—“

A hand was placed on his mouth. Pran was shushing him, his beautiful eyes blinking up at him and seeing him. Instinctively, Pat knew he must’ve said something right, because Pran nodded once.

His phone buzzed, Pat barely even noticing it. He cursed, because Pran cringed at the sound, and suddenly he wished he’d put it on mute.  It did give him an idea.

“I have a confession to make,” Pran raised a brow, “I am not dating that girl anymore. Or, I guess in some way, I never really dated that girl at all.” It made so much more sense, why Pat hadn’t really been hurt by her words and by their separation. Why playing that song had been more exhilarating than kissing her. Hell, now it was clearer than ever, as kissing Pran couldn’t compare to anything he’d ever done before. “She approached me out of a bet, can you believe that? When she told me about the bribes, I somehow wasn’t even surprised or hurt,” he laughed a dry laugh, “all I thought about was how blind I had been. Guess it was never her I had feelings for.”

(When you find it more endearing than irritating that your partner bribes the girls who flirt with you… Yeah, that sure got the cogwheels in his brain ticking.)

Pran opened his mouth, but this time it was Pat’s turn to shush it with his hands. “I thought you were going to listen?”

Pran’s eyes told him I thought you wanted an answer?

Not yet, baby. Pat tried to show him with his own.

“I felt sick after hearing that song. I only realized why when Wai kissed you.”

Pran harshly bit his hand, struggling to get lose out of Pat’s grip. Finally, he let him go, watching as Pran crawled and eventually stood up in front of the door. He seemed to be hesitating, hand lingering on the knob. Pat stood crouched on his heels, Pran turning around to meet him, their eyes only seeing the other.

“That song, it’s for me, right? Not for Wai?” Pat finally asked for a reply, words feeling braver than he was feeling. His heart was beating so fast, it might escape his chest and run away anytime soon. Pat would let it, as well, as long as its destination was Pran.

“What bullshit are you spewing?” Pran’s voice sounded angry, but Pat knew what was really hidden beneath it. Panic. “It’s just a song, there’s nothing special about it.”

“It’s very special to me,” Pat breathed, truthfully. He walked up to Pran, leaving little space between them. They didn’t move, motionless, the automatic lights of the hallway turning off so that darkness was once again the only thing surrounding them.

Still, Pat could imagine Pran’s face perfectly, so much that he knew the expression it would be twisted into.

“Stop this Pat, you can’t do this to me,” but the words were powerless, sounded far away. Pran’s lips were trembling, just like his voice which had barely been above a whisper.

Pat didn’t want to hear that hurt tone, didn’t want to bring more pain to the boy he liked – loved? – but he needed to say this right now, or the moment might never come. He had to be braver than ever.

“Can you believe me when I say that I understand the meaning between the lines? I know I am late, so so so late, but I’ve also realized,” Pat took Pran’s hand off the doorknob, intending to never let it go, “That you’re someone I really can’t live without.”

There was no reply. Really, Pat hadn’t expected much anyway. Now more than ever he was discovering what it was like to confront the things in front of him. Accepting the things as they came, and finally embracing everything about it. “You’re even more special to me.”

Then there were no words anymore. Pat had confessed all that was on his chest. He could feel more than see Pran nearing him. He could taste the air and his smell. He could feel the warmth.

They were so close, and something seemed about to happen, one of the two would finally answer, yet…

All that happened was quick shuffling that separated them, followed by silence between Pat and Pran as they heard footsteps approach. It seemed they had run a long way, because it took a scaringly long time for them to grow louder. Catching the other’s eyes, Pat wondered if they should make another run for it. Finally turn that doorknob leading to the rooftop.

However, voices calling their name resounded in the hallway before either could move. “Pat!” “Pran!” “Pat.” “Pran” “”Pat, Pran, sweeties are you here?” The last one was Pat’s mother, the sweetest and most patient one out of all four. The sound of it made Pat relax. It was just their parents.

Then he stiffened again.

It was just their parents.

His parents were here, looking for them.

Had they been gone for such a long time?

“There you are!” Dissaya was the first one to see them, but it was her husband who put in a sprint to reach them first. Pat and Pat were standing in front of the exit, a thousand meters above the ground, centimeters apart and looking like absolute wrecks. There was no way to pretend that nothing had happened.

Pat had talked so much truth today, the ability to come up with an excuse forgotten.

“What’s going on? Are you two alright?” His pa’s voice clearly rang over the hallway, even though he was the furthest away. He sounded slightly out of breath, as well.

“We’re fine,” Pat managed to answer, because at least that was true. Dissaya looked between the two boys, a frown slowly appearing on her face. “What are you doing here?” he tried to feign innocence, anyway.

His ma shook her head. “You’ve been away for half an hour, and then we heard someone pushed the emergency button on the elevator. We were worried.”

Pran was quick to answer that, standing up straight and wai’ing in apology to his mother. Pat’s ma always gushed on how much of a model child Pran was, how glad she was he was his son-in-law. Pat would cling to her, wanting that praise and attention for himself. Now, he found himself looking at Pran the same way. “We’re sorry for worrying you,” Pran apologized, “Pat wanted to ask about a project at school to me, but then—“

“Pran’s been working day in day out on school assignments,” Pat swiftly sprung in. Back when they were young, they made excuses to hang out together and skip events all the time, they got pretty good at feeling the other out. “I saw he was tired and suggested to take a walk and enjoy the view.”

That could explain why Pran was still wiping away the tears in his eyes. Pat himself was red as well, though he decided to just leave his parents guessing for that reason. Maybe it would be better if they assumed the wrong things, anyway. After all, Pran’s hair looked pretty messed up – something likely done by human hands.

Dissaya looked between them, the frown turning into something softer when it concerned her child’s health and education. “You should’ve told us,” she scolded him, lovingly.

He smiled tensely at her. Pat knew that even if Pran had told them, she would’ve still told him to go. All their parents would’ve, to set on keeping up appearances. “I’m sorry,” he still said.

“Come on,” Ming spoke up again, “let’s go back downstairs. Pat, you drive Pran home and go rest yourself, we’ll manage it here.”

Amazed at the courtesy of his father, Pat dumbly nodded at his words. Taking Pran’s hand in his and ignoring their parents – they should be used to this by now, anyway – he pulled them away from the door. For a second, they shared a look, before returning to reality.

The hallway was left behind in darkness, a pair of unnoticed AirPods fallen and lost next to an unopened door.

Chapter Text

Once, on a late and exhausting night, Pran had been unable to come up with the right words to say. Though this was no exceptional occurrence by any means, it was one that preceded a big change in his life. That silent night, instead of speaking what was on his mind, he made a mental list of things that Pat could never hear.

The Pat standing in front of him, quieter than ever, knew all the things that Pran had wished him to never know.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Actually, that was a big lie. Pran knew exactly how he was feeling about that, and it wasn’t pleasant. All the secrets he had locked inside of his heart, had come to light, and of course it had been the one person that should never realize that found out.

And how. But how?

Their parents were silently conversing on the elevator ride back down, whispering and murmuring about things Pran couldn’t be bothered by now, or ever. He nodded along, but his mind was wandering, and his eyes sought to find something – stealing short glances at Pat who was equally silent and behaved as he listened to his own parents. Playing his role, making Pran’s heart beat violently, and his brain heavy in his skull; nothing new, there.

When the elevator announced their arrival and the doors opened, Pran felt for a second like he could breathe. Then, the ability was stolen again, as his arm was linked with Pat’s, and they walked the opposite direction of their parents.

His stomach twisted around every step they took. It could’ve been of nausea, it could’ve been of excitement, it could’ve been of fear – all these emotions felt too similar for Pran’s comfort. At least, when Pat let Pran go to open the door, a tinge of nostalgia hit him, and that’s what made him able to sit down calmly and close his seatbelt, without losing too much face because his hands were shaking.

“Are you alright?” Pat asked, after buckling himself in and starting the engine. It wasn’t his own car, or at least not one that Pran recognized. He deemed Pat no answer, since he had none himself.

Pat knew everything on the list. How long had he known? What if it had been all along? If he had always known, then didn’t that change everything between them for the worst? It would explain the way he acted, their conversations, these past two years—

Yet, it wouldn’t explain his latest actions and words. Wouldn’t explain the tears he’d tried so hard to hide. Wouldn’t explain that confession, the jealousy, the things he said that made Pran’s head swim in cotton because those were words that Pat only whispered to him in his most impossible dreams.

And this was reality, not a dream, is what his sick stomach told him every breathe that stuttered through his lungs.

“You want to go home?” Pat tried again, as the car started moving. When Pran nodded, he shot him a slight smile, and repeated his earlier words in a confirmation, as if convincing himself as much as Pran. “Let’s go home.”

They were driving for a while before Pran found his voice again. Pat had been humming a familiar tune that’d made it harder to think, but underlined what he said earlier. It felt like hours before Pran cleared his throat, but the clock mocked him it’d only been a mere 10 minutes.

“Please stop,” he pleaded.

“Eh?” Pat sounded confused.

Pran cleared his throat again, sitting up straight and trying hard not to register the puppy eyes directed his way. “Eyes on the road in front of you,” he failed, followed by; “stop humming.”

“Why can’t I?” Pran wasn’t sure to which of the two he was replying, but if he had to answer, it was to both anyway. Because it was giving him hope he couldn’t afford to have. Pat was being so mean, comforting him with the list, giving him the answers he always wished to hear. Soon, the bubble would burst, just like it had before.

Pat wasn’t pleased with his silence. “Please tell me what you’re thinking – I can’t understand you if you say nothing. You’re killing me here,” he sighed. Unable to stop himself, Pran scoffed out loud. Pat understood him very well, it seemed, so he should just continue to do so like before.

“What if I don’t want you to understand me?”

“Then I won’t give up,” Pat looked back to the road. “I’ll keep asking you until you give me an answer, even if it takes the rest of my life – I’ll figure it out one day, I’m sure.”

Pran leaned against the window, feeling the hum of the engine and the tires on the road through the slight vibrations. It gave him a funny feeling in his ears, which distracted him a little from the one in his stomach. He was looking outside at the road, but his mind didn’t really register the way.

“If I told you that’s exactly what I don’t want, what would you do then?” His voice sounded deep and rumbling, like this.

Pat didn’t even have to think about it for a second. “Worry about why. Worry if I lost you after all.”

There he went again, saying things that was giving Pran hope. Things that scared him endlessly. If he were honest with his heart, he was overjoyed knowing that Pat knew, that Pat reciprocated. That song, it had been everything to Pran when he wrote it. Before they had their first fight, he had been full of overly romantic plans about one day, confessing while playing it. It would be on the roof of their old high-school building, after graduation, Pran had even sent him a text…

A text that got ghosted, so Pran travelled all the way to Pat’s penthouse – planning to do it there…

To put it lightly, the night hadn’t ended in a confession at all. So that song had turned into heartbreak instead. Maybe that’s why he was feeling so conflicted about it all the time.

Pat saying the song was special, but Pran was even more special to him, it brought back that old desire.

Pran decided to do what he was best at, and trample all over his own heart. “Just because you were loved once, doesn’t mean you’re still loved.”

There, he said it. He admitted the song was indeed for Pat – of course it was! – and he’d ended it as quickly. Take that, heart!

The gasp by Pat that followed the words had no meaning to Pran – he pretended.

“Maybe not,” Pat whispered, sounding weird. The motor stilled, and Pran realized they were home. Actually home.

Pran hadn’t been here since his family moved out. Why had Pat brought him here? “But I want to believe that what once was, can be again.” Without willing to, Pran turned towards Pat, but Pat was looking in front of him, seeing the two houses linked together. It looked like not a day had passed since they left it behind.  A testimony of their joined family and their joined future. He wondered, if it looked like it had actually aged since then, if it would make his earlier words more believable.

Because of course it was a lie. However much Pran had tried to move on from Pat, the latter had made it physically impossible. Pran hated his own heart, how it beat for someone so ignorant and disgusting as Pat.

He averted his eyes towards the house. On the other hand, Pat was also attentive and understanding, caring and extremely sweet – not only towards Pran, but to everyone. Pran wanted nothing more than to be on the receiving end of that, always, more than everyone else.

If Pat was jealous over Pran sharing their song, then Pran was jealous over Pat sharing his loving care. Quite selfish, he knew.

“You sound like a hopeless romantic,” Pran choked out, finding comfort in insulting Pat.

“Isn’t that usually your role?” Pat shot back, corner of his mouth quirked up. Pran rolled his eyes. “If it pleases you, I don’t mind being a hopeless romantic for you. I guess I kind of already am.”

Pran did this utter best not to choke on those words, but Pat saw some kind of reaction anyway, because the minx smirked and continued. “Fine, I’ll show you how I flirt. I’ll go after you and sweep you off your feet.”

And fuck, weren’t that just the most exciting and perfect words to Pran. He met the fierce eyes of his ex-fiancé, biting his lip in an attempt to stop himself from replying. But Pat’s expression was so taunting, so inviting, Pran wanted nothing more than to retort to this stupid bet.

It must be known, Pran was absurdly weak when it came to Pat. Flirting and being flirted to was a childhood dream he never got to try – and the opportunity was right in front of him, with the boy he’d had a flaming crush on forever.

It didn’t matter if they were childhood friends, or fiancés, or whatever they were right then. Like this, they were just Pat and Pran, flirting because they had a point to make.

If the point would allow Pat to realize he didn’t like Pran that way after all, then fine, Pran would break it off cleanly then.

However, he might be a masochist, but he couldn’t let an opportunity like this fly away. He was used to walking over his own heart anyway. And, man, if he could actually believe Pat’s feelings were real, and bring him down to his level…

He didn’t dare to dream yet, but, well…

“Game on,” he decided, “I’ll make you get down on your knees declaring your love for me.”

Pat was ready and enthusiastic to retort. “Isn’t that only right, fiancé?” He taunted, making Pran’s heart skip a beat. He’d never really hoped for it, a proper marriage proposal, but now, he could imagine it. “Don’t worry, I’ll recapture your heart in no time.”

If he went on like this, the words might become true too quickly. Pran had to pretend, to stop himself a little longer. “You’re all talk,” he whispered to gritted teeth, finding out Pat had been leaning towards him. Space, he needed space, quickly. “Make it happen first and you can brag later.”

The smile that appeared on Pat’s face wasn’t teasing in the slightest. It looked genuinely happy. “Whoever asks first, loses.”

Pran started a new list that night, of things that Pat shouldn’t hear – or at least, not immediately. The first thing he placed on that list, got decided in that moment.

1. Pat already recaptured his heart the moment they arrived home.

As in sync, both held out their hands, bumping fists like they were 12-year-olds again. “Deal,” they agreed.

2. Pran already lost this specific dare, years and years before they made it. During lunch with Pat’s parents, while Pat had gone to the toilet. He was sitting at their kitchen table, legs folded underneath him in a way his own parents would never allow, and mouth full of rice. A kid, asking parents for their son’s hand in marriage, barely old enough to make his own decisions.
3. Pat wasn’t slick, however much he believed he was.

It said something that Pran didn’t even have to look up to know what was happening when, all of a sudden, chairs were being moved around and conversations stilted around him. He could hear Wai make place to his right, moved his own chair very subtly to the left, and concentrated on pretending he wasn’t bothered in the slightest when Pat sat down next to him, leaned right into his space and said “I saw there was space at this table, do you mind me eating lunch with all of you?”

At least he was trying to be subtle, saying all of you, when the whole table knew he meant Pran. Especially after the stunt he pulled in class earlier, sending a wink to the professor when the projector showed a huge picture of cute dimples.

“You’ve already sat down,” Pran pointed out, leaning over and taking a second container out of his backpack. Pat grinned at him, none the wiser and without a slice of embarrassment.

It was the same grin Pran had received a picture of that morning, on his phone, as a good morning text which he’d replied with a picture of his own, and a nice middle finger to top it off.

The stilted conversation continued as a second chair joined their table, Korn being even less subtle about it than Pat, taking a seat opposite Wai. That distracted Wai enough to stop glaring at Pat – Pran had kind of explained to him what happened. Both were still very on edge next to each other, with Wai being suspicious of Pat and Pat very loudly complaining at any given moment that Wai got to kiss Pran before Pat had. Which, that was his own fault really, so he could just suck it up.

Before all of this started, Pran already admitted that he wasn’t really dating Wai, that point thus wouldn’t make the list, but the next one would.

He should feel embarrassed that Pat was so openly declaring they had kissed, all the time, to everyone, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care – enjoying it too much. Especially when he got to be the one to point it out, to cheer on his fiancé during rugby practice, or when he drove up to him with his motorcycle, raising a brow as he threw over the second helmet.

Wearing a tight leather jacket was only normal, really, and extra rewarding when he got to see Pat stumble over nothing.

He slid the contained over to Pat. “My cook made too much and forced me to take it to school, since she knows you like curry.”

4. Pran had stayed up late yesterday making that curry, while also simultaneously answering all of Pat’s never-ending texts. He loved it. Both the text and the cooking, by the way.

Pat pretended he didn’t know the exact taste of Dissaya’s famous curry, less spicy to adjust to certain tastebuds, and pretty much attacked the lunch box. Not like Pran’s mom used to cook this dish for them every week as kids, when Pat used to sleep over at Pran’s.

“I’ll pick you up after class, then?” Pat asked, though he didn’t need to hear an answer to know it. He kept looking at the bottom of the lunchbox, the post-it note Pran had rewritten a thousand times; each pick-up line worse and better than the last.

Pran pretended to think about it for a while, nonetheless, ignoring all the eyerolls their friends were giving them. It had been less than a week, yet everyone seemed already sick of their flirting. Good. That made Pran enjoy it even more. “I need to go to my dorm first, pick up my guitar. Oh, and go to the store to buy new earphones, I’ll need them.”

“Did you lose your earphones again?” someone at the table asked, interrupting their little world.

“I lost them,” Pat was quicker to answer than Pran, and…. Wait what?

“Why do you have my earphones?” Pran asked, because when did this happen? Pat blinked innocently, scratching his ear in a fashion that was surprisingly familiar because Pran knew he himself did it all the time as well when unsure what to answer. Eventually, Pat made up his mind. “I found them at the lost and found here at uni, when looking for my keys, and wanted to give them back to you when…”

“When?” Pran prompted, because it was unlike Pat to stop his words in the middle. The boy liked to brag and talk, alright. It was one of the things Pran liked most about Pat. Especially when he talked with Pran.

5. Pran’s thoughts got significantly more whipped each day they were flirting. Honestly, he said that he would make Pat go down onto his knees for him, but any day now Pran would just go to the store and buy a ring to do it himself… If he had the balls for that, anyway. It was a nice thought to entertain though.

“After freshy day, you know I kept following you around—“

Pran’s eyes bulged. “You wanted to give me back my earphones? That’s why you kept bothering me?”

“That, and I wanted to know about that song, and if you were really dating Wai—“

“Which he isn’t, by the way,” Korn suddenly spoke up in between, making Pran jump and become aware they were still in public, with all their friends listening in. He tried to calm himself, though it failed as Wai was the next one to speak up.

“Shut up,” he scolded Korn. “So what if…”

Pran decided that was the perfect time to make a swift exit, waving his friends goodbye as he slotted his free hand into Pat’s and pulled him away. Pat followed with a jump in his step, squeezing his hand and making Pran realize what he’d just done.

“I already got your guitar this morning from your dorm,” Pat put his other hand over their joined hands, swinging them as he followed Pran obediently. He was such a puppy, sometimes, it killed Pran’s heart. “And you can use my headphones, as a sorry for losing yours, I have them in my car.”

If he kissed Pat at that moment, would that make him lose the bet? He decided that he didn’t care all that much, putting a soft peck on Pat’s cheek before letting go of his hands. Pat was stunned, it looked beautiful, especially when a little of red appeared on his cheeks.

“I’m done at 4, I’ll be waiting,” Pran whispered, pulling back and walking away before Pat could recover himself.

6. Pran really hated the events and meetings his parents forced him to come. This time, he volunteered, but still he could not still that slight worry inside him. Although that was something Pat was clearly aware of, it went both ways, Pran also didn’t mind them as much with Pat at his side.

Especially not if it was something like this.

He strummed his guitar, showing the chord again to the two kids in front of him. They joined, and it didn't even sound half bad. Looking up from his guitar, he was met with two kids with stars in their eyes, and a third one with hearts in his eyes.

Okay, the third one wasn’t so much a kid, rather than his fiancé, but the point still stood. Pran put down his guitar, patting the kids on their shoulders before making his way over to Pat. “How’s it going at your end?” he asked, standing next to Pat and looking around in search of his group of kids.

“We’re done,” Pat shrugged, “played some games on the field and now they’re all taking a break.”

Pran met his eyes. “I’m glad I agreed on doing this. Thank you for coming with me.” He shot a look at the bag hanging around his neck. “And for the gift.” The earphone bag, close to his heart, so that he wouldn’t lose sight of what was important to him.

“Then… can I ask for a gift in return?”

Slightly skeptical, Pran nodded. “If it’s something appropriate, sure,” because he knew Pat and his dirty mind. He knew because they were on the same wavelength, and his own mind went deep into the pits at those words and the tone Pat had suggested them in. Almost as low as those pits.

“Play me our song, please?”

Pran would play it for him every moment every day, if Pat asked him so sweetly. Nodding, he adjusted his hands to the right position, and played the first chords.

(The first notes to the rest of their lives.)

Pran would tell him, eventually. There was no haste.

Chapter Text

It took a while before the other side picked up, Pat tapping his foot in time with the beeps. He was leaning against the passenger door of his car, ignoring (or at least, pretending to) the looks directed at him and his shiny ride. His shoe hit the concrete for its 6^th time before the call was picked up, which was one beep quicker than the last time.

He liked to call it progress.

“Rapunzel oh, Rapunzel, when will you come down from your tower?” Pat sing-sang, already mentally laughing at his own joke. The other side of the line had some sniggers in the background as well, which wasn’t what Pat had expected.

“Ai’Pat, I’m in the middle of class, why are you calling me?” Pran, his annoyed (but Pat knew he was secretly flattered) fiancé cursed him from the other side, making more laughter follow. Something slid into Pat’s brain, like a bulb lighting up.

“I thought you don’t have morning classes on Monday?” Pat asked, then, more realization downing on him; “I am on speaker, aren’t I?”

“Ding ding ding!” he couldn’t recognize whose voice answered, but soon Wai’s joined the cheering and laughter. “Congratulations asshole,” he said, “You’ve just made a fool out of yourself.”

Pat wanted to defend his honour, but realizing he didn’t mind being a fool when it came to Pran, he shut the thought off halfway. Also because he was trying to be nicer to Wai. Even though Pat still disliked the guy for kissing his fiancé before him – hell, he really wanted to punch him at least once for that – Pran had made him promise to try and get along. Apparently, Pran made Wai promise the same, because although the teasing and remarks were still there, not once had they been actually hurtful.

He kind of wanted to know what Pran had promised Wai, though, because the things Pran had promised Pat were butterfly-inducing to say the least. That, and it made a blush appear on his cheeks every time.

(He was acting like such a virgin, for fucks sake! And if anyone asked, he would deny himself ever being one anyway.)

It did remind him of the blush on Pran’s cheeks suggesting it, the blush he would probably have right now, and so Pat tried his utter best to get his head back in the game. “Well, I wanted to pick you up,” he explained, “I guess that’s not needed anymore.”

The laughter had stilled, and Pran’s voice sounded closer to the phone this time. Looks like he was put off speaker. Why had he been in the first place? “Actually, could you bring me a document from my apartment? I left it there this weekend by accident and I’ll need it this afternoon, otherwise I’d have to skip lunch.”

“Say no more, my dear princess,” Pat put up a dramatic voice, “Your prince and his white horse will come save you!”

He was already climbing back into his car, planning to search for a better parking space to invade the castle. The dragon at the entrance gate had already been long befriended, so the only hurdle would be remembering the dreadful code the door used as a locking system. No worry, though, for Pat could remember Pran’s birthday better than his own!

“Your car isn’t even white,” he could practically hear Pran shake his head as his car’s speakers switched the call from his phone. “And don’t call me princess.”

“Why not?” Pat wondered thoughtlessly, backing out the street in reverse.

“We’ve talked about this,” had they? “There can be two princes, remember?” Oh right! Of course there could be. He’d been so stuck in his roleplay, he forgot about it for a second.

“You’ll be my prince then as well?”

A sigh, but it was filled with fondness. “I’ll be your prince charming any day.”

Mission accomplished and filled with giddiness, Pat said goodbye to his charming and prepared to climb the highest tower.

It turned out his role as prince wasn’t that easy as he’d first expected it to, after all, for when he arrived at the garden (of knowledge), a trail stood awaiting him. Guards approached him, and for a second Pat thought Wai was about to punch him, but instead an arm was put around his shoulder and he was pulled away towards some dark space.

Or the stairs. Really. For one second Pat could’ve sworn the guards had bad intentions, but then they were grinning and all Pat could do was grin (in confusion) back. “What’s going on?” he asked through his teeth to Wai. Yet all the boy did was grin mischievously in reply. Pat started looking around, fight or flight instincts about to kick in when—

“Pran, someone is here for you!” Wai shouted out on top of his lungs, and Pat whipped his head around towards Wai and then to where his gaze was directed so quickly, he could feel it crack. Finally he caught Pran’s eyes, standing on top of the stairs. Pat felt a glare coming from right next to Pran, but he didn’t care about that. Raising his brow, he mentally asked Pran what was going on. “We’ve all been waiting, everyone in class already heard.”

Pat should feel ashamed about that, and so should Pran, but neither had a blush on their cheeks and only cared about the other. There was no reply from Pran’s side, yet he was smiling, so Pat felt like his prince was waiting on him to clear the last hurdle.

“But I haven’t!” the glare spoke up, and Pat finally met the real dragon of this fairytale. Asking Wai what the dragon’s identity was, the reply set up the stage. Pran’s peer mentor – Pat hadn’t met them yet. “Who are you?” the dragon inspected him, pointing its long claw towards his chest.

Since he had no sword with him, words were the only defence he had. “I am Pat, a second-year engineering student, and Pran’s fiancé.” Somehow, it had been a long time since he had to introduce himself. The whole exchange gave him the jitters.

“Ah!” the dragon roared as it approached him, “so you are the famous Pat. You sure are confident to claim that title, don’t you think you should earn it first?”

Pat had claimed that title all throughout his life, but he never really thought about earning it until recently. “I know, but I can’t help it, my heart is already set on loving him for the rest of my life.” It beat faster when he caught sight of Pran’s smile deepening.

There might’ve been cheers from the guards and the flowers in the garden, Pat’s mind was only concentrated on proving himself and winning this fight.

“What? Love? I don’t recall you asking my permission to love my dear brother, let alone marry him!” and really, Pran had once literally asked Pran for his hand, but this felt different. Real. Even if it was a confession in front of a dragon, and not the king and queen.

"Can I have your brother’s hand?” his tone was pleading and soft, his eyes only saw Pran at the side – smiling down at him.

“Isn’t that a little too easy?” the dragon roared, “You want his hand, but do you even know him that well?”

The dragon’s riddle was too easy. The moment he heard them; he couldn’t contain the smirk on his face. For there was no one who knew Pran as well as Pat did. From the past to the present, and the future, Pat would always look at Pran first and second.

He had been an idiot, he was fully aware of that, to lose sight of the most important person in his life. He had taken Pran for granted and pushed him away, causing both of them hurt without realizing it. Pran all along, and Pat only when he’d been in front of the cliff.

Now that he’d jumped, lived and accepted it, he found himself more at ease than ever. It wasn’t always easy, loving Pran, but Pat didn’t want easy. Pat just wanted Pran.

He wanted to send Pran flirty messages every morning and every night. He wanted to eat lunch and dinner together every day, giving the best bits to Pran and see his dimple bloom. He wanted to hear Pran’s cheering for him when he scored, wanted to hug him all sweaty and see Pran pretend he didn’t like it.

Wanted to come home at the dorm, take-out in one hand, to see Pran overworked because of school and steal him away for some well-deserved cuddles.

Pat wanted to continue to fall in love with Pran’s everything every single day. Observe all his cute little habits that made him him, shower him in cuddles and kisses in reply.

He had thought he loved Pran fully when he confessed at the place they started – but he felt himself more in love every moment spend together.

He wanted that forever.

That’s why he wanted to lose the bet.

“My fiancé?” he started, unable to contain himself, “He’s so picky! Everything must be in order, even his shirts in my closet. He lifts the toilet seat when peeing, and judges me when I forget. His chopsticks must be the exactly same length, and he pretends he doesn’t love cooking even though he makes me lunch every day.” It was adorable, and delicious, and better than any school lunch or fancy restaurant dish he’d ever had. (Because it was made by his love, for his love, with love.)

“He loses his earphones all the time, and blames me,” all because Pat had lost them once. The case around Pran’s neck was his apology, each time. “He doesn’t like attending big events, saying he prefers to be alone, but never complains about doing something together.”

Hesitating for a second, Pat decided to fuck it. He’d already gone this far.  “He smells really good!” Pat liked to steal Pran’s shirts because they smelled amazing. He had no idea how he’d ever lied to himself that he didn’t love the smell. One day he’d get Pran to do his laundry – once he convinced the boy to move in together.

However, the priority now was to beat the dragon and successfully gain the prince’s hand!

“The code for his door used to be his birthday, but it changed to the date of our anniversary now!”

“Say no more,” Pran stopped him, that beautiful blush colouring his cheeks that told Pat Pran would never have enough. It was fine, he could whisper even more sweet nothings (meaning absolutely everything) later, when they were on their own.

The dragon roared, and the guards quivered. It was only Pat who didn’t back down. “Anyone can memorize all that. If you truly love him, will you shout your love for him now?”

The crowds shushed, and for a sacred second, it was only Pat and Pran on that staircase. “Do you dare?” Pran mouthed at him, raising a brow in an attack stronger than any of the dragon’s ever could be. Feeling a little unstable on his feet, he took a step towards his fiancé.

“Pran,” he addressed him, “I’m just bringing your work file. Why does it feel like an engagement procession?”

“So?” Pran laughed, the most beautiful sound on earth, and finally Pat had enough of this roleplay. He just wanted to hold him tight and never let go, as soon as possible. “Are you chickened out, fierce eyes? If you really want my hand, be brace.”

It was a little funny. Looking back, Pat had already asked Pran to marry him once. In a childish innocence, an attempt to please his parents – but now, none of those things were present or needed to make him confess. He was an adult now and didn’t need the favour of his parents if he had Pran.

In fact, from the moment he’d make that bet with Pran, he’d been preparing for this. It was a shame the most important part was left in his car, but he couldn’t stop the words when he started.

Pat gave into the pull of love, taking another step. “I like you,” he said, still a little unsure with all those watchful eyes on them. Pretending on fancy parties was one thing, in front of their peers, his heartbeat tenfolded.

“What was that?” Pran teased him, yet also gave into the pull.

So this is how we was going to play it? “I like you!” he yelled this time, louder.

“I couldn’t hear that,” Pran shrugged, looked around to the crowd that was growing with the minute. “Did anyone hear that?”

And of course, the crowd played right into Pran’s fingers. A sigh escaped Pat, in which he decided to throw away all his reservations. Looks like he had no other choice to tell the world how much he loved his fiancé, as loud as possible. Call Pat a masochist, but he secretly loved it.

“I like you!” he shouted from the top of his lungs.

“Louder!”

Fucking hell.

“I love only you! I am head over heels for you! I want to spend the rest of my days with you! Can you hear that?” It took Pat a second to realize they had met in the middle, breathless from confessing everything inside his heart. He felt lighter than ever – floating through life.

“Fine,” Pran met Pat’s eyes, his dimples blooming. “It’s a yes – give me the ring.” He held out his hand to empathise the words, and all Pat could do was stare at it. Bells going off in his head, but now because of the wedding. Red flared inside his head, like warnings all over.

He’d forgotten the ring in the car! Not that he thought he would need it when just bringing Pran’s document, but still! He should’ve anticipated this!

(There’s absolutely no way he could’ve anticipated this.)

Left with no choice, he perked up. “Wait,” he said, then to be sure, “don’t move.” Pran looked at him with a mix of confusion and amusement – a look that didn’t look half-bad on him. Pat would have to recreate that later, for further research. He turned around, jumping down the stairs in a sprint and—

Fell flat on his face when he reached the last step. Pran was next to him in a second, clearly not listening to his words. Pat couldn’t blame him, especially when he helped Pat sit up while the world was spinning. His arms slotted underneath his arms, half carrying him, and Pat was lost in the eyes of the love of his life.

Pran really was his prince charming.

“Are you okay?” Pran’s voice was full of worry, his visage was swimming but beautiful.

“Absolutely,” Pat whispered as he found that his head felt heavy. “You’re so pretty.” Seeking comfort, he tried to lay down his head on Pran’s shoulder as he carried him but felt something was off. He couldn’t recognise his familiar smell, the one that made everything feel better – even falling on your face as you ran down the stairs to retrieve the ring left in your car.

Stopping Pat, Pran shook his own head. “Pat no, you’ve got a bloody nose.”

Oh… That would explain why. “Let’s get you to your car, okay?” for a second, Pat wanted to nod. Then, suddenly awfully aware of the liquid flowing out of his nose, he squeaked back a reply.

“Yeah.”

Aside from ruining the moment, at least Pat had succeeded in stealing away the prince from the dragon, as well as being saved by his own. His life really resembled a fairy tale.

They took their time getting to the parking lot. Pat was certain Pran was supposed to be having class – the very class he needed the document for – but Pran only had eyes for him. Feeling a little overwhelmed, not only from the blood loss, he accepted all the help from his fiancé. Still, after being set down in the passenger seat and lounging in its shadow for a while, he couldn’t help but sigh.

“I ruined the moment,” he pouted. “It was going so well.”

Pran replaced the tissue he’d been pushing again Pat’s nose, beckoning for him to lean back a little more. He took over the tissue and pressed it against his nose, feeling a little guilty for making Pran do all the work. Pran didn’t seem deterred, starting up the aircon and pressing his hand against Pat’s forehead. “What’re you talking about, silly,” he shook his head, frowning slightly. “Are you feeling alright?”

The bleeding had stopped mostly.  Pat replaced the tissue one more time, and Pran picked it out of his hand to put away before he could do it himself. Something about the action meant everything to Pat. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how he never saw it before, that Pran genuinely liked him. You’d think a confession would suffice, but he’d never taken Pran seriously about it before. Looking back, Pran had done so much for Pat without asking for anything in return. Being cared like this, Pat couldn’t help thinking back to it.

Hell, he’d been even more blind to his own feelings. Being engaged to Pran from a young age, Pat had always taken him for granted. Taken the feelings he had when together with Pran for granted. It was an awful shame that Pat had to hurt Pran before he realized – before Pran shared the truth with him – and that Pran had to suffer alone before Pat got out of his own head.

He only noticed when Pran touched his cheek – the way the aircon felt cold against that part. A single tear escaped him, yet he smiled slightly, to make that frown on Pran’s face disappear. With that sight, and his earlier confession, Pat was determinated.

He never wanted Pran to be hurt ever like that again.

“I’m great, Pran, really.” Pran didn’t look entirely sure, which made Pat chuckle. “I am a bit sad I fell flat on my face after I proposed to you.”

To this, Pran also smiled a little. “It kind of serves you right,” Pat frowned, “but don’t worry. You’re still the prince of my life.”

Slowly, Pat cleaned up the last of the blood on his nose. While Pran took the tissue again, no issue, Pat attempted to move as little as possible while opening the small compartment in front of him. “And the owner of your heart?”

He took out the small box, hiding it in his hands while Pran was turned around to dispose of the trash in a bag. “If that means I get to be the sole owner of your heart, as well,” Pran said, distracted.

The box opened, the mechanism making a loud clicking sound. Pat had seen it when he passed the store; beautiful and simple in design, but with a lot of depth. For some reason, it reminded him of his relationship and life with Pran. On the surface, they appeared nice and simple as a couple, but underneath there was more history than anyone could ever see.

On its inside, there was a single word in carving.

Dimples

Though not the most typical things to write in an engagement ring – when Pran turned around, it did exactly as intend. Dimples that bloomed, prettier than the prettiest flower.

Pran sucked in a breath. “You idiot, I was joking.” And perhaps, Pran really had been joking around earlier when he said to bring the ring, but Pat had been prepared for all his life.

(Though it was only recently he bought it.)

“I might not be on my knees, but I was always prepared to lose if it meant I won you.”

They looked at the box for a while, both without words. For an engagement that had been going on forever, it was only now that it felt real. That it felt as it should be – filled with love, reciprocated.

“I hate you,” Pran choked out. Looking up, Pat saw he was crying.

“Love you too,” he replied, through his own tears.

They both laughed about it. They both leaned closer to each other, pulled together like a magnet – like fate that always connected them – and kissed about it.

It was uncomfortable, salty like the first time, difficult to move and the box was still in Pat’s hand because he hadn’t had the opportunity to slip it on Pran’s finger before the kiss got heavier and hotter. He was still light-headed, but it was in the perfect, floating, breath stolen kind of way, that Pat didn’t want to give up.

It was also perfect, in every way.

Until one of their phones buzzed, and the other one started to ring, pulling them both back to reality to catch their breath.

Chapter Text

“Pa?” Pat’s voice sounded out of breath, a testimony of their earlier kiss and abrupt interruption. Pat was still fumbling to hold the phone right, climbing back to his seat, and Pran got to revel in the sight that was his fiancé flustered and breathless because of him. He couldn’t recall a more beautiful image before, and securely locked the memory in his heart – for later and more nefarious purposes.

“What’s wrong?” Pat frowned, the memory fleeting for now and being replaced by confusion. Pran’s phone buzzed again, this time he grabbed it out of his bag. It made him aware of the box, standing on the dashboard in front of him, and it brought a smile to his face. He picked it up with his other hand while unlocking his screen to check the message.

It was his mom, telling him to come home as soon as possible. Mirroring Pat’s confusion at the phonecall, he asked his mom what was wrong. Instead of replying, she repeated her earlier message. Now.

His emotions abruptly turned to worry, cold sweat setting in. He caught Pat’s eyes, much alike his own. ‘Mom’s asking for me’, he mouthed silently, hoping that Pat could read him. It seemed he had, because Pat nodded immediately. Then, he finally interrupted the voice on the other side of the phone, holding his hand over the microphone.

Leaning over, he pecked Pran on the forehead as he put his hand over Pran’s, locking the box. “See you soon,” he promised. Smiling through the worry, Pran kissed Pat on the lips for just a second – because he was allowed and wanted to. Pat squeezed his hand and let go.

Pran took a taxi home, the ride longer and more unpleasant than ever. His parents lived in the commercial center of Bangkok which was a traffic disaster on a regular day – today, it seemed the world had promptly decided to fuck him over. It took a whole hour to get there, and all Pran could do was play with the ring on his finger and browse the web in an attempt to distract himself.

He wondered what got both their parents like this. Had something happened with the business? Some kind of disaster that delayed one of their projects? Or was it something else, something to do with—

The answer appeared in his notifications, just a random recommendation of a newspaper he idly followed, and promptly made him feel sick.

Trouble in Paradise? It said, in thick bold letters, with an even worse statement underneath. Engagement gigants Jindapat-Siridechawat power-play after all?

Underneath it, two pictures were displayed. One was taken inside a bar, with Pat on stage kissing the girl while Pran looked away with his guitar in hand. The quality was questionable, but there was no doubt it was them. The second was taken inside the same bar, this time Pran’s lips were on Wai’s – in what Pran knew was an innocent touch – in high definition.

(They’d talked about these kisses before – fought, cried, and hugged over it. They both knew they kissed the wrong person.)

There were more pictures, some that had nothing to do with the article, of them talking with frustrated expressions on their face – tinted by the headline. Some of happier times, as well, the article included all of them in its narrative. The last one was taken just recently, Pran playing the guitar for Pat, singing their song.

After that, any time that passed was too quick, because before he registered it completely, Pran was standing in front of his parents’ house. His hand on the doorknob, torn between running or entering. Maybe he could just go inside and get to his own room as soon as possible. Ignore his parents. Hell, maybe they weren’t even home.

The hope was idiotic and in vain, because as soon as he entered he could hear the maids scuffling around, and his mom’s voice coming from the living room. “Pran,” the way she said his name did nothing to soothe his nerves. Looking between the stairs and the door, he didn’t even get to decide when his mother walked over to meet him instead.

That was weird on its own. Dissaya was the kind of person who waited for people to approach her, patient and graceful, not someone who would go out of her way to confront someone. Pran was indeed in trouble.

“Care to explain what happened in that article?” she asked, cutting straight to the case. Shrugging, Pran looked anywhere but towards his mother.

“Nothing.” He answered, though it turned into a mumble.

“Pran,” his mother hissed, patience disappearing out of her voice and surprising Pran. He looked up to meet her expression and knew immediately he had made the wrong choice to come here. “You’ve been lying to us all this time, haven’t you?”

Pran swallowed. “You already saw it in the article, so why are you asking me?”

“Pran, I’m asking because I want to hear it from you,” she scolded him, but what was he supposed to say? That he’d been fighting with Pat for years? That he and Pat really hadn’t been in love as they believed – even though Pran had always pined – but that it was alright now, because Pat finally realized he had liked Pran all along? Explaining that to his parents was just too complicated, and those pictures would only make his mother upset.

He was about to open his mouth, say it was all a dumb mistake, when his mother continued on his own. “You’re back to playing that dumb guitar, aren’t you?”

“What?” Pran’s manners went promptly out the window, the surprise of the topic too big. This was what she had been talking about? Not the pictures of… well, in her eyes, Pat and Pran basically cheating on one another?

“Don’t you talk back to me like that, I am your mother,” she scolded him, waving her hand like she wanted to get back on topic. However, Pran wasn’t with her on this topic at all. What about their story? The heartbreak? Their love and their engagement? Even in the entrance hall of their house, pictures of Pat and Pran together were everywhere. They had always done their best in acting like the perfect couple, and now that it was known they had been pretending, his mom didn’t seem to care? Only caring about those silly pictures where he was playing guitar?

“You know we don’t want you playing that guitar, sweety, it’s a waste of time and will get you nowhere in the future.”

The earlier cold fear Pran had carried within him faded away, instead making place for something hotter. “I like playing music, so what?”

“Pran!” his mom raised his voice, and instead of cringing at the sound, Pran stood proud and stared her in the eyes.

“What?” he questioned her, “you saw the proof already, didn’t you? You ignored everything in that article and only care about your own perfect view of what I should do or shouldn’t? I already study Architecture, what more do you want?” Pran wasn’t the type of person to raise his voice, to get on the defensive, but it seemed his mother had plucked the wrong string. A floodgate was opened, and it felt endless and unstoppable.

“You don’t even care about the engagement! You don’t even care about how your own son feels!”

She stood there, stunned for a second, before her own perfectly trained demeanor reappeared. Because for how far she always underlined Pran to act accordingly, her own act couldn’t have any flaws in it.

“You’re my son, of course I care, but you and I both know cheating is in their blood. It’s of no surprise to me that—“

“I thought that didn’t matter anymore!” Pran interrupted his mother, shocked by her words, “that old rivalry, it passed long ago, because you believed in fate and us.” That’s what Pran believed. That’s what Pat believed. That’s what they had tried to uphold for all their lives.

It scattered in front of his eyes, that belief. All those efforts, wasted. All that pain, for nothing.

“Stop right there! Have you forgotten to save my reputation, the reputation of our family?” Dissaya had reached the same height as Pran, but it felt unhinged. It felt so unlike his mother.

“Mom,” Pran shook his head, it felt like a mess with this revelation. It felt lonely, without Pat by his side to support him. “It isn’t my duty to do so. I love Pat and I love playing the guitar, that’s just who I am. If that’s not in the perfect imagine you’ve made of me, then I think you might not know me at all.”

The slap on his cheek was not deserved, and definitely not expected. His mother wasn’t the physical kind. No, that was rather something for the family next door – before Dissaya had stood between Pat and his father. Now, it seemed they were just the same, after all.

Broken. That was the expression his mother gave her when he glared at her. He let go of his bag and everything inside it, basically throwing everything they gave him away. Then, Pran turned around, and promptly ignored the yells of his mother chasing his name.

He was breathless from running away; from the truth, from the pain deep in his heart that had no outlet except the veins in his body that were burning away. Where could he go? What should he do? There were no right answers out there, the right ones had turned into a lie all along.

The only place he could escape was the place it had started. Before all the expectations of fate, the pretence of love had turned his life upside down. Standing in front of his home, however, it still felt wrong. Home was where the heart resided, and Pran’s heart felt torn to pieces.

Only when arms surrounded him, pulling him into a tight hug that was needed for both – then Pran’s heart felt safe again, his breath turning into sobs.

Now, he felt truly home.

If only it wouldn’t hurt that badly.

Tears were freely running down his face, his nosy quickly turning runny and itchy, but Pran couldn’t care for anything else except the hurt inside him and the presence of Pat who made it bearable. Clinging onto his fiancé, Pran wondered if he could just disappear right there – take shelter in Pat’s torso and arms, cling to him until it all stopped mattering.

It was Pat’s hand moving through his hair that made him give up the thought, because it made him feel like he mattered to him, made him feel grounded on this earth again. At least what was between them, from the moment they were born until now, was real, felt real. Through thick and thin, happy and sad times.

His whole world had turned upside down. Reality had flown away. All that remained of Pran’s world was Pat, in front of him in body, inside the thoughts of his head, and always, eternally, tucket closely inside his heart.

Pat, his whole world engulfing him, was shaking.

Leaning back, Pran wiped the tears with the back of his hand, coming face to face with a visage not so different from his own. Pat’s eyes were red, his lips broken, and he looked... broken. As broken as Pran felt. Having been lost in his own emotions, he hadn’t noticed Pat's turmoil. (What a play of fate, switching roles.)

“Are you okay?” Pran whispered, images of earlier conversations dancing in front of his eyes. Pat nodded, but it seemed unconvincing, and tried to pull Pran back in. Pran, ever the stubborn one, refused to. “Pat,” he started, wondering what was right to say. “It’s fine,” he eventually echoed.

His eyes closed and one, two, three tears escaped. Pran watched them carve Pat’s skin, found his own tears doing the same. They stared at each other, broken, but together. “I love you,” finally, Pran said.

This time, Pran let himself be pulled back. Hidden, safe, comfortable, loved. They stood there for some time, the sky had turned dark, the lights on the street the only illumination.

It was like an unspoken agreement that they couldn’t enter.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Pran admitted eventually, basking in the feeling of Pat’s hands on his skin. Pat pulled him closer, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. Without even asking, he seemed to know what Pran meant.

“Let’s go away,” Pat whispered back like a promise, eyes gleaming. Pran looked at the galaxies captured in his world’s eyes.

“Where?” could they go. They were only two kids – barely having seen anything of the world, always been spoiled by those around them. They were stuck in the roles they played, the expectations given, the walls of their families. Breaking down those walls was like plunging into the unknown, surely Pat knew that.

Yet... though it scared him endlessly, Pran really wanted to go. The question wasn’t in mock, it was in genuine wonder. Where could they scape to?

Pat let go, and Pran felt cold for a second, before his hand was caressed and picked up like it was something precious. The ring on it was kissed, leaving wetness on its metal and his skin. “Does it matter?” Pat wondered, “I can be anywhere as long as I have you.”

And as discussed, so they did. Pran was apprehensive at first; he always believed that if his own childhood had been sheltered, Pat was even worse. His mother was strict and had many rules, but Pat’s father was merciless if Pat didn’t act and do like he was expected. Dissaya would plainly speak what was wrong, but Ming would yell his disappointment, and it would eat at Pat. Always playing the perfect son.

The truth was that they hadn’t seen much of what was out there, except their own front yard. It was evident with where they had ended up, stuck in their memories of an easier childhood.

Yet Pran’s apprehensiveness was misplaced. They walked towards nowhere and talked about going somewhere. They knew that if they used any of their vehicles, or any of their credit cards, their parents would come running to drag them back – and that was the last thing they wanted.

Their friends were a viable option at first, but too obvious. It would be the first place they looked.

“You know,” said Pat, finding the answer in a dumb coincidence, “In Paa’s favourite shows, they always go to the beach to get healed.”

Frowning, Pran squeezed his fiancé’s hand. “I think you’re forgetting part of that quote.”

There was a skip in Pat’s step, making Pran giggle. The light could be playing with his eyesight, but he swore there was a tinge of red on Pat’s cheeks. “I didn’t want to mention it,” Pat mumbled.

“But you thought it, right?”

“Care to tell me how you know that in the first place?” Pat shot back, with a teasing grin.

Shrugging, Pran felt no shame to share things like this to Pat. They’d passed that point a very long time ago. Though instead of answering, he’d much rather share a better secret. “I thought of it too, you know.”

And there it was, yet another skip, and a deeper red. Feeling proud, Pran swung their arms while walking. It didn’t make anything that had occurred just now better, but it did make it feel a little lighter. “Let’s go to the beach,” he agreed, “Architecture went on a team-building weekend last year, I helped look up some ideas. Let’s go to one of those.”

The way Pat looked at him made his heart skip a beat. “I love you,” were the words accompanying the look. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

Pran bumped his shoulder, stopping them. “What’s up with all these confessions today,” he murmured, though he secretly enjoyed it.

… Or not so secretly. “You started it,” Pat answered knowingly.

He decided to ignore that. “I always put up with you, Pat, nothing new there.” He raised his hand, wanting to show off the ring and remind Pat of the promise he made to stay with him together, when he noticed the clouds appearing on his face. Worry from out of nowhere flooded his mind. “Pat?” he asked, squeezing their hands.

“I’m really sorry, I mean it, for before,” Pat looked at the ground, and Pran hated it.

“For what?” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“For throwing you out of my place that night, for ignoring you for so long, for flirting with others while you stayed at my side all along...”

“Then I’m sorry too.”

“Eh?” Pat’s head whipped up, finally looking at Pran where he belonged. This time, it was Pran who cupped Pat’s cheeks. It was Pran who stood tall on his feet and would be the strong one. They could both be the strong one when the other needed it, they could both be the weak one when it became too much – they would survive it together.

“For not properly confessing I liked you, for paying those girls to stay away from you, for saying I liked Wai and even kissing him...” Pat blinked at him, the sight entirely too cute. “The point is, we were both idiots, and we are both sorry. I want to put up with you, I love it, hell I love it so much that I want to put up with you for the rest of my life.”

“So please, from now one, please put up with me for the rest of your life as well, idiot,” Pran ended.

Pat placed his hands on top of Pran’s. For a second, Pran was reminded where they were, in the middle of nowhere, and where they were headed. But then, he remembered that it didn’t matter anymore.

“Won’t you regret it?” Pat whispered, “Being with me means throwing away your freedom to do what you want.”

Pran shook his head. “This is what I want, shouldn’t I ask that to you?”

Silence struck them for a while, their breaths the only source of sound. Yet it wasn’t awkward, it wasn’t stilted. It was loaded with mutual understanding.

“It took me a long time to realize, but...” Pat closed his eyes to lean into his touch. “Being with you already feels like freedom.”

Chapter Text

The bus was uncomfortable and busy, the tires driving mercilessly through the holes in the road, bumping them closer to each other – if that was even possible. Pran was lying on Pat’s shoulder, thinking about heaven-knows-what. There had happened too much to even know where to begin.

They were running away from it all, to a place there was only them. The thought simultaneously was excited and frightening. Exciting because this was what Pat had wanted all along – frightening because they had no idea what they were doing.

Usually, Pran tended to overthink everything. He was careful and calculating in what he did, while Pat was more impulsive. Though when Pat had proposed his crazy plan, Pran didn’t stop him – instead, they filled in the blanks as they always had. Some things had changed between them, some had stayed the same, and it was that exactly which brought them comfort.

Whatever happened to them from now on didn’t matter, as long as they were together.

Pat didn’t sleep during the whole ride, and neither did Pran, the ride too shaky and their minds too troubled. The only reprise they had was each other’s touch, unconditionally, in the dark night.

They arrived tired and hungry the next day. The sun had only just risen, the temperature still cool and the breeze wet. They walked to the general direction Pran was pointing at, but his fiancé seemed unsure. Like not only his direction in life was being questioned, Pat could relate to the feeling.

They didn’t have enough money with them to stay at a hotel, and neither had packed a change of clothes. They were lucky to have been able to catch a bus, grab a bottle of water – but both were finished now.

“A zero-waste village,” Pat couldn’t help it, he chuckled bitterly.

“Just the place for us,” Pran agreed, reading his thoughts. They threw their empty bottles in the recycling bin, wondering where to go next. Pat refused to let go of Pran’s hand – they were in this together.

Shut away from the world, just two boys searching for an answer on the beach. Paa’s shows hadn’t lied, being there felt nice, and the endless sea promised infinite possibilities at the end of its horizon. They just couldn’t see it yet.

“Junior,” a sudden yell startled Pat out of his thoughts, Pran catching his eye. He smirked a little, clearly amused that Pat had jumped at the sound, but there was also an edge of worry. Pat didn’t let go, searching for where the yell came from. “You know she means well!”

“I don’t want her to!” a young boy walked by, pace fast, a dramatic pout on his face.

An older man followed, dressed haphazardly and hair in disarray. He didn’t look angry, contrasting his tone, but rather worried. “You can visit again, I won’t go away,” the man raised his voice, but sighed at the end. The boy had already walked out of sight, clearly not in the mood to listen.

Pat hadn’t noticed they stopped walking until the man did as well, his gaze landing on them. He wasn’t sure what to do at the sudden attention, especially since these were the kind of people his parents had always told him to avoid. His father would scowl at the sight of the many holes in his trousers.

“Hello,” Pran wai’ed the man, and Pat wondered if he should stand in front of his fiancé to protect him. Maybe he should just pull him away, before the man did anything bad to them—

However, as the man greeted back politely, the frown on his face and the earlier conversation they had caught stopped Pat from doing either. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Are we not allowed to be here?” Pran sounded worried, and this time Pat had no choice but to stand between them.

“Of course we are!” he answered Pran’s question, “if a homeless person with a kid is allowed to walk here, why wouldn’t we be?”

Said homeless person didn’t reply, instead a funny expression appeared on their face. Pran pushed Pat against his shoulder, scolding him. “Pat! He isn’t homeless, he’s the project manager of this village!”

Feeling awfully dumb, Pat decided it was better to say nothing and bow in apology. In his defence, how could he have known! “How do you know,” he whispered to Pran, who whispered back on an equally not-silent tone.

“I saw his picture on the website.”

(Part of his subconscious also pointed out that it was them, in fact, who were the homeless people at that moment. He didn’t want to think about it too much, but the hand holding onto his and the urge to protect his fiancé made him want to overcome that habit.)

Then, Pran went back to addressing the man. “I apologize for my boyfriend. My name is Pran, and this is Pat. We saw information about this village online…” his voice trailed off, unsure. If Pat recalled correctly, last year the Architecture team building took place in a resort, Pran’s parents having written a big check for it. Seeing as this no-waste village seemed way less luxurious, Pat could assume it was scrapped from the planning early on.

Such a shame, really, this place was beautiful.

“Call me uncle Tong. I’m not expecting any groups soon though, what brings you two here?” the earlier confusion made place for a kind smile. Pat felt Pran relax his hand, and only then did he realize he had been squeezing Pran’s hand the whole time. He wondered if he should let it go, though he really didn’t want to.

Uncle Tong hadn’t even looked twice at their entangled hands, or the term boyfriend which made Pat feel butterflies in his core.

“Vacation,” Pat said, trying to sound casual. “We just finished our exams,” which wasn’t entirely a lie. The file he brought Pran yesterday was the last of his projects for the year – Pat wondered if Pran had been able to give it to the teacher. Less than 24 hours had passed, yet it felt like a lifetime.

“So you’re travelling,” Uncle Tong concluded, then he frowned. “That’s all you have on this trip? You’re not even carrying a backpack.”

Ah. A crack in their lie. “We forgot it in the bus…” Pat started, but the way Pran looked at him made him stop in the middle of his sentence.

He shook his head towards uncle Tong. “The truth is, we have a problem at home, and that’s why…”

“Ah,” with no judgement, uncle Tong nodded. “So you’ve come to the beach to get hot or get healed.”

Pran snorted, Pat laughed. Neither could deny it.

“Do you have a place to stay yet?” uncle Tong asked. “I’ll tell you, there aren’t many hotels here, but I happened to know the best one, and it’s nearby and cheap.”

If someone told Pat, just a couple of months ago, that he would be following a homeless-looking man to his house, because he had no other choice of where to stay, and that Pat would be clinging onto Pran the whole way – Pat wouldn’t have believed them. Now, it was slowly dawning on him as a change of clothes was pushed in his hands, that there might be genuinely kind people out there.

Oh, and that he was unconditionally in love with Pran. In hindsight, that one was just a little easier to believe.

“Uncle Tong,” Pat patiently waited as he watched his fiancé fill up his plate. He’d been sporting a hesitant look on his face the entire time they met uncle Tong, and Pat was glad that Pran finally seemed calm enough to speak what was on his mind. He bumped his knee against Pran’s when he put the plate down in front of Pat, making quick work to prepare his own.

Pat could’ve prepared his own plate, but he wasn’t against Pran doing it for him. Pran preferred to keep his hands busy when talking, one of his cute quirks Pat could watch all day. Idly, he wondered if it would be the same at night.

“You’re really kind, but we can’t accept all of this for free.” Pran sat down as Pat took his first bite, nodding to accentuate his words.

Uncle Tong laughed, giving up on convincing Junior to sit with them at the table, and shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’m not offering all of this for nothing,” Pat saw Pran frown at the words, a sliver of worry returning. Swiftly, he hid the hand not eating underneath the table, squeezing Pran’s thigh. “Get up at 7 am tomorrow, you’re helping my pals fish – it’s fishing season and extra hands are always needed.”

The casual way he went about it made Pat laugh; full mouth be damned. “Of course,” he agreed, feeling Pran’s gaze on him.

“Thank you.”

“No worries no worries. I’m glad to have you here, otherwise I’d be eating all alone and sad,” Uncle Tong spoke loud and slow, not being subtle about staring in Junior’s direction at all. He was sitting on the stairs, angrily picking at his rice, and Pat saw a glimpse of himself in the boy for a second.

“What happened?” he asked before he could stop himself. They had only just met these people, it was a little rude to pry into their business like that. For a second, Pat expected Pran to reprimand him like his parents would, yet Pran was also looking at Uncle Tong with questions in his eyes.

Truly, freedom looked good on him.

“Junior’s mom is getting remarried next week, but Junior here doesn’t like his new dad very much, so he doesn’t want to go home.” No offence taken, uncle Tong replied without hesitation.

This caused, for the first time since their fight, Junior to speak up again. “I want my old dad!” he yelled, kicking his legs against the stairs. He stared angrily at the plate for a second, before going back to eating it, ultimately deciding the food hadn’t done anything wrong. The mirror was getting clearer each second.

Pran looked at uncle Tong, eyes big. “He can’t stay here, with his old dad?”

This did deem a reaction from uncle Tong, though not in the way he expected. Not judging or offended, just amused. “I’m his uncle,” he clarified the unasked question, “my sister is the one getting remarried. Junior’s dad…” he trailed off, casting a glance at Junior in worry.

The boy was too busy ignoring them. Suddenly, Pat understood.

Pran looked at his chopsticks, gaze far away. Pat didn’t let go underneath the table. “She means well, probably,” he mumbled, though it wasn’t sure if it was directed to himself or the table.

Feeling this topic was too heavy, and the exact reason they had run away, Pat cleared his throat. “I saw a guitar inside,” he swiftly changed topic, “do you or Junior play?”

Uncle Tong shook his head. “It was left behind by one of the camps, I just keep it around for when someone wants to play it – do you play?”

“Not me, but Pran does,” Pat grinned at Pran, dinner suddenly finished and a new excitement filling him. “Want to play a little after dinner?” he asked. In the corner of his eye, he saw someone perk up. “I think Junior would like it if you did…”

Pran blinked, movements halted. Doubt played across his face, and for a second, Pat was worried about his fiancé. He had explained what his mother had told him, but that was exactly the reason Pran should just play. If he hesitated now, he would still be halted by his parents’ wishes. Of course, Pat would never force him…

“You don’t have to,” he swiftly added.

Then, as if returned out of his daze, Pran rolled his eyes. “Jerk,” he teased, “if you wanted to hear me play, you should’ve just told me, don’t use Junior as an excuse!”

Every answer escaped his head, and all Pat could do was stare at his fiancé as he cleared the table. Falling in step, he helped carry the dishes to the kitchen to wash it together with uncle Tong. When he returned, he was met with a sweet sight.

Junior sat next to Pran at the table, earlier discussion forgotten, and watched him pluck at the strings absentmindedly. Junior’s eyes looked as fascinated as Pat felt. Moving the chair loudly, he sat down to watch his fiancé do what he loved. Meeting Pat’s eyes, Pran started their song.

Night passed and morning broke – yesterday’s heavy atmosphere replaced by sunshine filled with laughter and banter.

“You suck so bad at this,” Pran giggled, doing a poor attempt at rolling up the fishing net himself. Pat stuck out his tongue, making sure to narrow his eyes in taunt as he replied.

“You’re not really a natural yourself, you know.”

“Both of you suck,” came the voice of reason from the youngest of the three, who swiftly stole the net out of Pat’s hand. At least Pran’s pile looked a little like the example, his own just looked like… nothing, really. Immediately, Junior expertly started rolling up the net.  

Pran gaped, and Pat laughed only harder. “Junior!” Pran scolded, only half serious, “where did you learn that language!”

Pat caught Junior’s stare, both of them sharing a moment of ridicule. “He got it from you, sweetheart,” Pat eventually settled his arm around Pran’s shoulders, stopping him halfway his task. Pran sighed, undid the pile, and started from the beginning again. Pat admired his determination.

Instead of answering, Pran concentrated on the task, but quickly made a mistake. “Shit,” he mumbled.

“See, that’s exactly what I mean,” Pat teased him, making his fiancé look at him. There was a blush playing on his cheek; perhaps from their proximity, maybe from the cute names Pat couldn’t get enough of calling Pran or being called… Maybe there was no reason, simply Pran being a little tired or hot.

The two were in their own world for a second, just sharing a mutual understanding. It was ridiculous for Pran to scold Junior for something he was doing himself. A shame to keep himself from doing what he loved. Slowly but surely, this trip was bringing light to these things he used to see as normal.

For Pat too, he could see Pran fully now – Pran in his complete self.

He wished they would never have to leave this place. If it was only himself deciding, they wouldn’t – but that’s one of the things Pat had finally learned. A relationship consisted of two people. It required two sets of feet to dance.

And Pat had two left feet when it came to dancing, he soon would realize.

The music was barely hearable, the source just a lone guitar and its singer which wasn’t his fiancé. Yet Pran had stared at the artist with stars in his eyes, and Pat had looked at Pran in his own way. Uncle Tong had promised them a drink, as thanks for helping out and cheering Junior up. Though the young boy still wasn’t speaking to his uncle, he would at least talk with Pat and Pran.

Pat was glad for Junior’s presence and uncle Tong’s acceptance, his respect for how the man seemed to navigate his life growing with the second.

“Want to join?” Uncle Tong said, breaking them out of their daze. He’d watched Pran play last evening, patted him on the back while complimenting him. Pran’s proud smile made Pat beam in reply.

Pran denied immediately. “No…” but his voice lingered, like he was chewing on the thought. He turned around, facing Pat, a question brewing in his eyes. For a second Pat got excited, until it was put out by Pran’s next words. “Would you like to dance?”

Because Pat was powerless when it came to his fiancé, he didn’t even dare say no. Uncle Tong shooed them away, waving his empty tumbler around with the promise that he’d get them more drinks. Bowing in thanks, Pat was promptly pulled away by his (borrowed) shirt to the impromptu (read: none) dance floor in the middle.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Pran whispered in his ear, putting Pat’s arms around his hips and biting his lip in concentration. They started swaying off beat – that was all Pat could call it, because he had no idea what he was doing.

“Dancing?” He asked, looking down at their feet. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Pran by stepping on his feet.

Pran laughed. “Running away, living a normal life, and yeah, dancing with you,” he shrugged, looking Pat in the eye because he was clearly not scared to take a wrong step. Pat was stuck between looking up and down, not wanting to miss Pran, but also not wanting to faceplant with the ground.

With another giggle, their positions were turned around, and Pran took the lead. Pat relaxed in his arms. “When we used to fight over it, I got really mad because you always spoke what you wanted – because I wanted the same things. Fighting with you was the only act of rebellion I had.”

“Thinking back to it,” Pat leaned his chin on Pran’s shoulder, feeling them sway, still out of beat, and whispering deep secrets in his ear. “I hated fighting with you, I still do. Each time I hated myself afterwards but fighting with you was also the only thing I could do without my dad scolding me.”

The song stopped, yet they continued. “We were idiots.”

“Still are,” Pat admitted, “But I will gladly be an idiot if it means I get you.”

Pran shuddered, separating them. “Bleh.”

The feeling was mutual.

Claps sounded through the open bar, luckily not directed at them as they returned to uncle Tong. His friend, the bar’s owner, had joined the table. Uncle Tong shoved two glasses in their direction as they sat down. “That was really sweet.”

The bar’s owner agreed. “I think more people were watching you than listening to the music,” it was meant like a joke, but there was an edge on it. Pat stared at the owner, wanting to figure out what was wrong. Soon, the owner stilled as he noticed Pat. “I don’t mean anything bad with that, the opposite really! I was wondering though, are you two famous or something?”

“Why?” Pran’s voice was too high, panicked.

Uncle Tong’s attention was also set on his friend, though because he was drinking from his tumbler at the same time, the sight was a little funny. If Pran didn’t look so on edge, Pat might’ve pointed it out to his fiancé. He understood why Pran was worried, though. If anyone were to recognize them…

Well…

The bar’s owner was about to open his mouth, but Pat decided to go first. It wasn’t like they were avoiding the subject or something, it was just easier to let it astray. He wasn’t about to lie to these obviously nice people, either.

“Our families are pretty well-known, I guess,” in the same way he used to boast about his last name, now Pat tried to appear as casual as possible. It was in the cringe from Pran, the eyebrow raise of the bar owner, and the shrug from uncle Tong that Pat knew the conversation had come and gone.

Looking for support in more than one way, Pat shuffled his chair closer to Pran and stole his drink out of his hand, taking a sip before childishly sticking his tongue out. Pran rolled his eyes, reaching back for the glass, but Pat managed to keep it far out of his reach even though he was half lying on his shoulder.

He was laughing, Pran slightly annoyed and well-distracted. Unable to help it, he placed a kiss on his fiancés neck, forgetting where they were for a second. Wanting nothing else than to remain in that warm and nice smelling place, he whined when Pran gave up on retrieving the glass in favour of pushing Pat away.

“You two are cute,” came out of nowhere, bringing them out of their own little world. Uncle Tong and his friend were smiling at them, a second drink being shoved closer to Pran. Pat allowed him to take it, because Pran allowed him to keep leaning into him.

Pran beamed in reply. “Thank you.”

Pat watched his world shine.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Dimples,” Pran was awakened out of his daze by a sweet kiss planted on his cheek and two warm arms embracing him from the back. Leaning back into the touch, the fresh sea breeze made way for a familiar musk mixed with his own. If he closed his eyes, he could recall last night – but he really shouldn’t, because the reason he went outside was to get away from the temptation to do it all over again.

Sunkissed Pat in the morning looked amazing, smelled amazing, and felt amazing, and Pran’s well-learned self-control had been abandoned for something much rawer many times last night. Strumming his guitar absentmindedly, his mind was still caught in bliss.

“G’morning,” he whispered against Pat’s cheek. “What’s the plan for today?”

Pat hummed, making Pran feel the vibrations against his back. “Well, we have the sun, the breeze, the sea, you and me. What more could I ask for?” Though he was looking at the horizon, Pran caught that shine in his eyes. Setting down his guitar with one hand, he put his hand in Pat’s neck to turn him towards him – capturing his lips in a kiss.

Kissing Pat was always exhilarating; the fascination Pran had with kissing his fiancé, being allowed to do so any time he wished, having the power of eliciting desire and sounds from him, and receiving it in reply. Pran could wax poetry about it for days – in fact, that was exactly what he’d been writing about just before. That, and about more nefarious things.

The sound of their lips against the other, their tongues playing hide and seek, only the breeze and waves far in the background accompanied it. Until a certain person’s stomach growled. Pat stopped moving for barely a second in surprise, and Pran couldn’t contain the fond laughter bubbling in his stomach.

“How about breakfast?” he proposed, allowing some space between them.

Pat’s lips were red and wet, that was all Pran’s eyes could focus on when he replied. “I thought this was my breakfast.”

Pran was so incredibly fond for this man in front of him. That, and way too indulgent (to his own desires). “Late breakfast then,” he agreed, escaping Pat’s embrace only to catch Pat in reply and drag him back inside.

Pat’s giggles were quickly silenced and replaced by something even more exciting.

They ended up having a late lunch. It seemed uncle Tod had taken pity on them, leaving the plates out and preparing food for them at the table. As soon as Junior noticed the guitar, he took a seat, eyes big and excited as he watched Pran.

However, Pran was actually quite hungry by now, having just finished an impressive workout. He pushed the guitar into the kid’s hand, watching him play it as he ate. Junior obviously had no idea what he was doing, yet Pat cheered him on, and Pran felt himself melt at the sight.

The moment was ruined too quickly, uncle Tong appearing out of nowhere with a woman Pran didn’t recognize. The tune ended in a peak, the guitar discarded at the side and Junior disappearing in a flash. The woman sighed, clearly troubled.

Pran had always thought himself as someone who was good at picking up social clues. Where Pat lacked sometimes, Pran filled the rest – though for once, it was Pat who was quicker. “You’re… Junior’s mother, right? Hi,” he greeted her.

Realization dawned on him, so much that he forgot to close his mouth as he chewed. Pat closed it for him without a thought.

“Nong Pat and nong Pran, right? P’Tong told me about you two,” she shot them a smile, but it was overthrown by the worry on her face.

While Pran nodded – mouth closed, this time! – Pat answered. “Only good things, I hope,” he joked, trying to cheer her up. Her smile grew a little more genuine at that, so much that even a small chuckle escaped her.

“Of course,” she assured them. “Thank you, for spending time with my son, for cheering him up – I’m aware he can be a handful sometimes.”

“Not at all,” Pran swallowed and answered. “Junior is a really sweet kid,” and, in comparison to Pat when he was younger, way easier to handle. Hell, both of them looked like angels from the outside, but would always cause mischief behind the curtain. Not much had changed in that aspect, only now the stakes had grown significantly. He didn’t say it out loud, but the fierce eyes he recognized that stared at him, caught on the unsaid words anyway.

Junior’s mom hummed like she was only half believing them. “Actually, I was wondering if you two could talk to Junior in my stead? He doesn’t want to listen to me or his uncle at all, I’m beyond ideas at this point.” Looking down, she seemed truly troubled, yet something about her words irked Pran. He didn’t pinpoint exactly what it was until Pat spoke up.

“I don’t mean to be intruding, but have you tried listening to what Junior wants?” Pat didn’t look at her as he spoke, eyes pointed to the distance. Pran followed his gaze, seeing a familiar foot stuck out behind a tree. Oh.

“What do you mean?” Instead of being offended, Junior’s mom sounded interested, and Pran couldn’t help but feel a pang of respect for her. That, along with some misplaced jealousy. She truly cared for her child, open to trying new things.

“A child’s voice, however honest and true, is meaningless to those who’ve forgotten how to listen.”

There was a striking silence after Pran said those words. Hell, it took him a while before he even realized it was him who spoke up, not Pat. Biting his lip, he expected a tirade any second, yet… there was only the sound of the wind and the waves in the distance – food forgotten.

Pran cleared his throat, feeling very uncomfortable – like it wasn’t the problems of another family he was confronted with, but his own. “Instead of us talking to Junior, I think you should try and ask to Junior what he thinks as well. I’m sure if both if you speak the truth, you’ll understand why he runs away.”

Lunch finished awkwardly, the easy mood from earlier having flown away with the wind. Yet that wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Like a door that had been opened, a topic that was left unbreeched until now was suddenly accessible – and, according to the way Pat looked at him, not only in Pran’s mind. Still, they didn’t actually bring it up. Instead spending their days in blissful ignorance; working for uncle Tong’s friends, performing at the bar, living and making love… Pran knew their time was limited, so they decided to make the best of it.

“It feels like we’re on our honeymoon,” Par observed one morning out of nowhere, watching Pran hang the laundry because the idiot was too lazy to do it himself. Immediately, a snort escaped Pran, because doing house chores didn’t exactly feel like vacation. Though he did understand where Pat was coming from.

Lining up a shot, he threw the red shirt at his fiancé. It hit bullseye, and his face made Pran laugh. “Why am I working during out honeymoon,” he rolled his eyes, seeing Pat stand up to finally help him. Even if it was just to hold out the clothes for him to hang. Still, he planted a kiss on his chin in thanks as Pat handed over the shirt again.

“I know it’s not exactly the same,” Pat admitted, “but it did give me an idea.”

Pran raised a brow, and concentrated on hanging the shirt in a way that it wouldn’t crease. If he allowed Pat to do this part, he was sure all of their laundry would be ruined, anyway. Two arms snaked around him as he did so, a chin rested on his shoulder, and before Pran could complain about it, Pat—“Marry me.”

He was pretty proud of the fact that he only choked for half a second before catching his demeanor again. “You already asked me to marry you, and I already answered yes.” He shook his head, contemplating between the butterflies the words had induced him and the comfort of those warm arms, or going back to work. The decision was easily made, really.

“We didn’t agree on a date,” Pat continued in his ear, undeterred, “so I’m asking you to marry me.”

“Now?”

Pat hummed into his shoulder.

“Oh.”

There were many ways in which this was an absolutely idiotic idea that only dumbasses could come up with – but Pat was Pran’s dumbass, and… well, Pran enjoyed being a dumbass as well if it was together with Pat. It wouldn’t be official, or proper, or as grand as he planned it over and over in the comfort of his most secret daydreams, however…

It would be them. In the end, all that mattered was them. So Pran nodded and gave up on doing the laundry. “Let’s do it.”

They ended up exchanging vows under a nearby rock, out of sight of everyone and everything else – only focusing on themselves. The rings were self-made from the bottle caps of the beers they earned the other day. They wore the fanciest clothes they owned – red shirts from uncle Yod’s bar.

The rope used to bound their wrists – extremely clumsy as they had to do it themselves – was made from recycled fishnets.

After drinking a sip of their favourite green tea, kissing Pat tasted even sweeter than ever. His Pat. Pran’s Pat. Even though it was all pretend, Pran’s heart felt fuller than ever.

“Thank you for making a silly person like me happy,” Pat said afterwards, while they were walking hand in hand through the shallow waters.

Pulling Pat to a halt, Pran shook his head. “Thank you, for believing in us. For making me the happiest person alive. I don’t need anyone else if I have you.” He wasn’t sure where the emotional words came from, but Pran could not pretend to be anything else than head over heels even if he wanted. The way Pat blinked at him, doe-eyes that captured his whole world…

“You never leave me. You fight alongside me. That makes me very happy.”

Fuck.

When Pat said things like this, how could Pran not attack him with everything he had? Grabbing his chin and neck, Pran put everything to showing that the feeling was mutual.

They ended up falling in the water and ruining their good clothes. Pran thought it was worth it.

However, as all good things come to an end, it seemed also their honeymoon couldn’t last forever. Pran was playing his guitar when they came – appeared out of nowhere. Pat was looking at him, in the love-struck way only he could and that Pran had drawn time over time but failed to capture, and they appeared behind him.

The strung ended on a false note; Pat wasn’t concerned, simply interested in what had stopped Pran. Setting down the guitar, Pran looked everywhere but their parents’ way. He could feel their eyes judging him, regardless. He could imagine it; his mom’s disappointed glare, Pat’s father's anger.

Instead of facing them, he did the cowardly thing. Grabbing the man he loved, he made them run away. Pat only took a step to fall in line with him, finally also noticing the threat to their happiness.

They might’ve shouted their names as they ran, Pran wouldn’t know. He didn’t want to listen.

Out of breath, they ended up hiding between the fishnets on the other side of the beach. Pran was breathing heavily, feeling panic fill his senses. Pat’s arm engulfing him, he slowly felt himself relax. It had actually happened. They had found them.

Shit. Although Pran knew this was going to happen, he hoped it would take longer. Alas…

“Should we keep running?” he wondered out loud. Was he asking Pat or asking himself? Looking for permission to run away again? Seeing Pat look back at him, worry painting his face, Pran felt helpless. He didn’t need anyone else than Pat, he’d convinced himself. Creating a world of their own sounded like a dream.

But seeing the concern reflected in Pat’s face, Pran realized that wasn’t entirely true. He recalled the words Pat had spoken only hours before, finding the truth hidden between the lines.

How ironic.

“You don’t need to keep indulging me,” Pat smiled, knowing exactly what was on Pran’s mind and how that broke Pran’s fragile heart. Though his love was showing teeth, they didn’t reach their eyes. Sincerity painted in the constellations in his eyes. “I know that sooner or later we will need to go back. I know that too well.”

“What are you—“ Pran swallowed. “Are you saying this for me or for you?”

“For the both of us,” this time, Pat’s smile felt less forced. “We fight together, always on the same page.” Standing up, he held a hand out to Pran. Pran looked at it, knowing it was inevitable he was going to take it. He’d promised his hand to this man from the start. Yet, there was a presence of loss, of giving up, as he entangled their fingers and followed Pat out of their hiding place.

The truth was – Pran couldn’t live without his family. Even though all the turmoil they put him true, Pran only had his family. Pat was number one on that list, any day, yet… spending all these days at the beach, away from everything else, it was a dream. Just a dream. Reality was harder and caught up to them eventually.

Still, knowing they would face it together made him feel a little better. After all, that was all Pran had ever wanted from his future.

When they arrived back at the house, their parents were nowhere to be seen. Though they shouted, though they searched inside and outside, their looming presence seemed to only have been a nightmare.

“Looking for someone?” Uncle Tong appeared out of nowhere, making Pat jump and Pran console the little baby that was the love of his life.

“There were… people, here, just before. Did you perhaps see them?” Pran asked, stroking Pat’s hair as he leaned into his touch.

Uncle Tong chuckled. “People, in my own house? It’d be a bit weird if I didn’t know of that, would it?” He had a point. “I sent them away for now.”

Pat perked up all of a sudden, earlier fright forgotten. “And they listened?”

Nodding, uncle Tong mentioned at them to sit down. He followed suit after a second, grabbing all of them a glass of water first. “You must be thirsty,” he shoved the glass towards them. Pat downed it immediately, Pran was more hesitant. “Of course they listened. They’re your parents, right?”

The pretence was up. Pran nodded. Time for a berating.

That wasn’t what followed.  “You reminded my sister that she should listen to her son, but you don’t seem to trust your parents to listen to you.”

Pat pouted. “That’s because they won’t. Believe me, I tried.” Catching Pat’s uncomfortableness, Pran grabbed his hand under the table, squeezing it. Pat hadn’t been entirely sharing on what his dad and him fought about. For a part, it had been the same as Pran and his mom, but it seemed deeper than that. Eventually, Pran found out that it was the same problem as always, only multiplied by recent events.

Pat could never live up to his father’s expectations, always had to play into his hand. He could never say what was actually on his mind or act according to his own heart. Holding his hand, Pran hoped Pat knew that he never had to pretend when he was together with Pran.

“Have you tried listening to your parents in reply?” Uncle Tong wondered out loud. The way he was speaking, it wasn’t one used for an adult reprimanding a child. No, it was an observation, an open question between the adults.

They nodded half-heartedly. “Too much.”

Drinking his own glass of water, uncle Tong let the answer hang in the air. Like he was searching for a solution as much as Pat and Pran were. Or, now that he was thinking about it, their answer had been running away.

“You know, I think my sister was always against me doing this project. She didn’t say it directly, but I saw it in the look in her eyes. Her concern. Sometimes I wish she would just be upfront about it, tell me that she’s worried for me. But no,” he shrugged, “family is complicated like that sometimes.”

“How long have you been doing this zero waste project?” Pran asked with a frown.

Uncle Tong tried to count on his hands, failed, and shrugged with a chuckle. “This doesn’t help. I can’t really remember; it’s been many years now.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Of the responsibility. Of the hustle.

“I am, but I can’t help it—“ he went on, giving example after example on why he had to do this. At first, Pran found it interesting because it was distracting him from his own problems, but after a while, he got to appreciate the dedication uncle Tong had for what he believed him. By his own, Pran would never be able to follow uncle Tong’s footsteps – he didn’t think of himself as that strong of a person. “Why don’t you quit?”

However, Pat was still holding his hand. Pran had never truly been alone. “Exactly, you work your ass off here, but people still don’t care. I don’t think one person can change the world.”

There was a beat of silence, where all three of them were contemplating their next words. After a while, uncle Tong stood up. After disappearing from the room for a minute, he returned with a couple of crinkled papers. Pran could vaguely make out numbers of change, plans for the future…

“What I do might not be able to change the whole world. But it surely changed my attitude towards it. Even if it’s with small things like these, I don’t ever want to quit trying.”

Pat leaned over the plans, Pran checked the numbers. They didn’t look half bad.

“You might think one man can’t change the world. But I want you to know that this world can’t change someone like me either.”

He started addressing them directly, this time with a more serious tone. “And if I understand correctly, you two aren’t just one man; aren’t just normal people. I didn’t want to make you feel unwelcomed, but you’re not like me – living his life in a small village secluded from the world. You two are meant for so much more.”

Pran opened his mouth, but he wasn’t done yet. “Don’t give up before you’ve even tried. They’re waiting for you at the pier. I won’t force you, and you’re always welcome here.”

Looking at Pat, Pran found Pat had been looking at him this whole time. There was a lot hanging in the air; things to be talked about, things to understand. Not only between their parents, also between them and the world. However, if they had each other, then it wasn’t as daunting.

Their parents had said hurtful things, yet Pran knew that in their own secluded way, they meant their best. It was just that the way they viewed their world was so much smaller, so different from Pat and Pran’s.

It had taken time and communication, heartbreak, and consolidation, for them to understand each other. If they were to understand their parents and be understood in reply, it would take even longer.

If they wanted to change the perspective of the world around them – it’d take even more.

“Don’t forget the guitar!” uncle Tong shouted at them as they walked away after thanking him, destination set on their family. With the trusty instrument under his arm, Pat at his side, Pran was ready to take on the world.

Together.