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Elements- cargo pants and oversized shirts, cat boi, soft guitar strings, missing puzzle piece to Pan, opposites that fit together, a stubbornness that pulls Pat to poke and prod at it till the walls come down, Pran is the ocean Pat rises over every day, an equally stubborn presence that paints the waters golden like “deep blue but you painted me golden”
Love Language- Pran’s love was deep like the ocean and strong like it too. Pran’s passion was the waves on a stormy night, swallowing everything in its path. His love was quiet, like the calm waters of the day. Pran’s love was a personal affair, something he held so close to his chest that sometimes it felt like a fifth limb. Pran’s want was silent, a raging storm contained in his heart that dug its claws in silent admonition, reined in by logic and fear. Most times, it felt like a secret too big for the world to hold
The first time Pran saw the boy next door, he knew he would keep the secret locked in his chest for a long, long time. At 25 years old, his love for him had made a home for itself in the crevices of his chest. It lay low, dormant most of the time. In fact, he hadn’t heard it rage and roar since high school, since the last time he saw Pat standing by the entrance, so far beyond his reach. He had been stupid to think he could have… this. The thing. The thing he felt when Pat made a guitar pick with his stupid, beautiful face on it (and looked so smug doing it that Prat felt like drowning). The thing he felt when he was writing the song with the other boy, heads down, pouring over the notebook like it’s the most natural state of being for both of them to be so close to each other. The thing that rose and fell, reaching out then retreating back, leaving shadows in the sand when he was performing with Pat just minutes ago. It felt like hours. It felt like seconds. Back then, right before his mother dragged him away from the building, was the last time he felt the waves crashing and turning, a storm that threatened to rip his hand away from his mother’s grip and run back. Sometimes, Pran lay awake at night wondering how things would have played out if he had. Sometimes, Pran wished the waves would have ripped him apart. But now the water just remained frozen. As if waiting. Pran doesn’t know what for.
(It wasn't at least almost a decade later that the sun finally painted the water golden. It felt like burning. It felt like coming home.)
When Pran bumped into Pat at the high school reunion, the ice cracked. And when he finally kissed him on the hotel rooftop, the ocean burned. It was only hours later, back in Pran’s room, with the other boy's hand in Pran’s pocket, that he realized how much he wanted this. How much he couldn’t have it. The water rose again, choking and thick at the back of his throat. Pat kissed him for the millionth time that night and promised no one could stop them now. Pran smiled into the kiss like he believed every word. He wanted to believe it. But for now, he was content in this mirage. They could face the world later.
Elements- tank tops, puppy dog, himbo, drums, guitar, an antithesis of everything Pran should be, he is a bright yellow of passion and everything warm and rough around the edges, a mess, a disaster but “I’m a mess but I’m a mess that you wanted”
Love Language- Pats love is loud, unabashedly unapologetic, he wants to scream to the world that Pran is his, his, his. Pat's love knows no borders, it spreads and spreads, wide across the ocean on Pran's depth. His want is ferocious, it lashes out when he sees Pran with his friends, his longing to be right there beside him like they are overshadowed by logic.
Pat wasn’t stupid (despite what his sister named his contact on her phone). He knew what price his love for Pran came at. His family or the love of his life. Classic Shakespear. Good thing he never really liked the dude. No, but really. What was he supposed to do when he saw Pran standing near the bar, looking like a dream come true, looking like a prayer answered? Pran had an average number of regrets in his life, but he never was one to let go of second chances. The fact that they were both here again, within reaching distance of each other was a big, bold, neon-plated, siren-wailing sign for Pran to reach out. If Pat reached back, he would never let go. If he didn't, well, good thing the bar was sponsored by the school.
Three hours later, he was in Pran’s bed, their secret oasis, their hideout while the world readied itself for the avalanche to come. It nagged him at the back of his head, ‘how will I explain this to dad’, ‘damn I just lost 30 bucks to Pa’, ‘I’m sure they’ll understand, I love him, they’ll be happy for me, just give them time’. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to try. For Pran. For the boy in his bed. Smiling down at him. Dimples on display. Pat reached up to kiss them but earned a shove in return.
“Is that my shirt?”, Pran asked, pulling at the collar with mischievous eyes.
“No”
“Liar”
“Is it really yours if I’m wearing it?”
“Did you get into engineering school with that logic?”
“No, I got into engineering school with my sexy brain and irresistible charm”
“What charm? You’re a downright mess on a good day”
“Yeah but I’m your mess”
He reached out again to kiss him, and when they met in the middle, Pat thought they could deal with the incoming disaster later. Together. He would fight against everything he knew if it meant that in the end, he was dancing with Pat, even while the water rushed in.
He slipped his hands into Pat’s pocket and felt him grin against his mouth.