Chapter Text
“ Please? ”
“No.”
“Please, pa !”
His father sighs, “What will you do there?”
“It’s a chance to hone skills! Learn new things!” Pat tries again.
His father still seems unconvinced.
Pat rolls the phrases new skills and new opportunities to grow in his tongue, but his mother speaks before he has a chance to test them out.
“Let him enjoy.” His mother pops her head into the living room, “He only gets to be young once, if he wants to go to the summer camp, why can’t he go?”
“But-” His father protests, and a smile blooms on Pat’s face. If his mother insists, his father cannot say no.
Sure enough, his mother crosses her arms in front of her chest, standing her ground in front of a much taller man, and his father crumbles.
“Fine.”
Pat internally fist pumps, smiling. He turns to his mother and mouths a Thank you! And she smiles and pats his head.
“Start packing your bag,” His father sighs, his tone hard and ordering in order to seem like he still has the control over this situation. “Have you searched how many days you’re staying there?”
“Two nights. Three days.”
“Come with me,” His mother instructs, “We need to see what clothes you will take there.”
Pat can barely contain his happiness. They agreed! He had more persuasive techniques up his sleeve if he needed them, but it seems like his parents were going to be okay with just little. He can’t stop smiling.
After all,
After all, he might meet Pran there.
Paa tries to corner him after dinner, and Pat lets him get dragged into her room.
“Explain.”
“What.”
“ Hia .”
Pat sighs, “It’s a summer camp.”
“When did you ever start liking summer camps?”
“This is different.”
Paa raises one eyebrow.
Pat sighs again, and slumps down on his bed. “Pran might be there.”
“P’Pran?!” Paa instinctively lowers her voice. “Why would he be there?”
“The summer camp is arranged by his school.”
“Why do you know- hia-” Paa glares down at Pat, “ Hia, how do you know which school P’Pran goes to?”
Pat gestures somewhere with his hands, “His friends in class talked about it. And I searched up which school it was, and I saw that his school organises a summer camp.”
“Are you sure he will be there?”
“I don’t know.” Pat answers truthfully.
“Then why are you even going there?!?!” Paa seems like she wants to tear all her hair out.
Pat smothers his face into his palm, “He can be there, this is the only chance I get!”
Paa sighs now, “What if pa finds out? What if he finds out it’s the same school P’Pran goes to?”
“He won’t.”
“What if he does, hia ?” She asks quietly, and Pat honestly doesn’t have any idea.
“I’ll just tell him I had no idea.”
Paa’s silent look is enough to say ‘ You think he’ll believe you? ’
Pat groans. He knows this is a stupid idea. Knows how disastrous this can be if any of their parents find out.
But Pat is also stubborn. Stubborn to keep whatever rocky friendship he had with Pran afloat.
Pat had thought he’d be okay when Pran was gone. Obviously. His rival was gone, now he could enjoy everything he wanted to the fullest, without having to compare it to anyone.
Except.
He still had to. He had to compare, to other students, to students from different schools. From cousins to classmates to neighborhood children, if they fell under his age range, he had to compete. His father would make sure.
But the fun was lost. Before this, he now understands, competing was fun. Sure, it was exhausting, but the angry glint in Pran’s eyes when he lost, or the satisfactory smirk when he won, from the shining eyes to do better next time, to the sharp, deep dimple relishing in victory. Pat never thought he’d miss it so much.
And they’d gotten closer, so much closer. Before Pran was transferred, Pat was ready to call him the person who knew him the best, even if he couldn’t bring himself to call Pran a friend.
They weren’t allowed to be friends, but they still were people who knew each other inside out. Pat was okay with that.
But now Pran is gone, with no communication except for when his friends chat in school, and Pat has no choice but to pretend to be casually lean towards their side and try to eavesdrop.
Which is how he finds out the name of his new school. It is a prestigious school, with extensive academics and opportunities for extracurriculars.
Pat goes onto their website one night, when everybody in his house is asleep, and he has the cover of the night to search up whatever he can of his not-really-friend’s new school.
That is how he finds out that this school of Pran’s offers summer camp. For kids to hone new skills and pass time during their summer break. And a spark ignites in Pat’s brain.
What if-
He sits up straighter, huddling his limbs closer to battle the chill of the night. What if Pran goes to this summer camp?
It’s not compulsory, Pat notes, and frankly he assumes no child would want to be back to the awful prison they call ‘educational institution’, but there is still a possibility, and Pat is willing to take a chance.
Plus, what if Pran doesn’t want to come home?
Pat has known Pran all his life. He knows Pran, understands him more than he understands himself sometimes. He knows Pran was hurt, teary eyes and fists tightly gripping the straps of his school bag as waits outside the principal’s office for his parents to finish the relevant paperwork.
He also knows that if Pran is hurt, he will do anything in his power to not face whatever made him hurt. Or remind him of why he was suffering.
Which means Pran will try not to come home, at least, right now. When it’s not even been a year since his transfer.
That is the only thread Pat is holding onto, his intuition telling him Pran will come.
Pran will be there.
“P’Pran might not even want to see you.” Paa tells him quietly.
Pat knows that. Of course. If Pran doesn’t want to talk to him, then he will let it be. But he cannot just sit at home and wait. He will at least try to talk to Pran.
If Pran even comes to this summer camp.
If he decides to come back home, well, Pat will have to enjoy all by himself in a summer camp.
It sounds good, outside, away from home, in a small getaway where he can be himself. Away from the pressure of his parents, away from having to always be the best. He can learn new things, he can make new friends. He can be himself.
But somehow the thought of Pran not being there makes the summer camp sound dull, like if Pran isn’t there, there is no point.
But he can’t take it back now, he has to go. He might as well enjoy this experience.
“What are you going to tell him when you see him?” Paa asks, and Pat zaps back to reality.
“I-” Pat pauses, having no idea how to answer, “I don’t know.”
Paa groans, “Let me summarise, you are going to a summer camp, in P’Pran’s school, looking for P’Pran, but you’re not sure if he’ll be there.”
Pat nods.
Paa continues, “And if you do meet him, you have no idea what you’ll tell him.”
Pat nods hesitantly.
“ Hia do you even see the amount of what if’s in your plan? Do you know how many things can go wrong?”
Pat sighs, “I know. But do I have any other choice? Do you want me to cut all ties with him for the next three years? And if his mother has her way, probably my entire life?”
Paa quietens at that, not knowing how to reply. Pat understands what she’s feeling.
Pran saved her life, she regards him with respect. Obviously she doesn’t want to cut ties with him.
“Don’t worry about me,” Pat says, patting Paa’s head and getting up to go to his room, “just help me out if pa or ma get suspicious.”
Paa nods, helpless.
Pat walks back to his room, hugs Nong Nao, and hopes to fall asleep.
Summer break starts soon, and Pat gets ready to be shipped off to a different school for summer camp. He packs his bags, checks it twice, his mother checks it three more times before his father stops her from checking it again , and Paa fans herself, sweating and swearing and getting scolded for swearing.
The summer this time is a bit wild, he will agree.
It is fun. At least, he hopes it will be.
The car ride is long, far into the outskirts of the city, and Pat would have fallen asleep during the ride if he hadn’t been a ball of nerves.
“You look like you’re about to die.” Paa whispers.
“I feel like that!” Pat hisses back.
Paa rolls her eyes and he makes a face, and the two descend into throwing punches and kicks and empty threats until their mother yells at them to stop. And soon, Pat reaches his home for basically three days.
“Is this the place?” His father asks as he walks out of the car, “It’s a big school.”
Pat nods, and looks around, shifting his glance from one place to another.
“Why are you so fidgety today?” His mother asks, narrowing her eyes at his behaviour.
“Nothing.” He answers.
His father laughs, “Come on, dear.” he turns to his wife, “He is at that age where children don’t want to be seen with their parents.”
Pat wants to protest that he feels no such thing, and would very well be happy to be around his parents, but the urgency to send them away overpowers him.
They can’t see Pran.
They must not see Pran.
A part of him reminds him that Pran might not even be there, but he shoves that feeling down. First things first, don’t let there be any mistakes.
His parents laugh and walk back to the car, while Paa pulls on his sleeve.
“If you meet him” - Paa shifts her glance towards her parents when she says ‘him’ and then looks back at Pat - “tell him I said hi.”
Pat nods, suddenly having an urge to laugh.
“Don’t laugh.” She says, as if reading his mind.
Pat shuts up, but the ends of his lips curl upwards, and Paa glares at him as she walks towards the car. Once she gets in, she rolls the windows down, turns another cautionary glance towards her parents, and mouths a ‘good luck’.
Pat smiles, and waves at her, and mouths back a ‘thanks’.
He is ushered into a hall after he identifies and registers himself, and is made to listen to yet another middle aged man talk about the virtues of this school or whatever. Yet another long drawn out school assembly.
Except this time he is seated, and doesn’t need to pay attention.
So he doesn’t.
He shifts in his chair, swinging his head from side to side, on the lookout for one particular person.
He’s seated far behind, away from the stage, on the edge of the rows, just beside the door.
Pran is probably already inside, considering he is a student of this school, so he keeps craning his neck forward to see, and his chair makes scraping noises while he tries to find the familiar face.
People sitting beside him send him irritated glances, as if him making noise is disturbing them from whatever the speaker is saying. Why they would be so interested in a person flexing about their own institution, Pat doesn’t know. But he isn’t here to judge. So he quietens a little, only peeking ahead a few times, trying to sound interested in the speaker.
He registers absolutely nothing of what the speaker says.
Just as he is about to get bored (and lose hope of Pran ever even being there), the door near him swings open, and another wave of kids flow into the room.
Pat has barely turned his head around to look at them, before he hears a familiar gasp behind him.
The hair on the back of his neck springs up, and he feels the adrenaline rush into his veins as he turns around to face Pran.
Pran. Who is looking at him with wide eyes, disbelief, panic, frustration and so much more emotions that Pat feels himself choking up with it.
He thinks of what he thought he’d tell Pran. That he’s sorry, and that he wishes he was there in school with him. Or that Paa said hi.
Or he’d ask him. How are the exams here? How are your friends? Teachers? How are you ? Are you hurt, scared, confused? Have you adjusted already? Have you competed with anybody here? Have you-
Have you forgotten how it felt to compete with me? Because I haven’t.
Pat wants to speak, but his throat is clogged. As if he has a cold, as if it hurts to even swallow. Pran’s eyes bore into him, and Pat feels time stop. He needs to speak, he knows.
But he can barely think.
“Hi.” He musters, sounding soft and painful, choked by the tears threatening to spill, which he hadn’t even noticed until now .
Pran cannot even muster that.
His lips tug downwards, opening and closing his mouth, wondering what to say. How to say.
“You-” Pran starts finally, only to be stopped by a teacher.
“Please sit down.”
Pran nods on autopilot and goes to sit on the seat nearest to him, but he freezes when he realises it is the seat right behind Pat. He glances at Pat once, and Pat meets his eyes because he is still looking at him, vision half blurry and half crinkled because he is smiling like an idiot. Pran hurriedly looks away, and tries walking towards the next row.
But another wave of students roll in, blocking Pran’s escape route, and Pat catches Pran’s lips move to form a curse, and he marvels at the thought of seeing Pran curse again, in front of so many authoritative figures at that. Pran only cursed in front of him before, partly because of his influence. Seems like boarding school has taught Pran the teenage ways.
His smile falters.
Pran closes his eyes, tilts his head, and resignatorily makes a decision. He sits behind Pat. Pat’s smile perks up again. Pran gives Pat one solid do-not-disturb-me stare, and then resolutely avoids looking at Pat, turning to listen to the speaker on the stage, even though Pat knows Pran is no more interested in it than he is.
He turns around to face the speaker, heart thumping in his chest as relief floods him, and tries to listen.
He remembers nothing of the speech.
----------
Pran is scared.
As he tries to shove his spoon into his mouth, he feels his hand tremble.
Fuck .
Wai keeps sneaking glances at him, and Pran knows Wai has figured out something is wrong. He keeps quiet about it, silently pushing all the food he knows Pran likes towards him. Pran is grateful.
“The food is so good!” Wai says, dramatically gobbling down his food.
“Dude it tastes the same as always.” One of their friends says, confused.
Wai pretends to smack his forehead, muttering an idiot . “It’s better than regular, obviously! They need to make sure the non-school kids” - he vaguely gestures towards the other kids in the room - “decide to take admission here.”
The other students nod in agreement, and start discussing the schemes of their schools and Pran relaxes a little. Wai nudges him a little, and Pran turns to look at him.
“What happened to you?”
Pran shakes his head, “Nothing.”
“You’re saying as if I do not know you.”
Pran smiles, awkward.
Wai laughs and turns his head towards his food, “You don’t have to tell me if you feel uncomfortable.”
“I saw somebody from my previous school.” Pran says, so softly that Wai barely hears him.
But he heard it, and now he’s on high alert.
“Old school?” Wai’s eyes go cold. He remembers how Pran was when he had just entered the school. Listless and broken, wary of everyone around him, as if anybody near him could burn his skin.
Sometimes you need to build walls around you. Wai had learnt that soon after he became friends with Pran. Pran was vulnerable, as if that flimsy bubble he built around himself could be popped with just a touch. Nobody could ask what he was like, what he liked to do in his free time, or what his friends were like in his previous school. He’d keep himself far away from questions like that, completely barring himself away from others. Then Pran rebuilt his walls. Talked little of his family, none of his previous school, and people learnt to not ask him about it. Then he talked about himself, his ideas, his likes, dislikes. His old friends. He was not vulnerable anymore.
His walls made him feel secure enough to reveal colours of his life towards the other side, where others could see it. If Wai could not break those walls, he'd help Pran maintain it. Wai had sworn to.
It takes Wai a while before he responds, “Do you want to talk to them?”
Pran shakes his head.
“Then I’ll help you keep them away.”
Pran laughs, “Will you be able to?” Pat is difficult to shake off once he starts focusing on one thing.
Wai taps his fist on his chest, “Trust your friend, will you?”
Pran shakes his head, laughing.
He feels lighter, and he sighs. Having two people worry about it is better than one. He is glad he has at least Wai.
After lunch they are shoved to another room, spacious and well ventilated. Pran spots two big speakers towards the front, and a chill runs down his spine.
He knows what activity they’ll be doing.
They’ll be dancing.
Pran doesn’t do dancing.
He sends a worried glance at Wai, who is busy laughing about yet another weird joke. He nudges Wai, hoping to get his attention.
He gets attention though, but not from Wai.
Pat spots him from the other end.
He starts walking towards Pran, and Pran can feel his traitorous heart swiftly pick up a pace.
Pat smiles as he gets closer, and Pran’s legs are stuck on the ground. He needs to move, break eye contact. Run.
Keep far away from Pat.
Luckily Wai notices it too, and drapes an arm around Pran, dragging him over to a different corner, all the while throwing stinking glares at Pat.
Pran glances back too, and sees Pat look like a rejected puppy, and a twinge of guilt rushes up his spine. He gulps it down, he is not obligated to meet Pat. They’re not supposed to anyways.
He heaves a sigh of relief when they walk far enough away from Pat, and Wai removes his arm from Pran, turning to face him.
Wai glances back at Pat and then at Pran, eyes narrowing, “Do you owe him money?” Pran smacks his forehead as Wai laughs.
“I’m serious! He looks like he wants to murder me for interrupting him.”
Pran glances at Pat, and he’s looking elsewhere, occupied with laughing with another guy, and the little hope - that Pran didn’t even know he had - dies in him. He tears his gaze away.
“Alright!” The instructor in front says, beaming at them. “Keep a little distance between you all, we’re going to dance!”
Cheers and groans mix in the noise as the instructor laughs, “Come on, even if you don’t like it, you need the exercise!”
Pran sighs, already giving up. Wai nudges him, “Dude, cheer up. I don’t know how to dance either.” It does little to lessen Pran’s misery.
They’re asked to warm up and stretch. The room is crowded, and Pran is already starting to sweat uncomfortably. The instructor finally starts to move on to the dancing.
The instructor plays the music first, a pumpy, loud song, energetic and lively, making Pran’s heart beat with the drum.
The instructor stops the music, “Alright, now that you’ve heard the music, we will go through the steps. Now you take your leg-” She stretches her right leg out to the side, body turning to left as she sweeps her right hand in an arc, swift and graceful. “Like this. Now try.”
Pran gulps. He shifts his leg to the side, tries to turn his body the other way, wobbly and stumbling, the arc of his arm looking like a plea for help.
He shoots a glance at the instructor, and she’s moving around, helping each student, and tries again. It’s not better, obviously.
“Dude you look like you’re dying.” Wai says, laughing. As if he doesn’t look like he’s sweeping the floor.
“You’re one to talk!” Pran retorts, and Wai laughs again, going on to tease the other person next to him.
Pran tries one more time. He’s a bit more stable, the shift of his leg a bit more natural. Turning his body to the side is still a problem, and it doesn’t go at the same time as his leg, but he’s getting better. He’s going to do it.
The instructor comes to his side and gives him some tips, and he improves a little more, and she nods in approval. Pran’s heart soars, and he tries even harder.
Wai whistles as the instructor moves away, “Dude what do you mean you can’t dance?”
Pran scoffs, “I still can’t!”
“You’re better than me!”
“Obviously.”
Wai glares at him and turns away, and Pran laughs.
“Okay!” The instructor claps her hand to get their attention, “Let’s try this step with the music, shall we?”
Before waiting for a response, she turns the music on, and she counts down to the beat where they need to dance.
And Pran misses the beat, of course. He’s half a second late, and his body is as wobbly as it was in the beginning, and before he even sorts the step in his mind, the beat has already passed.
“Alright.” The instructor says, turning off the music, “Now that you know what beat you need to start, let’s get on with more steps.”
Pran wants to cry. He can’t even do the first step correctly, and everybody is moving forward already.
He subconsciously glances at Pat, who is dancing with ease, a small hint of a smile on his face as he executes it perfectly. Pran gapes, he didn’t know Pat could dance.
“He won’t ask you for money if you dance worse than him, you know.” Wai whispers in his ear, and Pran flinches. He turns around to smack Wai again, which he avoids while laughing. But he bumps into the other person beside him, and that person smacks him, and it is now Pran’s turn to laugh.
The instructor moves on, “So you’ve done this step right?” She shifts her leg and does the previous step again, “Now drag your leg back” -she pulls her right leg closer to her left, and taps lightly - “then you tap- tap- tap! And then you push” - she pushes the air with her hand, placing her right left diagonally backward, dragging her left leg - “and then you cross your legs and turn!” She jumps and crosses her leg, tilting her head in a swing while her body moves along with it, and she, again, very gracefully makes a turn.
The person standing in front of Wai and Pran turns around to face them, “Help.”
Pran can’t help but laugh at that.
Wai laughs too, “We are done. There is no way we can do that.”
“Now, I will count the steps, and you all try doing it.”
She starts counting the beats, and Pran gets ready.
The beat hits, and Pran shifts his leg back, surprisingly doing better than he expected, and tries the new step. He pulls his leg forward, barely misses the beats for the tap, and pushes back perfectly, and tangles his leg when he tries to turn, trips and crashes into Wai, who laughs and curses at the same time, trying to hold both of them up. They laugh, because of course, and the instructor shifts her glance towards them.
They hurriedly straighten themselves, but she just shakes her head, smiling, and turns away. Maybe because this is a summer camp, and she feels that the kids need a break, she lets them do what they want.
She makes them do more rounds of the steps without music, and Pran is getting better (at least he doesn’t trip over his own ankles), and the instructor is satisfied enough by everyone’s dance, and she turns up the music.
Pran is prepared this time, and he strikes right at the beat, beaming at himself, filled with more energy than ever, and hits the beat for the leg taps too. His body is not completely coordinated, and he looks awkward, flailing his limbs, but he’s getting better.
At least he’s faring better than Wai, who has his brows sharp and narrowed, looking like he’s doing a ritual to sacrifice his first-born more than a dance to an upbeat song.
Pran finishes his turn a little off beat, but still better than before, and jumps a little on his place to signal the finish of his steps, when a loud cheer sounds from the other side of the room. Pran turns his head to see a large circle formed around Pat, who is still merrily dancing, so graceful and smooth that Pran doesn’t know if it is the instructor or Pat who’s better.
“Whoa.” Even Wai compliments him, “He’s good.”
Pran nods, still in disbelief.
The instructor doesn’t stop the music, and Pat dances, making up the steps as he goes along with the music, hand on his chest as he does a chest pump, then a body wave, and he’s turning again, then there’s a low kick and then a side step, body open and free and Pran is mesmerised .
He doesn’t know if Pat is dancing to the music, or if his steps cause the music to form.
Sweat clings to the edges of Pat’s hair, and his muscles flex with every step, and Pran knows Pat is doing this on purpose, this big show off. He can’t tear his eyes away anyways.
“If you’re trying to not ogle at him, I can tell you you’re failing.” Wai tells him.
“Shut up.” Pran says, tearing his gaze away. And then finally Pat finishes his dance, and the instructor claps, and everybody else joins in. Pran glances at him again.
They are asked to dance a few more times, and more and more steps are added, and by the end Pran is too exhausted to even move.
They’re finally given a break, and he and Wai move out of the room with water bottles in hand, downing the chilled water in gulps.
Pat stays in, cartwheeling with one hand, and the people around him are still cheering. Even the instructor is still clapping.
Wai places his cold water bottle on Pran’s cheek, and Pran flinches back to reality.
Wai raises an eyebrow as Pran glares at him, “Will you now tell me what is going on with you and him?”
Pran lowers his hand which holds the water bottle, silent. He doesn’t know if it is okay talking about it. And then he sighs, giving up, “The reason why I transferred.”
Wai straighten up, “Shit.”
Pran nods, “Our parents hate each other. And I was in a band with him in my previous school, so my mother transferred me here.”
“Just for that?” Wai is confused. Pran nods again.
He glances at Pat, beaming like the sun, centre of attention. As always. He gives a weak smile.
“And you just happened to have a crush on him?” Wai asks, and Pran whips his head around so fast he almost passes out.
“ WHAT? ”
“Bro don’t even try to deny it. There is nothing platonic in the way you’re looking at him.”
“ I don’t -”
Wai looks at him straight, unimpressed. Pran gulps down his previous words and looks away.
“If you want me to keep him away I can help you.”
Pran looks up at him.
Wai sighs, “Look, your parents hate each other. It will only bring you problems. If you want to be together with him, I can help with that, too. But if you want me to beat him up-” There’s a dangerous glint in Wai’s eyes and Pran puts both his hands on Wai’s shoulder to calm him down.
“No, no. Just keep him away.”
Wai looks dejected at the prospect of not being able to beat up Pat, and Pran almost panicks, “Wai, no fighting!”
Wai nods, smiling. “Alright, alright. I won’t. Although, I think you should let him have a chance to speak to you.” He nods towards Pat, and Pran turns to see Pat looking at him.
He turns his head away, and doesn’t answer.
----------
It’s around 6pm when they’ve all freshened up and told to socialise.
Korn, the guy he befriended here, is re-tying his ponytail for the umpteenth time today, and chattering away with another person sitting beside them.
It’s getting dark, and everybody is huddling together, chatting, tired from all that exercise. Pat himself feels all his bones turn to jelly, dancing after so long. He had almost forgotten how much he liked dancing, but his father had not approved of it, making him focus more on rugby and drums, and he had had to stop.
He smiles as Korn brings more of his friends to sit with them, one of them apparently being from Pran’s school.
The friend talks about how torturous the school is, with rules and regulations making it feel more like a jail than school. They laugh, sharing anecdotes of their own schools.
Then the friend notices some of his friends and calls out to them, “Wai! Pran! Come join us!”
Pat abruptly sits straighter, heart thumping.
Pran walks in, eyes lazy and hands in his pockets, and his friend Wai has his arms around Pran’s shoulder.
Pran’s gaze freezes as he sees Pat, but then he looks away and smiles at his friends as if nothing happened. Pat chooses to stay mum.
They sit around too, and Wai glances once at Pat, and smirks. Pat is confused, but he has no idea what Pran has told him, so he has no choice but to let it go.
They all chat again, and Pran laughs along with his friends, and Pat can feel his heart settle into a comfortable rhythm. This is familiar.
As the conversation slows down, and everybody starts getting drowsy, Wai whips out a guitar out of nowhere, and hands it to Pran.
“No.” Pran says, resolutely not looking at the guitar.
“Please~?” Wai says, dragging his voice to whine.
Others urge him too, and Pran sighs as he accepts his fate, “What do you want to listen to?”
One by one, everyone asks him to play a song they want, and Pran sings while playing the guitar. It’s soft, warm, and Pat is reminded of the times when Pran used to sit in his room, humming the tune to the music on the guitar. When Pat used to leave his window open to listen to Pran hum as he did his assignments.
Of when he sometimes played the drums along the song Pran was playing, so that both of them played the same song together. Pran used to stop soon, and Pat never asked him to play together either, for fear that their parents would figure it out. Pat smiles, he misses that.
He misses that so much.
Pran has finished another song, and everybody is racking their brains for another song to make Pran sing.
Pat opens his mouth, “Can I request one?”
Pran sends him an alarmed glance, and then looks down again, nodding, “Okay.”
Pat swallows, mulling over what words to choose to say.
“Something-” his voice is so soft, he doesn’t know if Pran can hear it, “Something you have written yourself.”
Pran hears it, by the way his eyes widen and he looks at Pran with horror.
Wai notices Pran’s weird look, and he sends Pat a glare. Pat regrets saying it, knowing it’s Pran’s sore spot. But Pran looks down to his guitar and strums it once.
“Okay.”
Pat’s heart rises up to his throat, suffocating him.
Pran plucks the strings of the guitar, the familiar tune bringing Pat back to the days when they first composed it. The days when he heard the song so many times that he could hear it in his sleep.
It must be nothing, the way you look at me
Is common, I’m sure
Pran looks at him, smiling. Pat holds his gaze, before Pran looks away.
You’re just another friend of mine
There must be nothing
In the way you talk to me, no need to feel insecure
Or read between the lines
Pran has that smile he has, when Pat used to talk about Ink with him. As if he’s willing to listen, but it hurts him anyways. Pat had stopped talking about girls with Pran, fearing that he’d distance himself after that.
I can’t make sense of what you’ve done
In my mind there’s one question
Are we just friends or are we more?
Pran looks at Pat, now. Eyes unwavering as he completes the sentence, and going back to looking at the guitar as if he didn’t just turn Pat’s whole worldview.
You make me
Feel butterflies in my core
Hold on- Pat can’t breathe. Does he- He must be thinking wrong. Pat’s heart beats faster than ever, so loud that he can barely hear Pran.
But it doesn’t matter, because Pat knows the lyrics by heart anyways.
If you don’t mean it
Don’t act that way
This is not what a friend would do or say
Pran lets the strings vibrate on as he says the last line, as everybody else around him cheers.
“Dude, you didn’t even tell me you wrote such a great song!” Wai says, smacking Pran’s back as he laughs.
Korn is clapping too, “That was so cool!”
Another friend chimes up, raising his eyebrow, smirking, “Was this song written for somebody?”
Pran’s ears flush as he glances once at Pat, and looks away. It’s so subtle almost nobody catches it. But Pat was looking at Pran, and he saw it.
“Yes.”
Pat thinks back to all the time he talked about girls around him. Talked about Ink. Pat wants to curse at his past self.
Pran likes him.