Work Text:
When Pran opened his window to a Pat looking worried, distressed even, this was not what he was expecting.
Pat was now standing in his room, shirtless, somehow still with a worried expression as if the situation wasn’t ridiculous, having just asked Pran maybe the wildest question he ever uttered.
“Pran, do you think my tits are getting bigger?”
“Pat what the FUCK!” Pran could not believe what he was hearing. He definitely could believe what he was seeing. Pat, shirtless, breathing heavily by the effort he made climbing through the roofs to get to Pran’s room. Pat, shirtless, in his room, with a serious expression as if that was a normal thing to ask at 11pm on a tuesday. “Put your shirt back on and leave, what the fuck Pat!”
“Pran, wait, wait, it’s serious! I’m serious here.” Pran's first instinct was to push Pat back out his window. He did not need to deal with any of this right now, or ever, thank you very much. “Pran please, I’ll be gone in a minute, just-” Pat avoided Pran’s next push, circling around and getting to the other side of the room as far away from the window as he could. “Just wait a minute! I need to know this.”
Pran knew any more noise would probably wake up his parents. As frustrating as it was, he let out a sigh. “Pat, you have thirty seconds to explain why you climbed into my room at eleven fucking PM to ask if your ti- your chest got bigger.”
“Ok, see, I’ve been working out after school, I don’t know if you noticed it.” Oh, Pran did notice, unfortunately. In fact it was all he could notice these days. “And I've been doing a lot of chest work these last few weeks but I’m not sure if I’m getting any results.” Pat said, pressing the side of his chest with his hands, making his pecs pop out even more than they already were.
How and why was this Pran’s life?
“Pat, if you’re fishing for compliments you most definitely did not come to the right person.” Pran was looking directly at Pat’s eyes, avoiding eye contact to any other part of the, again, shirtless boy body. If he was now purposefully keeping a fair distance from Pat, maybe almost climbing out of his own window, then no one needed to know.
“That’s exactly why I needed to ask you about this! I knew you won't say something you don’t actually mean. I need an objective analysis on this matter Pran. Here, look.” Pat took a big step forward, Pran took one back himself. Pat took another step, and Pran was trapped against his window, which looked more and more like a valid escape option.
“Pat I swear to god if you take one more step I’ll punch you, you stink.” Pat did not stink, in fact. Pran noticed he probably showered recently. He smelled fine, like deodorante, soap, maybe a little sweat from jumping through their houses roofs. He smelled like Pat. Pran could not let him get not a centimeter closer.
“What? I took a shower before coming here, I smell fine. I think.” Pat raised one of his arms, smelling his own armpit. Shirtless. Pran wished the floor would open and swallow him whole. “Yep, definitely do not stink. Anyway, you’re distracting me. This is not the point, Pran. The point is, look.” Pat said, pointing at his own nipples with his two hands. It would be a funny image, Pran thought, if he wasn’t feeling like he could catch fire any second now. “I think my arms workout are working great,” Pat flexed, “but I can’t really tell if my chest is getting more defined. The guys from the rugby team say it is, but I don’t trust them, they just want to get on my good side you know. Now I know you can give me an unbiased opinion. So, what do you think?”
Pran considered his options: he could tell Pat his chest was, in fact, getting bigger (it was), and make his head the size of the moon; he could tell Pat he couldn’t notice any change, and Pat would look like a kicked puppy; and finally, he could try to avoid the question but he was not sure it would work. Pat could be incredibly tenacious and annoying when wanted to. He chose a fourth option.
“Pat, I couldn’t possibly tell if anything changed since I don’t know how… big your chest was before.” Pran lied. He could probably draw Pat from head to toe from memory. Not his proudest admission. Pran knew this answer would not satisfy Pat, so he continued. “But, like, it… it looks fine? I guess?” Pran’s manga collection looked especially interesting tonight, his gaze now fixed on it as if alarms would go off if he looked anywhere else, or at one person in particular, who was standing a few meters from him. In his room. Shirtless.
And before he knew it, the few meters were gone, and Pat was on his face. “Pat what the fuck what are you doing-” Pat grabbed Pran’s hands and put them both over his pecs, pressing them. “But can you feel the muscles Pran? You think they’re too rigid? Too soft?” The absurdity of the situation left Pran paralised for a second too long, like his soul left his body to take a stroll before coming back, finally allowing Pran to get out of his stupor.
“Pat, get off of me!” Pran shoved Pat away, maybe a little more rough than he planned too. Pat gave a single step back, recovering his balance with ease. He really was getting stronger, Pran brain helpfully supplied. “Get the fuck out of my room night now, I’m not playing anymore. Go!”
“Ouch, fine, fine. Don’t scream, your parents will hear you! I’ll go, it’s late anyway.” Pat said, finally putting his t-shirt on again, one leg already out of the window. Pran let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I’ll try to focus more on my chest this week, at the gym. Next time you’ll be able to tell the difference I’m sure!” Pat smiled, looking satisfied for god knows what reason, Pran thought.
“There’ll be no next time, now leave before I push you down the roof!” And leave Pat did, but not before turning one last time to make finger guns at Pran, whose face probably held ten emotions at once.
Finally alone, Pran fell on his bed, face on his pillow. His whole body burned, he felt like his skin was about to melt. Pran would need at least a week to process what had just happened. His mind going back to how Pat felt on his hands, the warmth of his skin, fingers digging into soft muscle; the smell of deodorant, soap and sweat. So close. Too close. Pran wanted to scream.
After a while he turned over, now looking outside his window. It was mostly dark, only the weak light of the moon making him able to see Pat’s window, where the lights were already off. Pran pondered how unfair it was that Pat could fall asleep so easily, after coming to his room and making a mess inside his mind. Inside his heart. Still, in the solitude and silence of his bedroom, Pran allowed himself to think about big smiles, small eyes and warm skin, until these thoughts finally guided him to sleep.