Work Text:
Everything has changed since Pran had uttered that single yes and kissed him.
It’s all Pat can think about, and when he lies awake at night in bed, he’s hyper aware of Pran being just steps away, and he wonders if Pran is thinking about it, too. He wants so badly to knock on Pran’s door and talk about it, maybe kiss him again, but he’s promised himself –and Pran– the space to figure himself out.
However, that distance is helping a lot less than Pat would like, especially with Pran seemingly always in sight on campus, in their shared class, his mouth pursed around his pen as he listens to the professor, or at the canteen with his face lit up in a laugh with his dimples out at something Wai said.
At one point, Pat sees Wai lean in close to Pran’s neck, like he’s trying to get a whiff, and whatever he says next has Pran’s eyes widening with something like horror, and Pat could swear he looks flushed even from where Pat is standing.
Moments after Wai leaves, Pat watches as Pran’s fingers brush over a spot on his neck, his expression turning wistful and it hits Pat like a gut punch– Pat had put his teeth there not long ago. He didn’t think it was enough to make a mark, but maybe Pran has a sensitive neck.
Pat cannot start thinking about Pran’s sensitive neck, so he sends Ink a text to see if she wants to grab something to eat.
She does, and it’s great. They always have something to talk about, she has a great sense of humor.
He’s always liked her, and thinks it would be easy to date her. It would be familiar and comfortable, since they’re already friends and make each other laugh easily. He can see them going to movies, and maybe Ink would lean into him if he put his arm around her. He’s just having a hard time picturing that happening.
He thinks they could work, if they tried at it. Ink is definitely the sort of woman who would speak her mind if she had a problem with something and talk it out with Pat, unlike others Pat had dated where it felt like playing a guessing game of how they were really feeling.
She’s clever, pretty, ambitious, and his parents have always adored her. She’s someone he could easily take home and introduce as his girlfriend, and she’d be welcome in his family with wide open arms.
Without meaning to, almost as soon as the imagined scenario with Ink starts losing steam in his mind, he starts thinking about what it would be like to take Pran on a date.
Pran would probably be so picky about what movie they’d go see and sooner twist Pat’s arm than let it go around his shoulders.
Pran is already vocal enough with his opinions about Pat’s eating habits, and Pat can just picture Pran’s expression during a nice meal. Despite himself, Pat feels himself smile at the thought.
Pran’s prickly and fastidious nature is endearing, come to think of it. He’s a lot to handle, but Pat has always been the expert on Pran.
So while Pran probably wouldn’t be willing to cozy up in a movie theater, especially in public, he’d be so animated and eager to talk about the film after, and Pat would be happy to listen.
Pran would nag Pat over a meal, but make sure Pat ate well, because Pran looks after the people he cares about. It makes Pat’s heart race a little faster, the idea that he could fall into that category. To be someone Pran cares about.
They’d be able to walk back together after every date, pausing at their doors to say goodnight, or maybe end up in each other’s rooms.
It might make up for the fact that he would not be able to take Pran home. The thought threatens to take the wind out of Pat’s sails for the moment, but he opts to simply ignore it.
Keeping their relationship a secret would be nothing new to Pat and Pran, and he’s sure they could figure something out between the two of them.
He takes a breath, looking at his reflection. “Look at you,” he scolds himself. “Getting worked up over nothing. You don’t even know if Pran wants more than that!” Despite that, Pat knows the way Pran had kissed him– followed by them making out on Pran’s bed like they couldn’t get enough of each other– were not actions brought on by pure impulse.
Still, Pat’s shoulders slump. Pran would probably be thrilled if he knew how twisted into knots Pat is over this.
He’s not sure what he expected. He’s really never been himself without Pran around. Why would this be any different?
“Do you think it’s possible to like two people at once?” Pat asks nearly a week later, his eyes following Pran across the canteen, where Pran is joking with Wai, grinning like a madman and letting Wai drape all over him. Next to him, Korn doesn’t answer, eyes locked on his phone, brow furrowed in concentration. Pat sighs, loudly, and shakes Korn’s shoulder.
“Dude, what?” Korn complains, the tell-tale sounds of a Game Over blaring from his phone.
“I asked if you thought it was possible to like two people at once,” Pat says, and Korn eyes him for a moment, before setting his phone down, turning to give Pat his full attention. Korn really is a good friend.
“Well, yeah,” Korn says, studying Pat. “I mean, it’s a big world, right? It’s gotta be impossible to just like one person at a time. Is this about that hot photography student you keep following around? She’s probably out of your league, but you should go for it.”
“I’m not following her around,” Pat objects, his fingers brushing the bracelet at his wrist, distracted.
“That’s not a no, either,” Korn nods, propping his elbows on the table and watching Pat. “So, what, you have the hots for photography girl–”
“Ink.”
“Ink, and some other girl? Is it the one from architecture? If so, it’s a no brainer, go for Ink, no matter how hot the other girl–”
“Guy,” Pat blurts out, even though he knows he could have just gone with the original assumption. “They– he’s a guy.”
Korn stares at him, eyes wide, and Pat forces himself not to react.
“That does complicate things,” Korn says, nodding, throwing an arm over Pat’s shoulders and tugging him into a side hug. “The variables have changed. There’s a lot to compare and all.”
“Compare?” Pat echoes, frowning.
“You know,” Korn waves his free hand. “Physical attributes, perfume versus cologne, personality, dynamics.”
Pat really didn’t think it was complicated until Korn started talking like this. It’s not like he hasn’t already thought about it, either, but hearing it from his best friend makes it just a little more real.
“Imagining how each of them kiss,” Korn continues, and Pat’s mind immediately leaps to that night, Pran solid and warm under him, his mouth open and damp against Pat’s.
“How they–” Pat grabs his water bottle, twisting the cap and taking a drink. He knows Korn can’t possibly read minds, but Pat is desperate for Korn to not see anything on Pat’s face that would give away exactly what just came to mind. “It can’t be that different.”
Still, he tries to imagine it– Ink brushing her hair behind her ear with a smile, leaning in for a kiss. She always does smell nice, something light and refreshing, and maybe she’d be wearing some kind of flavored lip balm, like she had been anticipating kissing Pat.
Would she make the first move, or wait for Pat to do it? Would they lean in at the same time, and would it feel awkward?
He’s liked Ink for so long, so it’s a little unnerving to acknowledge how much he’s struggling to imagine them like this.
Unbidden, his mind conjures the image of Pran in the dark, staring up at him with an unreadable expression, his chest rising and falling against Pat’s, fingers tangled in Pat’s hair, brushing along Pat’s back.
“Well?” Korn prompts, leaning forward, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. “You’re looking a little flushed. Is it good?”
Pat swings his leg over the bench, making sure to knock his shoulder into Korn’s as he does, and Korn makes an exaggerated noise of pain.
“My office is always open if you need advice,” Korn calls as Pat walks away.
He can’t work things out around Korn, apparently. It felt too much like having an audience for something this personal and groundbreaking.
He rounds a corner, distracted, and immediately collides with another student. He reaches out to steady them and apologize for not paying attention, but the words die on his tongue.
Pran stares back at him, mouth open against his own unspoken apology, before he closes it, his head turning toward where Pat’s hand is curled over Pran’s arm. It’s the first time they’ve been close or touched since that night.
“Pran,” Pat starts, surprised at how breathless and relieved he feels. Pran just looks at him, shoulders tense and guarded. There’s a faint, barely there red mark under Pran’s jaw, small enough that Pat wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t seen Wai teasing Pran earlier. It makes his mouth go dry and he reaches out, impulsive.
Pran’s eyes go wide and he slaps Pat’s hand away, but Pat doesn’t take it personally.
“There’s no rule against talking,” Pat insists before Pran can inevitably say otherwise, trying his best not to look at Pran’s mouth, keeping his eyes focused above Pran’s nose. It’s worse, somehow, because Pran’s eyes are so expressive, even when the rest of him is wordlessly signaling for Pat to back off.
Right now, Pat knows Pran’s walls are up because he’s worried and vulnerable, and that’s always a difficult Pran to work with. Pat could usually lighten the mood or cheer Pran up in his own way, but this is uncharted territory for both of them.
“Do you want to talk?” Pran asks him, sharp and a little mocking, but again, Pat knows Pran is just on the defensive.
It’s also a little unfair that Pran knows him so well, because looking at Pran now, Pat doesn’t think he would just want to talk.
Pat can’t get the words out, and Pran just shakes his head, mouth pressed in a thin line and he walks past Pat without another word.
A few weeks ago, Pat could have reached out and stopped Pran from leaving, annoyed his way into Pran’s space and greedily claimed Pran’s time and attention.
He feels like he’s standing at a fork in a road, but he has no gut instinct telling him which way to go, and that’s a feeling he’s unfamiliar with.
Pat treats Ink to another meal, laughs at the noodle stall owner’s teasing, and watches Ink break her chopsticks and dig in. The chopsticks are uneven, and he wants to fix that for her.
“Earth to Pat,” Ink says halfway into their meal, waving her hand in front of Pat’s face. “You’ve been miles away since we met up!”
Pat shakes himself, blinking a few times. “Of course not!” he tells her, shoving a mouthful of cooling noodles into his mouth.
“Mm,” Ink props her chin on her hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this distracted. A girl could get offended if she didn’t know better. Do you need to talk about it?”
“About what?” Pat swallows his noodles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Ink just looks vaguely bemused.
“Whatever’s on your mind,” Ink says, then her smile grows. “Or whoever.”
Pat sets down his chopsticks, wiping his hands on his pants. “Would you be bothered by it?” he asks, looking at Ink, his heart pounding in a way that doesn’t really feel like excitement or anticipation. Ink just looks a little puzzled, so Pat takes a breath and pushes forward. “If there was someone on my mind.”
Ink just studies him for a moment, then she sets down her chopsticks as well. “Pat, are you asking me if I’d be jealous if you were thinking about someone while we were hanging out?”
“Or in general,” Pat says, reaching for his glass of water to quench his suddenly dry mouth. Ink’s expression softens into something that looks understanding.
“I wouldn’t,” she says, simply, and it feels like an answer somehow, but Pat still isn’t sure.
“The thing is,” Pat keeps his eyes on her. “I really liked you back in high school, and I like you now. I just wanted to tell you, I think. See if maybe, if you–” He’s embarrassing himself, he knows. This is far from the confession he had imagined years ago, or even a couple of weeks ago. “I never told you back then, because–” again, he stops, and the realization hits him like a truck.
He’d never told her because he’d been distracted by Pran leaving. Because whether he’d known it back then or not, he’d been heartbroken by the loss of Pran’s presence in his life.
He watches as Ink reaches across the table, her hand curling over his forearm and squeezing, and it feels nice. It feels supportive. It doesn’t feel romantic or intimate.
“I don’t know where to go from here,” Pat says, staring at her hand on his arm so he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes. “I don’t know what he wants.” It takes him a moment to catch up with his own words, and at that he looks at Ink, eyes widening. She just looks almost unbearably patient and understanding, giving his arm another squeeze.
“Have you spoken to him to see how he feels?” Ink asks, giving him a smile, and Pat almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He’s here to work out his feelings, he’s confessed something to Ink, and in a matter of minutes, she’s offering him relationship advice about someone else.
“I think I know how he feels,” he says instead, and his lips tingle a little with a phantom memory.
“Out of your league?” Ink teases, patting Pat’s arm before pulling it back to resume eating.
“Off limits, I guess,” Pat says. Ink just makes an understanding sound, and her smile drops a little, which surprises Pat. He’s not used to seeing Ink look so wistful.
“Hey,” Pat tries for levity. “Did you turn me down because you already have someone in your heart? You could have led with that!”
Ink just laughs. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Pat would, so maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone in his thoughts right now. “Out of your league?” he asks, knowingly. He thought he would be more heartbroken about getting turned down, but there’s only relief.
“And off limits,” Ink opines, but she’s not looking Pat in the eyes, which is also a little weird.
Pat can only help by dropping another meatball into her bowl.
It’s the day of the music contest, and Pat can’t take his eyes off Pran as he sings.
Pran looks good on stage, comfortable and confident, his eyes bright and voice clear. He doesn’t look away from Pat, and despite the cheers of the crowd, it feels like Pran is singing to him.
Having Pran’s attention on him has always been addictive in a way Pat never really understood until recently, and this moment just feels amplified. It feels like a question Pran has been asking for a long time, and Pat is ready to answer.
Suddenly, Pran turns that attention to Wai, during that singular moment in the song that Pat specifically remembers being directed at him all those years ago, and Pat feels the butterflies in his stomach freeze.
Pat knows it’s silly for him to feel this way because of a moment in a performance. It could simply be for show, since Pran is such a natural entertainer. Pran could have just been wrapped up in the energy of the moment, but Pat hates that it was with this song.
He hates that Pran took a moment Pat had foolishly thought was his own, and shifted it to Wai.
He just wants to leave, but his feet won’t let him, like every physical part of his body knows he has to stay and listen to Pran finally sing that song in its entirety, while Pat’s mind and heart is shouting for space.
When the final note plays out and the enthusiastic screams of the crowd overtake the silence, Pat’s feet finally unstick from the ground and he walks off. He can feel Pran’s eyes on him as he goes, but he can’t bring himself to look back this time.
He doesn’t know what’s going on in Pran's head, but if Pran is playing some kind of game, Pat doesn’t want any part of it.
He just wants to understand, so when Pran finally shows up after his inevitable win, Pat is waiting.
But Pran is not alone, flanked by the rest of Moi, with Wai pressing close to Pran’s shoulder as soon as the group sees Pat there.
Pat just keeps his eyes on Pran, holding his hands out low to show he means no harm.
“Pran,” Pat says, and Pran is looking at him, wary but not hostile. Pran is still visibly exhilarated from his win, the adrenaline of playing in front of a crowd, and Pat thinks it’s such a good look on him. Pat wants to bask in it. “Come here.”
“You really can’t wait, can you?” Wai, predictably, is the first to react and ruin everything. “We’re not coming to you to gloat, so you can go–”
“Wai, cut it out,” Pran says, sharp, placing a hand on Wai’s chest to hold him back, and Pat’s eyes follow the movement.
“Congratulations,” Pat says, sincere, and he can see the way Wai twitches with the inability to respond violently to diplomacy.
Pran’s mouth tugs in a tiny, suppressed smile, and he nods in response.
“Pran–” Pat probably shouldn’t be testing his luck and they both see the way Wai tenses up again. Behind him, Pat can hear Korn calling for him, complaining about Pat leaving them behind without warning in their time of defeat.
Pran’s eyes meet Pat’s, and all of Pat’s plans of grand declarations come crashing down around him. Pran physically turns Wai by the shoulders to herd him away, and Pat just stares at the line of Pran’s back until they’re out of sight.
“We need to get drunk,” Korn announces, draping himself over Pat’s shoulders.
Pat does not want to get drunk. He wants to talk to Pran, to tell him everything he’s learned in the past couple of weeks, to kiss Pran again.
Sometimes, it really feels like the universe is against everything that Pat wants these days.
Pat gets a little drunk.
Hours later, Pat isn’t even sure whose room they get to first, or if the door is even closed before he’s being pressed against a wall and Pran is pulling him into another kiss, deep and desperate. Pat can taste a little bit of dampness and salt. It’s unsettlingly familiar.
“Pran,” he pants out, and Pran leans his weight into Pat, hands traveling under Pat’s tank top, palms pressing against Pat’s back. “Pran, are you–”
“Do you want to stop and talk?” Pran asks, resting his forehead against Pat’s shoulder, breathing like he’s trying to rein himself in. Pat isn’t entirely sure what he wants other than to go right back to kissing Pran, but he also wants to make sure Pran is okay. “We should before we go too far.”
“Honey!” Pat whines, scandalized, adopting the tone of his bus stop persona. “How could you? You know I’m not that kind of girl!”
Pran freezes against Pat, staring at him with a wide-eyed, disbelieving look. “What is wrong with you?” he asks, a little wondering, but he’s smiling.
A knot that Pat hadn’t even realized had formed in his chest loosens, and he can’t help but smile back.
“I meant with us, Pat,” Pran continues, but there’s something about his eyes that remains troubled. Something Pat is pretty desperate about taking care of. “Are we even–”
“Yes,” Pat says, immediately, cupping Pran’s face in his hands, a mirror of how he had minutes ago on the rooftop. Pran’s smile fades and his mouth opens slightly like he’s stunned, almost like he’s about to start crying again, so Pat leans in and kisses him a few times until his mouth softens and closes. “Whatever you want to call it, Pran.”
It doesn’t fix the look in Pran’s eyes, so Pat knows he’s just going to have to work harder.
“I’m never going to want to stop kissing you,” Pat promises against Pran’s mouth, relishing the way Pran is breathing a little faster after the small kisses, but the words are barely out of his mouth when Pran is pulling back, out of Pat’s hold, and Pat already feels cold.
It’s the first time he can see Pran properly since their kiss on the rooftop, and the sight of Pran’s flushed cheeks, red lips and hair mussed from Pat’s hands is enough for Pat to be reaching to pull him close, but Pran stops him.
It’s intoxicating, the way Pran can predict the way Pat is going to touch him already, but Pat sees that Pran means for them to take a pause, so he does.
“This still doesn’t change anything,” Pran says, firm but somehow painstakingly soft and sad. Pat doesn’t understand how it’s so easy for Pran to keep running away from this. How can Pran have already known about his feelings, as that night had implied, and still pull away when Pat has finally figured himself out?
“Is this a game, Pran?” Pat finds himself blurting out, breathless. The thought that Pran might be leading Pat on in some form of twisted competition has been festering in the back of his mind since the contest, even though he knows it’s not true. Pran is fiercely competitive but he’s not maliciously cruel. “Do you want me to keep telling you how much I like you so we’re even? Because you figured it out first? Because I will, I’ll do it, you win. Just don’t–”
“This isn’t a game because if it is, we’ve both already lost!” Pran interjects, his voice harsh and shaky, like he’s hurting. “Why don’t you get it? Why couldn’t you have just left when I told you that night?”
“You know why,” Pat slides his hands over Pran’s sides, down to his hips, and pulls Pran closer. “It’s the same reason you kissed me, and you knew there was a possibility that I might like you, didn’t you?”
“It’s not that simple, Pat!” Pat can see Pran’s defenses coming up again, even when they’re in each other’s arms like this. Pran is infuriating in the way that he lets himself give a little before pulling back or pulling away.
“Tell me, then,” Pat challenges, because he knows how this goes. He knows Pran will go somewhere in his own head that Pat doesn’t understand yet, work himself up and walk away.
“I can’t,” Pran bites out, breath catching, his fingers curling over Pat’s shoulders. Holding on, thankfully, and Pat can work with that. “I don’t know how.”
There’s a beat of silence, and in it, Pat begins to understand. They don’t know how to talk to each other, yet, and that’s okay. Pat’s good with living in the moment, while Pran is good at anticipating the future.
A future outside the quiet of Pran’s bedroom where two rival families and faculties still exist.
Pat realizes he probably came so close to missing out on this, and he presses closer to Pran, burying his face in Pran’s neck and breathing in, relishing in the way that Pran slides his hands over Pat’s shoulders, into his hair, grounding and real.
It’s never been about what Pat and Pran wanted, but they can change that, can’t they?
Pat sighs into Pran’s neck, breathing him in just before Pran squeezes his shoulders and pulls back again. This time, it’s just enough to look Pat in the eyes, searching, before his eyes go sharp and resolved, pulling Pat into another kiss and guiding him further into the room.
Pran kisses Pat again, slower, a hand curling against the side of Pat’s neck, and Pat feels the way it’s less desperate and rushed than the previous kisses. Pran might think he’s not good at talking to Pat, yet, but Pat can hear the change in Pran’s mindset loud and clear in the way Pran is kissing him.
Pran isn’t kissing him like he’s expecting things to end at any moment, and Pat responds by cupping both hands around the back of Pran’s head, reminiscent of how he’d done on the rooftop, and holds on, matching Pran’s pace and telling him that Pat is not letting go.
Pran makes a noise against Pat’s mouth, shaky, and the last of the lingering tension leaves his body.
They pull back at the same time, foreheads resting against each other, and when Pat opens his eyes, Pran’s are already open, dark and dazed, watching him.
Pat wets his lips, chasing the taste of Pran, and Pran’s gaze drops briefly to watch, then moves back to Pat’s eyes.
“Oh,” Pat says, sliding a hand up to Pran’s cheek, thumb brushing over the space of a currently hidden dimple. Pran leans into the touch, and the simplicity of the gesture, after everything, just might be what’s going to undo him completely. “I like you.”
Pran just stares like Pat’s grown two heads, but it’s off-set by the way he’s fighting a smile–Pat can feel it against his hand– and the way his eyes light up, his cheeks flushed.
“Of course you do,” Pran says, and Pat can tell he’s trying for cocky, but it’s just coming out breathless. Pat lets it go for now.
“I like you, Pran,” Pat says again, keeping his hand on Pran’s cheek, if only because the way Pran reacts to that is addictive, flushed cheeks and scrunching his nose like he’s embarrassed by Pat’s words.
Then they’re both quiet, still standing close, fingers occasionally brushing against each other like they need contact. Pat eventually takes initiative and guides them both to Pran’s couch, where they sit side by side, thighs and shoulders pressed flushed together.
Pat glances at Pran’s hand, which is so close, and he wants to hold it. He wants to put an arm around Pran and tuck him close to Pat’s side, but he’s not sure if Pran would be okay with that.
Pat had been so sure that they’d be okay once Pran realized that Pat was on his side in every way, but despite everything, Pran still looks conflicted and a little sad.
Pat usually understands Pran so well, but he doesn’t know why Pran looks like his heart is breaking, even after they’ve both made themselves very clear as to where they stand. Like Pat hadn’t held out his heart for Pran to take.
But Pran also looks tired, and it occurs to Pat that it has been a long day for both of them– a long few weeks, maybe longer– and Pat suddenly feels a little more invigorated. He can start with this, make sure Pran feels safe in Pat’s presence. He doesn’t think Pran would go for resting his head on Pat’s shoulder if Pat offered.
He doesn’t really know what Pran wants right now, really, so he slides his hand closer to Pran’s and gently hooks their pinkies.
Pran is still against Pat’s side, and then he sighs, soft, and leans a little more into Pat’s shoulder, his pinky tightening against Pat’s.
They sit there in silence, breathing in sync until Pat wonders if Pran had fallen asleep on him, and Pat can’t bring himself to turn his head and look for fear of rousing Pran.
Eventually, he manages it, and he’s surprised to see that Pran is already looking at him.
“We should–” Pat starts, but Pran doesn’t let Pat finish, standing up and leading Pat wordlessly to the bedroom.
Pat hasn’t been here since that night, and stepping over the threshold brings back such a wave of sense memory that he adjusts his hold on Pran’s hand, interlocking their fingers and holding on tight. He doesn’t want Pran to think this was a mistake again– Pat doesn’t think he can handle getting kicked out tonight if Pran changes his mind.
Pran looks over his shoulder at that, his eyes bright in the dim lighting, his face lit by his smiley face lamps in a way that makes him look like he’s glowing, a beacon that Pat will follow to discover where he needs to go.
He releases Pat’s hand and rummages around in his drawers for sleepwear, vanishing into the bathroom and leaving Pat temporarily cold and adrift. He comes back out after changing and gets into bed, the space next to him left open in a way that looks like an invitation.
Pat wastes no time in climbing in next to Pran, heart pounding as they settle in, both on their backs, lying side by side.
Pat really could get used to this, lying in Pran’s bed with Pran at his side. He wants to get used to it. He turns his head to look at Pran, and Pran is looking at the ceiling. He has a hundred questions at the tip of his tongue.
“Are you tired?” he asks instead, and Pran makes a soft noise of assent.
“Mm, you?” Pran turns his head to look at Pat, and Pat is abruptly brought back to them lying side by side at the bus stop, Pran’s eyes soft and bright like they are now. Pat remembers how he’d felt then, warm and buzzing with happiness. He has a name for that feeling, now.
“Yeah,” Pat replies, low, their fingers brushing again. Pran’s gaze drops down, then back to Pat’s face
“Can I stay–”
“Just stay on your side,” Pran warns him, as if they haven’t been kissing like they want to crawl into each other, but Pat understands.
“Yes, sir,” Pat says with a little salute, and he can see Pran bite back a smile.
There’s a pause, then a quiet, “Good night, Pat.”
“What, no good night kiss?” Pat asks, rolling over to face Pran. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to sleep again if I don’t get a kiss goodnight from now on.”
He can hear the way Pran’s breath stutters a little at that, and Pat gets it. He doesn’t think kissing Pran or talking about kissing Pran will ever get old.
“Good night, Pat,” Pran repeats, but Pat can feel the way Pran’s fingers brush over his again where they lie side by side.
Tomorrow, then.