Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Burning Stars

Bad Buddy — Pran x Pat

     “Everyone has a soulmate, Pran,” his parents used to tell him when he was a little kid, before showing off the matching Soulmate Marks on their shoulders with adoring and proud smiles, little titters of soft laughter between themselves while Pran ran his chubby fingers over the intricate lines. He has always wanted a Soulmate Mark that looks just like his parents’, all sweeping and curling lines that match all the way down to the smallest curve; their size and positioning identical despite the difference between their bodies’ builds. “One day you’ll get the chance to find your own.”

     “They all look different, Pran,” they’d say when he asked how you knew if someone was your Soulmate, his child-like eyes wide with awe as he listened to their explanations. He wanted his Mark right then and there, at the tender age of eight-years-old, desperate to know what branding upon his skin would physically mark him as belonging to his Soulmate; to his special one. “Your Soulmate will either share the same Mark as you, or their Mark will complete your own. No matter which it is, they are your Soulmate; the one destined for you since the day you were born.”

     Laying in his bed at night for many years after his parents explained the significance of a Soulmate Mark to him, Pran bitterly thought about how Pat would get his Mark first; would be able to find the one he is destined for first. Everything is a competition between the boys, and this is the one competition between them that Pran has no chance of winning, not with the weeks that separate their days of birth. Although, with that in mind, Pran knows that he has to find out who his Soulmate is before Pat finds out his, just so that he has the chance to rub it into the other boy’s cheeky face. It’s a rather dark thought for an eight-year-old boy to have, but Pran’s been taught over and over again that he must be better than the neighbour’s son ever since he could walk and talk, and it’s hard to shake some days.

     Despite the animosity between their families, in their middle school years, Pran grows close with Pat, initially bonding over music but soon finding similarities between themselves that helped along the budding friendship. Night hours become filled with cheeky conversations through tin cans connected with a simple bit of string, one set in Pran’s neatly organised desk drawer and another carelessly chucked onto Pat’s disorganised bookshelf. The nightly conversations between their windows become hushed conversations during attempted study sessions on Pran’s bedroom floor, both boys keenly aware of Pran’s parents just downstairs watching television. Their notorious rivalry at school becomes more subdued, but they hardly miss a chance to playfully antagonise each other — which, more often than not, ends up with a small scuffle followed by loud laughter and playful punches to each other’s shoulders.

     Somewhere along the way, Pran falls head over heels for the messy boy with a cheeky grin and a penchant for irritating the hell out of Pran — but the budding guitarist wouldn’t have it any other way, once the initial shock and panic wore down its welcome. Looking back on it, Pran knows that, really, it was inevitable; that he wasn’t going to be able to coexist alongside Pat without having some kind of feeling for him — Pran just never really banked on it being a romantic feeling for the goofy boy. He is glad, albeit quietly, that his parents don’t turn up at the Christmas concert the school puts on, because he genuinely fears that they would send him so very far away if they were to find out that Pran played an original song — a fully realised love confession — alongside Pat; alongside the boy that Pran wrote the damn song about.

     Pran doesn’t want to be torn away from the boy he likes — loves — because of some ridiculous family feud that started years before Pat and Pran were even born; a feud that shouldn’t even include them.

     When he turns sixteen only a few months later, Pat turns up to school with golden stars emblazoned down his left arm, sleepily rubbing his eyes and seemingly having missed the permanent alteration to his body. With its notable arrival, Pran is painfully reminded that, no matter how he may feel about Pat, there’s no certainty that they have the chance of being Soulmates. And, even on the off chance that they are Soulmates, Pran knows that, with how much his mother hates Pat’s family — and, by extension, Pat himself — Dissaya will go to extreme lengths to keep her son far, far away from the one he’s destined to be with, no matter how much it hurts all who are involved. Pran doesn’t know for certain just what lengths Pat’s family would go to if he and Pat did turn out to be Soulmates, but it terrifies him nonetheless.

     Pat plops down onto his seat, yawning loudly with his arms stretched above his head, Soulmate Mark on full display. “What are you staring at, buddy?”

     Pran snorts, because he was spot on about Pat not knowing. “Noticed anything different about yourself, you dumbass?”

     “Praaan, don’t be mean to me~”

     Rolling his eyes, Pran yanks Pat’s left hand out of the air and shoves it into the drummer’s face, huffing in amusement as the boy’s eyes widen in wondrous disbelief. “How did you not notice? Hell, how did you forget about getting your Soulmate Mark today?”

     “Shit… That’s today?!” Pat looks properly startled as his eyes flicker to Pran and then back to his starry Mark, unable to decide which he wants to look at. “That means you should get yours soon, too! We can help each other find our Soulmates!”

     There’s a pang in Pran’s chest at Pat’s innocent words, and the guitarist has to swallow down on the tears stinging his eyes as the older boy barrels on without realising that his friend is having his heart broken right before his eyes. Pran tries his hardest to ignore the ache in his chest for the rest of the day, trying to keep up his usual pseudo annoyance whenever Pat does something ridiculous; trying to paint on a smile whenever someone is brave enough to ask him whether he’s okay — or to tell Pran that he looks like he needs much more sleep than he’s getting.

     He doesn’t notice, too lost in his own little world, when Pat sits beside him and simply stares at Pran, as if trying to memorise every little crevice and imperfection upon the younger boy’s face. He doesn’t notice when Pat picks up a coloured marker and absently begins to scrawl horribly drawn stars upon Pran’s right arm with a secret smile. He doesn’t notice when Pat pulls out his phone and takes a sneaky photo of Pran lost in his little world with a plethora of coloured stars placed oddly across the younger’s skin — and he doesn’t notice that Pat sets it as the image for Pran’s contact in Line.

     Pran can’t get to sleep on the eve of his sixteenth birthday almost three weeks later, tossing and turning in his bed; half tempted to call Pat over so that there is someone by his side come morning, but he knows that it’s best not to drag Pat into his mind. So, with his mind swirling with anxiety, Pran buries his face into the pillow and screams out his frustrations until the tears start to run and he’s left brokenly sobbing into his light blue sheets, praying that — for once — his pleas for happiness can be answered. He’s glad that his parents are away on a trip for their anniversary, otherwise he would have to come up with some fantastical story about why exactly he’s screaming and crying into his pillow at two in the morning.

     The insistent ringing of an alarm wakes Pran just past dawn, brain muddled with tiredness as he slaps his hand across the bedside cupboard until he turns off the horrid sound, brow furrowing as the reality of today sets in. Warily sitting up, Pran glares at the curtains for a solid five minutes before summoning the courage to even consider stripping off his clothes to find out where his Mark is hidden — but he doesn’t even get the chance to do that before his heart feels as though it’s lodged in his throat. Partially hidden by his lopsided sleep shirt, there are pitch black stars branded onto his skin — and Pran knows that they are in exactly the same places as Pat’s golden stars. He has memorised every single angle of Pat’s Mark since its arrival a few weeks prior, almost obsessively tracing the golden stars with his eyes until Pran could draw them without having to refer to Pat’s arm as a reference.

     He has to be imagining things. He just has to be, because there’s no way that he and Pat…

     Eyes warily flicking to his curtained window, he is startled to catch a flash of movement inside Pat’s room only a few metres away, and Pran curses his luck that, on the day he gets his Mark of all available days, Pat is already awake. Pran’s phone lights up with a message from Pat, both wishing him a happy birthday and asking whether his Soulmate Mark has appeared yet, and Pran has to laugh at the irony that is Pat, for some reason, remembering Pran’s birthday whilst struggling to remember his own. Call him rude or whatever you will, but Pran chooses to ignore the message, chucking his phone onto his currently messy bed and getting his shit ready for the day — and he most certainly opts to pull on a jacket over the top of his white, button-up high school shirt. It’s not exactly that he doesn’t want Pat to know they’re Soulmates, but…

     Yeah, Pran really doesn’t want Pat to know that they’re essentially destined for each other right now — not when he knows that Pat will push and push and push for something to be done about it.

     Pran smiles softly, a giddy feeling spreading across his chest and tingling through his veins as he, honestly childishly, thinks about the possibilities in life that now lie within his grasp; the possibilities that lie alongside Pat. They can grow old together, they can have a family together if they ever feel the need or desire to do so. They can smile and they can laugh together like little children. They can be curled up in a bed together during the early morning hours, half asleep and softly spoken words slurred with the dredges of sleep still clinging to them, feeling high on rushing endorphins. They can simply exist together, finally, without fearing that—

     Spreading condensed milk onto his toast, Pran falters, the world scratching like a jumpy record as the warm feeling in his chest from the initial realisation that Pat is his Soulmate becomes a biting chill because Pat is his Soulmate. Pat, who has never once shown any interest or proclivity towards another boy, much less towards Pran of all people. The exact same Pat who always excessively moans about which girl he likes more on any given day, or which girl bats her eyes at him in attempted cuteness as she makes up some stupid excuse to spend time with the drummer. Head dropping forward, Pran laughs at his stupidity, bemused at how he only just now considers the bad side of things, having been far too caught up in imagining the impossible to realise that none of it will ever be within the realm of possibility.

     Their family situations are the least of Pran’s problems right now, the feud shuffled down several numbers upon his rapidly growing list.

     How could they ever have a chance at happiness when there’s… When there’s never going to be that kind of chance for them, together? Their stories may have been written in the stars for centuries, sure, but their story is not the one that has the chance of a happy ending, no. Their identical Soulmate Marks may very well be the stars themselves that tell of the twisted story written by their shared pasts and their unknown futures, but there has never been a time where their stories have ever been anything close to happiness and peace. It is inevitable that they’ll be forced apart upon the discovery of their Marks, no matter how much of a fight they would put up, and Pran doesn’t think he’d be able to survive being torn away from the boy that he has loved for years; his Soulmate in more ways than the one he is destined for, and the one destined for him.

     Pran ignores Pat when he can at school, not even feeling stable enough within himself to be able to send the older boy any of his usual playful glares whenever Pat pushes his buttons just that little bit too much. But, no matter how much distance the guitarist attempts to put between himself and the drummer, Pran knows that Pat has an almost unhealthy streak of stubbornness; that Pat will push and push and push until Pran finally snaps and admits the truth. With that being said, however, Pran has, over the past thirteen years of knowingly competing against Pat in everything, built up a tolerance to his friend’s (read: reluctantly admitted) obstinacy, and he’s not about to give in, no matter how many sets of adorable puppy eyes the drummer tries to convince him with.

     There are a few close calls during the first week, Pran’s stomach dropping during the small seconds in which Pat gets just that little bit too close in finding out that they’re Soulmates, and Pran feels himself begin to wonder whether it would be better for them to be separated to spare them both from whatever it is that they’re enduring right now. Sharply shaking his head, a hollow feeling settling into his chest at the mere thought of them being parted, Pran drops his head into his hands with a guttural groaning sigh, feeling exhausted from how much he has been struggling over the past few days. There’s a bone-deep ache in his body, one that isn’t going anywhere at any point soon, and the emotional exhaustion is close behind, hanging over his shoulders like a weighted blanket.

     Pran feels so wholly exhausted that he actually ends up falling asleep in class, just across the aisle from Pat, tense shoulders going limp and his breathing levelling out as sleep drags him under. Pat looks over at the small thump of Pran’s head hitting his folded arms, eyes widening when he sees his rival for all intents and purposes asleep at the desk beside him. Batting away the hand of one of their mutual friends as they go to wake Pran, Pat frowns worriedly at the guitarist, wondering what’s been putting so much pressure on Pran that the boy has become so exhausted that he’s falling asleep in class. But, thinking about it for a moment, Pat’s stomach sinks, because, of course, it has to be their families. Doesn’t it? There’s really nothing else that could be causing Pran so much—

     Pat catches sight of a pitch black marking peeking out from underneath the sleeve of Pran’s jacket, and his curiosity gets the better of him. It’s unnerving, how unresponsive Pran is as Pat carefully tugs up the right sleeve of the blue jacket, but that thought quickly flees his mind when he realises that what he’s looking at is Pran’s Soulmate Mark. And it looks… Blinking rapidly, Pat rolls up the left sleeve of his own jacket and then slowly rests his arm on the table beside Pran’s, an emotion he can’t quite describe churning away inside his gut, heart feeling like it’s about to beat out of his chest. He’s hesitant in reaching out, not wanting to wake Pran from the only sleep it looks like the boy has been getting, but he wants nothing more than to trace the stars branded onto his friend’s skin.

     And then, the reality of the matter settles in and Pat feels like he could scream.

     Pran has known for over a week that they’re… Pran knows that they’re Soulmates, and he has been hiding that fact from Pat of all people. A thousand thoughts fly through Pat’s head, not many of them legible, but he knows that all of them are concerned with the fact that Pran has essentially been lying to him; hiding the truth of their bond. On the other hand, while he wants nothing more than to throttle Pran for hiding this from him, Pat knows just as well as Pran that their families would never approve of any kind of relationship between the only sons of the feuding families. With that in mind, Pat honestly cannot blame Pran in the slightest for hiding the fact that they’re Soulmates, but he also can’t help feeling wounded by the fact that Pran didn’t tell him. So, Pat decides that he should get revenge against Pran for the knowledge that was withheld from him, and he’ll do it so that Pran regrets keeping their status from Pat.

     The next few months pass in a rather odd fashion, and soon an entire year has flown by in barely the blink of an eye. For some reason, very little happens in terms of the whole family feud that has seemingly been a source of entertainment for both the Siridechawat and Jindapat families for the better part of twenty years — if not for much longer than that.

     It feels strange, not having their parents breathing down their backs about school and extracurricular activities, and Pran briefly entertains the worrying idea that his parents have discovered the truth of Pat being his Soulmate. But Pran rethinks that silly notion in a matter of seconds because, on the off chance that they knew, even in the slightest, there is no way that they would be so quiet about it. Pat, on the other hand, revels in not being forced to compete with Pran, flourishing in his newfound freedom like a flower in spring showers and fresh sunshine. He teases Pran relentlessly, pushing for the smallest rise out of his friend just so they have some sort of “normal” interaction without the threat of their parents hovering like an ominous black cloud above their colourful parade of mock rivalry hiding their friendship.

     Pran doesn’t know how he manages to do it, hiding his Soulmate Mark from Pat whilst also hiding from his parents that he already knows who his Soulmate is — but, between wearing jackets and spending far too much money on makeup to cover the betraying black stars, he somehow manages to keep both parties in the murky grey area of truth and lie for such a long period of time. His parents don’t push for answers, no matter how much he can see that they want to, choosing to respect their son’s boundaries on the matter and trusting that he will tell them when he’s ready. Hell, like he will ever be ready to tell his parents. As for Pat… Well, it would have been harder to keep it from Pat had the drummer not seemingly have forgotten all about his desire to find out what Pran’s Soulmate Mark looks like.

     In all honesty, that should have sent alarms blaring inside Pran’s mind, because Pat is just as stubborn as the guitarist is, and wouldn’t give up for anything. Which, in hindsight, is why what he doesn’t expect to happen, for once, actually happens.

     During the final week of their first semester of their final year at high school, Pat drags Pran into the music room, a fierce look in his eyes that makes Pran want to bolt in the opposite direction — but, he guesses that’s the reason why Pat is pretty much dragging him instead of asking nicely. Pran eyes his next door neighbour cautiously for a few seconds after Pat ultimately releases him, before attempting to flee the music room only once, Pat huffing and fondly rolling his eyes as he catches the slightly smaller boy. Accepting his fate, Pran sits in front of the drum kit, far enough away from the door that Pat relaxes and leans against the cupboards lining the back wall, a worrying crease between his eyebrows that makes Pran swear.

     “What the hell do you want, Pat?”

     Pat looks at him sharply. “We’re alone. Do you have to be an asshole?”

     Pran grins as an attempt to hide his anxiety. “Where’s the fun in that?”

     “Shia, Pran...”

     “Okay. Okay. What’s up?”

     Pat scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, golden stars warm against his skin. “I wasn’t going to do anything about it until you said something, but… I have the feeling that you’re never going to say anything.”

     Pran straightens in his seat, staring at his friend as horror sinks its claws into his gut. “Pat, what the fuck did you do? What the hell did you do?!”

     “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew we were Soulmates, Pran? Are you that ashamed of it?”

     Giving up all pretences, knowing that there’s zero use in pretending, Pran huffs and rips off his jacket, baring the black stars emblazoned down his right arm, a furious look in his dark eyes as he stalks over to Pat. “I’m not ashamed. But you should be. How long have you known?”

     Pat falters, enough guilt burning away in his eyes that it makes Pran wince. “A week after your birthday, last year. You fell asleep in class, and I…”

     “You couldn’t have waited? I was going to tell you, Pat, when we got out of our parents’ houses. I was going to tell you, you silly idiot.”

     “I’m sorry. You never said anything about your Soulmate Mark, and I was scared that you…”

     Pran frowns, thoroughly confused. “What? You were scared that I, what?”

     “That you were someone else’s Soulmate!”

     Pat blurts the words out without even really realising, his eyes blowing wide and his hands flying up to cover his offending mouth once the words leave his lips, frozen in place under Pran’s slowly changing expression. The predominant emotions coiling in his stomach and rising up his throat like acid are the horror at his unbidden confession and the fear at the idea of being rejected or laughed at by the boy in front of him. Pran’s jaw drops slightly, unable to comprehend what he’s just heard leave his friend’s — the one he loves’ — lips, disbelief at war with the idea that Pat is pulling a cruel joke on him. But there’s a sincerity in Pat’s eyes that tells Pran off for his unfounded, and really idiotic, idea. No matter how much they may love to antagonise each other, this is a subject that they have never dared to use against each other in the past, and there’s never been a reason to ever do so back then — much less right now, when it really matters.

     Reaching out, Pran winces as Pat flinches away from the shorter’s unexpected touch, the taller boy clearly expecting a hit, but that only puts the guitarist off for a few seconds, his calloused fingers softly tracing the golden stars on Pat’s bare left arm. It helps to ground Pran, and he watches as the drummer relaxes in front of his eyes, Pat looking down at where Pran’s fingers absently trace around the golden stars on his left arm, a small smile making itself known on the uncharacteristically solemn and stone-like face. 

     A wry smile upturns the corners of his lips. “Ai’Pat, you’re an idiot. As if it would be anyone else. We’ve always been together, so why were you expecting this to be any different?”

     A huff of unamused laughter leaves him. “Yeah, I can see that now. I didn’t think it through.”

     “You’re a dumbass.”

     “I’m your dumbass.”

     “Yeah, you are.”

     “And you’re my Pran.”

Chapter Text

Burning Stars

Bad Buddy — Pran x Pat

     It's a cool Autumn Friday afternoon in Bangkok, university having finished up for the week, the air conditioner blowing warm air into the cosy apartment, just enough to stave off the slight chill hanging around. This is home for Pran, much more than anything he ever had back at his parents’ house. An apartment of cluttered shelves and worn fabrics; red and blue faculty shirts hanging side-by-side on the wall, freshly washed and ironed; Pat’s fraying bean bag chair stashed against the wall, out of the way so neither of them trip over it (again); shoes sitting neatly in the shoe rack that Pran caved and bought for them, fed up with tripping over Pat’s wayward shoes; Nong Nao tucked under the sheets of their bed, head barely visible.

     Humming softly to himself, Pran is reminded of his puppy-like boyfriend happily sitting on his lap when Pat shifts slightly, inhaling quietly and then sighing out against Pran’s neck, sinking into Pran’s body even more than he already was. Pran softly traces the bumps at the base of Pat’s spine with his free hand, chin hooked over the drummer’s shoulder as he looks down at his architecture coursework with a furrow between his eyebrows, frustrated that it has taken him so long to get this far into it — especially when has had more than enough time to have it finished already.

     “Pran,” Pat needily whines, clinging to his boyfriend, head buried into the join of Pran’s neck and shoulder, making the guitarist shudder as warm breath ghosts across his sensitive skin. “My Pran, my baby, my Soulmate…”

     Pran’s stomach swoops at Pat calling him “Soulmate,” and he is hard-pressed fighting back the smile wanting to light up his face — because, out of everything Pat calls him, “Soulmate” is the one that makes Pran want to squeal in glee and bury his face in a pillow, kicking his legs like those teenage girls in movies and tv series. (Don’t tell Pat, but Pran has done that once or twice since the drummer started regularly calling him “Soulmate” — even though Pran knows that it was initially meant to be but a simple tease.)

     He doesn’t think that he will ever get used to it, the fact that he and Pat are actually Soulmates, and that they are finally allowed to be happy together — or even used to having Pat at his side day and night, both boys past caring what their parents would say. In fact, because of the age-old feud and animosity between their families, it came as one hell of a surprise to the boys that Dissaya didn’t start a screaming match or kick Pat out of the house on the morning she found the boys curled up together on Pran’s bed, only a few months after Pat forced the truth out of Pran, Soulmate Marks on display.

     Out of all the things that Pran expected to happen, his mother smiling slightly in resignation and inviting Pat down to breakfast was definitely not on the list — and, along with Pran’s himself, he is pretty sure that Pat’s soul left his body that morning as well, pale as he stuttered out a small acceptance of her offer. And, surprisingly, breakfast wasn’t even that awkward.

     Both boys were expecting a tangible tension thick enough to be cut with a butter knife, only for Pakorn and Dissaya to seemingly accept Pat with open arms — which still gives Pran an undeniable amount of whiplash whenever he thinks about it, and it made Pat gape like a fish that day. This is the same woman that once begged Pran to let it not be the neighbour’s kid that he loved, and the same man that would give Ming murderous glares if they ever ran into each other at any point. The reason behind everything was revealed that morning at breakfast: Dissaya almost stabbing at her rice, Pakorn grim-faced as his Soulmate talked, and both Pat and Pran quickly losing their appetites with each word. 

     Dissaya was also quick to reassure Pat that, although she did once believe the same could be possible of him towards Pran, she will try to keep herself from lumping Pat in with Ming — both for the sake of Pat and Pran’s happiness, and because she is thoroughly exhausted with the age-old fight. She didn’t expect either of them to accept her apology either, and she wouldn’t accept their instant acceptance anyway, because she did drag Pran into it instead of keeping it between herself and Ming — and she was more than wrong to do so. Pat had called her “mae” right then and there with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, understandably startling both Dissaya and Pakorn, and making Pran hide his face in his hands, embarrassed for his Soulmate.

     Pat is a regular guest in the Siridechawat household since that day, much to the displeasure of Wai, who cannot stand the sight of his friend’s Soulmate, and blatantly refuses to accept any of Dissaya’s invitations for dinner if he knows that the engineer is going to be there as well. And, if Pran is being completely honest with himself, he isn’t at all worried about that little fact. Pat is more important to him than Wai will ever be, and that is something Pran knows will never, ever change — but he does hold on to some hope that Wai will get over himself one day and stop being an asshole to Pat.

     “Praaaaaaaan…”

     Pran laughs, running his fingers along Pat’s spine, relishing in his Soulmate’s fully-body shiver. It didn’t take him long to figure that little thing out. “Yes, puppy? You need something?”

     Pat fully whines this time, nipping at Pran’s neck in retaliation. The architect student isn’t entirely sure as to what Pat’s end goal is for biting him, but Pran makes sure to tamp down on the jolt of heat that shoots through his body at the pressure and barely there sting of pain.

     “If you wanted attention, you could have asked instead of sitting on my lap and being annoying for the past hour. Even better, you could have been doing your homework, Pat, instead of distracting me from doing my own.”

     “I’m comfy though…” Pat wiggles, grinning against Pran’s skin as the guitarist’s hands quickly latch onto the engineering student’s waist, keeping him still. “Pran, baby~”

     “If you’re horny, go deal with it yourself — do not drag me into it.”

     “But it’s no fun without you…”

     “I really don’t care right now, Pat. This project is due next week, and you have kept me distracted from it for long enough. I’m way behind schedule.”

     Pran lifts Pat off his lap with firm hands, unyielding, the drummer pouting but still cooperating with the younger male nonetheless, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Pran, silently staring at his boyfriend. Pat knows how important this coursework is to Pran, but he can’t help feeling slightly ignored and pushed to the side, even though he also knows that Pran wouldn’t do such a thing without a more than apt explanation. With a moment of deliberation, Pat shuffles to their bedroom and grabs his engineering homework out of his bag, trying to quiet as he sits back on the floor near Pran, not wanting to disturb his boyfriend more than he already has.

     He misses the soft and thankful — adoring — smile that crosses Pran’s face, and, in all honesty, it is a little thing like Pat’s obliviousness to certain things that Pran does that makes Pran love his Soulmate — his Pat — even more than he ever thought it to be possible. Pran intimately knows that Pat tends to have the ability to focus for only a certain amount of time, and that, after the time passes, Pat will start shuffling and whining for attention in a way that Pran knows he doesn’t have the ability to ignore right now. Staring down at his coursework, Pran absently nods and proceeds to immerse himself in it, a desperation clawing at his insides to get it done so that he has the chance to make up for his earlier dismissal of Pat. 

     As if on cue, an hour and a half later Pat mutters under his breath and drops his head onto the table, a pitiful whine leaving his throat as he glares, cross-eyed, down at his blurry engineering coursework. Eyeing his Soulmate, Pran slowly puts down his pen and starts to pack away his work, watching with amusement and pure adoration as Pat’s head lifts off the table slightly, turning to watch the guitarist out the corner of his eye with bated breath; waiting for Pran to call him back home like a lost puppy. Pointedly looking at Pat’s oddly tidy coursework, Pran’s lip quirks in amusement as the puppy-like boy scurries to pack away his papers and pens, diligently waiting until Pran has done the same before taking both sets back to their bedroom.

     Shuffling back towards the couch, Pran leans against its side and crosses his legs, patiently waiting for Pat to eagerly run back out of their bedroom and plop onto his lap; waiting for his energetic golden retriever puppy of a boyfriend to cling and whine so adorably. Pran loves the days where they can simply lounge about without a care in the world, Pat’s comforting and grounding weight either sitting atop Pran’s lap or the taller man curled up against Pran’s side, trying to make out that he is the smaller of the two boys. From the more than eager look in Pat’s eyes, Pran knows that his clingy boyfriend has been aching to do nothing more than bask in his Soulmate’s warmth and presence — and no doubt breathe in his fill of what Pat calls Pran’s “very, very nice smell” that doesn’t bother Pat even when Pran is sweaty from rugby practice.

     But, when Pat does return from their bedroom a few minutes later, it’s with a tightly clenched jaw and watery eyes, phone held so tight in his hands that Pran is worried it may very well snap.

     “Pat?” Something uncomfortable settles in Pran’s stomach at the lack of response. “Puppy, what’s wrong?”

     “Pa called.”

     “What did he say?”

     Pat sharply shakes his head, lips pressed together into a firm line, and that’s all it takes for Pran to know that it was indeed nothing good. Truthfully, it is never anything good when Ming calls Pat, and it doesn’t help that the man is nearly always bordering on drunk when he does end up calling his son. Sighing softly, Pran climbs to his feet and walks over to his Soulmate, slowly taking hold of Pat’s fisted hands and tugging him towards the couch. It doesn’t take much persuading for Pran to pull Pat down onto his lap, the engineering student sinking into his Soulmate’s warmth with a small whimper, head buried into the architecture student’s neck and hands clinging to Pran like a lifeline.

     Whilst Dissaya has accepted Pat with open enough arms, Ming can’t get past the fact that his only son is in a relationship with another boy — let alone in a relationship with his ex-friend’s son . It is something that Pran finds morbidly amusing: the fact that Ming seems to be perfectly okay with the fact that his daughter is Ink’s Soulmate, but can’t get his stupidly prideful head around the fact that his son is Pran’s Soulmate; that his Soulmate isn’t some pretty girl from a stupidly wealthy family. It has become a constant topic of stress and pain for Pat since the end of high school; since the day that Ming found them hanging out together at one of the malls, with their Soulmate Marks out on display without a care in the world.

     It wasn’t the best of things to be a witness to.

     Dissaya had shooed them out of the house with a bright and teasing grin that fateful day, with Pakorn snickering at his wife in the background as both Pat and Pran put up a mock fuss at being told to “go outside and get some fresh air, you silly boys,” by the motherly woman. They hadn’t wanted to risk being seen by Ming, so they went to one of the malls a few blocks away from their usual one, where the chances of running into Pat’s father were far less. It, of course, backfired spectacularly, and the entire event taught both Pat and Pran that there will never be a chance of amiability with Ming — or maybe even with Praew, if her screwed-up and distraught expression was anything to go by on that horrible day. An entire spectacle was made about the fact that Pat was with Pran; that Pat was with the “boy whose family is filth and liars and copycats.” And, truthfully, it didn’t help that Ming spat some snide comment about Pat being with a boy instead of the demure girl that his father wanted for him.

     Pran wishes that it had started and ended with Ming’s sickening tirade of verbal abuse, but it didn’t.

     It was clear from the get-go that Ming had been day drinking — something not uncommon as of Paa’s birthday a few weeks prior — and Pran had heard the man, many a time, throw things and break things in fits of rage after drinking. Pran can all too clearly remember Pat coming to school, back before they got their precious Soulmate Marks, with a bandage around his upper arm from where a plate had shattered against the wall beside him. It isn’t the only scar that Pat has gained over the years, but it is the one that Pran remembers the most clearly — and the one that he sees and feels beneath his guitar-calloused fingers constantly, all because it deforms Pat’s golden stars. Pat gained a new, far more ‘deforming’ scar that day, and Pran will never forgive his Soulmate’s father for such a horrible thing.

     Ming had launched at Pran, hands going for the student’s throat without a second thought, and, before Pran could defend himself, Pat jumped in the way, absolutely furious. Whilst the engineering student can’t quite remember what happened in the hours that followed jumping between Pran and his father, Pran still sees it every single time he closes his eyes: Ming trying to stop once he realised, but, far too drunk, miscalculated the distance and sent Pat tumbling. It wouldn’t have been so bad, truly, if they hadn’t bought Dissaya a brand new dish set — one with little bluebells decorating the outer rims of the dinner plates and bowls and serving dishes, made of beautiful white china. Pran can still hear the shattering of the plates, followed by a chilling, bloodcurdling scream — and the blood… Fuck, there was so much blood… He still isn’t sure who was screaming the loudest: Pran himself, or Praew as she tried to shove past both her husband and Pran to get to her son.

     Pran didn’t let her near Pat, not even at the hospital after he called Dissaya and she broke far too many road rules on her way to the boys for someone by the name of Dissaya Siridechawat.

     With how Pat is sitting nestled against Pran’s chest on the couch in their apartment right now, Pran’s hands warm and comforting against the engineering student’s lower back, the guitarist can feel the marbled skin — the raised scars — that still remain, as fresh as the day they healed. Even with the scars Pat flaunts his body like nothing else, but Pran can see the discomfort in his Soulmate’s eyes whenever someone gets curious enough — damn nosy, in Pran’s opinion — to ask about the scars on Pat’s back. If it had been any deeper or any lower, Pat wouldn’t be able to walk, and that’s the one thing Pran prayed for as he and Dissaya had sat by Pat’s bedside in the hospital. He wanted Pat to be able to walk, but not just for his selfish self: he knew that Pat wouldn’t be happy confined to a wheelchair for the rest of their lives; he knew that Pat would feels like a burden to Pran, no matter how much they’d fight on the matter.

     But it didn’t end up happening, and they’re all — Pran, Pat, Dissaya, Pakorn, Paa, and Ink — more than thankful for it.

     Hugging Pat closer, Pran tries not to shy away as Pat’s breath tickles his neck. “Talk to me, theerak . What did he say?”

     “…just more of the same. It never hurts any less.”

     “I know he said something different this time. Come on, you can tell—”

     “He asked when we were going to wash off the fake Soulmate Marks. When we were going to stop playing this stupid, childish game.” Pat’s voice is both dripping with venom and so very tired, exhausted. “Baby, I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this. I’m trying to keep the peace, but…”

     “Fuck the peace.”

     “Pran…”

     Pran hugs Pat tighter, refusing to let the clingy puppy pull back to see the rage in the guitarist’s eyes. “I’m done keeping peace with Ming, and it’s about time that you do the same. Pat, all he has done since he found out is shit on you about it, and make you feel like shit because of something that neither of us had any control over. I hate seeing you like this every single time he calls… Enough is enough.”

     “He’s my father, Pran. I can’t just—”

     “Yes you can.” Pran inhales deeply, knowing that his next words may make Pat irritated with him — but the words need to be said, and Pat needs to hear them. “Baby, just because he’s your father, doesn’t mean that gets to treat you like this. He doesn’t have any right to be acting this way just because your Soulmate is a guy — or, really, because your Soulmate is me. He has made it very clear that he doesn’t support us in any of this, and I doubt that it will ever change.”

     Pat squirms against Pran’s hold, pushing back to look down into his Soulmate’s fury-filled eyes. He’s set on his path, and Pat knows that he can’t say anything to change Pran’s mind. “Baby, I know… I just… It’s so hard to accept that he really won’t accept this — accept us. I want him in our lives, but…if he’s going to…”

     “He doesn’t deserve to be in your life, Pat. All he’s done is hurt you, your entire life — even when you didn’t realise it.”

     “…he hurt you too, Pran.”

     Pran’s right shoulder twinges, phantom pain shooting along his nerves as he remembers Ming trying to drag him away from Pat, yelling something about putting a bunch of nonsense into Pat’s head — essentially a rant about Pran brainwashing Pat into thinking that they’re Soulmates. Ming had dislocated Pran’s arm that day, and was close to breaking it when Dissaya arrived with Pakorn in tow, absolutely furious as she shoved her old friend away from her son and Pat. Pran was in a sling for a few months, pretty much unable to do anything because he’s right handed, which meant that he felt absolutely useless unless he was helping Pat by keeping his wounds clean — and that meant either Dissaya or Pakorn had to drop in meals for the boys to eat, or one of their friends had to drop in any course work that they missed at university.

     “Yeah, I know, puppy.”

     “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Pran.” Pat goes limp, nuzzling into the join of Pran’s neck and shoulder, humming as he inhales loudly. “I wanna do something else… Can I, baby? My Soulmate, my Pran… Can I?”

     Pran inhales sharply as Pat rocks against him, his hands flying to Pat’s hips — and, while he doesn’t force his Soulmate to stop moving, he also doesn’t encourage Pat to move any faster. He just rests his hands there, happy to let Pat set the pace for their evening. “What do you want, puppy? Hmm?”

     “Just wanna touch you, baby.”