Work Text:
The hats are stupid.
They are itchy, uncomfortable, and a little too loose on his head, and Pran is pretty sure Ink knew all of that when she bought them to menacingly give them away as soon as everyone crossed the threshold of their office building.
It feels like a personal attack towards him, proclaimed “Floor Grinch” who would much rather be at home snuggled up in bed with a good glass of the expensive bourbon he keeps on the back of his cabinet for lonely nights and a horror movie with the most gruesome and non-Christmas related plot as possible, swallowed by darkness and far away from polite chit chat with his coworkers.
Ink had to get promoted, didn’t she? Pran is sure all she had to do was sweet talk her way into becoming head of corporate events, bringing new and innovative ways to boost morale such as taking a holiday most of the country didn’t even celebrate properly and use it as an excuse to gather everyone from their company in the rooftop of their building and get them unnecessarily drunk.
Pran would’ve missed it. He wanted nothing more, except he overheard the secretaries in the lunch room gossiping about how important it was to look good for the Christmas party because the big bosses were going to be in attendance too. Pran has had his eye on that shiny bright file on that new cosmetics company building on one of the main roads of the city. He even uses their concealer! It’s only fair that he gets a good chance at snatching the project for himself. And if he has to wear his crispest green shirt and put up with seven different remixes of Jingle Bells per hour just to make a good impression as a participative member of the company to get it, then so be it. He’ll put on his worse resting bitch face until the executives get here and then get the hell back to his apartment after charming them for a little. He’s sure there’s no one truly excited about this event anyway. Who in their right mind could possibly enjoy some stupid event like this?
“Pat! You’re here!”
“Of course I’m here! Come on, it’s a Christmas party! There’s no way I could miss it.”
Pran chokes a little on the eggnog Ink put in his hands as soon as he arrived —too sweet and with not enough alcohol in it— and unfortunately gets some big droplets on his perfectly ironed shirt.
Great. Him coming, the star on top of the tree.
Pat Jindapat is an engineer who works for the construction department of their company. He’s only a few months older than Pran (according to the employee’s calendar that hangs on the break room of their floor) and has already worked on several big projects including a few directly ordered for the city council. He’s between 2 and 5 centimeters taller than Pran depending on the day, he can’t handle spicy stuff, goes to the gym too often, is obsessed with being an uncle, dislikes overly sweet drinks, and has a photo of golden retriever puppies as his work computer’s screensaver.
Pran might know a little too much about him. That’s because Pat Jindapat makes his life way harder than it should be; he gets easily overexcited and goes on rants about ecological construction materials often, he forgets the due dates for budget presentations and sends email after email until Pran replies with the correct time, he wears too-casual clothes in constructions sites instead of the proper attire for someone who’s a supervisor and not a laborer even though it makes sense because he always ends up with some sort of power tool in his hands and grease on his face.
Pat is a nightmare of a coworker.
And Pran has the biggest, most embarrassing, absolutely terrible crush on him.
“Pat!”
“Oh my god, Pat is here!”
“It’s almost midnight, man! We didn’t think you’d get here!”
“Hi, Pat… I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, Pat! Here, take a drink!”
“The number one employee! This wouldn’t be a party without you.”
It’s fine. It’s not like he’s ever planned to do anything about it.
Pat is a hot commodity in the company, of course he is. Pran has heard rumors (horror stories, honestly. Worse than the cheesy ones he was planning to stay cooped up in his bedroom to watch) about the many times in which their brave (usually younger) peers have attempted to make a move on him, men, women and anyone else, and the way every single one of them has come out of it with nothing but friendly smiles and gentle rejecting words.
He doesn’t have a ring on his finger and the only photos on his desk are of his parents, some nephews and nieces, and one of Ink and his sister Paa, —Pran recalls a time when he was so sure Pat linked Ink and was at the verge of asking her out he was sulking about it, right when Pat first joined the company. He also recalls the nice slap on the back of the head he got from his friend when she clarified that she was very much not into men and very much committed to the love of her life and not her brother, thank you very much— meaning there is no evidence of him being unavailable in theory. Word has spread around that maybe he’s just a playboy who much rather still keeps his options open, and that he either has enough morals to not mess with subordinates in the office or he can afford to be picky because of his qualities as a bachelor.
Whatever it is, it doesn’t paint a good picture in Pran’s favor.
So, he’s resolved to keep whatever feelings he’s started blooming for Pat all the way back during the very first project they got assigned together (when the other man had arrived at the meeting room ten minutes late with a rain-soaked button down and coffee for a fuming Pran) hidden deep within himself.
The glass in his hand has emptied quicker than he thought considering how much he disliked it when he first drank from it, but as he witnesses the way one of the pretty marketing girls giggles as she plops the same red and white stupid hat on Pat’s head making him laugh as she squeezes his bicep which bulges out of the fabric of his tight shirt, Pran thinks he definitely needs another drink. Something stronger, preferably.
He makes his way over to the corner of the rooftop where a little gazebo made out of white and red cloth along with tinsel for decoration has been placed on top of a large refreshments table. Pran immediately saves a joke about getting a bartender dressed as an elf if Ink wanted to do the theme properly in the back of his mind, scanning his eyes through the jugs placed in a row without much success as they all seem to be full of punch and water.
He heaves a deep sigh, rolling his eyes and already planning to search for Ink so he can complain, ask for some more booze and maybe get some intel out of her about when are the bosses arriving as he turns back towards the party, but he is stopped by the hard surface he crashes against.
“Shit, sorry–oh, Pran! You’re here!”
This entire fucking party is a joke.
“I–yeah, yes, I am,” Pran clears his throat, stepping back so he doesn’t have Pat’s muscular chest right in front of his face because that’s a dangerous thing for his fragile mind and tender heart. “Hi, Pat. I didn’t see you around,” he lies through his teeth, fiddling with the fabric that folds over where it’s half tucked inside of his slacks.
“I got here a little while ago, I’ve just been mingling around. I didn’t see you around, I had no idea you would come to this! You are usually not part of after-hour events,” Pat teases, a dumb charming big smile on his face that makes Pran feel too weak in the knees to be normal about it.
Pran laughs awkwardly, looking around to figure out the nearest escape route towards where he thinks he’s seen the staff bring out the trays of alcohol. “Yeah, yeah, I usually don’t. I just thought I’d drop by, this time. But I’m going to be leaving soon.”
Something in Pat’s face shifts, a slight furrow on his brow appearing for a second. “Oh? You’re not staying?”
“Probably not, I’ll just wait a bit more until the bosses get here.”
“Are they coming? I had no clue.”
“I’ve been told, yeah.”
“It makes sense, maybe, yeah,” Pat sighs, looking around and nodding before he turns back to him. “Well, if those are your plans, then maybe–you know, I think I could–”
“Oh my god!” A loud scream is heard, and both he and Pat whip their heads towards the sound: a girl (Nin, from accountancy?) has her hand over her mouth while she uses the other one, still holding a champagne flute, to point towards where they’re standing. “A mistletoe!”
A “mistletoe”?
Pran’s eyebrows furrow, following the line of her finger up above his head.
There, hanging right on the edge of the makeshift gazebo hooked by a small gold pin, a little bundle of green twigs wrapped together by a small piece of red ribbon.
A mistletoe… A fucking mistletoe.
There’s an echo of hollers, laughs and even some sad whines, and it doesn’t dawn on Pran until he finally looks down that oh yeah, he’s under the mistletoe.
He, Parakul Siridechawat, is under the mistletoe —a holiday tradition about kissing— with his year-long crush company heartthrob Napat Jindapat standing next to him. Both under the mistletoe.
Pran is sure he hasn’t suited the dumb hat on his head during the entirety of the night until this very moment when the crimson red of the fabric matches the color of his cheeks while the fluffy pom pom at the end matches the white of his surprised wide eyes.
“Oh…” He hears Pat exhale, and then he chuckles, sounding a bit strained. “Would you look at that…”
“Come on, it’s a mistletoe!” Someone yells, and to Pran’s utter mortification, the person is backed up by half of the entire room who start encouraging them and teasing them about their spot under the sprigs. (The rest of the people, Pran thinks, are too busy seething with envy).
“You know what you gotta do!”
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
“Guys, guys–” Pat chuckles awkwardly, flailing his hands around. “Calm down, it’s not–” He turns toward him, making Pran tune out the words of the partygoers for a second. “You don’t… We don’t have to, you know. I know it’s awkward, I hope you’re not too uncomfortable. Don’t worry, don’t listen to them.”
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
“They’re just being annoying,” Pat laughs sheepishly, and it’s the first time Pran has ever witnessed him looking embarrassed.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
“Hey, hey, settle down! It’s just–“
“Pat,” Pran breathes out, waiting until the other man turns to him, flushed cheeks, three top shirt buttons undone, and the matching Santa hat crooked on his head. His eyes are big and round and he looks a little startled, yet he’s the most handsome man Pran has ever met, and he thinks what he’s about to do is gonna be painfully embarrassing on Monday morning but maybe he can put the blame on the eggnog and the pretty dimple in Pat’s cheekbone. Mostly the eggnog.
He steps closer, keeping his eyes on Pat’s face, bringing the palm of his hand to rest gently over the sharp line of his jaw with his thumb next to the corner of his mouth. Pat is not pulling away, he’s not stepping back, he’s not running for the hills, and Pran thinks that’s enough. Enough for him to tilt his head up and take one last deep breath before he’s slotting their lips together, soft and slow, as the rooftop explodes in muted cheers he can’t quite process because everything around him seems to slowly dissipate.
It feels cheesy. To think about warm Christmas lights and the sweet taste of the eggnog, to imagine small delicate snowflakes falling on their heads, to feel fireworks exploding and shivers running from the tip of his toes all the way to the top of his head. Pran was feeling a little cold with just his green button down on but his entire body runs hot the moment he feels squeezes on each side of his waist, holding him firmly but simultaneously like he’s something precious, those 2 to 5 centimeters Pat has on him making him bend backward a little as he gets lost in nothing but a simple press of lips.
It’s everything he hasn’t let himself dream of for an entire year, and he feels dizzy with it, the mix of Pat’s cologne and the subtle rum flavor on his mouth, and it feels like ages have passed when they pull away slowly and Pran’s ears tune in to the screams and cheers of their coworkers and–
Right. They’re still here, on the rooftop, at a Christmas party for their company, in front of everyone, under the mistletoe.
“Fuck. Right.” Pat mutters under his breath. Pran snaps out, his eyes fluttering as he focuses on him. The engineer’s lips are a little puffy and glistening from Pran’s lip balm, and his big hands are still firmly on Pran’s waist. Pran wants to kiss him again. So bad it’s insane. But he only allows himself one last second of his hand on his cheek and one last squeeze where his other hand has settled in Pat’s bicep without his permission before he clears his throat and pulls away, looking at every possible spot that’s not Pat’s eyes.
The rest of the party seems to have lost interest now that two of their coworkers aren’t potentially breaking some HR rule, and Pran thinks this might be his moment to flee—from Pat and the party altogether. He’ll figure out how to get that cosmetics project some other way.
He scurries off without anyone noticing, managing to walk away without Pat realizing he’s left as (of course, because it’s Pat) he was too busy with someone coming up to speak with him immediately after the broke apart, and he silently opens the door to the roof and makes his way down a set of steps until he’s standing in front of the elevator and he can push the button an unnecessary amount of times.
Pran takes a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest as he finally takes time to process what just took place. Fuck. He really just did that. He really just kissed the man he’s harbored an incredibly mortifying crush on, the most wanted man in the office nonetheless, in front of a plethora of their peers. Damn it. Shit. Would it be too soon to ask to be relocated? If not to another branch of the company in a country far away from Thailand, then at least to another floor where he doesn’t have to meet Pat by the cooler every single day. He could probably get away with it, he’s pretty sure he could convince the sweet older lady who works in HR to let him switch, finally cash in all those times he’s made her tea because she couldn’t figure out how to work the electric pot—
“Pran?” A voice resounds around the hallway accompanied by the loud clacking sounds of dress shoes coming down the stairs. “Pran? Are you still here?”
Pat makes his way down the steps hurriedly, walking over to Pran while he takes heavy breaths and runs a hand through his beautifully styled hair.
Pran holds back the need to push the elevator button a few more times.
“Hi, Pat.” Pran smiles tightly, stepping to the side and attempting to make himself smaller even if he feels tiny under the other man’s scrutinous gaze.
“I was looking for you,” Pat chuckles breathily, holding a jacket in one hand while the other one settles on his hip. Pran can’t help but look at his arms, remembering the brief moment when they were slightly wrapped around him. Stop it. No. Enough. “I turned around and you weren’t there anymore.”
“Uh, yeah, I’m sorry. I just… I’m pretty tired and I want to go home before I am not able to get a ride,” he smiles awkwardly. The elevator dings as it finally opens next to them, and Pran lets out a relieved breath.
“Oh, well. I’m leaving too. I was about to tell you I could take you home if you needed,” Pat offers, his eyes big and sincere. Pran bites the inside of his lip, not letting himself think about the phrase take you home for too long.
“You don’t–uh, it’s okay, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure I’ll be able to get a bike or a taxi, I wouldn’t want to bother you…”
“It’s no bother!” He interrupts cheerfully, getting in the elevator and signaling the spot next to him. “Come on. I’m pretty sure your building is on my way home, anyways.”
Pran knows it is. He reminds himself of the horrible flashback of him going with Ink to pick her girlfriend up as he gets into the elevator, shuffling his feet awkwardly next to Pat.
Such a sunny beautiful hot day it was, the day he learnt Pat’s address and also that his high school best friend was his sister-in-law. Just the right temperature for Pat to stick his head out of the window completely shirtless and wave as they drove off. He still believes he should’ve gotten an award for the level of calmness he exuded as Pat’s sister climbed into the car and complained about her dumb (tremendously hot) brother.
The metal doors make a swift sound as they close in front of them.
It’s not an incredibly uncomfortable silence but it’s not nice either. Pat taps his shoes on the ceramic, his eyes focused on the red numbers that change as the lift goes down like a puppy paying attention to a fly. It’s cute. Everything about him is. Pran wants to die a little. He might change his plans of watching that horror movie for a cheesy rom-com he can cry about when comparing it with his disastrous love life.
“The party looked nice!” Pat exclaims out of nowhere. When Pran turns, he’s staring at him with an expectant look in his eye, clearly waiting for him to add something to his statement.
“Yeah,” Pran nods clumsily. “Ink planned everything really nicely.” Except for the stupid mistletoe.
“Do you really think the bosses will get there?” Pat teases, and Pran sighs.
“I guess it was wishful thinking.”
“I don’t think I even know who I work for. I’ve never seen Khun James,” Pat snorts.
“That doesn’t sound responsible.”
“Do I look like an irresponsible person to you?”
“Well…”
“Pran!”
“I’m just saying, you don’t have the best track record with due dates at least.”
“That was one time!”
“...”
“Okay, maybe three times.”
“You are a terrible supervisor.”
“It’s not like I’m supervising you.”
“No, I have to supervise you most of the time during our projects.”
“Lucky you, I’m very obedient.”
“Your workers could learn from you, then.”
“Hey! My men are very good at taking orders.”
“And fucking them up too.”
“Now, that one was one time!”
The banter takes them through the elevator ride without even realizing it, and by the time the doors open on the ground floor, Pran realizes they have shifted closer and closer to the point he needs to look up a bit to hold Pat’s gaze, now full of mirth and amusement. He hides his face in his shoulder a bit, walking out into the lobby with blushing cheeks.
“You don’t need to take me home, Pat,” he breathes out, fiddling with his hands as he walks over to the entrance, Pat following close behind. “I can get there myself, I wouldn’t want you to–”
“Hey,” Pat interrupts, his hand sliding to settle on the small of his back, and—nope, nope, Pran shouldn’t be reminded of his crush, shouldn’t have that forsaken kiss in his head. “Don’t worry. I want to, yeah? It’s no problem.”
Pran should potentially find excuses. Make up some unexisting cat he has to feed or a reason why his body can’t physically get inside of Pat’s fancy red car. But he’s also weak. Nothing but a soft puddle of melted good every time he’s stared at with those big round eyes.
“Okay.”
They make their way out of the building and towards the parking lot side by side, and Pat tells him to wait for a second as he brings the car closer. Pran would take the moment to calm himself down and take some good breaths of fresh air if not for the fact that he’s too busy freezing a bit. Consequences of being out at 1 a.m. during the cool season.
He wraps his arms around himself tightly, looking around at the decorations that have been placed on the trees and signs outside of the building, all green, red, and sparkly. He snorts when he remembers the Santa hat still placed on his head, reaching to remove it and fiddling with the pompon, wondering how the hell his night ended up like this.
“It looked nice on you,” he hears a voice, and he startles out of his thoughts. When he focuses properly, he realizes that Pat is standing next to him with a smile… And that there’s a weight on his shoulders.
Pat’s jacket.
“Yours fits better,” Pran mutters, rolling his shoulders under the leather and bringing the sides of the jacket closer together. “Thank you.”
“I lost it at one point walking down the stairs. Good to know though. And no problem. You were shivering a little and your nose is red,” Pat chuckles, jerking his chin towards the other side of the road. “Come on, let’s head out.”
Pat opens the door for him before rounding the car to get to the driver’s seat, getting them out onto the highway. As usual for a Friday night, the city seems to be bustling with people, noise, lights, and decorations proper of the big town taking in the mostly foreign holiday as an excuse to make things just a little bit prettier, a bit cozier, and cheerful. Animal statues have hats on their heads and green garlands around their necks, there are ribbons and lights wrapped around street lamp posts, and some spots have even put up traditional Christmas trees that beam up the dark starry sky. There’s holiday music playing on the radio, lulling under the noise of a December night.
It all looks beautiful. Hopeful. Nice to be shared with. A good scenery to enjoy with someone.
Pran manages to guide Pat through the streets until the car slowly comes to a stop in the side parking lot of his building. He fiddles with the zipper for a bit, before he sighs and holds onto the sides so he can let it slide off his shoulders.
“You can give it back to me on Monday,” Pat interrupts, softly holding onto his wrist. Pran stares, gulping, and nods with a small smile.
“Yeah, thank you.”
There are a few beats of silence where both of them just sit in the still-running car, and Pran holds onto the door handle with his fingers a little numb.
“Well. I’m going to, uh, go…”
“Pran,” Pat breathes out, stopping him. “Listen… About… The mistletoe thing.” He turns more on his side, making sure Pran is paying attention and not leaving. “I hope it didn’t make you uncomfortable. I really—people were being drunk and annoying, and I hope you didn’t feel, like, pressured. And it will become weird for us.”
“I kissed you,” Pran exhales, thumbing the red fabric on the hat he clutches in his hands.
“I know, I know. I just wanted to make sure that–”
“Pat,” he whispers, a bit harsher than he means to. “I’m fine. It was okay, I promise. It was nothing. It’s okay.” He presses his lips together, smiling the best as he can with his face desperately wanting to turn into a grimace. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
He opens the car door with one last nod, keeping the jacket tight around his shoulders because either the air has gone chillier or he has gotten too disappointed. Pran’s shoes scruff against the pavement, dragged and a little clumsy as he attempts to get the keys to the main entrance out of his pocket. All he can think about is that bourbon and how many glasses of it will take to get him to go to sleep without dreaming about that kiss.
“Pran! Pran, stop, wait! Please!”
Pran stops in his tracks, almost dropping the keys on the floor as hurried heavy footsteps seem to get closer and closer, stopping right behind him. When he turns, Pat is there.
Pat is there. Out of breath, white shirt even more unbuttoned with his chest heaving from the exhaustion of seemingly running. He looks a little frazzled and a lot urgent and way too handsome to be fair, and Pran is just so so confused.
“Pat, what's wrong? Did something–?”
“It’s not okay,” Pat exclaims, taking a moment to take a deep breath as he starts making his way up the steps of the entrance. “It’s not. You said it was okay and it–it isn’t. ”
“Excuse me?” Pran’s eyebrows furrow, feet backing up against the door as Pat gets closer.
“The kiss. You kissed me. You’re right. You kissed me because I’m not brave enough.”
There’s a high-pitched noise that rings in Pran’s ears. He almost wants to pinch himself.
“What?”
“I wanted that.” Pat stands in front of him, his arms flopped on each side of his body like he’s open and resigned to anything that will happen during the conversation. Pran gets a quick flashback of his sheepish face as they were being teased. His cheeks are even more flushed now. “I wanted to kiss you. Like, you have no idea. I would’ve, if you hadn’t, if I dared. I–I’m pretty sure the reason I was even standing there with you is because I have been so incredibly pathetic in front of Ink about you that she finally wanted me to do something about it and she sent me over to the table with the excuse of checking if anything was missing.”
“You… Ink?”
“She’s so tired of hearing me talk about you, since back to the day I met you.”
Pran should pinch himself, right? There is no way. There’s just no way. Was the eggnog spiked?
“The kiss…” Pat sighs, running a hand through his now messy hair. “It was everything I’ve ever wanted for a year and–and it’s not okay with me that you might think of it as nothing. And I’m so sorry if this fucks things up and that maybe you won’t want to even see me around the office or work with me on projects where I can bring you your favorite coffee and watch your concentrated face when you’re revising floor plans but… I need you to know. It’s not nothing for me.”
“Pat… I–”
Pran freezes up, right as he was shaking his head to try to assure himself that this just couldn’t be his imagination playing tricks on him, staring intently at the spot on the threshold of the big door of his building. Pat seems freaked out at him not speaking until he just laughs, feeling like this entire night has to be one big cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie.
“There’s no fucking way.”
A mistletoe.
A mistletoe hanging from the big metal door frame.
“I think…” Pran starts shyly, clasping the Santa hat in his hand tightly as he takes small steps until they are standing close together, the tips of their shoes touching. Pat’s eyes widen when he looks back at him, finding Pran’s bright and sparkling gaze, moving down to his lips and back up to it. “You say you would’ve kissed me if I hadn’t. Maybe this is your do-over.”
It takes a second but then Pat lets out a relieved breath, his expression turning content and enamored and Pran can’t quite believe it’s being directed at him. He steps even closer, shifting so Pran’s foot is in between his own, and his hands trail up from his hips to settle on the dip of his waist slowly and carefully, making his skin erupt in shivers. Pat looks up again, as if thanking the little bundle of twigs wrapped in red ribbon, then bumps their noses together and then he’s there, right there standing with him under the mistletoe, kissing him like it’s truly all he can do. No witnesses this time.
Pran thinks back on the night.
On the uncomfortable feeling, the overly sweet eggnog, the makeshift gazebo, and the loud cheers of the people. He thinks of footsteps on the stairs, the laughter on the elevator, the pretty night lit up by Christmas lights, the chilly air, and Pat’s jacket draped over him. The way Pat keeps his top lip in between his own gently, the way his hands hold his sides like he could break, the way he seems to be breathing too fast for his lungs to catch up yet he doesn’t want to pull away, the way his shoulders relax when Pran’s forearms settle on them and the way he leans into the touch when he plays with the strands of hair in his nape.
And Pran, proclaimed “Floor Grinch”, thinks maybe there could be something more about this holiday. Maybe this time he won’t need alcohol and a scary movie to combat the cheerful spirit of the season. He’s feeling surprisingly jolly himself.
(“Ink is such a menace. Imagine if she actually orchestrated everything. I wouldn’t put it past her, so embarrassing. The hat is so stupid,” Pran grumbles, leaning back into the arm Pat has wrapped around his back as he folds his legs on the couch cushion.
Pat laughs, squeezing him closer and placing the blanket higher on them, keeping them cozy and warm, bathed by the gold soft non-Christmas fairy lights of Pran’s apartment. He takes a swing of his glass, full of Pran’s nice bourbon, and presses his lips to his temple. Pran pretends not to blush. “It looked pretty cute on you. Made you more of a grumpy character. So pretty and pouty, hating the holidays so much, scowling at every single one of our coworkers…”
Pran can’t take it, so he kisses him to shut him up. No mistletoe needed this time.)