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“Okay, for today’s specials we have Grilled Squid Salad in Peanut Sauce, Thai Massaman Curry Burger, and Maple Fish Sauce Baked Tofu,” Pran explained, holding a notebook in his hand, and his eyes raked on his crew, making sure that the servers jot down his sayings.
“Yes, Chef!” The enthusiastic crew answered him, holding smaller notebooks in their hands, ready to listen to their captain, the head chef, Parakul Siridechawat.
“We will have our dinner time peak at seven tonight, make sure that every table is attended, I don’t want our customers to lift their hands for too long. Pay attention to their water and bread baskets, make sure they are always filled, got it?” Pran turned the notebook page, enjoying how his crew chanted another “Yes, Chef”, like music to his ears.
“And for dessert, I..” he stopped, his eyes searching for a face, an annoying face, the face that had been bugging him for years, since their early days studying together at the Le Cordon Bleu Paris as two confused yet ambitious young students, a face that had been openly flirted with him, shamelessly, ever since they got reunited a few years ago.
“Where is my pastry chef?” he muttered, his pen tapped furiously on his notebook.
“Your pastry chef, baby? You heard that, guys? I am his pastry chef!” A voice emerged from the opened dining hall door. He ran dramatically and the whole crew parted in the middle, as if giving Pat the way to Pran.
‘Oh, fuck’ Pran whispered.
“Which part of the staff briefing at 1 PM that you don't understand, Napat? It's almost 2 PM now,” Pran sighed. The man before him just grinned.
“Sorry, I got distracted on my way here. The fruit vendor gave me beautiful pomegranates from his own garden!” He showed a bag full of red pomegranates, true to his words, beautiful ones.
Pran took one and inspected it. The color was good, the firmness was just right, and it smelled nice.
“Don't forget, one of our reservations today asked for dairy-free dessert, Pat. You better whip up some good shit and as usual, if you're planning to create something new, run it by me two hours before we open, okay?”
“I already think of whipping one, but, sure, I'll let you taste it first,” he winked.
Pran groaned. Pat never dialed down his innuendos, making Pran frustrated.
He could see the other crew was holding their smiles seeing Pat's antics, it was nothing new. Honestly they had an ongoing bet about who would give up first, Chef Pran or Chef Pat. Right now, the majority of them were cheering on the relentless Pat, since they once caught Pran smiling secretly when Pat sent him a cute basket of cheese muffins, with a cheesier pick-up line written on the post-it note.
Pran couldn’t help the smile, those muffins were delicious, okay? And Pran always appreciated good food. It absolutely had nothing to do with the stupid pick-up line written in Pat’s awful handwriting.
Pat still stood in front of him, holding a bag of fruits and a smirk on his face that Pran really wanted to wipe with his mouth with his fist. He looked so ridiculous with his cupcake patterned chef headwrap protecting his long-ish hair, standing tall with his tanned skin.
Pran shook his head, taking him back to reality.
“Do you guys have any questions?” Pran asked, deliberately avoiding seeing Pat’s eyes.
“No, Chef!” they said in unison and Pran was pleased with that.
“I think that is all from me. Ink, you want to add something?” He turned his head to the lady beside him in dress pants and white silk blouse, her long hair tied in a tight bun.
Ink was the manager of Malee, their modern Thai cuisine restaurant that was owned by her father. Ink’s father was also the one that discovered Pran, stealing him from his previous restaurant, and he also found Pat in a small cafe, making mango sweet dumplings that got the owner’s heart.
They had been reunited in this restaurant since then.
“No, you can go back to your stations now,” she smiled gracefully and dismissed the staff briefing.
“Hey, Pran,” Pran felt a soft touch on his back, with an equally soft voice from a man that he had known for years.
Pran didn’t take his eyes away from his recipe book, answering, “Yeah?”
“I need you to taste this,” Pat answered and took his spoon to Pran’s mouth and Pran was so used to this he parted his lips almost automatically.
The creamy and sweet concoction hit his taste buds first, and then a layer of fresh and sticky pomegranate kind of jam joined, and he mildly groaned in pleasure.
Pran closed his recipe book (and his eyes) to savor the flavor and make notes in his head.
“You like it?” Pat asked, his hand still holding a spoon.
Pran nodded, “It's so delicate, soft, and fresh. Can you explain this dish?”
“Come, follow me to my nook.”
When Pat arrived in this restaurant three years ago, the only request that he asked for was for the kitchen to have the pastry nook for himself. And of course, the owner, so charmed with Pat’s food and charisma, granted his wish easily.
Pran took his notebook and pen, then followed Pat to his station. Everyone else was busy preparing for tonight’s dinner, a waft of herb aroma filling the air, it felt so comfortable, it felt like home. Their restaurant, a dinner only restaurant, served modern, fusion-Thai delicacies, thus resulting in uniquely scented aromatic herbs on every corner of the room. Pran loved the aroma, he loved it here, after years of studying and working in Europe, finally, he’s home.
Despite the messy apartment and eccentric choices of outfit, Pat always kept his station pristine clean. Pran could easily spot the pretty dessert plate on the counter before Pat presented it with a cheery “Ta-da!”
Pran examined it, rotating the plate carefully so that the pretty pomegranate compote on top of the jiggly panna cotta won’t move.
“Panna cotta?” He asked.
“ Coconut panna cotta with pomegranate compote and dried mango chips. It’s like a tropical island on a plate, isn’t it?” Pat smiled, scooping a little bit of everything onto a spoon and feeding Pran again.
“This is dairy free and perfect for summer, Pran. It’s light and not overly sweet. What do you think?”
Pran took Pat’s spoon and tried each of the components, and nodded.
“It’s good, yeah, it compliments each other, it's a good texture play. I like it, good job. We’ll serve it. I’ll take a note and then we can inform..”
Pran continued with the technicality of food serving and everything else and he didn’t see how Pat’s face beamed at the “good job” remarks.
It was almost eleven PM when the busy day had finally ended. Pran locked the kitchen’s back door and walked to his car that was parked behind the restaurant. And he found Pat there, sitting on Pran’s red sedan’s hood, playing on his phone, he did not notice that Pran was walking toward him.
“Hey,” Pran said, snapping Pat’s attention from his phone.
A huge grin appeared on his face and he plopped down from the car, approaching Pran.
“Paa got my car. Can I go home with you today?” Pat asked sweetly.
Ever since they worked together at Malee, they had been living in the same apartment, their rooms facing each other. “It’s easier for us to get to the restaurant!” Pat said when he found the apartment. It’s only a fifteen minute drive and the location was just perfect for both of them.
It was annoying at first, because Pran knew how messy Pat could be, but somehow, living in Pran’s orbit changed him. He’s getting better at organizing his things even though some of his belongings accidentally ended up in Pran’s or vice versa. It’s so common to see Pat’s frying pan hanging in Pran’s kitchen and Pran’s comic books stacked up on Pat’s end table.
Pran just shoved his key to Pat’s hand, saying, “You’re driving, I’m exhausted.”
“Yes, Chef!” Pat held the key and ran to the driver’s side, opening the door gleefully.
Pran clicked his seatbelt and adjusted his seat, honestly he’s dead tired, and he’s so ready to get some sleep and apparently Pat picked up on that.
“Just sleep, I’ll wake you up later,” Pat said.
“No, I’m fine,” said Pran and then he yawned, making Pat laugh a little.
Pat ignited the car and turned on the air conditioner, then in a deep voice that no one knew except Pran, he said, “Sleep. Now.”
Pran grumpily folded his arms on his chest, but he closed his eyes nonetheless, and the next thing he knew, Pat woke him up gently.
“Hey, do you want me to carry you up?” Pat’s wicked smile was the first thing that Pran saw when he opened his eyes.
“Shut up,” Pran said, his seatbelt already unbuckled.
Pran opted to lean to the back of the elevator that carried them upstairs to their floor, this day was exhausting for him.
Everything went well as usual, but he had to go to the dining hall a few times to chat with some of their VIP guests, making sure that they were satisfied with the food.
“I did not see you eat this afternoon,” Pat chose to speak to fill the silence.
“Because I didn’t eat,” he replied weakly.
“Do you want to eat first? I can make you some fried rice if you’re hungry.” Pat offered, his body turned to Pran.
Pran thought about it. Warm meal from Pat sounded so good but his eyes were so heavy he needed to sleep so bad. Afterall, he had to wake up early tomorrow to get some giant freshwater prawns from the market tomorrow. The vendor loved him and he always saved some of his best prawns for Pran personally, so, Pran always took those prawns by himself.
Ah, no fried rice, then.
Pran shook his head, “Can’t. I have to go to the market tomorrow.”
The elevator door opened, they walked to their rooms, Pran was about to say good night when Pat flicked his forehead and said, “Sleep, okay?” Pran just nodded and rubbed his forehead.
“Good morning,” a sweet voice filled Pran’s ears while he was stirring a big pot of bone broth in the restaurant’s kitchen.
“It’s still eleven AM. You’re here early,” Pran continued to stir his broth, unfazed by the warmth radiated from the human next to him and the delicious pastry smell that he brought with him.
Pat put a paper bag on the counter, saying, “ Someone woke me up at seven just to give me my favorite chicken rice from Auntie Sujin’s stall, and I couldn’t go back to sleep after that, so I baked him something and delivered it to him by myself, hoping that he would like it. Rumors said he loves my bread .”
Pran glanced at the paper bag, he was sure that it was Pat’s homemade pastry, he always had the dough in his fridge, ready to use everytime he wanted. It’s so Pat to always brought him something in return after Pran gave him food. The thought of it made him smile.
“You know, Pran,” Pat said with a tone that made Pran stop his stirring and look at Pat.
“ Tu es le chocolat de mon pain ,” Pat teased with a heavy Thai accent, presenting a perfect pain au chocolat in front of Pran’s face, offering Pran to bite it.
‘ You are the chocolate to my bread, ’ Pran translated it in his head and snorted.
He still bit the bread anyway, rolling his eyes while muttering, “And you’re the pain in my ass,” uttering the word pain in French pronunciation.
“Ouch, babe, don’t say that in public!” Pat yelped and pretended to be shy and covered his face with his free hand.
Pran bit the rest of the bread and coldly threatened, “I will chop you into pieces and put you here inside my pot of broth.”
“Hmm, don’t threaten me with a good time, baby!” Pat said singsongy, making Pran’s face flushed even more.
It’s the kitchen heat, come on!
“Napat, I swear to god..” Pran turned his body to Pran with a ladle in his hand, ready to literally smack some sense into Pat’s head when Pat’s phone rang.
He grinned, “Saved by the bell!”
He turned on his heel and walked to his nook while answering the phone with a serious tone, leaving behind a bag of freshly baked bread on Pran’s counter.
Pran shoved another bread into his mouth, enjoying the party of flavor and texture, dancing with his palate so beautifully.
“You should go for it, Pat,” Pran overheard Ink’s voice when he was on his way out of the restaurant after another tiring yet successful day.
He halted, it felt weird to snoop at his friends but Ink rarely used that tone with Pat. Pran walked slowly, Pat and Ink were talking behind the exit door.
Pat, in his unusual hushed tone replied, “They gave me a week to think about it. I think I’m gonna reject their offer.”
“It’s an offer from the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Pat. The best luxury hotel in Thailand with world class chefs. You don’t reject offers from them!” Ink said in high pitch.
“I know! But what about your dad? What about Malee? I love it here!” It seemed like Pat had forgotten to speak quietly, matching Ink’s tone.
Pran held the door handle, he was ready to go home but their conversations caught his attention. He decided to listen some more because Pat got an offer from a five-star hotel? And he did not want it? What?
He leaned on the door, he was lucky he was always the last one to go home, because no one would find him here, with his ear glued on the door, listening to a conversation.
“I’ll take care of my dad, I think he will understand. Malee will be fine, Pat. I am sure.” Ink answered.
“Tell me the real reason, Pat. Tell me why you want to reject the biggest offer of the year?”
It took Pat several seconds before he answered, “Pran. I don’t think I can be away from him anymore. It was hard before, you know?”
What?
“Tell him, then. Tell him everything.”
Even Pran could hear Pat sighed through the door. “I’ve been trying all these time, you know, I don’t think I’m being too subtle lately.”
Ink laughing, “Everyone knows.”
“Go sort it out. If it were me, I’d still choose the hotel anytime, Pat,” she added.
“Yeah, okay. See you on Tuesday, Ink.”
Minutes after Pran felt that the coast was clear, that Ink had left, he opened the door, locking it and walked to Pat who was leaning against the passenger door on Pran’s car.
“Paa still..” he tried to say something but Pran interjected.
“You’re driving,” he said.
Pran couldn’t stop thinking about what Pat and Ink discussed earlier, and as much as he wanted to confront Pat about it right now, maybe it’s not the perfect time.
Tomorrow, maybe.
“Say, Pat,” he started.
“Yeah?” Pat’s eyes still fixed on the road, the drizzle started to pour tonight.
“It’s Monday tomorrow,” Pran continued. “Our day off.”
Pat turned on the turn signal, looking at his left rear view mirror before making the turn, and Pran could see that his eyes gazed at him for a while.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to go home tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so, my parents are not home. Why? Do you want to go home?” Pat asked.
Their houses were not far apart, and everytime Pran went home, usually Pat tag along, too, visiting his parents.
“Nope,” Pran answered.
“Okay?” Pat still demanded an answer.
Pran did not know why he felt so uneasy about all of this.
Maybe food would ease it all. Food was always on their side.
Their apartment building was in sight, and the rain was getting heavier.
“It's the rainy season again,” he said again, finding a way to utter his mind to Pat.
Pat smiled, “Yeah, the soup season, you said,” he teased.
“Oh come on, it’s true. Rainy season means soup season!” Pran hit Pat’s arm.
It was his remark when they were still in Paris. Pran would always cook something soupy when rain poured and honestly, he needed something warm. Pran always needed something warm.
“Do you remember that magnificent French onion soup that I cooked for you?” Pat asked.
“You mean the almost burnt soup that was forgotten on the stove since you decided to take a nap for a minute ? You almost burned our apartment down!” Pran laughed.
“But we got to meet cute firefighters afterwards, so,” Pat shrugged and it made Pran laugh even more.
“Mine tastes better,” Pran said after he could control his laugh.
“Always,” another smile from Pat erupted, his eyes soft at Pran.
“Hey, don’t you miss our time together there?” Pat asked suddenly, making Pran shift in his seat.
Pran took his time before he answered, “Yeah, some part of it. You?”
“Yeah, me, too. Some of it. Especially the parts before you went home for good without telling me.”
After Pat safely parked the car, they got out, the air was so heavy with Pat mentioning about his abrupt sudden return to Bangkok. Pran never told Pat why he decided to go home and never go back to Paris, ever, even with Pat waiting for him there.
Pran sighed, “I’m sorry.”
“I know, it’s okay,” Pat said while touching the elevator button that took them to their floor.
The silence between them was unusual and Pran hated it.
“I’m making boeuf bourguignon tomorrow if you want to come to dinner. With me.”
‘Ding!’
Pat didn’t get out of the elevator as if he was still digesting Pran’s words.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked.
“That was your favorite beef stew when we were there, right? You said that I was already a world class chef because I could follow those ridiculously long steps patiently and resulting in something so divine ,” Pran said easily, tucking Pat’s wrist to get out of the elevator.
Pat followed him, Pran’s fingers still delicately circling his wrist.
“You remember,” he whispered.
Pran opted to not hear that.
“So, shall we meet at seven tomorrow?” Pran asked when they arrived at their doors.
Pat nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be there. Yeah, okay, I'll bring dessert.”
Pran gave him a final squeeze to his wrist before he opened his door.
“Night, Pat.”
“Sweet dreams, Pran,” Pat answered with a huge smile on his face.
It was still six PM when Pran heard the knock on his door, and Pran grumpily opened it.
“I am not done with the cooking Pat,” he whined a little.
Pat let himself in with a basket on his hand.
“That’s why I’m here! I can help you!”
Pat took some things out of the basket, a bottle of red wine, and two cups of batter that he stored in Pran’s fridge, walking around navigating Pran’s kitchen like he belonged there.
“Chocolate souffle. I’ll bake them after dinner,” he explained and took one of Pran’s aprons, put it on himself, and draped a kitchen towel over his shoulder. He looked ridiculously good without the funny headwrap and colorful pants.
“What do I need to do today, Chef?” he asked.
Pran shooked his head to put him back into cooking mode and put a bowl of already boiled potatoes in front of him, “Mash the potato, please?”
Pat took a seat in Pran’s kitchen, holding the hand masher and the bowl, adding ingredients that Pran provided, and raiding Pran’s fridge to find if he could add anything else.
“Can I leave it to you? I need to take a shower,” Pran said.
Pat nodded, “Yeah, go ahead!”
Pat made himself at home, as usual. The mashed potato was done, and the divine aroma from the beef bourguignon tickled his nose, making him giddy.
When Pran came out from his room thirty minutes later, Pat was sitting on his couch, flicking through Pran’s cookbooks, his feet dangling on the armrest.
“Feet, Pat,” Pran said upon seeing that Pat got too comfortable in his space.
“Oops, sorry,” he grinned and put down the book.
Pran felt that Pat was somehow scanning his look. Yeah, Pran admitted that he was dressing a little bit nicer tonight for dinner. He put on his black turtleneck shirt, the same color for his pants, fitter than his usual choice, and a new perfume that he just bought earlier.
Unlike the regular Pat eccentric outfit choice, Pat opted to wear something subtle and neat tonight, and Pran felt that he had to match the vibe.
“You.. look nice,” Pat said finally.
Pran smiled a little, “Yeah, thanks, you too.”
“Come, let’s eat,” Pran pulled the dining chair, signaling Pat to sit there, which Pat obediently followed.
“I can’t wait to eat your divine meat,” he said one second after sitting on the chair, making Pran groan and slap the back of his head.
“Shut up, you ruin the moment!”
Pat’s eyes got wide for a second then turned his face to Pran, “Did we just have a moment?”
Pran rolled his eyes and served Pat the food.
It was nice like this, with them having a good chat about the restaurant, reminiscing about their past, and other things that went by in Pat’s mind.
It surely reminded Pran of their time together in Paris, when they often did this, making dinner for each other and ranting about their days. About missing home, mostly.
Dinner went by so quickly and Pat dismissed Pran to the living room, asking him to put on a movie while Pat baked the souffle. Pran wanted to watch an action movie but Pat insisted that tonight’s theme was a blast from the past, so they should watch movies that they used to watch together before.
Julie & Julia.
That was their favorite movie back then, and Pran felt it was too long ago since the last time they watched this movie. They used to watch it religiously, commenting on everything that they could find.
Especially when they were drunk.
“Shit, hot! Hot!”
Pran could hear Pat’s screaming from the kitchen, but he was used to it, he just shouted from the couch, “You okay there, buddy?”
“Yeah, magnificent!” Pat shouted back.
Pat came to the living room with two tall and warm chocolate souffles, with ice creams beside them that Pran believed Pat took from his fridge, and the bottle of wine clasped between his torso and his arm, making him so hard to walk.
“Uh, I need help?”
Pran laughed and said something about how clumsy Pat was, a pastry chef, touching a very hot ramekin dish fresh from the oven, before approaching Pat and carrying the bottle of wine and putting it on the coffee table.
“Come on, sit on the floor, I don’t want to get yelled at if I spill my ice cream onto your couch,” Pat said, asking Pran to sit beside him, tapping his thigh gently.
Half a bottle of wine and a very full stomach later, Pran found himself grasping the concept of blast from the past quite seriously with putting half of his legs on top of Pat’s, reciting the dialogue from the movie that he somehow memorized perfectly. Just like the old time.
Pat giggled, throwing his head back, occasionally sipping his wine and feeding Pran some leftover ice creams.
Oh, how Pran missed this. Being carefree around Pat, letting himself enjoy whatever Pat brought to the table, and basically, being with Pat. This was Pran’s safe haven years ago. Before they both ruined everything.
Pran suddenly realized that he got too comfortable, and there was something that he needed to ask Pat, the purpose of this dinner.
He pulled his leg slowly from Pat, and he noticed that Pat was rubbing his ankle softly before. Pat looked at him with confusion but he let Pran go.
“I need to ask something,” Pran said.
Suddenly he felt aware of his surroundings, not like minutes ago when he let himself bask in Pat’s presence.
“Okay?” Pat still felt unsure, but he turned his body toward Pran, ready to listen.
“I overheard your talk with Ink,” he started, “accidentally. Last night.”
Pat made a gesture to ask Pran to continue. Pran decided to not look at Pat’s face and he looked at the paused screen, showing Meryl Streep’s face as Julia Child, laughing with his husband.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the offer?”
“How much did you hear last night?” Pat asked back.
Pran folded his arms, still not looking at Pat, “A lot,” he answered shortly.
Pat gently opened Pran’s arms, and holding his hands, “Pran, tell me, so I can explain,” he inquired.
“No, I need you to explain. Tell me from the very beginning,” Pran was still stubborn, retracting his hands from Pat.
The rain started to pour outside, Pran could hear it so clearly with the absence of the movie audio and Pat’s voice.
“Okay, okay,” Pat carded his hand through his hair and closed his eyes.
“Yesterday someone from the Mandarin Oriental Hotel called me. They knew about me because they are regulars at Malee. They said that there is an opening for a pastry chef in their restaurant, since their chef is leaving for Spain next month. They gave me a week to think about it,” Pat took a deep breath before continuing, “But I think I’m going to reject it.”
“Why?” Pran asked, this was the big question in his mind. Was it true that he was the reason?
Pat took another sip from his glass. For a quick mouth, he was unusually taking his time to answer tonight.
“You heard it, right?”
Pran nodded, “But I want you to explain to me, put some logic in it, because it was so fucking stupid, Pat.”
Pat knitted his brows furiously, “Excuse me?”
“Come on, it’s a fucking big opportunity. They have the best chefs there, you will learn from the absolute best chefs in Bangkok, and you’re going to turn it down because of…me?” Pran spitted.
“We’re not even a thing,” he continued slowly, emphasizing every word.
That made Pat groan in frustration, Pran believed that Pat was about to scream, but instead, he put his hands on his face and rubbed his forehead.
“I don’t want to stand in your way to pursue your dream, Pat. I never want to,” Pran said to fill the silence, to fill the room with another sound beside the angry thunder and rain.
“Do you know my dream, Pran?” Pat finally spoke, “I want to open a restaurant with you someday. With you. Not because I love you, but because you’re a great chef and I respect you so damn much, and working with you, together, is my goal right now.”
Pran flinched at Pat’s ‘I love you’, but there was another thing that he needed to address. He looked at Pat’s face, and found his eyes were watery and Pran hated that. He hated that he made Pat sad.
“I know, you said that years ago,” Pran murmured.
“What?”
Pran threw him a sad smile, he shook his head before answering, “See, you don’t even remember it,” he paused, gathering his courage to release the words from his mouth, the words that he held so well in his heart for a few years, “you were so drunk that night. We were still in Paris, and you just bought two very expensive bottles of wine from your first salary as a pastry cook in that famous bakery that we both loved so much. You chugged one of the bottles, slammed it on the table, it did not break into pieces, don’t worry, and you said all of that.”
“First you said that I was so annoying, but I did my study well, and I was a great cook, and I would be the greatest cuisine chef in the universe, and you were dying to have a restaurant with me,” Pran couldn’t help but let out a little giggle, reminiscing Pat that fateful night.
Pat still looked so stunned so Pran continued.
“And you said that you love me,” Pran paused, letting Pat sink it in.
“And you promised that you will be the greatest pastry chef in the universe, too, because you would hate it that you can’t be on my level,” he added softly.
“I said that?” Pat whispered.
Pran nodded his head, “Yeah.”
“I’m not even drunk since you hogged the wine, I remember it all. I remember I was about to tell you about my feeling back then, about how happy you always made me, but you threw up on my fucking lap and after I went to the bathroom to clean myself, I found you sleeping like a log on the couch,” he shook his head, now Pran sip his wine, “And you don’t remember any of it the next morning.”
“Fuck,” Pat seethed.
“Wait, I should let it all out, I guess I owe you the reason for my sudden leaving,” Pran decided that tonight he had to clear everything up. It had been too long in his head, it messed him up a little sometimes.
“Go on,” Pat weakly said.
“You acted like usual the days after that, you even told me that one of your coworkers hit on you, and asked you out on a date,” Pran sighed before he continued, “it was like you were just babbling nonsense that night. And luckily for me, at the same time, my mother’s friend opened a new restaurant back home, and they needed someone to be their chef.”
“So, I went home. I am sorry I was a coward back then, I packed my things when you were working and I told you I was just visiting home. And I left you. Alone,” he finished.
Pat cried.
“I am sorry,” he sobbed.
And Pran felt that he should touch Pat, to anchor himself in Pat, or else he could be getting caught in a wave of sorrow too.
So he took Pat’s hand and held it gently, letting Pat know that he’s forgiven long before.
“The first time I saw Ink introduce you to us at Malee, I really wanted to flee again. But I couldn’t. I wanted to hate you. Again, I couldn't. I was just shocked to see you again. It’s like fate was playing with me,” he smiled.
Pran felt that this was their longest serious conversation ever, he never spoke to Pat this much, especially about that night that made him pack his bag and leave Paris for good. But this was nice, he felt the burden was off of his shoulders, finally. It’s cathartic.
“So, please, go take that offer, learn from the best, Pat. You’re a great chef, you’re meant to do big things. I would hate you so much if you turn it down because of me,” he said, wiping Pat’s tears on his cheek.
Pat leaned on the touch, composing himself before he answered Pran, “I was so fucking stupid, Pran. I thought that I did not have a chance back then, so I tried to hide my feelings. I thought being your best friend was enough, loving you at arm’s length was enough, as long as you’re there. I’m sorry. I went on those dates half-heartedly, trying to forget you, I thought I could. But then I came home and saw you at our apartment, and I just..”
He hugged Pran, let out small sobs and it broke Pran’s heart.
“When you left me, I was so angry, you blocked my number and I did not even have your address!”
Pran let Pat’s head sit on his shoulder, he stroked Pat’s hair softly.
“Yeah, that’s my fault,” Pran said.
Pat shook his head, the way his hair moved tickled Pran a bit.
“No, that one was mine. I should’ve asked you out properly. I’ve been meaning to do that since my first time meeting you at Malee. I don’t want to lose you again, Pran. Those days without you were… torture.”
“And you, knowing how I treated you back then, with my drunken confession, you let me hang around you, you easily let me walk into your life, again.”
Pran smiled, “You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Stop saying sorry, you, dumbass. I’ve forgiven you since years ago,” Pran said, tilting his head to meet Pat’s who was still leaning on his shoulder.
“So, do you still want it? Your dream?” Pran asked.
The storm outside had already eased, the night was getting quieter than before, but this time, it was more relaxing.
“Of course!” Pat suddenly sat straight, looking at Pran’s eyes truthfully.
“You know, I once had the same dream. Opening a restaurant with you, running our own restaurant, and honestly, I even have my savings for it. We can do it, Pat.”
It made Pat grinned so wide, he took Pran’s hands after he wiped his tears.
“But I need to know something first. About us. I mean it when I said I don’t want to be away from you again,” Pat uttered, “Do I still make you happy, Pran, because.. I need us to be a thing .” He emphasized on thing , a jab to Pran’s previous outburst.
Pran only saw sincerity in Pat’s watery eyes and he nodded, “Yes, you do, you jackass. Fuck it, okay, let’s do this.”
“Really? Are you sure?” Pat's trembling fingers squeezed Pran's palm, the fingers that were so used to mixing the dough confidently, now left trembling in Pran’s mercy.
“On one condition,” he continued, “You take that offer. Learn everything, you need to study from those seasoned chefs.”
“And you’ll be here?” Pat asked, hoped, half-begged.
“And I’ll be here, I promise I won’t go anywhere.”
Pran pulled his hand from Pat just to take Pat’s jaw, tilting it up to meet his lips, and kissed him slowly, languidly, as if he was taking his time.
But Pat, poor enamored Pat, had another idea and took his hand up Pran’s neck, holding him there to deepen their kiss, almost devouring him greedily.
Pran followed his guts and moved Pat to the couch, and straddled him viciously, biting him alternately between his neck and shoulders, nibbling his ear like Pat was a delicacy, licking it and savoring it.
“Is this how we're going to end our dinner from now on?” Pat asked between his short breaths.
Pran smirked confidently, “Well, you make a very good dessert, so..”
EPILOGUE
Five Years Later
“Here you go, one Pad Kra Pao Sandwich and this is our signature Coconut Sorbet as a compliment from the chef, sorry for the wait,” the waiter put the dish to the table, presenting a mouth-watering sandwich and rice crackers, along with a beautiful bowl of coconut sorbet topped with crispy dried coconuts and candied lime zest.
Another table was enjoying their dishes while chattering and laughing.
Pat was seen delivering his famous mango macarons to a family of three, their little daughter screamed in delight upon seeing the pretty sweets coming to their table.
Pran came behind him, his hand resting idly on the small of Pat's back, after giving a polite wai and thanking the family for coming and kissing their daughter's head.
Flowers and balloons were seen at the corners, the ten tables that they had were full, filled with happiness and love at their bistro's second anniversary.
There was a painting on one of the walls, of two chefs, hugging, with neat handwritten words, “Welcome to Little Spoon!”
THE END