A father’s worst mistake is to make his sons bear his sins. To pass on his flaws. Like the fairies in the tales, gifting to newborns bright lifelong blessings. But there are no fairies, only Ming Jindapat. And the babies aren’t princesses, but a couple of twin boys. And his gifts aren’t blessings, but tools to hurt each other.
This one, his firstborn, will have his stubbornness and fear of being left behind.
This one, with exactly the same round face and pouty lips, all burrowed in white linens, will inherit his insecurity and guilt.
And both of them, holding each other’s chubby hands and breathing the same air in the hospital crib, just as they shared the womb, will share toys and then homework and then heartbreak, burdens. And lastly, they’ll share their father’s anger.
“I’m sure it was awful.” Pran says around a teasing smile. “In fact, I was sure it was awful the first time you told me. The next seventeen just proved my point.”
“Let me complain, will you? My face still hurts.” Wai pouts, pointing to his cheek.
“I trust that you will survive it.” Pran keeps joking while walking Wai to the bar where he works for his evening shift.
“I will, but that asshole from Engineering won’t if I catch him again.” His best friend says, and Pran doesn’t even try to stop his snorting laugh. “And you should help me! He thinks he’s all that because he’s the class president… Meanwhile, our class president–”
“I just transferred, give me a break. I don’t even know why you all voted for me.”
“It’s the aura.” Wai says matter-of-factly. “And the khakis.”
“f*cking asshole–” Pran chuckles.
“And the tote bag. Nothing screams class president like a tote bag.”
Pran shows him the finger as they turn the corner. The street is busy with the end of the afternoon classes and the usual office work time. Pran has always loved the atmosphere the start of a new academic year brings, even when he’s a bit late for this one. People are more energetic, buying new stationary, setting new resolutions. I’ll study more this year. I’ll make more friends. I won’t skip as many lectures.
He always found that behaviour endearing. It’s fitting for the heat of mid-August. It makes him nostalgic in a good way. After some years of not buying any new pens or notepads, he’s resolute to enjoy being back home.
“Is your dad picking you up here?” Wai says after a bit, when they’re just a street away from the bar.
“Yeah, but it’s gonna take a while.” He answers, looking up the time on his phone. “He has to go through all the rush-hour traffic. If I’m lucky enough, I can finally get the dorm’s keys tomorrow.”
“And the fun can start…” Wai tells him while his elbow taps him on the ribs suggestively.
“What fun? Trying to get you in one piece through five years of battles against Engineering?”
“Pran.” Wai says in that voice that Pran hates. “I’ve been your roommate for three years, I know you’re not meek.”
“What does that even mean–” He starts protesting when Wai places his arm in front of him.
“What?” Pran asks, turning confused to look at his friend that had stopped them abruptly.
“What’s that f*cker doing here?!” And before Pran can process it, Wai is already stomping towards the bar’s entrance, where numerous patrons —mostly students— are gathering in animated groups.
“Hey, hey, hey– Wait!” He screams, running behind him. Maybe Pran is the crazy one here, but he thinks Wai can’t afford to pick a fight just in front of his god-damned workplace minutes before his shift starts.
“You!” Wai yells when he reaches a group of friends. He tugs at one of the guys’ shoulder to rudely turn him around. That’s when Pran sees him. “What the f*ck do you think you’re doing? I told your friend Engineering is banned from this bar!”
It’s less than half a second of confusion, perhaps the loss of practice in distinguishing them is to blame. But for that half a second, Pran thought–
“I think you got confused.” The guy slaps Wai’s hand harshly away with a familiar voice. Pran finally reaches them, holding Wai back. “I’m not–”
In fact, he’s not.
“Oh my god– Pran?”
“Hi, Jin.” He says with a pained sigh. “Long time no see.”
And then, Wai’s bony wrist escapes his fingers and punches Pran’s lifelong neighbour in the face.
···
“Here.” Pran handles Jin a clean tissue, replacing the bloodied one on his nose.
“You’re not gonna tell my boss, are you?” Wai anxiously asks, pacing up and down the narrow space of the bar’s restroom.
“Well, I f*cking feel like it.” Jin says from where he’s sitting over the sink. With his head tilted back trying to stop the bleeding, his voice sounds funnily nasal.
“f*ck– C’mon… I really need this job,” Wai pleads. “Pran, you know him, right? Tell your friend something.”
“Not my friend.” Pran hears himself say, like muscle reflex. Input-output.
And like muscle memory too, it puts a frown on Jin’s forehead. He cleans his nose and lip one last time and discards the new tissue before opening his mouth to say something.
“Holy sh*t…” Wai interrupts when Jin’s face is finally clean and visible, even if reddened and a bit swollen on one side. If Pran didn’t know of Wai’s bisexuality, he would be thinking he’s having his gay awakening. “Really, you wouldn't happen to have an evil doppelgänger who studies Engineering and is a gigantic f*cking moron, right? You really are like two water drops.” Wai asks, clearly thinking he’s so funny. Both Jin and Pran visibly wince.
“Yeah, sounds about right.” Jin says, beyond exasperated. Which in Pran’s extensive recollection of the brothers is not unheard of but certainly rare. “I can’t f*cking believe he’s already giving you problems again.” He adds to Pran with a twist of anger that leaves Pran unmoored and confused.
“He’s not? I just transferred. I haven’t. Seen him– I mean.”
“So you have an evil doppelgänger?!”
“It’s called identical twins, Wai.” Pran illuminates. Uncomfortable doesn’t start to define how he’s feeling. One week. One week and he’s already somehow having to deal with a Jindapat. No, two. Because wherever this one is, the other can’t be far away.
And because of course it had to be Pat the asshole who’s making Wai run in circles and look like a beat-up piñata every two working days. What better career choice than the one that rivals Pran’s. So f*cking fitting.
“Listen– I’m really sorry for all this.” He says, turning resolutely towards his childhood neighbour. Pran remembers that being able to say sorry to him was one of the first differences he noticed. “But my dad is driving here right now.”
Jin just blinks two times, his big eyes fixed on Pran. Another difference he noticed was having to explain things. “He can’t see you here.” Pran deadpans.
“Oh, yeah– Yeah, of course.” Jin's face softens apologetically.
“Can you hide here until I’m gone? And let this short-fuse asshole off the hook for today?” He says, pointing to Wai. Jin frowns again, looking at him over Pran’s shoulder, in that fierce way they have in the family. But then he looks back at Pran and brightens once more.
“Sure, Pran.” He adds with a smile, all teeth.
The nice twin.
Pran remembers coining the label in his mind many years ago. It was a poor attempt to not recognise Pat’s peculiar and more dangerous kindness, but the label still stuck, just beside the impertinent, repetitive thought that falling for Jin would have been less damaging somehow. It was a notion that tormented him all through high school, there was even a time in which he purposely tried to.
“Anything else his majesty desires?” The guy asks too nicely, always trying to make a joke out of the situation. Pran scoffs.
“Really? You're not telling?” Wai says then. “For the record, I think you’re so much better than–”
“Wai,” Pran cuts before Wai says something that can ruin the deal. Both Jin and Pat always shared the same protectiveness over their family and each other. With Pran being the exception, of course. “You’re late for your shift.” His friend looks at his watch and yelps, going out of the door in a blur of curses and reminding Pran he's calling after he's finished work.
“Actually, there’s something else…” Pran awkwardly starts when they’re alone. “Do you think you can talk to your brother about this thing he got against Architecture students? It’s bound to bring trouble at school, for him, too.” He tries to convince Jin. “The teachers have already warned my friend, and– And honestly, it’ll be better if I don’t get involved.”
“No.” Jin cuts a bit rudely. “Sorry, but it would only cause another fight in my family.”
Pran frowns, not understanding a single bit.
“Me and Pat are not on speaking terms.”
The air stills, there’s a pause, the fluorescent light tube buzzes. And then, a gasped “What?”
What else is to ask when something this nonsensical is told?
Nattajin and Napat. Jin and Pat Jindapat. Hand in hand causing havoc since the sun is sun and the earth is earth, at least for Pran. Speaking terms is a f*cking poor analogy for their relationship. When Pran was six, he learned what jealousy was watching their bond as a single child. They were two halves of a brain that was fully purposed on being insufferable little demons and have as much fun as possible.
Speaking terms can’t start to fathom the complicity Pran has been witness to. Speaking terms is an absurd way to describe Jin and Pat’s closeness, when Pa used to cry over her brothers leaving her outside their telepathic conversations. She just wanted to play with them, but Pran never shook off the feeling that they really were able to read each other’s mind.
So them not even being in plain, ridiculous speaking terms is the most stupid thing Pran has ever heard.
“Yeah… I guess it comes as a surprise to you, but it’s been a while.” Jin answers, and Pran can’t decide what to address first. The understatement that the word surprise supposes, or the it’s been a while — because Jin and Pat could never remain angry for more than half a day after their small brawls— or the sourness in his voice, not exactly sadness but also not exactly anger. Like a weeping wound he gave up on trying to close.
Pran is morbidly, deadly curious. Not even one of the infinite possibilities his brain is supplying in a frenzy current are good enough to form a likely scenario for this. If something big happened with the family next door, Pran would’ve heard of it.
Instead, it was three years of the usual complaints over weekly phone calls. The business this and they’re a bunch of cheaters that. Nothing about some distant relative dying and the Jindapats fighting over the will or similar.
Which leaves Pran with the only logical conclusion that they fell out for something purely personal between them. That is even more insane and only adds to the teething want to ask. But if something Pran has learned, it’s to self-restraint himself.
As if to remind him, his phone beeps in his pocket. A quick glance at the notification lets him know his dad is outside waiting.
“Well, I had to ask. But thanks about Wai.” His phone vibrates again. “My dad. I need to go.” He says, pointing to the screen and smiling uncomfortably.
“I could still help you.” Jin says when Pran starts to turn. “I mean, we can’t afford two dorms, so we still share. I can give you my Line and tell you when he goes out, or when his friends are planning something… they drop by often.”
Pran pauses, even more uncomfortable under Jin’s eager gaze. “We shouldn't.” He says, pointing behind him, like a vague direction towards his dad is able to convey decades of rancour. “I really need to go. Sorry, thanks.” He closes, not even making sense to himself, and bolting out of the door to the busy main room of the bar.
“Get him out of the bathroom in a couple of minutes, will you? I’ll call you later and explain.” Pran says when he crosses paths with Wai, a tray full of empty beers in his left hand. He looks like he wants to say something, but then someone calls for him, and he has to go and take note of their order.
Pran seizes the chance and gets outside and into his dad's car. He greets him normally, answers his questions normally, laughs about his old-fashioned music taste the way he always does.
He hates the moment he realises he's back into mentally checking if he sounds credible enough.
···
Dinner is awful. Dissaya asks how his day went and Pran shoves a spoonful into his mouth to choke out the urge to say Horrible, I met the neighbours' son.
She asks if he’s getting the dorm’s keys soon, he swallows water and a pitiful I didn’t want to, I promise.
She asks if he wants seconds, and Pran bites his cheek, causing a the other one has hit Wai to pool on his tongue like poison.
At the end, he doesn’t get seconds, even when she cooked his favourite.
When he entered his childhood room after three years for the first time, everything felt so unoffending and soothing. His mother had kept him far away, but thoroughly maintained his room in the same exact way he left it. The smell of clean laundry was still the same, the posters were still nicely plastered and aligned, never overlapping or tilting, the figurines on the shelf were kept in the same order Pran spent weeks perfecting. First the video game ones, then the movie ones, in order of appearance in their universes. Anything different was downright barbaric.
It was his space, delimited and safe. It wasn’t a bridge, nor a hideout. It wasn’t invaded, claimed without asking. Not anymore. And he found with quite some pride that he didn’t feel the urge to peek out the curtains even once.
Now, however, as soon as he steps inside and turns on the lights, the room is still familiar but in a distinct way. His heart picks speed and his head turns without his command towards the closet door where a box lives buried behind old shirts, then towards the rugby ball on the highest shelf. Like stubborn residue that he’s failed to scrub away. Finally, he turns towards the window.
The lights are off opposite, to his huge relief. It’s still odd to see, though. The last time he peeked across, he remembers Pat furiously drumming the rhythm of his song the night before the concert. He remembers Pa coming into the room, yelling about the noise, begging Jin to do something to make it stop. Jin came down of his bunk bed in a jump and instead of making Pat stop, he took out his bass and strummed along for a while.
Pran sat there, hidden from view, humming under his breath to their music— to his music, to Pat’s, in a way— and watching the siblings argue until Pa left exasperated, promising to spit in their breakfast.
Pat started to pick up the tempo, making Pran smirk in the dimness of his room— he was such an asshole— and Jin tried to follow just for some seconds until his fingers got in a twist, and he messed up the chords. The twins laughed, loud enough to be heard across a roof and a wall of shouldn’ts.
Now, seeing the blinds hung shut and a hollow silence is a contrast that leaves Pran unfairly unbalanced. A proof that time passed for everyone, that things changed, just as Pran has, while he was away. That no-one remained frozen waiting for him.
Wai calls, Pran can hear the traffic behind his voice while he walks back to his dorm. Before he can say hi, Wai is already asking about it. It’s easier than he thought it would, when forced by the undeniableness. God knows he tried talking about all of it with him back in boarding school, but he never found where to start.
In the end, he speaks about everything except one thing. Leaning against the cushions on his bed, his eyes travel across to the shadowed window again. What’s the point, anyway, he thinks. That Pat doesn’t exist anymore. That Pat, his, wouldn’t fight his own brother, so what’s the point. It would only make him sad and Wai upset.
“You and Jin didn’t give much arch-nemesis vibes, though.” Wai comments, Pran hears him fiddle with his keys.
“Yeah, him and their little sister were okay.”
“And– Pat? Was that his name?”
“Different.”
“Bet he was an asshole.” Wai opens and closes the door to his dorm.
“Mmh.” Pran hums, musing, not being able to make himself agree. “So if I didn’t want to get involved before, now even less. Don’t ever think about dragging me into it.” He warns.
Yui thought she looked gigantic with her full stomach. Not even the rose hip oil Ming applied on it could save her tense skin from the stretch marks of two big babies well past their due date.
When her water broke, she was as ready as anyone could be. Which was a huge improvement from the first eco, where they received with no small amount of panic the news that there weren’t one, but two buns in the oven.
They were settled, but still young, and the business wasn’t exactly at its best. Two kids at once was something Yui did not feel prepared in any way, but Ming worked hard during the pregnancy, getting some contacts in China that allowed him to lower the prices and the money income to grow more stable.
They painted the room that had the balcony in a pale sunflower yellow, they bought a double cradle, so the babies could sleep together. The cute overalls, the teddy bears, the pacifiers, everything came in pairs, and as Yui’s stomach grew, the fear was beaten down by the amazing realisation that they were having two blessings.
Then the 22nd of April came, and at 23:51, Yui was halfway to go. A healthy, chubby baby boy weighting almost nine pounds was already being cleaned, but Yui hung onto Ming’s hand and whined as the contractions started again.
“That’s Jin,” she said with a feeble smile when they handed Ming the kid. She couldn’t wait to have both of them in her arms.
Pat didn’t make them wait too much. Barely 15 minutes later, he arrived in a fit of cries, waking up his brother and making him cry too. They quickly handed the mother both of them, and she welcomed them with an aching body and a heart that was growing, doubling its size to make space for all the new, sudden love.
From then on, life became one big chaos. No amount of magazine articles read about parenting twins could’ve prepared them for the real intensity of it. Ming had to go back to work quickly, since the neighbours were making a fuss over his deal with the Chinese supplier, and Yui really didn’t want to be mean to a child, but getting her babies to sleep became even harder when the kid next door was born some weeks after. He always started crying just when Jin and Pat were finally getting sleepy.
The second pregnancy came fast, but never unwanted. Yui longed for a little girl to pamper, and she was everything they always dreamed of. When they introduced Pa to the toddler boys, barely a year and a half old, they poked at her with curiosity but care, giggling and babbling between them when she made baby noises, saliva pooling at her lips.
Her husband talked to them about their responsibility as older brothers to protect her forever, and while Yui wanted to roll her eyes because the boys were too young to understand, it still made some mist gather at her tear ducts and a wet chuckle to break free when the twins nodded, holding the baby like she was a doll in their chubby hands.
“Hey, loser.” Pat greets Pa as he enters the house. She barely glances up from her phone from where she’s sitting on the couch. That won’t do, so he stalks over and ruffles her hair until she’s shrieking and cursing at him.
“Am I late?” He asks when she’s had enough of punching him in the thigh. He combs his hand repeatedly through her long hair, trying to undo the damage he’s made.
“Jin’s in your room, if that’s what you’re asking.” She answers, combing through the hair too, with far more ease and practice.
“Don’t try to be clever.” He tells her, giving her a last rub on her scalp before changing destination and walking towards the kitchen. He will never tell her, but that’s exactly what he was asking. If he’s going to be forced to come to these Sunday lunches at home, he at least wants some peace.
His mother welcomes him with a hug, minding her greasy hands and not touching his shoulders. She quickly comes back to her cooking and Pat sits on a stool, telling her about his week— or the parts that are parent appropriate, at least. He doesn't think she wants to hear about the sweet sound his fist made against the jaw of that guy in Architecture.
When she finishes the preparation and places the tray in the oven, she cleans her hands and turns with a smile, telling him to go rest, since it’s going to be a while until it’s ready. And when Pat doesn’t move, she almost manages to hide the way her face falls. Luckily, that’s when Ming enters, distracting both of them. They talk for a while about the latest rugby match, until his mom starts yelling for Pa and Jin to come and set the table with Pat.
When his twin appears, the kitchen is a big enough mix of voices that it’s not that uncomfortable, and they fall into their disdainful dance of ignoring each other once again. He can sense the effort Pa and his mother still make to fill the silences, so he decides to pay them back and ask Jin for the tray of side dishes.
The olive branch is answered with a glare and a set of frozen chopsticks mid-air. Jin places the utensils slowly on his napkin and grabs the tray, placing it with a loud clang in front of Pat. Everyone has got silent, so Pat, and the rest of the family, hear him very clearly say: “I met Pran.”
He says it to Pat, but then he turns and clarifies to Ming, “We go to the same university.”
It leaves the table even more tense. His dad frowning, and Pat first surprised, to the point of forgetting he needs to breathe, and then wondering why on f*cking earth it sounds like a reproach, until Pa chides in.
“He’s back?” She asks. “So the guy on a motorbike I saw the other day was him then. Hot as always.”
Their mom almost chokes on the water she was drinking and chastises her with a rushed, “What did you say? Do you even know him?”
The comment fades away when Ming asks in what faculty Pran is in, and Jin doesn’t answer for some seconds. He looks at Pat and shakes his head the tiniest bit, his lip curling in something too close to disappointment, disgust, even. “Architecture.” He drops, like a bomb. “Heard his friends have some problems with Engineering.”
The whole table turns to Pat, who has a bite of food midway to his mouth. He looks at his father, who’s sporting an impressive frown.
“I didn’t know.” He chokes out, but his father smiles then, slapping him on the shoulder loudly.
“That’s my boy.” He praises. “People from that faculty are foul-mouthed, we had to chase them out all the time back in my days.”
Pat smiles and nods, but the part of him that preens at his dad’s appreciation curls and twists ugly when Jin keeps looking at him, food abandoned. The slight moue is unintentional, Pat knows, but tells him far more than he wants about Jin’s opinion in the matter.
It’s bitter to swallow, like the medicine syrup they always found ways of avoiding when little. Even more when Ming starts asking Jin about his classes. Obviously, everything’s perfect, because he’s the perfect firstborn. He gets slaps on his shoulder and a long, long squeeze.
It’s way worse than the syrup, the envy, it clogs his throat and doesn’t run down no matter how much water Pat swallows, how much air he takes, how much time it passes.
Jin’s Audio engineering is not Engineering, Audio engineering is going to help the family business between zero and nothing. If it was Pat who f*cking dared to choose Audio engineering, Ming would– Well, he’ll never know. He doesn’t want to reach the finish line of that thought.
And he always wanted to be a real engineer, anyway.
···
“Are you two okay, son?” His mother asks when they’re alone again, doing the dishes.
“Of course!” He assures with a smile. “We’re living together just fine, mom, really.”
He leaves out that they’re practically taking turns to live in the dorm, that they make spectacular efforts in not being there but to sleep, that even then, they’ve already got a noise complaint about their arguments.
Pat is still sure that leaving some take out boxes on Jin’s half of the fridge wasn’t worth the yelling match. But whatever.
“I miss you two, you know?” She says, scrubbing a plate. Pat wonders if she has said this to Jin too, or if she’s just being unfair.
“We’re here.” He answers, because in the long list of unspoken communication and understanding him and Jin have had during all their lives, the final one was to at the very least be present at home. He would love to have that effort appreciated, because it’s not being easy.
She smiles like she doesn’t believe it and they quickly finish the dishes in silence, just the sound of the water running and the scrub of the soap filling the air.
The house is asphyxiating nowadays, Ming acts like he can’t see the elephant in the room, his mom acts like Pat should just ask for forgiveness, and Pa is tired of being an intermediary between them. Everyone acts normally, but Pat feels their expectations stick to his back when he turns, begging him to put an end to it.
That was until now, though. Without the knowledge that Pran is back. Now everything feels even more constricting, he could be next door right now. He probably is.
It’s making Pat’s ears ring and his pulse run. He wants to go back to the dorm, but it’s Jin’s turn, and the asshole is still here, so Pat picks up his wallet and bolts out of the door to go buy time and ice cream.
He’s not mad that he’s the last to know Pran is back, that’s whatever. He’s mad about Jin acting like the thing between the faculties is his fault, that he made it on purpose.
Architecture. An annoying career for annoying people, he thinks. Not his fault, not his f*cking fault at all. If that idiot that showed them the finger is Pran’s friend, that’s on him for having terrible taste and befriending rude f*cking bastards. Well, last time he checked, Pran was also a rude f*cking bastard, so that’s that.
···
At first, Pat thinks it’s Pran’s dad, when he’s coming back home hours later and he sees someone taking the trash out.
He stops and contemplates, unnoticed, how much it can’t be Pran’s dad, because this man is taller, less bulky. It takes him maybe too many seconds to realise who it really is, and suddenly Pat is itching all over, wanting to approach and tug at him until he drops some explanation.
But then, Jin walks out of the house, and they talk, and something Pran says makes Jin smile, and by the way Pran’s shoulders shake, he’s laughing too.
Anyone could see them inside, that’s what he says to himself when he starts walking, dragging his sandals loudly enough for them to realise and turn. Pran retreats inside before Pat can even take a good look at his face, and Jin walks away, probably to the bus stop that will take him to the dorm. It almost makes the vein on his neck burst.
Pat swallows the rest of his chocolate ice cream and drops the stick in Pran’s bin, realigning the trash cans correctly, so no-one can give him sh*t about it.
Inside, because apparently everyone is out on a mission to piss him the f*ck off, Pa makes him promise he won’t hurt Pran for any faculty bullsh*t. Again, like it’s his fault, like he did it on purpose, like he knew that stupid Pran was stupidly back and on stupid Architecture.
How could he have known? Pran didn’t come back in three years, not a single day.
How could Pat have known, when he was sure he wouldn’t see him ever again?
But as Pa pleads to him with all seriousness, Pat remembers and nods, accepting. He’s not guilty of this, but he’s guilty of some things.
Still, catching a glance at Pran in the nude from hips up makes his blood burn once again. He really can’t catch a break today. Pran closes the curtains like Pat has committed a crime and– yeah.
Rude f*cking bastard.
···
No matter how much Jin glares at him and how much Pa makes him promise, he still needs to settle things with that Architecture asshole, and now that Pat is aware, Pran is everywhere. Everywhere where his friend is, at least, which is horribly annoying. He still hasn’t had a look at him up close, though. Pat doesn’t know why he noticed, but it’s bugging him.
“You guys follow him.” Pat orders when Pran finally unglues himself from his friend. “I’ll track this guy. Don’t forget to record it.” Korn and the guys go in a rush before they lose track of middle-finger guy and Pat runs down the stairs.
Pran’s taller now, yes, but walking behind him, Pat discovers with a thrill of victory that he’s not taller than himself.
He still can’t see his face, because when Pran turns, he has to hide, but when he reaches the clubs’ corridor, Pran enters one of them and Pat stands outside, peeking in. He stretches his neck, almost, almost seeing him clearly.
“Are you here for the form?” A senior asks, startling him a little. sh*t. Pran is gonna know something’s up. “Come inside.”
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. That always worked with Pran.
Pat steps inside, ready to lie his ass off and sign up for whatever this guy is offering him a form for. He can always come back later and say he’s not interested anymore.
“Hi, I’m here for the Freshy Music contest application.” Pran says, while Pat tries to act like he’s not burning holes in his face, gauging all the differences. He doesn’t know what he expected, but Pran looks the same. It’s weirdly reassuring. The same angry almost-pout, the same frown.
“Architecture.” Pat sees Pran's mouth say, and when it registers on his brain, he realises the senior is waiting for his answer. He missed the question entirely.
“Engineering.” He says, flashing a charming smile.
“What genre do you play?” Oh, yeah, apparently all this is about a music contest. Well, isn’t it convenient for Pat?
“Pop and nothing complicated.” He answers. It would be a mess if this was a book club or something, but music? That’s credible, especially for Pran, who doesn’t need to know that Pat hasn’t touched a drumstick in quite some time.
“I don’t play. The application is for a friend.” Pran says, bored.
“Oh.” The senior says, not as surprised as Pat is. ”Well, it seems I only have one form left. Wait here while I make a copy. Don’t leave yet.”
Then he’s out and Pat is tingling again for an explanation. It’s normal that Pat has stopped playing, he only did it to compete to begin with, but Pran? Utter bullsh*t. Pat only knows one person more crazy about music than Pran.
Three thumps against the cowbell, six against the hi-tom, a pointed pause, and a bang to the crash cymbal. Pat thought that would be enough to make Pran bite. But he’s still sitting on the loudspeaker, looking completely uninterested.
“You really don’t play anymore?” asks Pat, taking a seat on the drums. He starts a simple tempo on the bass drum pedal.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“Why?” Pat adds a quarter rhythm with the hi-tom.
“Not your business.” Pran says, but when Pat starts playing a whole halftime shuffle rhythm, he can see Pran’s knee jumping in tempo. It makes Pat half smile, it’s obvious he’s itching for it.
“Have you ever played an electric guitar?” He asks, nodding towards the mate black one that Pran just needs to reach with his arm to grab. “I heard it’s harder than acoustic.”
That’s just plain nonsense. He has no idea what he's talking about, but it makes Pran scoff, so maybe he’s onto something.
“If you switched and it became too hard for you, it’s comprehensible you dropped it…”
Pran scoffs even louder, sneering meanly. Pat is sure he’s gonna snatch the guitar any second now just to shut him up. He quickens the tempo, makes it even catchier, but then the senior comes back and Pran’s eyes leave his.
“Sorry, they ran out of ink. You two make your own copy, okay?”
He doesn’t get time to wonder why Pran refuses to play, because after that and never the one to lose traditions, Pran goes out of his way to annoy him and make everything a thousand times harder, with all the form bullsh*t and then disappearing.
Pat almost goes crazy when finger guy appears, with his stupid smile. Who the f*ck is Korn beating up, then?
He quickly finds out, because his friends sound like hungry hyenas in the alleyways between the faculties, and Pran has some audacity to raise his fist against Pat when he catches him. Like Pat would ambush him for real.
Like he’s not literally breaking a sweat to save him.
Pran twists and bucks like a fish outside water when Pat pulls him into a close alcove, Pat is forced to physically restrain him with a hand over his mouth because he’s not ruining this again.
Pat waits and waits until the boys pass by and can’t be heard anymore, then he waits some more, just in case. Pran calms down a little, just staring up at Pat with wide, panicky eyes, his hands warm and clammy over Pat’s shoulders. Pat doesn’t know if it’s their laboured breaths or if someone is trembling.
“What the hell are you up to?!” Pran pushes him. “What is this sh*t?!”
They step out to the empty alleyway again, watchful of anyone walking by, and fortunately —heavens bless her— Pa turns up with the car.
“Come with me.” Pat says, grabbing Pran, who slaps the grip again and again, to the point of hurting. Pat slaps back, and then they’re pushing each other towards the car.
Pran opens the back door and Pat shoves him inside, looking around for any witnesses before climbing inside too.
“Are you okay, Pr–” Pat hears. It’s Jin, sitting on the back seat too, Pran in between.
“What was that?!” Pran turns to Pat as much as the cramped space allows, pinching hard at Pat’s triceps. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Pat doesn’t say a thing, just slapping Pran’s fingers away and staring out of the window car.
“Pa, pull over. Drop me off here.” Pran says when they reach the campus entrance. “You, get out.” He pushes Pat in the shoulder. He does it again when Pat opens the door. Just because of that, Pat stands too close to the open door, making Pran have to squish himself to pass through him.
“Hold on.” Pat says, reaching inside the car and fishing out a clean shirt from Pa’s pile of laundry. “Take it. Change first so you don’t have to tell your mom what happened.” He says, throwing the shirt to Pran.
Pran, who looks at him like he just not only grew two heads, but also kicked some puppies in the process.
“Otherwise, she’s going to blame it on me.” He adds, because he’s being remarkably kind, thank you very much. Pran scoffs and marches away. “How about a ‘thank you’, jackass?!”
“Did I ask for your help, asshole?!”
So he agrees. Pat has helped. He hopes his annoying siblings have heard.
Unfortunately, when he turns, both Jin and Pa are sporting matching frowns and Pat finally understands how some people have called Pa the lost triplet. The resemblance is uncanny, only the whole head and a half of difference in height sells her out.
“Look at him!” Pat bemoans, absolutely helpless, pointing to Pran’s back.
“Don’t even start it.” Pa cuts. “Let’s talk about our deal first. You gave me a promise.”
“What?” Jin asks, already midway to seating himself on the passenger seat. “What promise?”
“Nothing.” Pa quickly says. Jin frowns even more . Pat is sure they soon will stop looking the same age because Jin is gonna grow wrinkles before they turn 20.
“What, you think you’re the only one who can worry about P’Pran?” Pa asks Jin once everyone is inside the car again.
“I’m not worried.” He scoffs. But from the back seat, Pat sees how Jin sends a glance to Pa every twenty seconds on the ride to the dorm.
“Leave. Him. Alone.” Pa tells Pat when they’re already inside his and Jin’s room, trying to fit both their laundry in the small closet. “Please.” She adds, whispering, before turning and yelling, “And you too!”
Jin, who was trying to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping, startles. “What did I do?!”
“I saw you talking to him outside the house the other day! You know what would happen if–”
“I get it!” Both twins say at the same time. It leaves everyone a bit floored, it’s been a while since the last time they synchronised.
Pa leaves with a threat and an order to sort out their laundry. The door hasn’t closed yet when Jin is already trying to talk, but Pat beats him to it. “It’s not what you’re thinking, so drop it already.”
“Since when does Pa care about him?”
“Since when do you? I told you it’s not what you’re thinking,” Pat says, grabbing a liquid yogurt pouch from the fridge. “Don’t act like you two don’t have always loved to side with Pran just to piss me off.”
“That’s mine!” Jin says, trying to steal the squishy wrapping, Pat swallows everything down in three gulps, winning himself two hard punches in the shoulder for the trouble. Jin goes and takes another yogurt out, then they’re both leaning against the kitchen counter, slurping in silence. Pat’s yogurt makes loud noises since it’s already empty.
“So…” Jin starts after some miraculous minutes of peace.
“Ughhh!” Pat groans. “Stop it already!”
“Fine! f*ck you.” Jin says, dropping the empty yogurt in the bin. “Don’t touch my food again.” He adds as he takes his backpack and goes out of the door. “Library. Bye.”
As an answer, Pat slurps once more, not finding any more strawberry-flavoured yogurt inside.
What a pain in the ass, all of them.
Whatever Jin thinks is going on, can’t be worse than the reality of Pran saving their baby sister from drowning because Pat was too much of a coward.
Pat hates being reminded of it. Of the sensation of Pa’s wet and cold skin against his dry one, of the promise they made to not tell anyone ever. He hates being reminded that if Jin had been there, and not bedridden with a fever, he would've dived in without a second thought. Because of course he would’ve. Just like Pran did.
With a sigh, Pat starts sorting their laundry. It’s a hassle because they used to share clothes, so there’s still a lot of them that can’t be labelled as one or the other’s. With a huff, Pat shoves everything inside, not caring about folding it properly.
One of the t-shirts they bought together and used to fight over has a smiley face on the centre, reminding Pat of the origin of all his recent headaches.
He sighs again. He needs help.
···
The lights are on. It’s jarring after so much time of curtains tinted dark by absence. But they’re on and warm as ever now, so Pat climbs over the railing of his balcony. His legs remember, better than his brain, how he has to place his feet over the roof to make the least amount of sound possible.
He knocks on the glass and waits, but when he sees a shadow start to move inside, he hides before being spotted. What for? He doesn’t know, but the moment he sees Pran turning away from the corner of his eye, he jumps right in, still in a practised way that talks of many, many other times.
Pat pokes at Pran, and quickly covers his mouth before he can alert everyone. Pran slaps his arm like that afternoon, and really, where did he learn that habit? It f*cking stings.
“Pran! What’s that noise?” They hear Pran’s mom ask, and she sounds frighteningly close.
“Nothing, mom!” Pran says when Pat drops the hand. It draws a smirk on Pat’s mouth.
“I come to talk about that friend of yours,” Pat starts, sitting down on Pran’s bed. “Can you stop protecting him?”
But Pran doesn’t answer him, still standing and distracted, looking across his window. Pat turns, scared, expecting to see his dad there, ready to blow it all up. But no, it’s just his room, empty like he left it.
“What?”
“Uh– No, nothing.” Pran says, dropping whatever that was and sitting on his bed too, although three feet away from Pat, for some reason.
“Your friend. Can you stop protecting him?”
“Can you stop chasing him?”
“Is it that hard to understand?”
“Yeah, it is.” Pran deadpans. “And I don’t want to talk to you. Get out of my room.”
What did Pat say? Rude f*cking bastard.
“Pran. I came because I don’t want to fight you. Don’t you get it?” He insists, because in the very end, that’s the truth, but– “Not just me, actually. It’s Pa who’s asking, and Jin.” Pat adds, finding kind of horrifying how Pran melts. The only bunker for his brain to hide in is the fact that he said both names together, so he can’t know if Pran is still fond of Pa or–
“Did he? And why do you care? Aren't you two fighting?” Pran asks.
“Well, not with words. And he told you?”
“It’s kind of obvious anyway.” Pran says, looking again to their window over Pat’s shoulder. Pat turns again, trying to understand what it is that Pran is searching for there. Oh.
Of course.
“We take turns visiting. Except Sundays at lunch.”
“f*ck–” Pran gasps. “That bad?”
It disarms Pat. Quick and earnest, a punch to the gut. Knees weak.
Everyone who knows them has already got used to it, or at least is past the asking phase. Mom is still silently hoping for a reconciliation, Pat knows. Their high school friends grew tired of it and left both of them, and his new ones met Pat as a single unit.
But here Pran is, with his big, soft, surprised eyes. Reminding Pat that this isn’t normal, that it isn’t even natural.
“I need to finish this conflict, Pran.” He says, clenching his jaw. This is the only thing he can do for everyone. “Whatever it takes. Can’t you just back off?”
···
f*ck Korn and his stupid f*cking hair-thin-trigger.
They almost got it. Wai, the asshole that he is, even apologised, just as Pran said he would, and it makes Pat shiver to witness how easily everyone folds for him.
But no. Korn had to ruin it.
And from sitting with Pran in a back alleyway after running away, just about to fist-bump and bury the hatchet, to sitting with Pran in the professor’s office, to sitting with Pran outside the pharmacy, sharing bruise ointment.
“If we’re banned… I won’t get to join the music contest with you.”
“I told you I’m not participating,” says Pran.
“Oh c’mon! It’ll be such a shame if I don’t get to compete against you.”
It makes Pran’s face to fall the tiniest bit, “Wai is really looking forward to this, though, so how about we avoid confronting for now?”
It becomes a tease and a game. It’s Pran offering his Line ID, and seeing who adds who first. It’s losing, because Pran sucks and he’s a profoundly evil little sh*t. But it’s also a plan, even if half-baked, it’s a conspiracy and a secret, an allyship.
Someone finally back on his team, after years of playing alone.
Growing up, Jin always had mixed responses when people asked him how it felt to have a twin. It was just a brother with his same face. He didn’t think the fact that they once shared amniotic sac and had identical DNA was that relevant, but for people it seemed like a huge deal.
It was bothersome to always be treated as a half of something, to share toys and clothes and friends and even accomplishments. It was bothersome to share dad’s praise, when he always scored higher than Pat —and often even higher than Pran.
But even with all that, before Jin reached the first decade of age, he knew he was glad it was Pat. If he had to be crammed into a package, if he had to share everything, if he had to be a half of something, he was glad the other one was Pat.
He was annoyed when asked if they had telepathy, because they obviously didn’t, but he wasn’t so much when he knew what Pat was plotting with just a glance, or vice versa.
Like when they switched classrooms and the teacher didn’t realise it was Jin in Pat’s place until the guy next door pointed it out in a whiny voice.
Jin never quite got it, not with him being in a whole different class during the entirety of Prathom —something about development outside the twin bond, the school principal said once, to Jin’s secret delight. He never got Pat and Pran, not fully. But he was okay with that, because at least that way the guy next door never treated them like a set.
Childhood was waking up in a busy household, getting down off the bunk bed with a jump. It was a three-sided fight over the bathroom, over who got the bigger Pa Tong Ko for breakfast. It was pulling Pa’s ponytail on their way out, and running ahead towards the bus stop. It was hearing Pat behind screaming he didn’t do anything this time, when receiving Pa’s retaliation.
I’m sure he feels it too if I hit you , Pa used to say, angrily redoing her hair and hitting Pat again for good measure.
Then it was arriving at the school gates and meeting their friends, because even if it pissed him off to be seen as inseparable, the truth was that the idea of separating never once crossed his mind. So there were Jin’s friends from his class and Pat’s friends from his class, getting together in the morning and at recess and on their way back home, updating each other about the funny things that happened in each classroom.
Jin’s childhood was, also, Pran arriving in his dad’s car. Crease-less button up and shiny shoes.
Jin never took it that seriously, he didn’t think whatever his dad said about the neighbours was that deep, but Pat did, for some reason Jin didn’t understand. Pat loved to get Pran’s clothes all wrinkly and his fringe to be in disarray.
And Pran also took it seriously, always frowning around them like they smelled of rotten eggs. He even said they did, once, in recess during 4th grade. It was one of the few times Jin also fought Pran.
So childhood was watching Pat turn extra stupid around Pran, and perform a bit of stupidity himself too, because he was also Ming’s son. But it lost lustre quickly, even more when he realised that Pran was an only child. It made Jin wonder when would Pat realise Pran only wanted to play tag too.
It’s, in the grand scheme of things, a more or less controlled crisis.
After running into Jin and then, somehow, ending crammed into a car with not one, nor two, but the three Jindapat children, Pran started to get really f*cking anxious.
But again, in the grand scheme of things, some days have passed in peace and the worst consequence he’s got is the ever-present hazard of Pat’s contact on his phone.
Wai and the guys have gone down a gear against Engineering since him and Pat have started to keep them apart. And it’s infuriating that it works. It’s maddening that it was his own idea, and it’s humiliating that he rejected Jin’s exact same offer to help just days before.
Still, controlled crisis. He’s got his dorm’s keys, a group of friends without recent bruises, and a free salad with his chicken for dinner. Everything’s good. So what if he has to hide a treacherous smile when Pat sends him the third meme just that day? He will just tell him to stop once again and beat down the voice that prays Pat never listens.
He almost drops his phone when he’s checking said meme and a call comes in. It’s the delivery guy.
Pran is grateful that he just went grocery shopping and felt a bit self-indulgent, because now he has the perfect drinks to give as an apology for eating the neighbour’s salad. And just because he’s been feeling relatively good, he drops an origami crane made with the receipt. It would be great to at least have an amicable neighbour in case an emergency happens.
He can’t help but feel a bit smug about his paper folding abilities when he receives a box of dumplings as an answer.
“Pran, someone is hitting on you here.” Wai says with a teasing smile during lunch at the new curry restaurant, making Pran quickly regret mentioning it. See if he shares his treats with them ever again.
“It’s just food to say thank you.” Pran says, but he doesn’t know how he ends up being teased about liking this guy across the hall —yes, he noticed the male particle even before the neat calligraphy. But that’s irrelevant, he doesn’t like his neighbour, and more importantly, his neighbour doesn’t like him. He’s just a nice, grateful person.
He can’t keep gossiping with his friends when he spots Pat and his group outside. Damn it, he thinks, remembering he got too distracted about the dumplings that he forgot to tell Pat they would be there.
He gets outside ahead of Wai, Louis and Safe, looking at Pat with intention and praying that he comes up with something. He does, of course, because Pran is realising that Pat is still a good rival and an even better ally despite the years passed.
Pran grabs Wai and walks away, listening to Pat list all the curry options to his friends.
···
He feels vindicated. A bit bummed? That too, but mainly vindicated.
“Told you he wasn’t hitting on me.” Pran tells Wai and the rest in the cafeteria days later. “The neighbour hasn't made any move. You all think too much with your dicks.” He says, accusingly pointing to every one of his friends.
“And why do you sound disappointed, Khun Pran?” Wai taunts, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Go get your ears checked, because I’m not.” He denies, crossing his arms.
“Why don’t you make a move?” Safe suggests.
“Yeah! Hang some sweets on his door and invite him to the rooftop! There’s a full moon tomorrow.” Louis says then.
“Why should I?” Pran answers, still defensive. “If he wanted to go watch the moon , he would’ve said something.”
“And you say you’re not disappointed? Listen to yourself!” Wai laughs.
Pran scoffs, knowing nothing he says can make Wai let the topic go until a new one catches his interest.
He is, unfortunately, a bit disappointed and still thinking about the conversation with his friends hours later, when he’s walking back to his dorm after the classes. He receives a message from Pat, not a warning about their friends, nor a wordless meme, but a friendly text. It’s that what makes him enter a shop and buy some ingredients and leave the message on read.
It’s not a beloved’s favourite dish, just an easy and quick dessert. But this is not a beloved, just a maybe interest, so it’s more than okay, Pran thinks as he finishes packing the homemade sweets in a reusable container. He thoroughly cleans his kitchen afterwards, nervously scrubbing the counter again and again until it shines. When he hears the door across the hall open and close, he takes a deep breath, grabs pen and paper, and writes an invitation to watch the stupid full moon together.
He crosses the two steps that separate both doors and hangs the paper bag on the handle. He’s about to knock and run when he starts hearing voices inside.
“ –you to not f*cking touch my food!” A male voice yells.
“You stole my leftovers– just a f*cking lemon drink–”
“I told you there was a confusion with my order! I didn’t have anything else to eat– you greedy–”
“ –wasn’t even that good! What’s your f*cking problem?!”
“ –a gift!”
Pran is just starting to process why the voices sound so familiar when; “–should start to be brave for once and ask them out. Maybe then you’ll stop bothering me about everything.” Pat, of all people, yells while yanking the door open. Pran reaches quickly in a sharp movement and snatches back the post-it from the bag while Pat is still turned. The sweets are already gone, but he has more important matters in hand.
“What are you doing here?!” Pran asks, for a lack of better words.
“Is that Pran?” Jin says from inside, peeking out from the kitchen, while Pat just gapes at him. When he realises Pat is staring at the note in his hand, then at the bag on the handle, Pran crumples the paper and shoves it into his pocket, ears burning.
“Would you look at that.” Pat says, with zero humour. “Neighbours once again.” He adds as he grabs the bag from the handle. “Are these homemade? How considerate of you, Pran.” And why the f*ck does he sound mad?
“I– It was just to say thanks for the dumplings.” He manages to choke out as Jin comes closer to the door, eyes wide in surprise.
“There,” Pat says as he handles Jin the bag. “See? You can stop crying about the drink, I promise I won’t steal these. I wouldn’t want Pran’s efforts to go to waste in the wrong person . I’m sure he worked so hard on them, he even forgot to answer his texts.”
Pran barely manages to not flinch at how genuinely upset Pat sounds. Then he walks off, nudging Pran in the shoulder as he passes by towards the elevators, and it shouldn’t rattle Pran as much as it does. He suddenly feels like such an asshole.
“I really don’t know what’s his problem.” Jin says, as Pran watches Pat’s back go with a twist to his chest. “I’m sorry for whoever crosses him tonight.”
“Uh- What?”
“He’s gonna drink and then fight the first poor drunk that looks at him for a bit too long. You know how he is when he gets like that.”
“No.” Pran answers serious. “I really don’t.” Because he tried with all his f*cking might to forget everything he knew about Pat, but even now, having failed at it, nothing that Pran remembers about Pat begins to fit that.
He’s a co*cky, short-fused, belligerent asshole, that’s for sure. He’s been one since f*cking forever, and with Pran always at his crosshairs, to his utter torment. But a violent drunk? Gods, Pran is sure they hadn’t even tried alcohol before he got transferred. And what’s with Jin? Pat is in such danger and he’s sorry for whoever crosses him tonight?
Pat was always the troublemaker, not only with Pran. But he remembers Jin —playful but nice Jin, all the things Pat wasn’t— going red in the face when his brother got himself into too much trouble. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but sometimes Pat would annoy a senior or a big group and then he would appear with a bruise, a set of wet eyes and a runny nose. And that’s when Jin usually lost it.
A younger Pran was able to admit, in the silence of his room, that it was kind of cool to have someone hold your back like that. Older Pran knows the tighter and closer the bond, the deeper the cut bleeds later. Specially family.
“So, did you really cook these?” Jin asks, bringing Pran back to the present.
“Ah, yes. I made too much for myself.” He lies, awkwardly smiling.
“Oh.” Jin says, slightly deflated. Pran is a little perplexed at how he’s managed to offend both brothers in less than a minute. Not that he cares, it’s better this way, but he wasn’t even trying. “I’m sure they’re tasty. Thanks.”
“Thanks for the dumplings too.” Pran smiles more genuinely this time. It really was a nice touch.
“Don’t mention it.” Jin says, blushing and rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t know it was you.” He chuckles.
Pran fakes an offence gasp, bringing his hand to his chest dramatically. “Give those back immediately.”
Jin dodges his half-assed attempt of stealing back the bag and then they laugh for a bit. Pran thinks about the note in his pocket, all wrinkled and ruined.
“You want to come in?” Jin asks then.
“You’re joking? What I want is to start looking for a new place.” He says, still smiling.
Jin takes it as the good-natured joke that it is, even if low-key true, and smiles too. “We won’t bother you, I promise.”
“Yeah, because you two are so good at not bothering me.” He says, rolling his eyes. “Bye Jin. If you ever need salt, knock on 429’s.” He turns and points to the door next to his.
“And if I need something sweet?” Jin says from his threshold as Pran opens his apartment.
“Send Pat to the grocery store.” Pran says over his shoulder, smiling a last time before getting inside.
His smile drops as the doorknob clicks shut at his back.
···
Turns out, Jin was right. Pat got sh*t-f*ck drunk and bothered someone. Unfortunately, that someone is Wai.
Having told his best friend about his family and next door’s feud has been useful for keeping them apart. But for some reason is also making Wai seek him for explanations.
“I really tried to avoid them for you, I promise. But I was working and they were being such dicks… And I just said his brother is much nicer, which is true! You even said it yourself!”
Different, not worse, Pran very clearly remembers saying. But what is he supposed to say now? You’re right? You struck a nerve? You deserved it? He deserved it?
Pran was resolute on minding his own business, but seeing that he’s gonna share doormat with them, maybe he needs to ask what the f*ck happened before it blows up in his face. And he doesn’t even have the time to say something to cool down Wai, because then a ruckus of voices is heard outside.
“Is that–?” Wai asks, getting up and opening the door before Pran can chase after him. “f*cking knew it. Who else could sound like a pack of dogs.” He says as Pat and his friends appear in the hallway.
What the f*ck is Pat thinking, not letting him know he’s having his friends over? And being so f*cking loud on top of everything.
“So he’s dumpling guy?!” Wai asks, close to horrified.
Pran is able to calm him down and get the situation under control, telling him it was Jin, but not thanks to Pat’s help, who stood there, looking disinterested and letting his friends get heated too.
Hours later, when Wai is long gone, he texts Pat and tells him they need to talk.
“You didn’t tell me you were having them over!” Pran says as soon as he sets foot inside Jin and Pat’s room.
“And you didn’t tell me Wai knew.” Pat says, tone plain. It makes Pran turn, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.
“I had to tell him, he punched Jin once, thinking it was you.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course, you did it for Jin. Right.”
“Pat, I–”
“Shh!” Pat shushes him rather rudely, bringing a finger to his mouth. Then he runs to the door and peeks through the peephole. “f*ck, f*ck, f*ck–” Pat mutters as he quickly turns all the bolts in the door.
“Jin is coming with my dad.” He says as he starts pushing Pran around. “Hide somewhere!”
“What?!” Pran soon starts to hear the jingle of keys outside and muted voices, then the first turn of the lock as Pat pushes him onto one of the beds. He ends up falling under it just in time right before the door opens.
“Why did you lock?” He hears Jin ask.
“I always do when I take a shower. You have a problem with it?” Pat says, nonchalant. “Hi, dad.”
“Do you even know what a shower is?”
“Ah, don’t fight, don’t fight. I bought Fish Maw soup for the two of you.” Ming’s voice interrupts.
Pran holds his breath as he listens to Ming greet his son. He discovers Jin is studying Audio Engineering and he’s gonna work backstage in the Freshy Contest. Both twins sound strained and answer curtly, and it makes sense in Pat’s case, but hearing Jin dismissing and avoiding his dad’s questions keeps Pran more than unnerved.
What the f*ck. What in the actual f*ck.
Every day that passes, he is, against his will, witness of how everything has changed in the house next door.
“By the way, is the neighbours’ kid joining the music contest, too?” Ming asks, punching the air out of Pran, whose heart starts quivering.
“I don’t know.” Pat lies, but then. “He’s not. I checked Architecture’s entry form.” Jin answers.
“I’m sure he will, he used to follow you both around with the guitar all the time. It was such a shame that you weren’t able to play with Pat back then, maybe with you two on the stage the whole family would’ve moved out.” Ming says to Jin and Pran feels like vomiting. “So Jin, remember to help your brother win in the Freshy Contest, okay? Family is the most important thing, make sure you make me proud too.”
Because it wasn’t enough to not be f*cking able to play music anymore, he had to be literally put under this man’s shoes.
Pran counts the seconds it takes for Ming to go out of the room, the breaths he forces himself to take, and the number of times his heart beats completely out of tune. He blinks exactly four times, just to dissipate the tears he refuses to shed here.
He gulps the vile flooding his mouth and clenches his teeth when he hears the door closing, and thinks what a fool he is, thinking he could have this.
“Why would you bring him without a warning?!” Pat asks Jin as soon as Ming is out of the door.
“Oh, don’t act like you’re not pleased.” Jin starts, until he sees Pran getting out from under the bed. “Pran– What are you doing here?! Did you– It’s–”
“It’s okay.” Pran answers. Pat remains silent. “He’s right. I’m sorry if I caused any of you trouble. I’ll move out.”
Pran doesn’t know what his face is showing right now, but both twins look at him with so much pity it squeezes his stomach. He walks out of the room, still checking that his breath comes out even and his eyes remain dry, and has to shake off Pat’s attempt to grab him as he passes by.
When he’s outside, the door closing at his back, he hears, “Was it really worth it? Ruining his life twice just so dad would praise you?”
On the night he believes is the last one in this dorm, Pran can’t sleep.
His neighbours fight and yell until deep in the night, and even if muffled and unintelligible, their voices reverberate through his walls, until a door is slammed shut. Pran feels it as if it rattles the whole building, when in reality it’s just him who’s shuddering.
···
In the morning, Pran gets out of his room resolute to find a new one. He has a detailed list of all the dorm buildings near enough to SouthTech that would allow him to walk to class every day. He did a thorough research before renting in Tinidee, so he already knew it’s the best option, but he will have to learn to compromise.
When he steps on the hallway, Jin is there, bass case at his back. It takes Pran a second to process. Of course he still plays, he loved it so much. But it’s shocking that he’s still using the same old doodled case.
Pran briefly remembers the day in band practise, back in high school, when everyone decorated their instrument’s cases.
It was a fun day. Every member signed on every bag, similar to when someone has an arm cast. Pat complained all day because he was the only one without a case —he stored his drumsticks in his regular backpack, like the brute he is.
In Pran’s case, both twins drew just their initials, while Pran added a ‘):)’ to Jin’s bass and another tiny one to the bottom of Pat’s favourite pair of drumsticks.
“Hi.” Jin starts, coy. He looks tired. “Just wanted to check on you. Yesterday was…”
“It’s okay, really. This is how it has always been.” Pran smiles.
“Are you really moving?”
“Yeah, I’ll visit a room in 20 minutes,” he points with a thumb towards the elevators. When he starts walking, Jin follows, looking genuinely troubled. “It’s just better for everyone this way. Don’t give it more thought.”
“I hate that it’s always you who sacrifices.” Jin says when they reach the elevator doors. He calls for it, and Pran sees his reddened knuckles while he pushes the button.
Did he? No, there’s no way. Jin could never. He used to bleed so his brother wouldn’t. There’s no way.
“You still play.” Pran observes, entering the elevator, to distract Jin and himself.
“Ah, yes,” Jin smiles, and Pran’s eyes catch the worn-out ‘):)’ on the case in the reflection of the back mirror, beside the messy, scribbled ‘Pat’. He wonders where his guitar case ended up.
“For Freshy?” Pran asks against his best judgement.
“Ha, I guess you heard yesterday… But no, I’m gonna be backstage working on the sound board, so I can’t participate. History repeats, huh?” He replies with a tiny, dull chuckle.
“I surely hope not.” Pran says, getting out of the elevator as soon as the doors open.
“sh*t, no– I mean… Is that why you don’t participate?”
“I know what you mean. Don’t worry.” He smiles, remembering how pissed both Jin and Pat were when Jin was chosen class president and had to abandon the school band. Maybe with you two on the stage, the whole family would’ve moved out. Perhaps Ming was right.
“But no, I simply don’t like it anymore. I’m glad to see you’re still playing, though.” Pran finishes, strained, and gets out of the main door.
···
Turning down Pat’s fifth call is easy, holding onto his hurt when Pat appears on the door, not so much. Even harder when he steps inside the empty dorm and the light hits against his bruised cheekbone.
Pran wants to ask what the f*ck he is doing here, how in the hell did Pat even find him and tell him to f*ck off, but his mouth is a traitor.
“What happened?” He cringes, sounding too worried. “Was it with Wai?”
“Nah.” Pat easily dismisses. It’s not hard to add two plus two. It feels all kinds of wrong. “Why are you playing hard to get?”
“Breaking news, Pat, I don’t take your calls because I don’t want to talk to you.”
Pat sighs loudly, getting closer and dropping his bag. “I came to say you don’t have to move. I’ll do it.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.” says Pat, crossing his arms stubbornly.
Pran can’t help it, “I have my reasons to move too.” he walks past Pat. “And Jin shouldn’t be forced to move because our friends are assholes.”
“This isn’t about our friends and you know it.” Damn it. “I’m clearly the problem, for him and for you, so I’ll move on my own. I don’t want to owe you anything.”
What? Just like that?
Pran thinks he can see Pat’s bruise growing, still tender, as they speak and now he wants to make his and Jin’s lives easier?
“I owe you for saving Pa’s life.” Pat continues. “And for that time you got transferred because of me.”
It almost pulls an ironic smile out of Pran, realising how different the approaches are, but how both brothers end up saying the same in the end.
“Just let me move out this time. Let’s call it even.”
But who is Pran to judge, when he reacts completely different to them, too?
He turns, sneering. “I insist on moving here. Because I want you to continue being guilty. Continue owing me.”
Pat matches his sarcastic smile and asks, “Why don’t you get things easily? I said I’m moving out.”
Not on Pran’s watch. He rolls his eyes and drops like a dead-weight on the bare mattress, bouncing and swinging his legs as high as he can for extra annoying effect.
“Get out of my room,” he says, sitting up. “The bed is very soft.”
He expects Pat to retaliate, but not Pat’s hand to snake up his thigh, broad and warm even through Pran’s thick jeans, fingertips stopping way too close to the middle sewing.
“Get out of here. I’m moving out for you.”
Pran needs that hand away and he needs it now. So he says the first thing he can come up with. “With what money are you paying the new dorm, huh?”
Pat frowns and starts tugging at him harder, “I’ll get a job. Just go.”
“No, you go!”
“Go!” Pat insists, grabbing Pran’s whole arm. At least that’s better than the groin. “You know I’m stronger!”
“Oh, yeah?” Pran says, grabbing him and twisting until Pat falls on the bed under him. “Fight me, then.”
It was obvious and evident that Pat had gotten stronger. Pran had been painfully aware of the changes since the first time he saw Pat again, but he didn’t expect him to turn the tables so easily, manhandling Pran like a rag doll.
“Okay, okay. I tap out.” He’s forced to say once Pat is on top, looking so pleased. Well, he may be stronger now, but no amount of muscle can cover how ticklish he is. Pran’s hands dart to his sides, while he pushes Pat with his hips, rolling both of them on the bed.
“Pran! Don’t do this!” Pat yelps, like music to Pran’s ears. He tries to dodge and cover his ribs, but Pran has perfected the technique. His protests quickly morph into tiny, jumpy giggles. “It’s ticklish!” Pat gasps, “Praaaan. Don’t tickle me!”
Pran’s fingertips stop and Pat drops to the bed, short of breath and oh.
f*ck.
He’s too close, he’s all over, and Pran can’t, for the life of him, tear his eyes away. They follow the painful blotchy reds and blues on the side of his face, up to Pat’s eyes, that still are as beautiful as they ever were.
“Excuse me… Oh, my lord!” The realtor enters the room. Pran stands and unglues himself in half a second, already feeling a blush creeping up his neck. “I’m sorry. The customer who inspected this room this morning has paid up the deposit. That means this room isn’t available now.”
“Is there any other room available?” he asks, a bit desperate.
“We’re full, I’m sorry.” The woman grimaces and turns to leave. “Oh, may I please have your cooperation?” She turns again towards them. “Please do it somewhere else.”
“No! We’re not–” He tries, but she’s gone.
He’s gonna f*cking die of embarrassment and he’s going to f*cking kill Pat. The f*cking asshole who’s giggling unashamedly.
“So a job. You.” He attacks when they’re out of the room waiting for the elevator. Pat can’t be looking this smug. Like magic, his mocking little smile disappears.
“Yes, me. It can’t be that hard.” Pat frowns and Pran scoffs.
“And what do you know?”
“I’m telling you, it can’t be that hard.”
“You’re getting fired the second day.” Pran says, entering the elevator. “Unless the job is being annoying.”
“Oh, yeah?” Pat asks, stepping inside but getting hit by the closing doors.
“You deserved that, employee of the month.”
“You’ll see.” Pat says, eyeing Pran head to toe and getting inside. His hand ends on Pran’s stomach, and the descent to the floor level is the longest elevator ride of Pran’s life.
···
Pran is sure Pat is bluffing about moving out, even more when he stops hearing yelling from next door for three days.
He’s thinking about if he really wants to move to a smaller, more expensive, farther away dorm when he reaches the noodle stall for dinner. Having this just two steps away is another advantage Tinidee has over the new place.
“Three wontons please.” He asks the uncle. Surely, there are other restaurants and food stalls close to the other dorm, but Pran really likes this one.
He turns, looking for a place to sit, and immediately sees an arm waving at him from one of the tables.
“What do you want, Pat?” He asks, getting close. To his surprise, Jin is also there.
“I’m almost done. You can sit here.” says Pat. Pran eyes his bowl, half full. Pat seems to read his mind, picks up the noodles and starts slurping so damn loud, Pran can see a couple at another table turning to stare.
“Hi, Pran.” Jin says then, smiling amused while his brother destroys all cognition of table manners. He’s quick to erase it, though, once Pat lowers the bowl.
“Ahhh…” Pat says before burping. Jin hides a new smile, and Pran can’t f*cking believe his ears and eyes. “So good.” Pat then stands, signalling to the waiter to bring Pran’s plate to the table. “For the three bowls, please.” and pays for everyone’s food.
“What’s his problem? Have you made up?” Pran says sitting down, after Pat has disappeared, saying he’s spending the night at Korn’s.
“No,” Jin says, serious, “He’s just in a good mood, I guess.”
Pran hums, chewing on a wonton. That doesn’t explain why would they dine together just days later of physically fighting, but Pran guesses there’s brotherly things he will never get.
“Oiii, don’t be like him!” He whines when Jin also slurps on his noodles.
“It’s tastier this way.” Jin says cheekily. Ugh. With all their fighting, Pran forgot how awfully similar they are sometimes.
“Are you in a band?” Pran asks, seeing Jin’s bass against his chair. He really should staple his mouth shut. He knows it’s only going to make him miss it.
“Calling it a band is being generous. It’s just some of my classmates and I gathering to practise a bit. You know I’m not very talented, so I have to do what I can.”
“Oh, shut up.” He chastises. It’s true that Jin struggled more than Pran and Pat learning to read a music score, and that sometimes they had to slow down the tempo so he could keep up, but he’s still playing.
Growing up, Jin was that guy who treated his mp3 like a limb, wire earphones always hanging on his ears. All day, every day. He knew every sketchy website where he could download tracks, before streaming apps were a thing. Even now, Pran can see his last-generation headphones around his neck.
He always loved music, even more than Pran, so what if he struggles? He’s still brave enough.
“You’re doing Audio, though, I expected you both to do regular Engineering.”
It takes a chuckle out of Jin, “Dad certainly expected the same.”
“So?” Pran doesn’t believe the Jindapat boys to be the ones to defy Ming, but everything has changed so much.
“Meh. He’s not happy about it, but he’s fine as long as one of us takes over the shop.”
“Oh.” Pran bites another wonton. “And is Pat aware of that?”
“f*ck if I know.” says Jin, back to defensive.
“Good thing he wanted to do Engineering, then.” Pran adds after some seconds.
Jin stirs his noodles, looking at them like they have insulted him, “Yeah, I guess.”
···
“Have you listened to the latest Tilly Birds album?” Jin asks after they finish eating and are back in Tinidee. Maybe the new dorm has better maintenance and their elevator doesn’t break, but Pran still doesn’t feel like moving out.
“Oh, yes. I have it on repeat since it came out.” He says, starting to go up the stairs. “My fav is ‘Just being friendly’.”
“Really? Mine is ‘On my shoulder’.”
Four floors of stairs give for a fairly long conversation, Pran notices. And even if they have climbed up at a nice, unhurried pace, when they reach their hallway, Pran wishes they lived some floors above. It’s not that he avoided talking about music with his friends, but now that he’s being reminded of how it feels to talk to someone who returns his passion tenfold, Pran kind of aches for it.
“I’ll make a playlist for you.” says Jin in front of their doors, smile wide. Pran looks at him. Pran looks at him, at his dark hair and high cheekbones, his thinner eyebrows and rounder mouth, at the mole on his forehead that helped kindergarten Pran to distinguish them.
Pran looks at him, and remembers their parents. But he looks at him and also sees the clear, the unashamed, the painless.
Pran really, truly, looks at him. Like he tried in high school, and remembers that the only times his pulse managed to race was when Pran looked at him with too much or too dim light, in passing. When unfocused, when the differences blurred.
Pran looks at him, and hates himself a little bit more.
“You make playlists for all your friends?”
“So you finally admit it.” If Jin had a tail, it’d be wagging.
Pran rolls his eyes, a smile pushing on his lips, “Whatever. Bye, Jin.” He says, turning away. That’s the whole point. Hell, of course they would be friends. Would have been for so long.
“Bye Pran. And I don’t, by the way.”
Pran scoffs, getting inside. When he fishes his phone out, Pran finds his inbox quite crowded.
[Just a friend]: im not with korn, i already found a job :P
[Just a friend]: i start tonight, wish me luck
[Just a friend]: also pls dont tell my brother about it
And in Wai’s chat:
[Wai]: image 📸
[Wai]: WHY IS HE WEARING AN APRON
[Wai]: PRAN
[Wai]: WHY IS THIS f*ckER MY CO-WORKER
In the week Pat turned 11, he was gifted a bike.
On the morning of the 22nd of April, Ming entered their front yard, dragging two shiny new bikes. Identical except for the colour. With big, red bows hanging off the handles. Pa squealed and ran towards their dad, even if none of them were for her. She had been asking for a bike for months, and this was just the way things worked at home.
The big brothers had to try it first, had to pave the way. It was a silent but repetitive message that was told to them countless times. Pa could never get ahead of them, and the twins must learn fast and protect their little sister, together, as a family.
The rule was, comprehensibly, the bane of Pa’s existence.
But Pat would remember that birthday, because no-one was happy that day. Pa was just allowed to ride the bikes in the garden, Jin wasn’t particularly excited about them and had been feeling unwell since the day before, and Pat did want the bike —just because Pran had one— but was upset because once again everyone forgot that his birthday was actually the next day.
So when Jin fell with a fever days later and Pa asked Pat to sneak with her for a ride, he shouldn’t have, but he accepted. In between the teases and the bickering, Pat found time to feel bad for her for never getting what she wanted directly.
And Pat would remember the week he turned 11, how the new tyres made the bike jump with the pebbles in the path to the lake, how the sun shone, how the heat made his hair stick to his forehead and how angry he still was because of his forgotten birthday. He would remember wishing for Pran to appear so he could take it out on him, and how Pran did, always returning everything Pat threw at him.
He would remember the exact colour Pran’s t-shirt was, an electric deep turquoise that would turn forest green when drenched in water, how dark it suddenly looked around Pa’s pale arms. How Pran held her like a big brother, like Jin would and Pat should.
He would remember how everything shifted suddenly, in the week he turned 11. How the shame got stuck under his fingernails like stubborn filth.
He wasn’t able to look Ming in the face for days, sure that he could see everything in his eyes. He wasn’t able to look at Jin, either, now conscious of his own growing jealousy.
He would remember —and cringe to the point of tears— how he pushed Pran away. How he tried to make amends returning the watch, climbing towards Pran’s window for the first time.
He couldn't look Pran in the face, even after that, until Pran did more jump rope skips in class and teased Pat so much that he got all riled up and broke his personal record. He held on to that minuscule victory in the worst week of his life, tiny proof that he wasn't completely useless.
If Wai, of all people, can be a waiter, it can’t be that hard.
He’s lucky they hired him so soon, though, he knows that much.
Pat is a simple guy, so it sticks with him when non-simple things happen.
He’s grown up enough to realise his life tends to be going well until it isn’t. There’s this kind of explosive moments where everything spills out of his grasp, when he’s hit by awful things that somehow don’t even feel foreign to his skin. When this hideous violence grabs him by the neck, slams him against his own reflection and sickly whispers in his ear a promise to always permeate and ruin everything he touches.
So far, he can clearly recount three times when it truly got out of hand. When Pa drowned, when Jin said he hated him, and after his dad’s visit last week.
It doesn’t tell him anything new that his darkest moments are all closely tied to his family. He’s always known, since he was 6 and watched a movie where the super-hero died to save the world and he ended up angry. Pat knew then he couldn’t ever be anyone’s hero, but then he looked to his left, with Pa grossly drooling asleep in Jin’s lap while he played with her hair, and thought that maybe he would die for some people, after all.
So failing in such a clear, absolute, indisputable way to protect Pa’s life was his first non-simple moment. It hurt like carving his eyes out, left him blind, and he came out of it with a new set of eyes that were stubborn in not seeing Pran as a threat anymore, but as someone who would dive.
As he tries to balance a tray on his left hand now, Pat thinks the world is split in people who dive and people who don’t.
“Would you hurry?” Wai hisses to him from behind the bar, “If you’re here just to mess with me again, I swear to God–”
“I’m not, so stop that and get to work. I need five beers for table 3.”
“I’ll discover what you’re planning.”
“To get a paycheck.” Pat says, rolling his eyes. Well, he also plans to fix what he broke, but he still doesn’t know how. And Wai can mind his own damn business.
The evening shift goes more or less smoothly, with Wai annoying him just a little, until Korn and the guys appear. The second Pat sees them and their goofy smiles waving at him from their table, he regrets telling them about the new job, but it was better than leave them to discover it.
“Looking good!” Chang says, when he gets close to take their order, tugging playfully at his apron.
He endures the teasing and brings their drinks, then he endures it once more when they call for him again and again. That’s okay, that’s friendship when your friends are a bit of an asshole like you. The problem starts when they call for Wai instead of him.
It’s late and the bar is quieting down, so he manages to get first to the table, “What can I serve you this time, dear friends?” he asks, ironic smile in full force.
Korn looks at Wai by the other side of the bar, then back at Pat. “C’mon, let us have fun! We just want to show him the video.”
Pat frowns, resting the tray on the table. “What video?”
“Just post it,” Mo says then.
A chill runs up his spin, “Korn, what video?”
“It’s been too long, it’s losing the fun.”
“Hey! I wanted to post it the other day, but I had to rescue this asshole.” Korn says, pointing to Pat’s fading bruise.
“Korn,” Pat says, slamming the tray. “What video?”
Korn shows him and that cannot see the light of day. Pran would kill him, or worse, look disappointed again.
“Delete that.”
“Why should I? Are you teaming up with Architecture?”
“I told you I need the money to move out.” Pat says, too loud. He turns and apologises to the rest of the patrons. “What do you think would happen if my boss sees a video of me doing that to another of his workers, here, of all the places? I just started today.”
His friends seem to run out of bullsh*t at that. “Korn,” he kind of pleads.
He can’t believe Korn doesn’t get it, when he saw the consequences of what happened with his dad and Pran. His bruise doesn’t hurt anymore, but if Pat closes his eyes, he still can recall how it throbbed.
Was it really worth it? Ruining his life twice just so dad would praise you?
Three days ago, the alleyway where he ended up reeked of piss and Pat was one drink too wasted, allowing this stranger to punch him until sending him to the floor. The alcohol silenced the sting and that voice that sounded a bit too like Pa, telling him it was the second night in a row he went out to drink and seek trouble.
What the hell are you even doing, Pat?
He couldn’t get up, and that voice sounded like Jin. Pat wished his brain would stop conjuring him for just for a second.
Pat, curled in the asphalt, waited for the asshole he picked a fight with to start kicking him in the ribs. Instead, he heard a blurry “f*ck, what kind of joke is this? Why are there two of him?” and running steps.
He remained there, nose bleeding and eyes shut, until ten minutes later Korn appeared and gathered him. Pat didn’t ask how he knew where he was, and Korn didn’t tell.
As he sobered up on his friend’s couch, smelling like sh*t and feeling even worse, Pat knew he reached rock bottom once again. He needed to fix things with Pran and Jin.
The next morning, he went to find Pran before he moved out.
Right now in the bar, Korn finally looks like he remembers. Pat checks how he deletes the video and the night ends blissfully in peace, even if Wai keeps eyeing him and his friends’ table suspiciously.
Pat guesses it’s deserved.
···
His next shift is funnier, because Pran is there for most of the time.
After a long string of What are you doing here? (Working.) No, but what are you really doing here? (Money laundering. What does it look like I’m doing? I’m just working.) Are you serious about moving? (No, I simply enjoy cleaning tables full of crap.) But why here? (I don’t know, ask the boss. Probably because I’m hot.) Are you sure you’re not trying to annoy Wai again? (I don’t need a part-time job for that. I just need to breathe close to you. He’s glaring at me right now.) Do you even know how to pour a beer correctly? (You’re gonna see.)
Pat looks at him from the bar now while cleaning the counter, how Pran tries to make it look like he’s studying in a bar, while he’s basically keeping watch of his every move. His lukewarm beer that Pat poured with a bit too many bubbles beside his crisp white notes.
Pat can’t help it, he needs to get closer and pester him again. And again, and again.
It’s fun and it’s charted territory, but still, he sees Pran and he feels like he has to do something else. Getting out of the way is not enough, and honestly, Pat is not sure where and when could he finally move. He needs something else to even the battlefield, to return, to restore.
Midway in his working time, the live music starts at the bar and Pat gets his answer, loud and clear, in the way Pran’s eyes can’t leave the singer. Maybe he thinks no-one can see it, hidden at the table at the back where the lights don’t reach in full force, but to Pat, who has been watching him the whole afternoon —the whole life— it’s unmistakable.
Pat has his eureka, light bulb moment. How is he this dumb? How hasn’t he thought about this before? When it has already been happening right in front of him?
The trash cans back at home, the dumplings, the drinks, the homemade sweets. They’re just picking up where they left off. Where they were stopped. Because of Pat.
How hasn’t he realised before, when yesterday he gulped down an entire bowl of noodles just to leave Jin and Pran alone?
That’s the answer, that’s how he’s gonna help. That way, both Jin and Pran will be happy and come back to his life, and he will stop feeling this guilt.
He just needs Pran to finish singing ‘Just Friends’ to Jin for once and for all.
“Hey,” he says, getting close to Pran’s table and trying to make it look like he’s just taking a little rest now that the clients are more settled down. Pran is barely able to peel his eyes from the stage to acknowledge him.
“What do you want now?” Pran asks, with half the bite he usually has.
“Do you want to go up?” That makes Pran turn his head at light’s speed, and Pat is almost smug about how clearly Pran wants it.
“No. I told you I don’t play anymore.”
“Bullsh*t, you can start again now. C’mon,” He says, grabbing Pran’s wrist and tugging a little. “I’m sure our singer will be happy with a little break. And you can practise for Freshy, you’ll need it to beat me.”
“I'm not in Freshy.” Yet, Pat thinks, starting to pull him towards the stage. “Pat, stop. Let me go, Pat– Stop!”
It freezes Pat's blood, halts his legs dry. He turns, and Pran looks exactly how his scream sounded. Wide, fretful eyes, breath coming short, the beating of his heart rabbiting on his wrist under Pat’s fingertips. Everyone in the bar has turned to look at them, and Pat sees the moment Pran realises, slamming his eyes shut.
“What the f*ck are you trying?!” Wai appears before Pat can get over his shock. “Get off him right now.” He says, removing Pat’s hand from Pran. It dawns on him that Pran is too scared to even use his little habit of slapping Pat away.
Pat allows Wai to push him away, but his eyes never once leave Pran, who has retreated to his table and is gathering his things with a haste and carelessness in his movements that look completely wrong on him. When Wai gets close to help him, seeing his steady hands make Pat notice Pran’s are trembling.
Then both are at the bar’s door, and Pat can only look. Wai seems hesitant, Pran denies something with his head and tries a small smile, all crooked. If Wai believes that poor attempt and leaves Pran to go alone, he and Pat will have yet another reason to fight.
Fortunately, he seems to at least have two brain cells to make a connection, and Wai gets inside again, throwing his apron at Pat. “Tell the boss I left mid-shift and I kill you.”
“I can close the bar alone,” he says, surprising Wai. “Stay with him.”
“On your second day? No f*cking chance. You’ve done enough already.” Wai spits, twisting the sharp blade of guilt on his chest.
Only when they’re gone, with Pran not having spared him a single glance, Pat asks himself what the f*ck just happened. He doesn’t want to believe the answer his logic provides.
···
Managing a bar is hard. Doing it alone with little to no experience is a f*cking hell. Doing it while your brain is pouring pure poison non-stop is close to impossible.
Wai takes his time, which, good. Because Pran seemed to calm down with him close —and at that thought, the poison seeps a bit closer to his core— but Wai takes his time, and it’s horrible.
Not because he mixes up three tables’ orders while alone, or because he breaks two cups while stacking them, nor because he forgets the men's bathroom is broken and needs to clean the mess. But because every second Wai is gone is a second Pran is still needing him.
It has, in all fairness, left Pat completely out of place. In all the years, all of them, every single one Pat has been alive, Pran has been there diving. Pran doesn’t panic, Pran doesn’t cower, Pran gives as good as he receives. Pran pushes back, and Pran tries until he gets it.
But then, it’s not completely true that Pran has been there for all the years, is it? He’s been gone, and he has fitted back so well since the beginning, that Pat had already forgotten just for how long that was.
Wai comes back just for closing time, and when Pat approaches him to ask, he sends a warning glare that any other day would’ve won him at least a shoving. But Pat retreats and cashes and bids farewell to the last drunk clients while Wai pays the singer. Then, when it’s finally empty, both start cleaning tables and every surface in complete silence.
By the time they’re done, Pat is able to admire the ease in which Wai works and can’t, not even to save his life, remember what he did for Pat to need to beat him so badly.
“Have you changed the barrels under the beer tap?” Wai finally speaks.
“And refilled the fridges.”
“What about the pantry?”
“We ran out of some things, I already took inventory.”
“I’ll check that.”
Pat grits his teeth and answers all the questions Wai can come up with until he runs out of them. Then the silence becomes so loud, Pat hears the leaking tap in the bathroom and the clink of the drops as they hit the sink.
“How is he?” Pat asks, finally, breaking the tension.
Wai doesn’t answer right away, frowning and looking like he’s trying to find out if he’s worthy. Pat sees a bit of Pran in it.
“What the f*ck were you trying?” Wai asks back.
“I just thought he would like to sing.” Pat answers, sincere.
“And would’ve killed you to f*cking ask first?”
Pat frowns. It wouldn’t have killed him, certainly. He’s just not used to it, not with Pran at least.
“You don’t get it,” he tries to defend. He can’t exactly explain it, but Pran must know he didn’t mean bad. Pran must.
“No, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. I’ve been trying to get him back to music since forever and you think you can just push him to a stage?! He still can’t hold a guitar without his anxiety kicking in.”
Pat stares and stares and stares, refusing to acknowledge that that is what’s happening. That Pran hasn’t dropped it , grown out of it or lost interest, but that he can’t play music anymore. Because he’s scared. Because of the Christmas concert. Because of Pat.
He has way more things to repay for than what he thought.
“I didn’t know,” he manages to say. He’s got a lump the side of a tennis ball in his throat. “I really didn’t.”
“Oh, go f*ck yourself.”
It makes Pat mad at an instinctual level, but under that he sees how Wai is not barking like a dog the way he used to do in their brawls. He carries a protectiveness in his anger, now, and that echoes in Pat even more than his outrage.
Being the middle child and Pran’s rival, he’s never liked to play alone. And he’s always needed help for everything. Dive or not dive. What’s a new ally in order to get back his old ones? He has nothing else to lose.
“I just wanted Pran to finally confess to my brother. I think they have been in love for years, and I ruined it last time. I owe it to them.”
···
It’s ridiculous to Pat how a brainless idiot like Wai can pick up so many quirks from his best friend. From the way he frowns to the way he needs a detailed, step-by-step plan of action to help Pran get over his stage fright.
Because yes, apparently Pran has got one. And Pat triggered it like the insensitive moron he is.
So, step-by-step. The final one is to get Pran to participate in Freshy, sing ‘Just Friends’ and let the magic of love happen.
The first one is to get Pran to stop ignoring Pat.
Wai told him he would manage it, and he doesn't want to start doubting his teammate this soon into the game, but he's kind of heavily doubting him. Pran has ignored all texts and notes passed under his apartment door. He's made deaf ears to Pat’s calls and to his approaches on campus.
And every day Pat steps into the hallway to face a closed door, he grows more antsy.
He can’t sit and wait for Wai to solve it. What does Wai even know about how they work? Pat is sure no-one does.
So he searches for his chance and finds it with Pran sitting alone in the library.
He sits on the chair beside him, waiting to be noticed. Pran slams his pencil on the table when he does, winning the dirty stares of the people around. He apologises, and Pat can’t conceal his giggle.
“I heard Jin’s band is looking for a singer.” Pat says, testing the waters. Yet another bluff, but Jin will surely find him a slot if Pran asks. How not. Pat thinks that if everything goes well, they will end up playing together either way. Pat hopes they let him play the drums from time to time with them, too.
Pran stands abruptly, having none of that. He nods for Pat to go, and he concludes that a timely withdrawal is a victory sometimes. When he’s getting out of the library, he walks by the notice board and one poster catches his eye.
Ha. Pran stands no chance. He snatches it from the cork board, careful of not tearing it and the one about eco innovation design beside it.
He sits on the table behind Pran and folds the music shop advertisem*nt announcing discounts into a paper plane. Pat hears more than sees Pran’s reaction. The slam against the table, the drag of his chair against the linoleum, the hushing sounds of the students around and the whispered “Sorry.”
Pat has his eyes closed, pretending to sleep, but the smile pulls at his lips. He counts not receiving the pamphlet back in a paper ball thrown against his forehead as the first step.
···
Pat is having to gamble and blind bet a lot lately, but maybe the universe is finally on his side. Or maybe he just knows Pran too well.
If smugness had a smell, he would be reeking. Pat steps inside the music shop, having spotted a familiar mop of black hair and striped t-shirt inside.
“What do we have here?” he asks behind Pran’s ear. Pran jumps and flinches, hand darting to his neck. Pat stores the information about Pran’s ticklishness for later use.
“What are you doing here?!” Pran hisses, looking around, hand still on his neck.
Pat shrugs, crossing his arms. “Picking up some new drumsticks. What are you doing here?”
Pran seems to understand the trap he’s fallen into, his face doing all kinds of twists to try to conceal his annoyance. “Just looking,” he says, turning towards the guitars on display again.
“Why would a person not interested in music want to look at guitars?” Pat asks the room. Pran refuses to say something, and Pat thinks he can see a slight blush creeping up his nape. Pran walks away, towards the further inside instruments, with Pat following the pink of his neck.
“Maybe they’re still a tiny bit interested?” He asks again to the empty space. “Maybe they are just dying to compete with me again.”
At that, Pran turns the smallest bit, just glaring over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have any chance if I joined Freshy.”
Pat smiles wide, wicked. He’s got him. He tastes the words on his tongue before he says them, delicious and exciting, “Prove it.”
Pran turns completely this time, the stubbornness dripping out of him and yes. That’s the Pran Pat wants to see. “Are you sure? Engineering really stands no chance if I do.” Pran says, a mean and co*cky smile splitting his face in half.
“Do your worst.” Pat says, matching the smile. “You don’t even need to buy a guitar, do you? You used to have one.”
“I used to,” says Pran, his smile fading slowly, leaving just a sour grimace. “But it was probably eaten by the termites.”
That won't do, “Why don’t you try to look for it?” Pran just has to say it and Pat will snatch it from his closet.
“Pat,” Pran starts, not hard but the playfulness gone. “I can’t, you saw it–”
“Hey! Go hide!” Pat exclaims, not letting him finish. He grabs Pran and pushes both behind the shop counter. “Chai is here.” he says to a wide-eyed Pran.
He ends up with his face in the crook of Pran’s neck, the same one that tickled and turned pink some minutes ago. Pran can’t escape now, so Pat blows slowly on his skin. Pran trashes like crazy, shoulder jumping in a shiver and hitting Pat in the chin.
“Stop that! What the f*ck is wrong with you?!” Pran whispers-yells. Pat grabs at his chin, feeling it throbbing, and trying to calm his laughter.
“Join the contest with me,” he says then. No teasing, no baiting, no nothing.
Pran turns, no teasing, no baiting on his face. Just hesitant eyes that this close, under the warm light of the shop, remind Pat of summer nights. “I can’t.” he says in the lowest, softest voice.
“You can try.” Pat says, equally low. Chai is probably long gone.
Pat sees Pran hesitate once again, how his eyes turn downcast, towards where they’re all over the other. Pat gets it, how scary it is to let someone help you, so he nudges him lightly in the ribs with his elbow. “C’mon… Let’s compete again.”
“How? I can’t even hold a guitar.” Pran says, still looking down.
Pat smiles, he knows what he’s about to say will pull Pran out of his insecurity, at least momentarily. “Me and Wai will help you.”
Like magic, Pran looks up, incredulous. “Sorry, you and who?!”
Pat looks out and checks Chai is gone before standing, he offers a hand to Pran, “Me and Wai. You come to the bar and sing. First when it’s empty, then when there’s some public, until you’re ready for Freshy.” he nods towards his hand, encouraging Pran to take it.
Pran looks at him, then at the hand, then at him again. Then he rolls his eyes and stands without taking it, hiding a smile. “You’re terribly annoying.”
“You can come tonight at closing time.” Pat tells him, walking behind and exiting the shop. “What softener do you use in your laundry, by the way? You smell so good.”
···
Pat expects him to come, he’s sure he will. He can’t wait to score a point over Wai at having managed to get Pran onboard first. Maybe when the clock runs close to the hour, he starts getting a bit nervous, but no-one has to know that.
As it’s already usual, Pat finishes serving the last customers and sends them off as Wai pays the musicians and counts the cash. Then they start cleaning and Pat moves even slower than usual.
When he’s pulling up the stools of the third table, there’s a faint knocking on the door, and Pat’s heart jumps a little. There he is. His Pran, trying, diving.
“What the f*ck?” Wai asks, getting close to unlock the door. “What are you doing here?” he insists as Pran steps inside.
“I thought I could drop by and… y’know, help.” Pran says, unsure.
“Help?” Wai asks, and Pat wants to throw his towel full of grime of all kind to his face. Instead, he drops one of the stools to the floor.
“Can’t you go one day without breaking something?” Wai yells, walking to him and snatching the fallen stool. By the corner of his eyes, Pat sees how Pran hides a mocking smile and walks idly towards the stage where the instruments are.
Pat acts like he doesn’t notice, engaging in whatever nonsense Wai is spewing about discounting broken furniture from his paycheck. He then pushes Wai into the next table and when a timid string is pulled at their backs, reverberating through the empty room, Pat grabs Wai so he can’t overreact and scare Pran away.
“Shh.” He hushes between them.
There’s the clanging of dirty cups being carried towards the bar counter, the stream of water from the dishwasher, the buzzing of the lights and all kinds of small little sounds. Wai and Pat clean, arrange, count and restock, not looking at the stage even once.
Well, Pat can’t help himself and ends up looking one time. Pran is sitting at the drop of the stage, hunched over the bar’s guitar. It’s so reminiscent of his high school years, and yet it still looks so wrong, how tense Pran is. Pat looks away before he’s caught staring.
“Have you done the bathrooms?” Wai asks. And Pran hits a C chord.
“You’ve seen me doing them.” Pat flicks him on the forehead. “The plumber is coming tomorrow to fix the men’s one.” he says, hearing half a scale accompanying his voice.
“Ha! Not my problem. Tomorrow is my day off.” Wai says, removing his apron and hanging it behind the bar. “Good luck with that, though.” He pats Pat mockingly on the shoulder, and Pran imitates his teasing tone with the guitar.
It would be incredibly funny if he wasn’t facing the prospect of drunk and irritable customers without a place to pee in. He turns, glaring at Pran. He’s still hunched over the guitar, but Pat can see a little less tension in his shoulders.
“Maybe you’re off tomorrow, but I’m off the day after.” Pat counters, hanging his apron too, and Wai’s smile falters as Pran plays a little tune. There’s nothing worse than a morning shift when the ones working the night before don’t do their jobs properly. Pat can make Wai’s Wednesday a f*cking hell if he wants.
“Don’t you dare.” Wai says, chasing after him. “Pat. You asshole,”
Pat ignores him, cracking his neck left and right, and he does it in a way so the crunch of his cervicals go in tempo with Pran’s slow strumming. He’s facing him now, and it draws a smile on Pran’s face. Tiny but dimpled.
“Ah, man. I’m beat. I never thought service work could kick my ass this bad.” he says, sitting on the drop of the stage too. Pran stops, and it’s a pity, but then Wai gets close too, and Pran asks, not looking up from his hands still holding the guitar.
“So, when is your next joint shift?”
···
Ten minutes one day, fifteen another, brick by brick. Freshy is getting closer, but Pat doesn’t think they should rush it.
One day, a girl comes back to the bar after closing time. She forgot her wallet and Wai had already stored it in the little tray they have for lost items, but then she came back and knocked on the glass of the door a bit too loud.
Pran startled so hard he almost dropped the guitar. Pat had to catch it from him and lean it on the stage beside where Pran’s legs hung. Pran looked like he wanted to fight or flight, but he was frozen on the spot, shaking.
Pat placed himself in front, between him and the girl talking with Wai. After some seconds, Pran managed to look up, and something shook inside Pat seeing his wide, slightly damp eyes.
He tried to gather all his reassurance in a smile that Pran tried to imitate, “I thought it was my mother for a second.” Pat remembers Pran muttering.
Later that night, Pat would turn and buckle on his bed, unable to sleep, to the point of winning himself a flying cushion to the face from Jin.
···
It’s a Friday night and as he tries to not smack this one insufferable patron in the face and kick him out of the bar, Pat wonders what has his life come to be.
He has fourteen messages from Korn waiting on his Line asking him to go party with the guys. But he also has a crazy back pain, rugby training in the morning and a mountain of piled up assignments he’s behind on.
“I’ll close by myself.” Pat says to Rina, his coworker tonight. Wai, the dick, always manages to get the Fridays free. Rina has two little kids, she always shows them pics of the babies being unbearably cute. They’re so tiny and round. It reminds Pat of him and Jin, everyone says they were the chubbiest babies.
“Are you sure?” she asks. Pat looks at her dark circles and nods.
Later, when he’s all alone and starting to gather dirty cups in the dishwasher, there’s a knock on the glass. He doesn’t know what exactly sells Pran out, maybe that he always uses the same rhythm, but Pat knows it’s him before he even turns towards the door.
“Wai is not here,” he says, opening the locked door. “It’s only me tonight.”
“Oh,” Pran lets out, though he doesn’t look surprised. He has their shift schedule, after all.
“You still want…?”
“Well, I’m already here, don’t I?”
Pat chuckles, letting him in. Pran quickly places himself on his favourite spot on the step to the stage, and Pat resumes his tasks while listening to Pran struggle with what sounds like the beginning of a melody.
He gathers, arranges and cleans but feels a set of eyes following his movements. When he’s done with the tables, he dares to look back.
“Writing a new song?” It’s a novelty. He and Wai don’t look and don’t talk to Pran while he’s playing, mainly because he still seems one second away from running away, but tonight Pran seems different somehow. More settled, like he carved his little space at the feet of that stage.
“Mmh.” Pran hums, looking down and repeating the small melody.
“For Freshy?”
“Mh.”
“You got the lyrics?” Pat asks and Pran denies with his head, “And that’s all the melody you have?”
Pran looks at him then, annoyed.
“Do you at least know what you want it to be about?” he insists, storing the last clean glasses on the cupboards. “Angry song? Love song? Heartbreak song?” he continues, hunched down behind the bar counter.
“Love song.” Pran answers without hesitation. Pat smiles behind the counter, even if a sour taste pools at the base of his throat. It’s probably the fact that Architecture is gonna perform an original song, while Engineering is just covering the hit of the moment.
“Got inspired lately?” Pat stands up, smiling teasingly. Of course he got inspired. It’s gonna be the talk of the entire university. Pat can already smell the posts cooing about it.
In front of a crowd, an Architecture student confessed to an Audio Engineering student with a heartfelt song.
“Mh.” Pran hums once again. Well, Pat helped once writing a song, he can do it again even better knowing who it is for now.
“Okay, stand up.” he presses, rounding the counter and offering a hand to Pran.
“What?”
“Come on. Leave the guitar, you need to think outside the box. We engineers are the best at that.”
Pran rolls his eyes but puts down the guitar and takes his hand.
“Let’s say we’re boyfriends.”
“What?”
“C’mon, you already wrote one about being insecure and hesitant.” Pat says, walking backwards. “Let’s say you confess and it goes well, what comes next?”
Pran frowns. Pat can practically hear the wheels on his head turning. “Dating, I guess.”
“Exactly! Let’s pretend we go on a date.” Pat is a genius. Pran can’t find anyone closer to the real thing to imagine his future dates with Jin, than Pat.
“No.”
“C’mon… Teerak.” Pat pleads, doing his best puppy eyes available.
Pran rolls his eyes, but Pat could see his dimples from the moon. He quickly retreats towards the bar, fishing two cups and two empty plates. He then sets a table and invites Pran to sit down.
Pran looks in disbelief at the empty tableware. “Use a bit of imagination, you asshole. What would you like to eat with your lover?” Pat says, pointing to the plates.
Pran bites the inside of his cheek before answering, “My own cooking.”
Pat didn’t expect that answer, not remotely close. To imagine Pran cooking, Pran cooking flawlessly, like everything else he does, in the warmth of someone’s kitchen.
Well, no. Not someone’s kitchen. Jin’s. Which is also his.
Pat doesn’t have to make an effort to imagine it.
He takes an imaginary spoonful of food and stops before ‘eating’ it. “Feed me.” Pat says, offering Pran the ‘spoon’. “Baby… please? My hand hurts holding it.” he blinks sheepishly.
“Ah, ah, of course.” Pran answers, matching his ironic smile and grabbing the invisible food. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby.” he says after smashing the ‘spoon’ against Pat’s cheek. “I made a mess.”
“Don’t worry, honey, it was delicious.” Pat keeps his straining smile, thinking of a way to keep this going, “But let’s dance now… It’s our first date.”
Pat doesn’t wait for Pran to refuse, yanking him up and making him stumble with the stool. Pat pulls again until they’re standing in the middle of the empty bar.
“I love this song!” Pat says, grinning stupidly and grabbing Pran by the waist. “But what would you want to say in yours?”
“I–” Pran starts, clearly apprehensive of this new scenario. “I don’t know yet.” he answers, shyly snaking one arm up towards Pat’s neck, who then starts swaying them side to side.
“C’mon, imagine I’m them.” Pat is sure it’s not a huge task, given the circ*mstances. Even if Pran was always able to tell between them better than their own family, the bar is a dark enough place. “You’re an artist, aren’t you?” he teases.
Pran’s mouth morphs into his usual stubborn moue. “I don’t know… If I liked someone…” Pran starts and Pat thinks it’s adorable he’s still trying to hide it. “I would like to tell them what my love is about.”
“And what is it about?” Pat presses, still swaying them slowly. Pran frowns, turning a bit pink in the face, and Pat never noticed how cute Pran can be when flustered. “Come on, here is where your song is.” Pat says, lifting their joint hands and making Pran swirl over himself.
When Pran is back in place, he says, “I don’t know… I guess for me, love is in the small things, in finding each other in every cheesy love song, in thinking about each other when we see a gorgeous sunset. In understanding each other more than anyone else.”
Pran’s mouth talks and his feet move, but Pat can see the faraway wonder in his eyes. The little upturn of his mouth, sign that he’s revisiting a fond memory.
Pat knows, of course he does, he’s trying to play cupid, after all. But seeing Pran truly, profoundly in love is more of a shock than what he anticipated. He’s known for three years, even if he’s refused to think about it because thinking about Jin hurt too much and thinking about Pran hurt just as much, and thinking about Jin and Pran was straight-up unbearable.
He should be feeling okay now, he’s on the right path to get them back, he’s on the way to make everyone finally happy. Jin deserves to be the reason for the glimmer in Pran’s eyes.
But it's still unbearable.
It’s way worse than what he could have imagined, the evident longing. The nostalgia, the care, the affection, the tenderness. The word beautiful bounces non-stop over the walls of Pat’s brain, with a force and volume that hurts. Pran’s love is beautiful.
“That’s good,” he says. He just needs to keep going until everything is okay, he needs it. He stole so much from them.
“Is it?” Pran asks, and to Pat’s horror he sounds doubtful. He can’t have any of that.
“Of course! You should go with that and see where it takes you.” he says, more cheerful. Unfortunately, that’s the moment he steps on Pran’s foot.
“Ow!” Pran yells, pushing him. “Would you look where you step?!” Pran doesn’t have any other brilliant idea than to return the stomp, catching Pat’s toe under his heel.
“You motherfu–” Pat screams, catching behind Pran who is already running between tables. He dodges towards one, then another, and soon enough they’re on opposites sides, trying to bait the other to turn the wrong way. Pran teases towards his own right side, once, twice and Pat is this close to run towards his left and meet him in the middle, but he knows better.
You never catch Pran the conventional way, so Pat slams his feet on the table, and in one wide step and the help of many hours training his legs for rugby, he crosses the obstacle, grabbing Pran before he can escape.
“Pat!” He howls when Pat has his hands on his ticklish neck. “Stop, stop, stop–” he keeps going, trying to squirm away. He manages to flee running across the bar, back to the stage and then he drops down on it, panting.
Pat follows close, ending lain down beside Pran and trying to catch his breath. His back is not hurting that much anymore.
“What the hell are you looking at?” Pran asks, no trace of annoyance on his face.
“The hell, exactly.”
“You’re the hell.”
“So you like it? The new song?” Pat says after a bit.
“Mmh,” Pran hums, nodding the smallest bit. “I guess it could be a good start. I’m just not sure if they’ll like it too.”
“They will,” Pat assures. “Because I do.”
···
Pran starts passing by the bar every night, independently of who works that day. He ends up meeting Rina too, and is shown the pictures of her babies mumbling their first words. Pran manages to sing for her that night.
Then, without a warning, Korn drops by with Pa in toll.
“What in the world are you doing here?” Pat asks, meeting them outside and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s way too late for a high school student.”
“Don’t even start with that.” Pa answers. She sounds pissed as f*ck. “Why didn’t you tell us this is where you have been? Jin called me saying you’re never at the dorm anymore, and you’re working? You? Oh my God– To which mafia gang do we owe money? What have you done?!”
“I don’t owe any money, so relax.”
“Relax? We haven’t spoken for weeks! I had to threaten Korn with physical torture so he would tell me where you are!”
“Sorry, bro. She’s really scary.” Korn then chirps in.
“Do you even know how worried Jin is? He thinks you’re neck-deep in some trouble!”
Pat would tell her that’s bullsh*t, but it would be an insulting lie to everyone. Still, Jin could have asked him instead of alarming their little sister.
“Korn, can you leave us alone?” Pat asks, barely looking at his friend. Once Korn disappears inside, he says, “Listen, I’m just trying to save some money so I can move out.”
Pa looks at him, mouth parted and eyes moving frantically, “Why?!” She asks back, “Are you two really never going to make up?!”
“I’m trying–” Pat stresses.
“How!” She yells, cutting him off. “By disappearing? By worrying us all?! You won’t talk to him and he won’t talk to you and now you’re not even talking to me–” Her voice breaks and Pat is quick to squeeze her in his arms. He’s sweaty and smelly from the evening work, but he will die if Pa doesn’t stop crying right now. “Why won’t you talk to me?” She chokes against his chest.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m okay, it’s gonna be okay. I promise.” he says, embracing her even tighter and kissing her hair crown. The sound of a car passing by and distant chatter is the only sound in the street this late.
She eventually steps away and Pat chuckles at her runny nose. “Don’t you dare make fun of me,” she says, sniffling and making Pat laugh even more.
“Pran’s inside,” Pat says then, nodding behind him, knowing Pa always adored him. Maybe it’s a family thing. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m helping him with something.”
They step inside then, only to stumble upon Wai and Korn, both caged under Pran’s armpits in a headlock at both his sides.
It’s a mess. Korn discovers that the siblings have known Pran since forever, and is not happy about it. Then he discovers that Wai has known since the beginning and is even less happy. Pat struggles to keep him calm, Pran and Pa giggle at his hardship, and Wai is strangely, blissfully quiet since Pran released him from the headlock and Pat introduced Pa.
“No more fighting Architecture.” Pat warns Korn, “Pran is my friend.”
“No, I’m not!” Pran says from his usual spot on the stage, making Pa laugh.
“Is he rejecting you? You’d dream of having a best friend like mine! Yours sucks!” Korn screams back and Pat prepares for blocking Wai’s inevitable heated attack, but for some reason, the bastard now wants to play nice.
He’s smiling, calmly speaking with Pa . And it’s the most bizarre thing Pat has ever seen.
Pran plays some songs for Pa. Pat is not able to tell if Pran does because he heard them arguing outside, because he can see her reddened eyes, or because he’s just like that.
Korn is lured in the second Pran plucks the first string and Pat steps back, still with a splinter, —a dagger, a wide and jagged blade maybe, by the way it hurts— embedded just where Pa’s tears still stain his t-shirt.
He’s being a coward once again.
Since the night after their dad’s visit, his and Jin’s grudge has toned down the smallest bit. Cold shoulders but no direct confrontation. Hard glares, tense silences in the short time Pat is at home these days, but sometimes the tension, instead of bursting out, shimmers down to a comfortable uncomfortableness. Pat has stopped stealing Jin’s strawberry liquid yogurt, and it’s accumulating in the fridge.
Pat just recently remembered Jin prefers the mango ones.
By the time Pran has finished his private concert for the little crowd of four people, it’s way too late for Pa to come back home, so she heads back to Tinidee with him and Pran. Luckily, it’s the weekend and she doesn’t have classes in the morning.
“Can I sleep in your room?” Pat asks Pran as they turn towards their hallway.
“What? No way.”
“C’mon, please? She sleeps like a bulldog, don’t let me share a bed with her.”
“Hey!”
“Shh! It's late!”
“I sleep like a bulldog?!” Pa whispers.
“You snore and drool.” Pat insists, “And I have extensive evidence.”
“Oh, yeah? At least I don’t need a doll to fall asleep!”
“Leave Nong nao out of this!” Pat whines, “See, Pran? She’s evil. Let me sleep in your room.”
“Keep dreaming.” Pran answers, mean smile plastered on his face. Then he quickly disappears behind his door, like Pat would sneak inside any moment if he didn’t rush.
“What an asshole…” Pat grumbles under his breath as he opens his dorm. The lights are off except for the desk lamp, where Jin is doubled over studying, head bobbing slightly to the music coming off his headphones and knee jumping nervously under the table. He doesn’t realise they’re back until they turn on the main light. Pat swears he’s going to turn deaf if he keeps bombarding his eardrums in full blast like that.
“I’m sleeping here,” Pa says when Jin finally frees his poor ears.
Jin turns to look at them, his knee stops. “And are mom and dad aware of that?”
“I’m just a year younger, if you can live alone, I can go out.”
“A year and a half.” Pat says from the kitchen, where he’s fishing a yogurt out of the fridge.
“Exactly,” Pat hears Jin say, still sitting at the desk, “We’re calling them right now.”
“Really? This where you team up?” she asks, hands on her hips. “Fine! Call them! I’ll tell dad you two gave me permission.” Pa threatens as she rummages through their closet. “Is there even anything clean here? Ugh! Whose's this?!” She turns, dirty rugby set in hand.
Oops. Pat completely forgot about that.
“No, I don’t want to know.” Pa says, throwing the whole bag to Pat’s face, who is still idly slurping his snack. Then his little sister catches what must be the only clean t-shirt and shorts in the whole apartment and disappears into the bathroom.
“Should we call?” Jin says, standing up and getting closer to the kitchen counter. It warms Pat’s heart like the blanket thrown over his shoulders when he falls asleep on the couch, the way Jin includes him in Big Brother™ duties, unaware of how inadequate Pat has always felt for the position.
“Nah, we’ll let them know in the morning.” he says, throwing away the empty pouch. Then there’s silence, and Jin is obviously waiting for something. Dive, Pat. Dive.
He can’t. He rounds the counter and gets to the side of his unmade bed, starting to push it with his knees towards Jin’s. His brother turns then, equally disappointed and confused.
“What are you waiting for, asshole? Help me set it up.” Pat says, signalling Jin to do the same on the other side.
Soon enough, the beds are joint, making a big one. It’s not as good as the fort you can make in a bunk bed, but they’re all too grown up for that.
They lie a big sheet in the middle, so whoever ends up sleeping there doesn’t fall through the crack between the two beds. Pat snorts out of the blue, “Remember when you fell down your bunk bed?”
Jin snorts back, bending down to secure the sheet on his side. “Which time?”
“During Halloween, you were so scared.”
“No, the f*ck not. I wasn’t.”
“You fell down the bunk bed because you were too scared to use the stairs.”
Pat giggles, bending down too to smooth the bed clothes to the best of his ability, and to hook the ends of the sheet under the mattress, “It wasn’t me who ended up crying, though.” Jin says then, and Pat freezes doubled over.
Well, Pat thinks, it wasn’t you who had to watch his big brother fall down a bunk bed head first.
The conversation dies and the air stills. Pat keeps running his palm over the creaseless fabric. Dive, Pat. The water of Pa’s shower stops and the time is running out. Dive.
“I’m working.” Pat finally says, like a breath he had been holding. “That’s why I haven't been around lately. In the bar where Pran’s friend works. Wai? I think you met him. Anyway, you don’t–” Pat, dive. “You don’t need to worry, it’s all good. I’ll save up for a couple of months and then I’ll move out.”
Jin, who had been looking astonished the whole time, frowns deeply, “Move out?” he asks while Pa gets out of the bathroom.
“I’m gonna make you two pay for making me use a 3-in-1 body wash.” she says, walking to the bed and flopping down dramatically. “I’m definitely going to get pimples from that.”
“It’s quick and useful.” Pat says, sitting down on the bed too. “What do kids know?”
“What are you doing?!” Pa shrieks then, pushing him hard until he falls to the floor. “Go shower! You stink!”
He wants to fight her, he really wants to. She’s a gremlin, she’s entitled, spoiled and she’s insufferable, too. But it’s also very late at night, so he goes to the bathroom without any complaint. When he’s under the water jet, he can hear Pa and Jin’s tired and muffled laughter, and when he comes back out, the lights are off and they’re both already under the covers.
“What are you waiting for?” Jin whispers, lifting the comforter with an arm to make room when Pat doubts what to do.
It all really started when Pat found Nong Nao during the last year of middle school.
He came one day with the doll under his arm and wouldn’t say where it came out from. Mom inspected and washed it two times before allowing Pat to tuck the thing in his bed. It wasn’t that Jin wanted it, or one similar, for himself. It was ugly and seemed dirty no matter how many times it spun inside the washing machine.
But it was a fact that in their lives everything came with a pair or with an explicit order to be shared. Like their first laptop, which was too expensive to have twice, so they had to take turns or use it together.
And it was another fact that Nong Nao was the first thing to break that balance. It didn't have a counterpart, nor their parents ordered them to share, no, it was exclusively Pat's.
He didn't brag about it, or attempted to awaken Jin's jealousy. Pat just hugged it at night and drooled all over it. And Jin ended up jealous either way. Which he found profoundly ironic, because he was the first one who thought he wanted more differences between them, more things to call his. He thought maybe it was only annoyance because Pat beat him to it.
Then their birthday happened, and after Jin recovered from his cold, Pat seemed to avoid him. Not outrightly and not meanly, he just would turn suddenly, or not meet his eyes while talking from time to time.
It eventually went away and Pat was back to normal. Well, almost. He now dared to climb his way into the house next door by Pran’s window. The first time, Jin caught him with a leg already inside the other house, and couldn’t do anything to stop him. He just sat and anxiously waited for the neighbours to bring Pat back by the ear and a yelling contest to begin.
But it didn’t happen, Pat came back the same he went, smile wide. And again, he wouldn’t answer what he went there to do.
By the time high school started, Pat had changed enough that Jin was glad when they were shuffled together in the same classroom. Just so he could keep an eye on him and whatever he was up to with the guy next door.
Pran, you’re ready. You’ve never been more ready, you were born ready. That’s what Wai says when Pran decides he wants to play with an audience.
They have chosen opening hours, when fewer people are in the bar. Pran checks the mic, the speakers, the stool where he’s sitting and the guitar three times. He eyes the empty drum set behind him and wonders if Pat being there would make it easier.
He has a clog of nerves filling his guts, but he starts strumming either way. It’s easier after the first minutes, no-one at the tables is paying him special attention. He finds it even easier when he focuses his eyes on Pat’s broad back, moving non-stop from here to there, serving orders.
Pran never thought he would be able to play again. Pran never allowed himself to think he could try to play again. But Pat is nothing if not insufferably persistent.
He plays a sweet melody, watching as Pat charms his way into getting a good tip, and is convinced Pat won’t move out of their dorm. Pran still doesn’t know what happened to Pat, to both twins, for all that aggression to be so loud, but he has been shown how nothing really changed. None of them did.
Jin is still a music freak, introvert, perfectionist and excellently brilliant. Headstrong and blunt sometimes, sweet and fun most of the time.
And Pat is still the same ball of energy, of need to please everyone. He’s still meddlesome, and irritably, disarmingly, implacably kind.
And Pran is, apparently, also the same fool. Because he’s back to square one, back to head over heels, back to so in love it hurts to breathe.
He’s back to will he, won’t he. He’s back to reminding himself it doesn’t matter, and that, in fact, it’s better if Pat won’t. Because it’s still impossible. It’s still that one thing, that one pile of things — Jin’s and Pa’s friendship, a shared childhood, a guitar that doesn’t get lost, a passion that doesn’t hurt or makes him panic, his heart being reflected back to him by fierce eyes— that his mother packed up in a box and put out of his reach.
And the universe is still also the same cruel thing, reminding him that it doesn’t matter how many moments he steals, he can never hold onto them for too long.
He strums and strums, still not brave enough to sing with his voice, until the bar door chimes open and a familiar face steps in, pretty as ever.
His fingers falter, making the guitar strings screech unpleasantly loud, and in the time it takes for him to start hyperventilating, Wai and Pat are already there on the stage with him.
Wai takes the guitar from his hands and guides him to stand. It’s ridiculous, this reaction. He knows, and still his heart is beating so hard and loud, he can barely hear Pat saying to the mic: “We’re suffering technical issues with the music, but we’re already working to solve it. Thanks for your understanding.”
Embarrassing, so f*cking embarrassing.
Wai walks him to the bathrooms, and just as he steps in he faintly hears, “Oh, Ink! What are you doing here?”
Pran calms down relatively fast, but ends up drained and weary. He wishes he could just close his eyes and be back in his bed. He looks around, recalling the time he found Jin outside this very bar, and wonders just how much damage control he'll need to do in this bathroom.
“What happened? You were doing so well!” Wai says, and Pran is too exhausted to come up with something.
“The girl that came in, she was my classmate– Friend, back then. She was there when my mom…”
“So was Pat.” Wai says. He doesn’t mean bad, Pran knows, but he couldn’t say anything worse.
“What do you want me to say? I don’t f*cking know.” He snaps.
“Okay,” Wai says, stepping away. “I’m gonna go back to work. You know where to find me.”
Excellent, another thing to feel bad about.
Pran remains in the bathroom for two minutes more, psyching himself for the necessary interaction. There’s no way Ink hasn’t noticed him. And as soon as he steps outside, there she is, calling for him. She's perched on a stool by the counter, talking with Pat.
He walks closer, hoping his smile doesn’t look too strained. Deep within, he’s really happy to see her.
She very graciously walks around the topic of his whatever that was, and asks things like what is he studying.
“You know what is wrong with him? He must owe a lot of cash to a mafia gang to be working.” she says, pointing at Pat with a thumb like he can’t hear her at all.
“Hey!” Pat complains, “Have you been hanging out with Pa? You sound just as annoying as her.”
“I have to go,” Pran says when Pat and Ink start to playfully bicker, “I… have rugby training.”
Perfect, the weakest excuse possible. Wai is literally just two steps away, not training.
“Oh? So you’re playing against Pat?” Ink asks, a teasing smile dangling on her face. “Which of you should I cheer on?”
Pran smiles back, really worn out to the last fibre. “Always bet on red,” he says before going and leaving them alone.
···
He’s not ignoring Pat. He just happens to have a lot of places to be in right now. He has rugby training, and his duties as class president, and exams. Which are two months away, but it's better to start on time.
He’s also not ignoring Pat’s texts, he answers. Some of them.
But he is ignoring his calls, and the insistent knocks on his door.
Pat is going to want him back to play guitar, and he’s also going to talk about Ink. And Pran is not ready for either of them.
He is simply living his life, listening to his seniors, listening to his mother. No music and no Pat.
He also should have known better. Pran’s dreading the sweating session when he’s walking towards the rugby pitch, just to find the whole first year of Engineering there.
“What the f*ck?” he mutters, fishing his phone out of his pocket and checking the training schedule he was sent. He has a message from his coach saying they had switched one session with Engineering. f*ck. He has been so obstinate in not seeing Pat’s texts, that he missed that one.
He can hear his smirk, even when Pat is half a field away. Pran turns, ready to flee before Pat gets close to annoy the sh*t out of him, when he hears, “Pran!”
Jin’s in the bleachers, computer on his lap and earphones plugged in.
“What are you doing here?” Pran asks, getting closer.
“It’s our birthday.” Oh, Pran thinks, is it?
“Ah, happy birthday.” Pran awkwardly says. Still, that doesn’t explain what he is doing here.
“Thanks, I have to drive us both home to dinner, and I was tired of working in the library.” He clarifies then.
So the option is to do your coursework beside sweaty, grunting assholes?
“Pat told me you’re participating in Freshy.” Jin continues. Ah. That’s why. Pran looks back at the training field and Pat is still looking back, an infuriating smile visible even from there. “Should I include your name in Architecture’s entry? The deadline is over, but I can slip a new sheet here and there.”
“I’m still thinking about it. I’m very rusty with the guitar.” Pran says, sitting down at Jin’s side. He can see the audio editing software on the screen of his computer. “Are you working on something new?”
“You want to hear?” Jin asks, offering an earphone. “We have to design a theme for a video sequence, using as many ranges as possible, and then next semester we’ll learn how to set up the speaker circuit for it.”
Pran nods and takes the earphone, not understanding half of it but being curious nonetheless. The video sequence is a fight scene with slow motion movements, and the tune Jin has designed is fairly impressive.
“It’s good. Very good.” Pran says, fiddling with the cable joining his earphone to Jin’s.
“But…?”
“How do you know there’s a but?”
“You’re Pran, there’s always a but. That’s why I showed you to begin with.” Jin says, smiling.
Pran rolls his eyes, trying to not feel flattered. “Everyone has the same video to edit?” he asks, and when Jin nods, “Then remove layers and add a more upbeat tempo once they start fighting for real. Around here,” Pran points to the screen. “Everyone will want to fill it with drama and different instruments, to give the fight a context. I don’t think that’s what your teacher wants, you should try to make it as thrilling and frantic as possible, it’s a death or life situation! Maybe you can even, I don’t know, use a heart beating or something like that.”
When he finishes, Jin is staring wide-eyed.
“Shut up.” Pran says, suddenly embarrassed.
“I haven’t opened my mouth.”
“Don’t say a word.”
“How can I? You used every last of them.”
“See if I help you again!” Pran says, red in the face and standing up.
“I’m joking, I’m joking.” Jin soothes, grabbing his arm and making him sit again while trying to control his laughter. “That’s an amazing idea, really.”
Pran smiles then too, nudging Jin in the shoulder with his own, “It’s already really good. Reminds me of that one anime theme you and Pat used to sing all the time.”
“That one anime?! You mean Dragonball?! Best series to ever exist?!” Jin says, horrified, hand on chest and everything.
Pran is about to answer when they hear a scream from the pitch. They both turn, having recognised the voice. Pat is rolling on the grass, grabbing at his shoulder.
“sh*t. Can you take care of this?” Jin says, handing him his laptop. Pran watches as he approaches the little circle of people around Pat, how he crouches down beside the coach and how he helps Pat stand up. It’s not an unfamiliar vision at all.
Pran has no reason to be frowning this much, so as Pat and Jin walk slowly back to the bleachers, Pran focuses on carefully saving up Jin’s work file, creating a backup copy that isn’t called ‘finalFINALLL3.avi’ , and turning off the computer. He has an inkling that the training is over for Pat.
By the time he’s done putting the laptop and the earphones in Jin’s bag, both brothers and the coach are almost there, and just now Pran realises how he has fallen into the trap. They’re not on not speaking terms if it’s for messing with him, apparently.
“It’s not broken or dislocated, but it’s gonna hurt for some days,” the coach says as Pat sits down two benches under Pran. “Rest and no training. Here, use this ointment on it.”
Then he’s back to the group and Pran steps down, carrying everything with him. Jin thanks him, grabbing his bag before turning and asking Pat, “What happened? How did you fall like that? ”
“I… I was distracted.” Pat says, not meeting their gazes. Strange, Pran thinks.
“Should I call home and say we’re not going?” Jin asks.
“No, mom has been looking forward to this. This is nothing.” Pat tries to move his shoulder, hissing loudly immediately.
“Idiot.” Both Jin and Pran say at the same time. “I’ll get the car closer. Wait here.” Jin tells him then, before going.
Which leaves Pran in the scenario he has worked so hard to avoid.
He looks around, pointedly avoiding glancing at Pat, he knows he won’t have much respite if he succumbs. But then Pat doesn’t say a word, and that’s even more nerve-wrecking.
A fool is a fool, and Pran is the king of them. The worst of everything, is that when he finally looks, Pat is pouting.
Pran closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, “Does it hurt?”
“No.” Pat stubbornly answers. Pran can see the redness of the hit on his bare shoulder.
“Don’t be stupid,” he admonishes, dropping his tote and taking a seat. He snatches the tube of ointment from Pat’s hands. What a fool. He uncaps it, applying a dollop on his fingers. Utter fool.
“I can do it myself.”
“Be still,” Pran says, starting to apply the remedy, “And be more careful. We have a game in two days.”
“Why do you care? It’s beneficial for you, you can win more easily.” he says, still pouting.
“Without the chance to humiliate you? There’s no fun.” Pran smirks, not ready for Pat’s answer.
“Exactly,” Pat says around a sigh. “Why would I want to play at Freshy if you’re not there?”
Pran feels the embarrassment bite at his cheeks.
“Are you really dropping?” Pat asks, genuine and worried.
“I… I don’t know. I have been busy. I don’t know.”
“Come to the bar tonight at closing,”
“No. And you shouldn’t be working with your shoulder like this, you heard the coach.”
“Not working, I promise. Come to the bar.”
Pran eyes him suspiciously. “What for?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“What? Now I’m sure I’m not going.”
“Pran.”
“No.”
“Pran.”
“No.”
Again, he should have known better. There’s a huge mess of stubborn guy, all sweaty and filthy just by his side, he should have seen it coming.
Pat darts his uninjured hand towards his neck, and it’s warm and sticky. “Stop, Pat. Your shoulder– Stop, ugh!”
It’s ticklish, it’s so ticklish. Pran fights the cackles, tries to wiggle out of Pat’s grasp, but his neck has always been so ticklish.
“Stooooop,” he whines, laughing.
“Will you come to the bar?” Pat says, playfully threatening, his warm hand now still on his neck.
“Yeah, you asshole, I will. Now f*ck off,” he says, slapping Pat’s hand away.
Pat quips moments later, “Cute dimples you have there,” like it’s a normal thing to be saying.
Pran looks around embarrassed, and feels Pat’s finger poke at his cheek. Because he still hasn’t managed to stop smiling.
“If I have these dimples, will I be as cute as you?” Pat says again while Pran stares, absolutely at a loss for words, but thinks, no, you can’t get any cuter.
Then Pat pokes at him again, and he finds his voice. “Sorry to disappoint. Only I can have these super-cute dimples.” he says, forcing his smile to show them.
Jin appears soon after, hitting the car horn, and Pran watches them go.
For Pat, having both Jin and Pran in the same class once Matthayom started was a huge deal. It was like two different worlds colliding.
Jin and Pran had never actually intersected in his life, they were two parallel lines running along his own, close to clashing but never actually colliding. Pat could count with his fingers the times they spoke and with one hand the times they fought.
Jin wasn’t interested, Jin had other things on his mind, and Pat was more than okay to have a whole rival all to himself. It wouldn’t be fair to Pran if it suddenly became 2 vs. 1, either. So when the first year of high school started, he was afraid that Jin suddenly started to want to be Pran’s rival too.
But he didn’t, no. Jin never, not even once, tried to be Pran’s rival. Instead, he —slowly, bit by bit, over the expanse of two and a half years— became his friend. In a way Pat was never allowed by Pran himself. Hiding from their parents and teachers, yes, but much more candidly. Which kind of sucked.
While for Pat it was all hushed sarcasm and reluctant help and endless battles, for Jin it was easy smiles and shared interests and effortless sympathy.
And Pran would deny being friends with any of them, and Pat would know that were two lies. One more than the other.
It’s a good thing they had to go home for dinner. That way, Pat could sneak Pran’s guitar out from under Pa’s bed.
It’s a bad thing they had to go home for dinner. “Ah, that’s normal in rugby. Nothing to be worried about.” Ming said when explained Pat’s injury. “Back in my day, the seniors wouldn’t even let us catch our breath. The match against Architecture is important for the honour of the faculty, and for yours too.”
Pat hummed, swallowing a piece of birthday cake that wasn’t his.
“Ah, no, no. He’s not playing injured,” His mom said then, “Look at his shoulder, it hurts just to see it!”
“It’s okay, Ma,” Pat reassured, it hurt less now after Pran applied the ointment, anyway.
“See? That’s my son!” Ming cheered.
Now, as Pat prepares everything, he thinks that playing injured can’t be the end of the world.
He’s at the bar, taking Pran’s guitar out of its case. It has been a pain in the ass to convince Wai and Rina to let him alone to close, injury and all, but they finally surrendered, tired from the evening’s shift.
He sits on the stage, trying to tune the guitar as best as he remembers. He watched a video once, shortly after Pran left. The strings are a bit old, but still good enough, so when Pat considers it prepared to play, he plants the guitar on the stand and goes back to closing duties.
It’s beyond frustrating to work with only one arm, and he winces once or twice when getting impatient, wanting to use his other shoulder.
“So much for not working.” Pat hears behind him as he scrubs the counter, a smile already making its way to his mouth.
“Are you worried about me?”
“You wish,” Pran says when he turns. He’s wearing a black and white striped tee that looks so incredibly soft that Pat can’t help but imagine what it would feel under his fingers. “Why did you want me to come here?”
“What do you think?” He asks, watching as Pran’s face falls.
“Pat– I… If I got scared of Ink, do you think I can play at Freshy?”
“Yes.” He answers, no hesitation. “Not saying it’s gonna be easy, but a step back only means more room to gain momentum later.” He means it, from the deepest part of his being, but he always needs to be a little annoying, so he winks for good measure.
Pran rolls his eyes, but Pat can see it worked. “Okay, let’s finish getting this place clean first.”
“What? No, no.” Pat is too giddy and excited about seeing Pran’s reaction to be cleaning drunk’s crap anymore. He places his hands on Pran’s shoulders, hissing a bit about the movement and turning him towards the stage.
“I can walk alone, you know?” Pran complains, walking reluctantly towards it.
“Shush and put one foot in front of the other.”
“Do you train being this insufferable? It can’t possibly be all natural–” Pran says, but his words die on his tongue and Pat is so delighted his cheeks hurt a little from smiling. “Is that… Pat– Is that my guitar?!”
Pat doesn’t answer, but lets Pran’s shoulders go from under his hands. Pran climbs the steps towards it, walking like someone would approach a scared cat, like it would disappear if he’s not careful enough. Pat smiles even wider when Pran crouches in front of the guitar, fingers grazing the cords and wood.
“It wasn’t eaten by termites.” he finally says.
“You’ve kept it for me?” Pran asks, getting up and taking it with him.
Pat makes a little jump, sitting at the stage drop. “Jin did. I wanted to sell it online.”
Pran snorts and sits by his side. “Well, thanks either way.”
Then Pat has nothing else to say, Pran has to walk the rest of the way. And he starts doing it, caressing the strings. To Pat’s ears, it sounds like the melody of ‘Just Friends’ but he can’t be sure, it’s been too long since he heard it.
He looks at Pran, so engrossed in the chords that everything seems to disappear around him, and realises he hasn’t been looking at him during the practices, out of fear he got anxious. He’s hit by the nostalgia it brings, of easier, sunnier days.
Pat could watch him play all day.
“You seem so happy when you get to compete against me,” Pran says after a bit. “You’re doing all this just to eat dirt when I defeat you.”
“Aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?” Pat says, unable to control his grin. Pran has never been more onboard. “I just like to see your face… When you lose.” he says, flicking Pran’s chin.
“Practice, practice.” Pat stands then, petting Pran’s hair. He steps down the stage and starts finishing his chores.
By the time he’s done, Pran has already put the guitar back in its case. “You’re taking it with you, then? You can always leave it here. The other musicians bring their own.” he says, knowing Dissaya was never fond of Pran playing music.
“No, I want to have it with me.” Pran says, and Pat can’t be more pleased.
They step outside the bar, and it’s so late, barely any car passes by. The air is a bit chilly on Pat’s skin, but against his throbbing shoulder it feels kind of good. He focuses on securing the lock of the bar.
“Pat?” Pran asks, voice soft. Pat turns, finding Pran looking at his watch. When he gazes up, all the street lights reflect on his eyes, and even the stars behind the light pollution seem to have moved to his irises. Pran smiles, sweet and dimpled, “Happy birthday.”
Oh.
···
“Jin!” Pat screams, irritated beyond words. “Have you seen my rugby uniform?! I’m gonna be late for the match!”
The asshole doesn’t answer, like the door between the main room and the bathroom is that thick. Or maybe he’s finally turned deaf. Pat bangs on it, until his brother opens, wearing the rugby uniform he’s lost ten minutes searching for.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for the match.” Jin simply says, walking past.
“Jin, not funny. Take it off, I need it.”
“No f*cking chance.”
“Jin,” Pat presses. “I’m really not playing here. Take it off.”
“Exactly. You’re not playing. I am.” he says, rummaging through Pat’s sport bag.
Pat pauses, not knowing if he heard correctly, “Why?”
“Because you’re injured?”
“No, I’m not. I’m okay now.”
Jin simply turns, throwing him the spare deodorant he carries for training. Pat instinctually tries to catch it with his right hand, and a cramp twinges from his shoulder to his fingertips, sharp. The deodorant falls to the ground with a pathetic thump and Pat grunts.
“It’s been years since you last played, they’re gonna notice.” Pat says, looking at his poor Axe on the floor.
“Wait and see, everyone will notice because I’m way better.” Jin says, picking up the deodorant and spraying some on his armpits.
“Pran is definitely noticing.”
“Bold of you to assume he’s not in on it with me.”
Ah. Yeah. Of course, bold of him indeed. It kind of echoes the pain on his shoulder, but now a bit more south and west. Scheming and plotting with Pran was always his thing. But he supposes soon there won’t be anything he can do with Pran that Jin doesn’t have access to.
“Wai and Korn too.” He stubbornly adds.
“They’re all in cahoots.”
It marvels Pat, how he can feel this touched and this hurt at the same time. Isn’t it great? That everyone is worried enough to leave their differences for him? Isn’t it great?
Isn’t it? No, it’s f*cking not. It feels like everyone agrees that Jin is smarter, stronger, better. And isn’t it the core of his problems? Isn’t that his fatal flaw? That not only he’s not up to the expectation, but that he’s unable to accept it and let it go?
That he so desperately wants to change and he simply can’t?
That here Jin is, saving him one more time and Pat’s just rotten in jealousy beyond repair?
“Want to come and see how I win the game for your faculty?” Jin says then, breaking through his mind fog. And so Pat goes, because he’s a bit of a masoch*st, clad in Jin’s button up and sunglasses like a celebrity in incognito.
He places himself in the highest part of the bleachers and watches as Jin mixes with his friends, how he makes sure that Professor Pichai sees him there, turning when someone calls him Pat. Wai passes by and winks at him, and if Pat weren’t feeling so sh*tty, he would be hysterically laughing.
“Hello, not-at-all-suspicious stranger,” Ink says, walking closer, camera in hand.
“Hi… Wait. How did you know?” Pat asks, surprised.
“You’re not that similar. Everyone is just dumb.” Ink says, “Plus, Pa gave me some pointers when I moved to Prasertslip so you wouldn’t mess with me.”
“That minx, revealing our weapons…” He chuckles.
The game starts and Pat would like to say he’s able to look at someone that isn’t Pran, but it would be a lie.
“Oh, no-one is going to believe this!” Ink says then, some minutes into the game. “Look how gentle they’re with each other! That’s not like you and Pran at all.”
Pat is stunned, so he just nods as an answer. It’s obvious, now that Ink pointed it out, how they’re holding back with each other. But still, Pran placates Jin to the ground and they laugh.
Pat looks away like he’s been slapped.
“Are you okay? Does your shoulder hurt?” Ink asks at his sudden reaction.
Pat looks at her. Pat looks at her, at her dark hair and round cheeks, her pale skin and plump mouth, at the cute moles all over her face that he liked so much in high school
Pat looks at her, and thinks that if Pran is finally getting together with his first crush, maybe Pat, like a good rival, should do the same.
Pat really, truly, looks at her, and only sees a good friend.
Pat looks at her, and hates himself a little bit more.
“It’s okay,” he smiles, “It’ll pass.”
···
Getting stuck outside his apartment is the nail on the coffin of his really f*cking sh*tty day. No keys, no phone battery, no way to reach Pa, and Jin is out with his friends and will come back in the ass of the morning.
He fiddles with his dead phone, clicking the power button again and again like it would change the fact that it’s f*cking dead, until the door opposite opens. Pat is not ready.
“What the f*ck are you doing?” Pran asks, amused smile visible.
“I forgot my keys and my phone is dead.” Pat answers, sounding grumpy and tired to his own ears.
“You could have knocked, you know.” Pran says then, more serious. Pat would have, eventually, he’s just not ready yet.
He walks inside Pran’s apartment for the first time, noticing all the differences between this and his own. It’s bigger, for starters. Cleaner and more organised was a given, but it also feels more lived in. Neither him nor Jin are the kind to give a flying f*ck about decoration, and with all the avoiding and then being busy, Pat hasn’t had the time to even put a couple of posters on his half of the wall.
But this space screams Pran from the door to the curtains and it’s lovely. The way it smells, the way it looks, the warm lights, the guitar on the corner. Pat’s not ready, not ready at all.
He’s forced to shower, for some reason he doesn’t get. He didn’t even play the match. And when he comes out, Pran throws him a t-shirt. Friend-Unfriend, it reads, and it’s able to scrape a smile out of him for the first time in hours.
“I’ll wash it real nice before giving it back.” he says after setting down on the spare mattress.
“No need. I’m throwing it away.”
“Great, it’s mine then.” Pat says, smile falling the second he realises he’s thinking about never washing Pran’s smell out of it. Will Jin start to smell like this, too?
“Can we sleep now?” Pran asks, sitting against his headboard. Pat has half the mind to bother him into sharing the comforter, but he’s too… well, he doesn’t even know what, to tease.
Silence fills the room for long minutes, where Pat has only Pran’s breath and the dim light of the smiley lamp to guide him through the cloudburst of nausea he suddenly feels.
“Are you sleeping?” Pran asks, very low. Pat could tease him about him being the one who wanted them to go to bed, but then again, he’s not feeling like it.
“Mh.”
“Is your shoulder still in pain?”
It’s the last thing that hurts right now, “It’s okay,”
The room falls silent again, but Pat can feel Pran’s uneasiness and he can’t take it anymore. He’s not made for discretion or self-restraint.
“Hey,” he says.
“What?”
“Can I ask you something?” Pat whispers, and hears as Pran gulps down.
“I also have a question for you.” Wait, what?
“You go first.” he says, scared sh*tless.
Pran gulps down once again, and the silence tenses even more, “Do you like Ink?”
Wait, what?
“No,” He likes– “I don’t.”
“Oh.” Pran says then. “I thought… Seeing you two today watching the game… And also back in high school–”
“Oh, no. No, we’re just friends.” he says, not finding the quip until Pran snorts.
“Okay, your turn.” Pran says, suddenly more animated.
Now it’s Pat who has to gulp, feeling his mouth like he just ate sand. He’s not ready, but he still can get himself there. He still has some time to pacify his fluttering heart, “Are you confessing to Jin at Freshy?” he blurts out.
He still can convince himself that he’s not totally, completely, inside out and head to toe in love with Pran. He just needs to know what’s coming so he can prepare.
The seconds tickle without an answer, then, “What?” Pran says, in what sounds like a choked gasp.
“Have you finished the new song? Or are you doing it with ‘Just Friends’ like last time?” Pat asks, sitting up. Pran’s eyes quickly flutter. Is he embarrassed? Pat asks himself.
“I– Pat, you think that I’m–? Jin?” Pran mumbles then, also sitting up on the bed.
“How are you going to do it?” Pat asks. The more he asks, the more it hurts and the more it hurts, the more he wants to know, like cauterising a wound. It has to burn in order to heal. “What are you going to tell him?”
Pran just stares, long and silent, without even blinking. Pat’s mouth runs ahead of him, making him rise and sit on the bed with Pran, “C’mon, we’re friends,” he says, stabbing himself. Pran doesn’t deny it like he always did, which is worse than a death row verdict, “You can tell me,”
“Pat.” Pran finally says, tense as a clenched fist. “I don’t… I can’t–” he chokes out.
Pat frowns deeply, meeting his eyes with Pran’s avoidant ones. He looks like he’s on a stage just about to perform.
“Pran, trust me, you can,” Pat says, as earnest as his turmoil allows him. He grabs one of Pran’s hands in his, “Is it because of our parents? You can’t give him up without trying. Look at you,” he says, chuckling the tiniest bit. “They sent you away, and you’re still so in love.”
Pran slams his eyes shut, turning sharply away, but Pat has felt his tear fall either way. It’s just a drop of salty water, but it burns against Pat’s hand on the mattress, still interlocked with Pran’s fingers.
Pat grabs his chin with the other hand, turning his face, and rubs his thumb over the tear streak. Soon this will be off limits, it probably already is, but Pat, like the greedy asshole that he is, steals this intimacy for him to keep and remember.
“You’re my all-time rival,” Pat softly says, making Pran’s eyes flutter open. They’re full of tears that gather at the corners, threatening to spill. “You have to try.”
A whine escapes Pran’s lips, and a new set of tears drop when he subtly shakes his head, saying no.
It’s shattering, seeing Pran agonise this way and knowing he’s been doing it for years due to their parents.
“What about this,” Pat says, shifting even closer. “Why don’t you practise with me?”
He wants to help as much as he wants to hurt himself for being so damn blind. This is nothing new, it’s always been there. But most of all, he just wants to hear it.
“Just like with the guitar. You practise until it’s not that scary.” he tries a weak smile. “C’mon, I even look like him.” he says, nudging Pran until he meets his eyes. They are close, Pat still whipping away his tears. He’s never considered himself especially romantic or good with words, but now he feels like he could write a thousand odes about these tiny droplets that slide down his fingers.
Pran looks and looks and looks in unnerving silence, until he moves his hand to rest over Pat’s on his face, tentatively, so featherlight it feels like a dream. He then moves both hands to his mouth, kissing Pat’s palm.
“I love you.” Pran pours in a warm exhalation against the skin.
Pat supposes this is how dying feels.
“I think I always did, even when I was away, especially when I was away.” he continues, low and quiet, and this is the worst idea Pat has ever had. “Don’t ask me why because I don’t know. I just do. All the time. There’s not a second I’m not loving you.” Pran says, inching imperceptibly closer, and no-one, no-one, in the whole world would be able to survive how beautiful the rawest part of Pran looks here, bathed in night and faint orange light.
Pat would fight anyone for a chance, until his knuckles crumbled into dust. The world, his dad. Just not Jin.
“Can I?” Pran asks then, in a murmur between their mouths, sneaking a hand to Pat’s cheek.
“For practice.” Pat whispers, just to alleviate his conscience. It’s all kinds of wrong, but he joins their mouths before he begins to understand how unacceptable it is. It’s sudden and awkward until it isn’t. Until it’s everything and it’s perfect. But then he’s hit by a boulder of shame and guilt, wanting to rip his guts apart. He separates himself, sudden, too sudden and too quick. Too soon and too late. He’ll never be able to unlearn how Pran’s mouth fits against his.
Pran is there, lips hanging open, soft and vulnerable, aching for a person that is not here. And Pat needs to disappear.
“Gotta pee.” he says, wincing at his own awkwardness, and walking to the bathroom not too quickly but also not too slow.
When he gets out much later, eyes bloodshot, Pran is already sleeping.
Falling in love felt like a song. Felt like all the love songs on his iPod.
Felt like Elvis’ voice in ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’. Felt like ‘Something’ by the Beatles, like ‘Friday I’m in love’ by The Cure.
They all, past a certain point he didn’t notice he crossed, conjured dimples in Jin’s mind.
Going to school made his heart beat faster every morning, and if he concentrated enough, it sounded like the rhythm of ‘Everywhere’ by Fleetwood Mac.
It became almost impossible to hide once the class band was created, and he got to rehearse side by side with Pran. His fingers tingled against the strings of his bass, and the vibrations of the music only heightened his nervous blush.
Falling in love felt like the songs, but being in love sucked when your father is Ming Jindapat. Pran was nice, and kind, and intelligent, so hearing Ming say otherwise every two days worn out Jin’s patience. Pran was nice and kind and intelligent, and it irked Jin that Ming didn’t see it, and it irked him even more that Pat just believed what their dad said. Pat always followed what he said.
Pran was nice and kind and intelligent until Pat did what Ming taught him to do, and then Pran became just like Pat. Mean and arrogant and a bit stupid sometimes. It was a pain to see the transformation again and again. It was a pain to be stolen of Pran’s attention, and it was a pain to feel left out of their silly games.
One second Pran was by his side sharing earphones, thigh against thigh, and the next he was yelping and running behind Pat when he stole his pencil case.
One second he was the one who made Pran laugh the loudest, and the next it was Pat who was climbing towards his window.
One second he was sure Pran returned his feelings, and he was ready to confess, and the next he was out of the music band because he was chosen class president.
He pleaded to the teacher, promised he could take both responsibilities, but nothing worked. He was out. And now Pat spent more time than ever bothering Pran, making his life impossible and being everything their dad told him to be.
Jin didn’t notice he was reaching a boiling point until everything started bubbling aggressively, his blood, his vision, his heart.
The night before the Christmas concert, Pat was practising the song Pran wrote, and Jin had heard the chords enough times while walking past the music room to have learned the bass line. So he played with him and hoped Pran was hearing behind his curtains. ‘I also learnt your song.’
And on the day of the concert, he placed himself in the crowd and tried to not be too envious of Pat when he walked on the stage besides Pran. And in hindsight, being able to feel such strong jealously towards his brother should have been the first sign that something was about to snap.
But then the music started, and nothing else existed besides Pran. And the words he was singing with the sweetest voice, and the happiest, brightest, cutest smile.
He was singing about a friend. A friend he liked.
Are we friends or are we more? Pran asked, and Jin could have sworn he looked at him in the crowd while doing so.
His heart did a triple mortal jump in his throat and decided he wasn’t waiting another second after the concert ended. He was confessing.
But then Pran’s fingers faltered, and his guitar screeched, and loud clacking steps were heard on the pavement.
Not a word was told, but in a blink, Pran was out of the stage, eyes full of tears. And all Jin could see was Pat.
Pat, who just by being there, had driven Pran away.
Pat, who, in Jin’s angered eyes, had done it on purpose.
The news of Pran’s parents signing the withdrawal of their son from the school ran fast. Fast enough that Jin refused to believe them at first, thinking it was just kids being mean and nosy.
He didn’t believe it until he crossed paths with his brother, running with Pran’s guitar in his arms.
He couldn’t believe his eyes, and his wounded feelings snarled, mean and atrocious. Things were said, that shouldn’t have, that weren’t really believed.
When everything was said and done, with the brothers having to be separated by a teacher, all Jin could think about was why Pat's first thought after everything was to return the guitar to Pran.
He didn’t ask. He didn’t ask Pat anything anymore.
Pran only ends up participating in Freshy because Wai looks genuinely excited to play with him.
“You’re very calm.” Wai observes, half glad, half suspicious.
Pran just shrugs, repositioning his blue raincoat. Looking at the circ*mstances, he’s just unable to imagine a worse scenario than the one he’s already in. Well, his mom walking in a second time would be awful, but not as much as what Pat did.
Nothing can hurt him more than seeing, hearing, and tasting the love of his life encouraging him into confessing to another person. To his brother, on top of everything.
Barely two weeks have passed, but it could have been two seconds or two decades and Pran wouldn’t have noticed the difference. He’s void of everything, but at the very, very last, he’s glad he said it.
It was such an extreme slap to his face, after getting his hopes ridiculously high, that he simply took the chance. Pat wanted to hear it and Pran just said it, got it out of his chest. Finally. If Pat thought it was for another person, well, that’s on him. Pran never said a name. And he refuses to acknowledge the fact that they kissed.
Pran will never forget the way Pat ran to the bathroom and stayed there for a full hour. He faked being asleep when Pat finally emerged, sparing them both the embarrassment. And since then, everything has been weirdly normal, unpleasantly quiet.
“Sorry, I didn’t finish the new song,” Pran says to his friends.
“It’s okay, this is still new to us.” Wai answers, “Also, this is a very important day, better to stick to what we know works. Why don’t you go hand our list in?” he continues, shoving the paper to Pran’s chest and turning him towards the backstage tables.
He walks ahead, wondering what’s wrong with his friend, until he stumbles upon Jin.
Of course. That’s the other issue. Pat didn’t just make their relationship weird, he had to do it to Pran’s and Jin’s as well.
“Ready?” Jin asks, nice as always. At least he seems blissfully unaware of the mess, Pran’s skin wants to crawl into itself just at the thought.
Pran always had the hunch that Jin could be into him. He called it intuition, then he called it blind ego. Then he was away and experienced what guys attracted to him looked like, felt like. Bare and direct, almost giving him an overdose in the all-boys changing rooms. And it wasn’t a shared earphone. It also wasn’t a cut-out guitar pick.
Pran had learned to never trust his gut feelings when it came to the Jindapat brothers. Twice, in fact . So no-one was getting confessed to today.
“I have to be,” Pran smiles. “Here’s our song.”
“Oh,” Jin says, looking at the paper Pran hands him. “You rescued it from the vault?”
“Yeah, I tried to write a new one, but I didn’t make it in time.”
“Well, it’s a pity we don’t get new Pran music,” he says, “But this one is still amazing.”
“Big words coming from the expert.”
Jin chuckles, handing him the name tags, and then he looks at him in that way. The way he shares with Pat. It didn’t mean anything with Pat, so why would it mean something with Jin?
“Break a leg,” Jin tells him, just as Pat rounds the corner of the stage towards them.
“Our song,” Pat says when he reaches them, handing his brother the sheet.
“Really?” Jin asks, mocking, “You’re gonna play this?”
“Yes, and it’s gonna be amazing even if you boycott our mics. Korn is prepared to scream.”
Jin laughs, turning away to grab the name tags, and Pat takes the chance to show Pran a thumbs up and a mouthed ‘good luck, you got this’. Pran doesn’t want to know if he means the concert or the other thing.
Then, he looks at him in that f*cking way. Like Pran is simultaneously too close and too far away.
“Here, your tags,” Jin says, breaking his haze. “And don’t think I haven’t realised that shirt is mine.”
“It was yours,” Pat cheekily corrects.
“That’s it, I’m mixing up your track.”
“Do whatever you want, we’re gonna win anyway!” he says, walking backwards and winking them. Then he’s gone.
“All that muscle is stealing his brain’s oxygen.” Jin says, like he’s small or something. Pran snorts, because they’re simply ridiculous.
“See you later,”
“Yeah, see you later.”
···
How exactly did Pat pretend that Pran confessed to his brother? When Jin’s backstage and the only face Pran can see in the crowd is Pat’s?
How is this supposed to work, when he feels the anxiety biting his spine and sending dread to the last corner of his body, and the only thing that helps is looking at him?
Pran should hate Pat, that’s the problem. He’s the reason he was sent away, the reason he wasn’t able to play music for years, but Pran wouldn’t be here, guitar in hand, if it wasn’t for him as well.
And most of all, he should hate Pat because he’s broken Pran’s heart so many times it’s useless to try to count them.
But Pran looks at him in the crowd. Pran looks at him, at his reassuring smile that draws a small dimple on his upper cheek, his heart-shaped hairline, at the way the sun hits his skin.
Pran looks at him, and remembers his mother, disgusted and disappointed. But he also looks at him and sees so many bits of himself, it would be like hating his own very essence.
Pran really, truly, looks at him, and loves Pat a little bit more.
Pran looks at him, and finally accepts it.
“Hi, guys. We’re Moi,” he starts speaking to the mic, more calm than he’s been in a long time, “The song we’re playing is the song I co-wrote with my high school friend. I hope you like it.”
Pran sings with a smile on his face, discovers that Wai is actually made for putting on a show, has the time of his life and starts filling the void carved two weeks ago with new things. Like an uninterrupted performance, and a win over annoying Engineering.
He gets a tiny bit tipsy later celebrating, enough that when Pat and his friends step into the bar but leave immediately after, the hurt he feels doesn’t completely ruin his night.
By the time Wai gets him back to the dorm on his scooter, he’s sober enough. Jin is there, sitting at the steps towards the entrance of the dorm building.
“Hey, you good?” Jin asks as Pran drags his feet towards where he is. “Come here,” he adds, gentle. “Have some water.”
Pran does, exhausted and starting to feel blue again. Pat looked so distant before.
He sits at the steps by Jin’s side and accepts the water offered, downing half of it in one gulp. “I heard you work with my brother,” Jin says then to Wai, “Tell me if he gives you problems.”
Wai snorts, not meanly, “He’s surprisingly nice when he wants.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Jin snorts back and Pran wants to groan. What is this? A fan club? Everyone present is supposed to be actively hating Pat.
“Make sure to tuck this one in bed, he’s more drunk than it looks.” His friend says before disappearing with his bike.
Pran sips from the bottle when the seconds pass and Jin doesn’t say a thing.
“What are you doing here? Waiting for Pat?”
Jin answers after some seconds, “Waiting for you.”
Ah. Pran turns his head and Jin’s face says it all. Wait, does it? Maybe Pran is too drunk, after all.
“Congratulations on the win.” Jin says.
“It was a piece of cake.” Pran smirks, getting a chuckle from Jin as an answer.
A second pass, then another, “Why did you sing ‘Just Friends’ today?”
Good question, Pran thinks. “Because I didn’t finish the other one in time.” he says before adding, “And because it’s special for me. I wanted to sing it complete.” It’s easier to be this sincere with some beer in your system and your heart broken, Pran notices.
Jin rubs his palms together, like they’re sweating. He takes a deep breath and steels himself.
“What’s wrong?” Pran playfully asks while bumping his shoulder with Jin’s, “You look like you’re about to confess your love.”
“What if I am?” Jin quickly asks back, the perfect picture of a guy with his heart on his sleeve. Oh, so Pran is not seeing things, Pran is not too drunk. This is really happening.
“I think I’ve liked you for so long.” Jin continues. “I planned to confess after the Christmas concert, back then…”
Pran can only look at how he struggles to find the words. “I thought the song was about me, that you… kinda felt the same.” Jin looks up, meeting his eyes in a burst of innate bravery that Pran recognises, yet he has never looked more different from his brother than at this moment. Not because Pat is not brave, but because he’s never soft with it.
“Do you?” Jin asks, gentle, always so painfully gentle.
Pran smiles a tiny thing then, sour as old vinegar, and it’s answer enough. Jin lets out a big breath; chuckles a bit, full of irony, and Pran really gets it. It f*cking sucks.
“Had to give it a shot, just like you had to finish singing the song,” he says, sniffling a little. “I feel like we all have been stuck on that day. It was so… unfair.”
“It is what it is.” Pran sighs, “My mother warned me enough times, it was my choice to disobey.”
“We were kids. You were a kid.” Jin hisses, rattling a part of Pran he thought he had left buried in the grounds of the boarding school. “I never saw my dad the same way after that, and Pat just– kept doing all he asked.”
“Is that why you two fought?” Pran asks, small.
Jin snorts, and now this seems to make him more upset than being rejected. “I told him horrible things. Like it was his fault, that he did it on purpose to be appreciated by dad–” Jin snorts again, shaking his head, “Well, now this is embarrassing to say, but I told him he ruined my chance of being with you.”
Pran grimaces, finally understanding when did Pat start to think he was in love with Jin. But he has nothing to say, to make it better. He knows Pat isn’t the one to blame —even if it took him some long months to accept— and he has the impression that Jin knows it too, now. They’ll sort it out by themselves.
And so the seconds pass in silence, not uncomfortable. Pran closes his eyes and feels the chill air kiss his heated cheeks, taking away the last remnants of alcohol, until Jin calls for him.
“Pran?” he says, drawn-out, making Pran turn.
“Yes?” Jin frowns hard, eyes focused on a spot in the concrete stairs between his feet.
“If the song is not for me…” he starts, frowning harder, not in anger but confusion. Jin turns his head slowly, almost comically so, until he makes eye contact. Pran is not trying to hide anything at this point, and something on his face must show, like a worn out white flag of surrender. “Oh…”
Pran would laugh, if the wound wasn’t still open and bleeding. Jin gapes without a word coming out of his mouth, and every emotion displays on his face.
“But it’s called just friends!” he finally exclaims, making Pran huff a bubble of air.
“What can I say, nothing rhymed with bane of my existence.”
“But when– He, you… ?”
“Is it really that surprising?” Pran asks, putting a stop to Jin’s mumbling.
Jin doesn’t answer, not directly, and not immediately. He takes his time, and Pran is afraid of what he might say next when his expression shifts from confusion to dismay.
“But Pran… Even now?” he asks, with a pity that Pran always refused to give himself. “He’s– He’s… Holy f*ck. He’s been…”
“Trying to set us up?” Pran finishes for him. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“sh*t,” he mutters, “That must have sucked. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Pran dismisses, “It’s not like we could be together even if he wanted me.”
“God, the way you say it…”
“What?”
“Makes me appreciate that you’re not into me.”
“Oh, shut up, you asshole. ” Pran says, chuckling. “But you really look more relieved than heartbroken.”
It makes Jin fall silent again, thinking. “You know…” he starts after a minute or two, “Pa once told me that even if the three of us were very close, she always felt left out growing up, like me and Pat had a twin bond she was never allowed in.” He stops, playing with his own fingers. “I hated that she felt like that, I thought it made me a terrible older brother. But I think I get it now, I think I saw you and Pat and wanted to be included, and that’s why… you know.”
“Okay, pause.” Pran says then, “Would I be an asshole if I called you my friend?”
Jin smiles, huffing. “No, Pran. It’s what I am.”
“Exactly, and you have always been, I’m sorry if I didn’t say it before, but you were. And Pat… Jin, he looks up to you so much. And I think he doesn’t realise just how much he misses you.”
“Pause,” Jin says. Pran pretends he doesn’t hear his voice wavering for a second and patiently waits until Jin collects himself. “Would I be an asshole if I said it’s you who I think he misses?”
“Yes. You would also be terribly wrong.”
“No, but really, I think he–”
“Jin. I know, okay? It was never serious, well– Maybe when we were little, but our fights were never serious, I know he appreciates me. You’re my friend, I’m his friend.” Pran chuckles. “Isn’t it nice?”
“Super.” Jin snorts back.
“You’re not telling him, right? He has a big enough ego already.”
“Nah, of course not,” Jin says, standing up and offering a hand to Pran. “But our parents would combust to the ground if they discovered it.” he says as they head inside. “My dad certainly wouldn’t take it well if he discovered the kid next door broke my heart.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“And you?”
“I’ll try.” Pran says when they reach their hallway. “Thanks for the guitar, by the way.”
“Oh.” Jin lets out, uncomfortable. “Oh no, no, it wasn’t me.” he winces, like someone stepping on one’s toe.
Pran wants to groan, Pran wants to smash his head against a wall, Pran wants to cry until he becomes a raisin.
“There, there…” Jin says, patting him on the shoulder.
Summer break is a good thing unless you’re trying to avoid your brother-slash-roommate and his boyfriend-slash-neighbour. At least during exam’s week Pat could throw himself into studying, then working, then falling to death exhausted by night and repeat.
But now he’s unnervingly free, insultingly leisure. And it’s becoming harder not to notice things.
Pat hasn’t asked; he still feels a wall between him and Jin, and nowadays looking at Pran even from afar steals his breath away for the rest of the day. So Pat is not brave enough to knock on his door and ask if he should start calling him brother-in-law.
But it doesn’t take a genius to add two plus two.
He really wants to leave them be. It’s better for everyone, but it’s barely possible when he can hear Jin’s bass and Pran’s guitar strum along from next door. So he resumes a plan he had abandoned without realising.
He needs to move out. He has the money for the deposit now, and the time to make the move, he only needs someone to help him choose which room is prettier.
“This one is definitely a no.” Pa says, in the same exact tone of voice she used to discard the last three rooms.
“And why is that?” Pat asks, pissed beyond comprehension.
“Look at those curtains! And the bathroom next to the kitchen? Nu-uh.”
Pat stares at his sister, who simply crosses her arms, then he turns sharply, “Ink,” Pat whines, “Tell her something, I’m not finding anything if she keeps this up.”
“The curtains can be changed, but she has a point with the bathroom.” Ink agrees, to his dismay.
“Don’t team up with her! You’re supposed to be my friend.”
“You know what dorm has nice rooms? Tinidee.” Pa says then.
“Ugh! Why are you doing this? It’s better for you if someone moves now that you’re also starting college.”
“Because I want my own room, and because I want you and Jin to make peace. There, I said it. Happy?”
“Pa.” Pat tries. “We’re not angry anymore, it’s just–”
“You’ve slept in a bunk bed all your lives and now you’re moving out. So don’t give the ‘we’re not angry anymore’ bullsh*t.” she says, turning around. “Let’s go, we still have two more rooms to see.”
Pat turns towards Ink, searching for a shred of support. But she only shrugs and walks behind Pa, draping an arm over her shoulders.
They end up not finishing the visits, with Pat treating the girls to lunch to make up for the lost morning. He’ll just choose the closest dorm to his faculty. Pa will be upset, but Pat really can’t take another second of living that close to Pran.
It becomes evident when they come back to their parents’ home and Pat finds Jin preparing for the Architecture camp. Because yes, of course he joined.
“…should I? But I don’t have sunglasses– Oh, wait! I can steal Pat’s.” his brother says to the phone lying on the bunk bed.
“No, you can’t.” he says, stepping in. Jin turns, rummaging through their closet and fishing his swim shorts and storing them in the travel bag.
“Of course I can.” Jin responds, and before Pat can answer, “Hi, idiot.” sounds Pran’s voice from the loudspeakers of the phone, a bit choppy from the call.
Pat’s eyes widen, while his feet bring him to slam the door of their room shut. He walks to the phone and can’t believe his eyes, Jin may not be used to sneaking and hiding, but Pran? How naive can love turn someone? He grabs the phone and turns towards Jin, pressing the mute button.
“Are you f*cking crazy?!” he yells. “At home?! On loudspeaker?! How can you be this dumb?!”
“Excuse me?” Jin answers, dropping the underwear he was folding.
“You have your headphones glued to your skull all day, and you can’t f*cking use them for this?! What would have happened if literally anyone else came in?!” he says, gesturing wildly with the phone still in his hand.
“Give me my f*cking phone.” Jin hisses, closing the two steps that separate them. Pat slams the device against Jin’s chest, stopping him.
“You’re getting you two caught even before you’ve started.” Pat throws at him and turns around. There’s silence for a bit, then Jin’s feet dragging over the woodwork.
“Hey, yeah, sorry for that.” Pat hears Jin speak, low. “No, I don’t know. Sorry again. See you tomorrow.”
“Boys! Everything’s alright?!" Their mom yells from outside before knocking on the door. Pat sneers, saying ‘I told you’ with his face.
“Yes, mom.” Jin says when she peeks inside, smiling. “Just that Pat won’t lend me his sunglasses for the trip.”
“Oh, c’mon, Pat, darling.” She says, “Be good, yes? You don’t want your brother to hurt his eyes at the beach, do you?”
“No, Ma. Of course not.” Pat answers, a straining smile pinching at his cheeks. He reaches for his drawer on the bedside table and snatches the stupid sunglasses out.
“Break them and you’re dead.” He whispers as he hands them over.
Their mom leaves after helping Jin finish setting his bag, and Pat lays down on his bunk, scrolling through his phone and watching how she basically acts as a buffer between them.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” she says with a smile before getting out. As soon as she closes the door, Jin is on him.
“What was that?” he asks, brash, standing next to the bunk beds and resting an arm on the upper one.
“What was what? Oh, you mean me trying to protect you and your boyfriend?” Pat answers, equally pissed.
Jin frowns, exaggeratedly so. He opens his mouth once, inspecting Pat all over, trying to find something, then he smirks. “So that’s what this is about.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You,” Jin says, filling Pat with dread. It can’t be. He can’t be that transparent. “Why are you so worried?”
“You know what?” Pat counters, getting out the bed, “You’re right, it’s not my problem. But if you get caught and something happens to him, you won’t be able to blame me this time.”
“Since when do you care about him this much?” Jin presses further, and Pat would have been able to take it, he really would, if it weren’t for the mocking colour Jin’s voice has.
“Since before you even looked at him.” It leaks out of him without his command, furious and unbridled, poisonous. “That you didn’t see it happen, doesn’t mean we weren’t friends.”
“Oh, friends, that’s what you’re calling it now? It was always rivals this, enemies that.”
“Jin.”
“No, no, please, enlighten me,” his twin says, taking a step closer. “What changed?”
“Jin,” Pat tries again, planting his feet on the ground. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answer for.”
“Are you gonna punch me? Should we take it downstairs? No, better, outside. Give Pran’s parents a real reason to call us brutes?”
“Leave me the f*ck alone.” Pat says, trying to flee before everything slips out of his grasp again. He thought they were making progress, but apparently Jin’s still a dick.
“Oh, Pat, but don’t you want to hear about the way your friend kisses?”
That’s far more than an asshole like Pat is able to handle. He barely registers his feet shifting, his legs striding, his full body swinging to charge a blow.
Jin expects, predicts and dodges it. Pat's rage makes him a lousy fighter, at least for someone who knows all his weak points. But Pat reacts, and both end up falling to the floor, drum set clanging loudly at being hit.
Pat crawls, fist high in the air, to where Jin is groaning from the fall.
“What’s wrong, Pat?” Jin sneers when Pat is over him. “I know you’ve worked for us to be together, are you not happy it worked?”
Pat simply breaks, falls apart. There’s no other way to describe how his fist unfurls, how the fight leaves him just to be replaced by crushing sorrow. He can only choke a sob and question if he really has been this cruel before to deserve this.
“You idiot.” Jin says when Pat’s tears start to fall, then he curls a hand on his nape, lowering Pat’s head against his collarbone. “I f*cking knew it.”
“Then why are you telling me this?!” he cries as Jin hugs him. Ming always told them that men don’t cry and men don’t hug.
“Because you won’t ask for my help.” Jin says, voice also thick. “You never ask for my help anymore.”
Pat unglues himself, lifting his head, confused and still very much crying his heart out. Fifteen minutes. It always pissed Pat off to not be the older brother by less than fifteen minutes. They were always told that both were the older brothers, but it wasn’t exactly true. He’s the middle child, and will always be.
“You used to come crying to me when Pran was a bit meaner than normal, or when a senior picked a fight with you.”
“You never ask for mine, either.” Pat sniffles, sitting up on the floor.
“I don’t need to.”
“Oh, f*ck off.” Pat says, cleaning his tears and trying to stand up. His bad for thinking they were having a moment.
“Pat!” Jin exclaims, yanking him down again and hugging him even tighter, constricting. “Thanks for studying Engineering.” he says against his hair. Pat trashes, wanting to break free and say something, anything, but Jin is still stronger than him. “And for taking over the shop and all of dad’s bullsh*t– I don’t care if you’re not doing it for me, I still need to thank you, I would be f*cking miserable if it had to be me. And… And if someday you decide it’s not for you, then you have to tell me and we’ll figure something out.”
Pat has stopped trashing, Pat has stopped breathing. He never saw it that way. He didn’t choose his degree so Jin could do Audio. Did he? No, he didn’t. But that doesn’t stop the little bubble of self-pride and relief he feels to climb up to his eyes, and leak out in a tiny droplet.
“Promise me,” Jin insists.
“What?”
“That you’re not doing all he asks if you don’t want to. Not for me, not for Pa, not for anyone,”
Pat sniffs his snot up, hugging back now, “I promise.”
“And that if something happens, we work together to solve it.”
“Yeah, okay. I promise.”
“And that you’re not gonna move out of the dorm.”
“Let’s see that one,”
“And that you’re gonna stop your big scary self-sacrificial gangster bullsh*t and ask us for help when something hurts you.”
“Jin,” Pat says, knowing what he means but still not ready to tell his brother he’s in love with his boyfriend.
“Guys! Dinner’s ready!” Pa yells, barging in without knocking, just to find two teary six foot tall assholes on the floor. “What the f*ck.” she simply says. “Do I need to fetch out the first aid kit?”
“Ha, no. The dumbass couldn’t land a single punch on me.” Jin says, standing and getting out of the room.
“No? Watch this.” Pat answers, getting up and running behind him down the stairs, loud steps reverberating through the whole house.
“No fighting in my kitchen!” Pa, still standing by the door to the boys’ room, hears their mom shortly after. “Set the table! Don’t make me call your dad… Ming!”
Pa steps down the stairs at a quiet pace, splitting smile on her face.
···
After dinner and having been witness to the smallest bit of normalcy coming back around the table, Pat is able to breath. For the first time in months or maybe years. But he’s still dreading the moment Jin tries to resume their conversation, because there’s no way he’s gonna drop the topic. Pat wouldn’t in his place, and they’re still twins at the end of the day.
But Pa tiptoes her way into the bunk bed, laptop in hand, and bullying both of them into watching a kdrama with her. She’s clearly testing the waters, how far this apparent truce goes, if it stretches or if it snaps.
It stretches until deep in the night. Half a season and a yawning contest later, Pa returns to her room, and Jin climbs to his bed.
Pat thinks he’s out of the hook for tonight, then Jin will go to the camp and fortunately forget about it.
But he looks out of the window, and his heart hurts again, tenderly. And Jin must have done the same because in the darkness of the night he calls, “Pat?”
“Yes?” God, he’s never felt more scared.
“Don’t think we’ve finished talking.”
“Drop it, Jin. It doesn’t matter.”
“What did I tell you about shouldering things? You just promised we would work together.”
Pat is grateful that it’s nighttime, and everything he sees is the underside of Jin’s bunk, because the bitter knot is back in his throat once again. Pat thinks it should start to pay rent, the way it’s always there.
“How can we work around this?” he says, low and lumpy.
“Pran rejected me.” Jin drops, cutting Pat’s question and his breath and the beating of his heart.
“Oh,” Pat says, more of a gasp than a sound. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” Jin snorts, and Pat wants to climb the ladder and hug him again.
“No, I’m not.” Pat wetly chuckles, feeling a relief so radiant it rivals with the warmest sunrise.
“You’re a f*cking asshole, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
Silence fills the room once again, easier, and Pat hears Jin move, the whisper of the sheets as he shifts.
“So… since when?” Jin asks, teasing.
Pat groans, but deep down he’s glad that Jin doesn’t sound too upset about the whole ordeal. “I don't know! I don’t even know… It feels like it has always been like this, but I only realised recently.”
“While sending him my way?” Jin asks, even more playful. Seconds later, Pat sees Jin’s face hanging upside down from the side of his bed.
“Ughhhhh…” Pat whines, rolling on his bed and trying to hide.
“What are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“What do you mean about what?!” Jin whisper-yells, still mindful of the hour. “About Pran!” he says, extending down an arm from above and slapping Pat’s shoulder.
“Stop that, you’re gonna get dizzy and fall again.” Pat reprimands him while pushing his head up. “And I’m not gonna do anything. I’ve done enough.”
“Pat.” Jin drops his head again. “You have to try.”
“How?” he asks. He wants nothing more than to try.
“Are you asking for my help?”
“Yes, moron.”
“Wrong!” Jin singsongs.
Pat huffs, pushing Jin’s face upwards once again before all the blood ends in his head. Being the middle child is not that bad, he realises. “Please, Hia. Help me.”
“You got it.”
···
“Jin, dear… Don’t you have to take the bus for your trip?” Is the first thing Pat hears in the morning, his eyes shooting open.
“f*ck!” Both him and Jin say at the same time. Jin jumps from his bed before Pat can reboot his brain into a rushing mood.
“What are you waiting for?! You’re missing the bus!” His brother says as he pushes a pair of jean shorts up his legs.
“Wait, wait–” Their mom asks, “Who’s going then?”
“Pat is.” Jin answers, “Well, that’s if he manages to get his ass up! C’mon!” He finishes, throwing him some clothes to change in. That seems to wake up Pat for once and for all. He gets up, almost tripping with the drum set that is still displaced from the day before.
“No time for doing your bag, you’re taking mine.” Jin says, short of breath, “At least the sunglasses will be yours.” He smirks as he takes the bag and gets out of the door.
“Oh, dear,” Pat hears his mom mumble then. He turns, finding her tear eyed. “You really made up?”
Pat doesn’t have the time to cry right now, so he kisses her on the forehead before fishing his phone, wallet, and charger. “Told you we were here.” He says, winking at her.
“Pat!” Jin shouts from the floor below. “If you don’t rush, I’m taking your spot for real!”
“Bye, Ma!” Pat screams, running down the stairs, “Wish me luck!”
“For what does he need luck?” Pa asks then, emerging from her room, rubbing her bleary eyes.
“I have no idea.”
“Wait!” Pa yells then, suddenly. “Wait for me!”
···
Ming told them they would have to share and compromise when he gifted them a cherry red Toyota for passing first year with A+ grades —maybe his own way of pushing them into good terms— but now, as Jin slams his foot against the accelerator, Pat doesn’t think it’s necessary.
He has his heart thrumming wildly on his pulse points. He feels it on his temples, his neck, his wrists, and in every single one of his fingertips. He has so much adrenaline racing through his blood, he’s not able to stop and think about where he is going and what he is about to do
“Are we going to your university?” Pa asks for the hundredth time from the back seat.
“Yes, Captain Obvious.” Jin says as the car turns to enter SouthTech’s campus, and just then Pat can finally grasp that it’s Pran what this is all about. But then they reach the bus stop where the trip is supposed to start, and it’s deserted.
“sh*t,” Jin blurts out.
“What? We didn’t make it, right? We’re too late?” Their sister asks.
Pat is silent for what feels like an eternity, trying to conjure the bus into presence in front of them, but then, “It’s okay. I can… I can talk to him when he gets back.” He says.
“Talk to who? Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?!”
“Over my dead body,” Jin answers then, hitting reverse gear and manoeuvring the car to get out of the campus.
“Are you driving there?!” Pat asks, bewildered. “Isn’t it, like, a hundred miles away?”
“A hundred?!” Pa shrieks behind them.
“Whoever fears death shouldn’t be born.” Jin says with a smirk and stepping the accelerator once again.
“Can someone tell me where we are going?!”
“Ask him, he’s the one who signed up!”
“f*ck,” Jin says abruptly, while taking the exit to the highway.
“What?” Pat and Pa ask at the same time, scared sh*tless.
“I can’t remember exactly where it was.”
···
“Call him, Pat. Do it.” Jin insists while driving.
“No, I can’t. He’s gonna chew me out.”
“Give me that!” Pa then says, reaching and stealing Pat’s phone from his hand.
“Hey!” Pat yelps, “Put on your seatbelt!”
Pa mutes him by lifting her hand while the other goes to her ear, phone calling. “Hi, P’Wai,” she says when the call connects, and Pat slumps on his seat, taking the defeat.
“Isn’t he your co-worker?” Jin asks, murmuring, so the call doesn’t catch it.
“Yeah, but he’s in your team.”
“Must suck to be you.” He smirks, and Pat would smack him in the head if all the Jindapat bloodline didn’t depend on him not crashing the car.
“Yeah, Pat wants to talk to you.” Pa says to the phone before smacking it against Pat’s ear.
“What?” Wai says on the other side.
Pat clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Uhm– Is Pran there? Can he hear us?”
“Uh? What do you want? He’s asleep.”
“Are you sure?”
“f*ck, Pat– yes, I’m sure.”
“We missed the bus and Jin is driving there, but he can’t remember the exact address.”
“Listen… Do you think it’s a good idea he comes? Pran… he doesn’t say it, but I don’t think he’s doing okay. I think it’s too soon for them to see each other.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Pat says, remembering how just yesterday they were talking on the phone like nothing. “Besides, it’s me who’s joining, not Jin.”
“You? Why the f*ck would an engineer join Architecture’s camp?”
“Just because!” he says, out of arguments. “Will you send the address?”
Wai remains quiet on the line for a bit, Pat hears the chatter of the rest of the students and the rumbling of the bus on the road.
“Yes, but you owe me three Fridays.”
“Done. Don’t tell Pran a thing.”
“Four Fridays and you’re washing dishes when I say.”
“Deal.”
···
“Put on some music, will you?” Jin asks after everyone has managed to calm down a bit. Pat, as the front passenger, starts tinkering with the touchpad of the car, until he finds the shortcut to Spotify. It has Jin’s account logged in, of course, because he’s an insufferable lunatic.
Pat scrolls over Jin's infinite playlists, not daring to choose something of his own mainstream tastes, until he finds one called ‘1+1+1’.
He hits it, curiosity piqued, and songs from their childhood start to sound. Hits from the early 2000s and themes from shows they watched as kids.
Pat slumps back, closing his eyes and allowing the vibration of the asphalt against their tyres to stir the pool of nerves he has on his stomach. He’s going to confess to Pran. And he is going to ask that, if it wasn't Jin, who was Pran thinking about when he said all that. Who was he thinking when he locked his lips with Pat’s.
And Pran is going to try to deny it, and put a thousand traps and tricks around himself to distract Pat.
And it’s not going to work. Because Pat is now sure they’re exactly on the same page.
And once he gets a hold of him, Pat is not gonna let go of him ever again.
The landscape changes, the sea greets them, the songs keep rolling, the theme song of Dragonball sounds, they sing along, they stop so Pa can pee. And Pat is vibrating out of his skin during the two hours it takes to reach the Eco camp, but he also stores the little moments like small marbles that chime beautifully when they clink against each other in his pocket.
They never did a road trip before just the three of them, it was always their parents at the front and them crammed in the back seats. But this feels good, this feels nice, this feels like becoming adults all together. They should repeat it when Pat doesn't feel like puking his whole heart from the nerves.
“Turn left at the following intersection and you have reached your destination.” The car’s GPS announces.
“Oh my God,” Pa says.
“Yeah, oh my God.” Jin repeats, pulling over along the seaside promenade.
“Oh. My. God.” Pat adds, too, falling prey to panic.
“Look! They’re there!” Pa exclaims, getting out of the car. The road runs through the top of a slope that curves down to the sand, where little specks are dispersed on the beach.
Inside the car, Pat feels his heart climbing up his throat, “Are you really okay with this?” he asks Jin.
“You’re joking? My ass has become completely flat after driving here for two hours, and I have two more hours back, so Napat Jindapat, if you don't get out of the car right in this second–”
“Thanks.” Pat says, crushing Jin against him in a hug over the car’s console. “For being my brother.”
“That’s it. Get out, get the f*ck out.” Jin says, setting himself free. Both step outside the car, and the sea’s breeze makes Pat’s skin get goosebumps.
“Are you crying?” Pa asks Jin, but Pat is too focused on the little figures down on the sand. White pants, mauve shirt, Pat could recognise him with his eyes closed. He’s never felt this nervous to the point of getting dizzy, but before he realises, his feet are already on the first wooden step that lead to the beach.
He turns one last time, to see his siblings looking back at him. Jin’s arm over Pa’s shoulders and hers around his waist in a lateral hug.
“Get lost, loser.” Pa says, and Jin simply waves his hand mockingly. Pat scoffs and starts walking down the long stairs, legs wobbly. "Where do you want us to stop to eat?" Pat hears Jin say to Pa, faintly, as he steps down. "My treat."
When he reaches the sand, he doesn’t know if he wants to turn around or run forward. If he wants Pran to spot him from afar or be clueless until Pat is in front. He grips his cross-body bag and plants a foot in front of the other, acknowledging how f*cking scary this feels but resolute to dive this time.
The first to see him is Wai, and it’s kind of perfect that they have spent the last months working together and dealing with drunk bastards every night, because now with just a gesture of Pat’s hand, Wai understands.
Wai steps away from the newspaper he’s standing on with Pran, for some activity, Pat guesses, and between a blink and the other, before Pran can realise it, Pat places himself in front.
“Hi, idiot. Sorry for yesterday.” he says with what he knows is a sh*t-eating grin that annoys Pran more than anything.
Pran staggers from the surprise, but Pat is ready to catch him.
“What the f*ck are you doing here?” he asks, yanking his hand free from Pat’s grip.
“Just playing this game.” Pat says, looking at their feet over the newspaper page. “What are we supposed to do? Not fall off this? Oh, but that’s easy, we just need to stick very close.” he finishes, raking his eyes up Pran’s whole body and sending a shiver down his own back.
“Uh, excuse me?” someone says, and it’s a pity that he has to peel his eyes off Pran’s blush.
“Yes?” he answers to this small man, accompanied by a kid.
“Who are you? This is a closed group activity.”
“Ah, yes, yes, of course. My bad.” he tries to be all charming. “I was late to take the bus, so they dropped me here, but I should be on the list.”
“No, you’re not.” Pran protests.
“Oh, but I am.” he cheekily adds, “You can check it without problem. Nattajin Jindapat, Audio Engineering.”
The guy turns towards the kid, who’s carrying the participants’ list.
“Let’s see… Ah, yes. Here you are.” he concludes. “Welcome to the future of zero waste!”
“No! But he’s not–” Pran tries.
“What are you gonna do? Ask him to check if I look like Jin’s photo?” Pat whispers, all smugness, watching as Pran bites his lip in anger.
“Okay! Fold up the newspaper!” the man says, and Pat obeys like the good boy he is. That it means getting closer to Pran is just part of the appeal.
Pran steps back on it, frowning cutely, and there’s just so many ways in which Pat could do this, make Pran his. He’s giddy with it.
“Pat, what are you doing here? What do you want?” Pran asks again, stern.
“Kiss,” he says, stepping on the paper too.
Pran completely malfunctions in front of his eyes, “Uh?!”
“I want to talk about the kiss you gave me.” he adds, slowly finishing the step on the newspaper. Pran is so close, Pat can count his lashes, can see the way he bites his lip, plump and reddened. He can smell his perfume, and when the breeze blows, he can smell his skin underneath.
“I have nothing to say about it.” Pran says, soft but unrelenting.
“But I do.” Pat answers, also soft, like talking to a cornered animal. It’s maybe what Pran is, it’s how he feels, it’s how his eyes look, quick and with an edge of trepidation. Pat reminds himself it’s Pran here, it’s Pran always, and that nothing is easy if he’s involved. Pat wouldn’t want it any other way.
Pran looks away then, and no, that’s not it. “Avoiding eye contact means you lose,” It’s childish and it’s them. It’s them because it works. It works because Pran turns again, meeting his eyes stubbornly. Pat has never been able to function without Pran’s attention on him.
“Fold it, guys!” the man orders, and Pat bends to do it once again. Pran steps in first on the tiny surface.
“Jin told me,” Pat says, seeing as Pran’s face morphs into horror, and it kind of confirms everything even more. “That you rejected him.” he adds, planting his left foot between Pran’s.
“So my question is, Pran…” he starts moving closer, “Who was that kiss for?”
Pran doesn’t budge, but his eyes flutter down to Pat’s mouth once, twice, like he can't help it, before he’s too close to even see anything. And then they’re falling.
Chasing Pran for a day and a half is not that much of a chore, in fact, walking behind him through the market and bothering him about the cherry tomatoes makes him feel like everything is alright in the world.
“Are you two friends?” the guy from the stall asks.
“For the time being.” Pat answers, and Pran becomes so flustered he can’t even deny it.
Then Pran falls into the mud while trying to push uncle Tong’s truck, and Pat feels the streak of dirt that Pran smudges against his neck as a peace offering, as a recognition, a medal for figuring it out.
Because what is this if not a big puzzle being finally solved? What is Pran if not the central piece?
He definitely feels like that, like he fits right in, when the splashing fight at the beach morphs into blatant hugging inside the water. When the chirping laughter mellows into soft breathing. Pran’s attempts to flee last until Pat holds him tighter, then he melts, and the waves hit them tranquilly. Pat, at the risk of popping a boner, sneaks his hands down to Pran’s thighs, encouraging him to circle them around his hips.
Pran flinches at first, but then allows himself to be coaxed into draping himself over Pat’s front like a koala, arms around his neck. And it’s so much.
Pat can’t look at him too long, all wet and shy and sunbathed, or he’ll scare Pran away again by kissing all senses out of him. But it’s a privilege in itself, to see Pran afraid and with his weak points in the open.
There’s not a second I’m not loving you, Pat remembers then, and his grip on Pran’s waist tightens even more. He kind of understands, in an abstract unclear way, that Pran is not ready to acknowledge those words, and that if they’re true —and they are, by the way Pran returns the hug— Pat must have hurt him beyond words.
He remembers the tears running down his fingers, the same way the sea droplets do now, and he wants to spend the rest of his life trying to compensate for putting them there.
“You know…” He starts against Pran’s shoulder.
“Please, don’t.” Pran begs.
“I’m just saying that you got to practise your hypothetical confession, but I didn’t.” he says, and Pran freezes. “Can I? Practise, I mean. Just in case I find the love of my life.”
Pran doesn’t answer, hiding against Pat’s neck, “Do whatever you want, I don’t care.”
“Try not to melt, okay? All this is hypothetical.” Pat says, and Pran scoffs. He twirls them in the water, winning himself some time to think and reliving the night they danced in the bar. Pat smiles, now convinced that he’s the most obtuse moron in history.
“I hated hearing you sing ‘Just Friends’ with Wai, and I hated thinking it was written for Jin, but most of all I hated that you called me your high school friend.” he starts, “Because how can we be friends when our parents despise each other? When we live next door yet can’t even talk? When we have to compete against one another in everything?”
“I was supposed to be so happy when you were away. I didn’t have to compete against you, I wasn’t paranoid, I didn’t need to know what your GPA was, I didn’t need to know which sports you were involved in, but guess what, Pran?” Pat calls, and Pran leans back a little, placing his hands on Pat’s shoulders, and Pat doesn’t continue until they’ve made eye contact.
“It was so depressingly lonely for me.” he lets out, saying it for Pran but for himself too. Finally putting a name to the agonising turbulence the last three years have been. “I wasn’t myself– I, I fought Jin.” he says, like it’s the punchline of a joke. “I always felt like he was everything I couldn’t be, but at least I had you, I always had you, so when he– f*ck.” he curses not being able to endure the look in Pran’s eyes, glowing quite close to adoration, and hiding against his shoulder again.
They say seawater helps to close healing wounds, Pat always thought that’s bullsh*t, but now the foam and the salt seem to wash his hurt away.
“Pran, ask me if I want to be your friend.” he says suddenly, leaning back again and reaffirming his grip.
Pran blinks, slowly, and his lashes are clumped together by the water, “Do you want us to be friends?” Pran asks, so soft it mixes with the wind.
“No,” he finally says. Pran looks moved, he really does. Pat knows all of Pran’s facial expressions, and he looks disarmed. But then Pran’s mouth twitches, and Pat recognises the beginning of a smile when he sees it. The little sh*t in his arms starts trying to hold back his smile, biting his lips.
“What?” Pat asks, offended.
“That’s your confession?” Pran mocks.
“Hypothetical confession,”
“Well, mine was way better.”
“Oh, but I’m not done.”
“Yeah?” Pran asks, a dangerous smirk making Pat’s pulse to race.
“If I confessed to someone, I would kiss them afterwards.” Pat says, arms sneaking up Pran’s back.
“Hypothetically.” Pran answers.
“Totally,” Pat gasps when Pran cups his cheek. “Just for practice.”
“Just for practice, you really need it.” Pran echoes back, low, before closing the minuscule distance between their mouths. He tastes like salt and sunscreen and everything sweet there is. His lips fit the same way they did the last time, but now Pat can claim them without fear. He can bite the flesh, nail his flag and say I got here first, this is my territory. Do not trespass.
Pran bites back, hungrily. So much that Pat has to fight to keep up, and when they part, they’re panting. The sun is up at its highest point and yet, Pran’s eyes have never looked this dark.
“I knew it,” Pran smirks again, “You’re terrible at this. No one likes you back.”
“Like you’re so good.” Pat answers, breathless.
“Better than you, for sure. You didn’t even say the words.”
“What words?” Pat asks, confused. Until it hits him like a truck, like an earthquake. Pran loves him. And now he’s desperate to say it back. He takes the biggest air intake.
“I–” He’s barely able to say before Pran slaps a hand against his mouth.
“Nu-uh,” he smiles, devilish and so pretty. “Do you think I accept anything? If I had a lover, I would want them to say it with their whole chest. Not in hypotheticals.”
Pat shudders, because of the wind against his wet skin but also because of Pran’s gaze, because of the things it promises.
“Let’s compete, then.” He says. Like it’s not the most stupid thing he’s ever heard. They just made out. “I’m also a greedy lover. If someone were to confess to me for real, I also would want them to say it with their whole chest.” The same chest that is plastered against his, Pat thinks. The same he can feel racing along in the same rhythm, singing the same song as his own.Telling everything he needs to know, as loud as it’s humanly possible.“And if they cry saying it is just because they’re so happy to have pulled a hot ass like me.” He finishes, and Pran’s smile is so bright.
“Game on. I’ll make you get down on your knees declaring your love for me.”
“Someone like you is gonna be confessing to me in no time.”
“Whoever falls in love first loses.”
“Deal.” Both of them say at the same time. Like they’re not already so deep there’s no way out anymore.
···
When Pat comes back home two days later after a lot —being paired with Wai to share a room, discovering he switched rooms with Pran, being teased, being teased in a bed, having his finger licked— nothing in the neighbourhood seems different, but Pat’s eyes see everything slightly brighter, his steps a bit lighter.
He greets his family normally, and only when they’re alone in their room, Jin asks.
“So what?” He says while spraying some cologne and checking himself out in the mirror, “Are you two finally together?”
Pat smiles, as wide as his face allows, “No. First, I need to beat him.”
“Ugh,” Jin rolls his eyes, fishing his keys and walking to the door. “I’ll never get you two.”
“Hey! Where are you going?”
“Not your business?”
“Do you have a date?”
“Not your business.”
“Pa! Do you know with whom does he has a date?! Do I know him? ”
“Not your business!”
“Oh no–”
FIN.
