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Pat has never felt anything like this before.
The surge of warmth blossoming deep, somewhere untouchable in every part of his body, is painfully heartbreaking. The sense of freedom, extricated from imprisonment, his heart is, is mind-boggling. Like those wandering clouds above their heads, enclosing the skyline with elusive lines of grey and ebony, Pat is finally breathing above water again.
He continues to float mid-air, further and further away from reality. Pat surrenders to the biting coldness, the vast sky opening a new door for him to enter, a place so obscure, divine and beautiful. This euphoric sentiment, the addictive aftertaste on his tongue, the relief that washes over him in gentle strides, is everything that Pat never knew he needed.
Pat- who gets frustrated whenever he fails to understand his conflicting feelings for Pran. Pat- who envies Wai for being someone important in Pran's life. His mother's favourite, everything that Pat is not. And Pat, who knows, deep down, from the first time they met, it has always been love. He loves Pran. It is clear now, in his mind. No more dark clouds are trailing him all over in guilt and worthlessness. No more uncertainties and suffocating confusion, endless contemplation and shapeless insecurities. No more.
Here, on this rooftop, the ghost of Pran's lips haunting him still, the scalding warmth against his frozen palms, Pran's pretty, mesmerizing eyes zeroing onto Pat and only Pat; together, they are each other's distorted reflection in a shattered mirror. A stream of tears cascades along Pran's cheek, mahogany lips, swollen and loved, tasted by his own. Sweet, plush, warm. Desperate, fear, disbelief. Pran's existence echoes the ruptured dam in his eyes, the swell on his lips, the love from his skin. Pran is Pat. Pat is Pran. Together, they are infinite.
Pat wishes to discard every ounce of sadness from Pran's life, mend his heart with his presence, unyielding love, the way he failed to do back in high school. Second chances, what if's, all of these promising possibilities; Pat has no fear. If it is for Pran, nothing in this world can ever stop him from loving Pran. He finally understands this.
Pat witnesses everything that he has never seen before. An explosion of colours and emotions, all from just a kiss. But, as Pat allows himself to drown in those orbs, dissecting every glint from those lost stars, he realizes- it has always been there. Love.
It was always there, stored deep in the dungeons of yesterdays, evoking old memories that flare brighter when he touches Pran. When he is close to Pran, words are only a mesh of inevitability. How foolish of Pat to not notice the glimmer in Pran's eyes is similar to his? Love, and so much more. How can he be so blind?
He extracts himself from Pran but remains confined in his bubble. Pat has popped another coat of Pran's defence. He should feel guilty, but no. He feels victorious. Pran wants this too. Both of them do.
From now on, Pat wants to be his knight in shining armour. Pran no longer needs to build his forts alone- Pat is here. Pat will protect him. Love him. Always will.
It is crazy how Pran is so beautiful. Ethereal. He has always been. But tonight, the mist that covers his eyes are fictitious. Like the sun after the rain, Pran shines in streaks of yellow and silver. Vibrant against the monochrome clouds, blinding amid the tall buildings flashing from afar. Like the summer sun, Pran brands him with only a brush, with just a stare, and Pat relishes in that feeling of contentment deep into his bones.
Pat sees him. All of him. And he wonders how far he will fall this time. How long will the journey takes for Pat to see the end of his feelings? Will there be an end? Will Pran meet him halfway? Pat believes- he will.
After those agonizing days of chaos, anger and envy, Pat feels nothing but love and love and love. So much love that it is overflowing. So much love that Pat does not breathe. He does not want to. It is so satisfying- this discovery, this phenomenon. Pat loves Pran. Pran feels it too. As simple as that.
Pran might not see this, but the rooftop is already leaking with liquid gold, flooding in pink and red. His heart is in scraps, fragments. Bits and pieces are everywhere, all over the place, like cinders from burning firewoods. There is no blood, no smoke, however. Just love. And so much of it.
But Pran pushes him away. Again. And Pat wonders what went wrong. Pat questions how happiness can be so transient that he loses his will to live right away?
In a world without Pran, Pat does not want to be there.
Another tear escapes his eyes. The need to recuperate compresses his lungs. As if he is breathing underwater again. An invisible force is knocking him mindless, stepping on his chest with intense vigour, tearing his heart again.
Was Pat too hasty? Did Pran regret everything?
Pran is trying to escape again. Pat no longer wants Pran to run away.
"Pran!"
Pat catches him just in time, halting him from descending the stairs and closes the door to his heart again, a forbidden place. Pat does not want to be in that place again.
It is dark in here. The moonlight peaks from the high windows, shining on Pran's tear-stricken face. God. Pat wants Pran, yearns for him, desperate to make him stay.
Wait.
Please, stay.
Do not go.
Pat wishes to say everything. But words are numbing his brain, and feelings are engulfing him alive.
"Pran," he calls again, softer this time, less demanding. But his heart is beating so fast that it hurts. His hand is trembling around Pran's wrist. A vain attempt, holding onto the last strand of hope left between them.
Quiet sobs permeate the spacious room, battered and broken, like wails of defeat. And it breaks Pat's heart so much. Too much.
Pran is shaking, swallowing his tears, nibbling on his lips hard enough to draw blood. He is breaking apart again, this time in thin ashes, a masquerade of bravery and determination, setting up more fragile walls between him, between them.
But, his layers are unfolding, one sheet at a time, stripping Pran bare and vulnerable in his wake. Pat wants to hold him, but can he? Will Pran push him away? Or will he grant Pat access to his universe again?
Pat, who is spontaneous and explosive, like a ticking bomb, tick tick tick and boom! He intertwines their fingers, his only resort. Five meets five, Pat holds them tight, completing Pran's lost star. Do not go.
Hot. Pran's hand is so hot. And Pat is desiccating into embers. Another endless cycle.
"I-" Pran breathes out, succumbing to a canvas of dimming spheroids. His voice is raw and hoarse but still a symphony to Pat's ears. How wonderful- Pran is. How beautiful- Pran is. How in love- Pat is.
He lets go of their hands. Emptiness immediately laces his skin, but not for long. Pat holds him by his shoulders, firm, grounding Pran in realms of now. It is his way of saying, stop it. I am here. But how selfish Pat is to hope that things will be easy for them when it is not.
"Pran," he utters. Fleeting. Lingering. What will happen now?
Pat wants to call his name forever, even in his sleep, even when he is old and grey and no longer built with muscles. Pran. Pran. Pran. Rose in any name would smell as sweet. Pran in any name would be Pat's one and only.
Words are failing him, never his best buddy. Silence, and it is stifling, aimless, dubious. They are waltzing in the same circle again. How can it be?
Pran looks up. There is that profound terror in his eyes anew, an emotion that Pat desperately wishes to expel. It pains him to see Pran like this. It hurts to be the reason behind his worries.
"I- I need more time..."
All Pat can think about is Pran's eyes, this face, right now, at this moment, looking at him with everything and nothing. Everything and nothing that is nameless. Nameless and fluctuant. Fluctuant enough that it is getting harder to breathe.
Pat enters his world again, taking a few steps closer. The ends of their toes meet, searing a wordless promise when their mouths could not. Pat gives Pran a chance to push him away, run, or punch him in the face, adding more wounds to the existing bruise. Pat waits. He waits for any signal, any sign of discomfort. But Pran does not push him away. He is stagnant. So close, yet so far away. How can Pat make Pran stay?
His fingers traverse along the expanse of a blue-coloured cotton shirt, mapping the faint veins on Pran's neck and stopping when his palm resides on the factions of his face. Pat traces his jaw, then his lips, still swollen. His eyes, cold tears, tense eyebrows, everywhere reachable. Everywhere that he was once prohibited.
No words. Pat has never been a man with words. But he speaks them out with his actions.
Caressing Pran's cheeks, tender, lovingly, with a smile, Pat answers, "Okay."
Pran looks up, and this time, Pat understands.
He is not hoping for anything. Only, Pat gravely wishes for Pran to have peace of mind, a gentle buzz guarding his slumber tonight, and the remembrance of Pat's love emblazing potently, only for him. Pat wants nothing more than Pran to breathe and live. Live for today. Leave all the worries for tomorrow.
"I... I-"
"It is okay," Pat mutters. "It is okay, Pran."
Will it be okay? Will they be okay? Pat does not know, either. He lives in today, this moment, now. Pran lives in tomorrow, the next day, the future. But Pat already knows he will not be getting much sleep tonight, for tomorrow is like a lucid dream, cold water crashing on his feet, for Pran is still so far away when their hearts are together as one. It hurts.
As Pat caves deeper into Pran's sanctuary, he tries to find an answer in those eyes. His lips, floating over Pran's forehead, a hint of hesitancy. A speck of fear. A dollop of worry. Pat gives him a chance to retreat. But Pran does not. And Pat kisses him. Fond. Ardent. Love. So much love. Long enough to feel his heart is breaking again.
And it falls, to his eyebrows, only a graze. Three seconds on the tip of his nose, five seconds on his cheeks, a screeching pause once he reaches his lips.
He looks up. Can I? He meant to ask.
Pran's eyes flicker. Yes.
And Pat kisses him again.
Beer, a tinge of blood, memories, so many of them; Pat is savouring them all.
He holds onto Pran, pulls him by the waist and crashes their universes together. He kisses Pran with everything that he has, with everything that he never has.
His lips tingle with this sole notion- I love you. But Pat waits. One day, he will say this out loud. He hopes Pran will say the same thing.
Pat delves into this momentary heaven like a madman. Palm to palm, right foot first then left as they are walking along the corridor. They stop in front of Pran's room, and something in those four walls lured Pat into its confinements. But Pran wishes to be alone, and he understands.
He does not want to let go. It seems like Pran is too. But, tomorrow will come, and they can talk about this. If not tomorrow, someday. Any day. Pat will wait.
"G-good night," Pran says, one hand already at the doorknob. Pat does not want to let go, but he does eventually. Unwilling.
He smiles- soaking in Pran's beauty, edging every twist and turn and emotion into his mind and heart. Beautiful, his heart deduces.
"Good night," Pat answers, and Pran disappears behind closed doors.
Pat approaches his door, glancing one last time at Pran's, reluctant to leave him alone. His door hanger catches his attention, a blue tag that Pat fails to notice before. A frown. His heart shatters for the nth time.