Chapter Text
The hot air leaves a nasty sticking sensation on Pat's skin. Making him avoid the long coats and layered suits for a more simple one piece white blouse. Leaving most of the buttons undone as well. Tucked into his brown slacks. He looks like a servant boy. It makes Pat grin in amusement at his reflection.
The long mirror inside his room shows him and another man behind him. Holding his dressing shoes for him to put on. The other man's stare is off into the large window. Ignoring Pat's own presence. Pat scoffs at that. What does a few trees have compared to Pat? Absolutely nothing. Pat almost sneers. Instead he rolls his eyes. Snatching the shoes and quickly putting them on. Enjoying the glare present on the man's face as he does so.
"Pran today you must accompany me to my art class. Its going to be with a new professor. Have everything ready before noon." Pat smiles once he's done. The one he's practiced countless times. The one thats enough of what others want and nothing of what he is.
He doesn't get a quick response. Instead he gets a hum before the other man speaks. "Yes sir. Will I also be finishing your painting once the professor leaves?" Cute. Pat thinks. He stares at Pran through the mirror. Seeing Pran twitch slightly as the silence grows longer. How adorable. Pat's old sour mood brightens at the taunts. The distaste of being ignored finally leaving his mind. Instead, being replaced by the want of eyes to finally take his appearance in. Look at me. Its almost like Pat whispers it through his staring.
"Absolutely. Why would we change our routines? Keep up Pran." Pat sees the way Pran's hands tighten into fists. Sees the way his mouth twists and the glimpse of his eyebrows through his hair scrunch up. His eyes waver until he's satisfied. Smiling with a nod and finally stepping away from his room. Hearing footsteps following close behind. He smiles even harder. Perhaps today will be okay.
♡
Pat glares at the open window. The sun is hitting his skin, and the wind that enters is humid. His new art professor is going on about the new art movement of the century and Pat wants him to shut up and drop dead. He can practically feel the forces of the universe rooting on his downfall.
"-This is why we need a model. Perhaps your companion could pose for us." Oh? Pat feels himself wake up. Uninterested face locking with the other's shocked expression. And Pat falters. The wide eyes are almost glistening in the light. Pat thinks if he stares hard enough he could probably draw them without looking. There's hesitation. Pat's not cruel. Even if in this nature he's suppose to be. He can see the silent pleading on the other's face. Pat's not cruel but he is selfish.
The betrayed expression only lasts for a second after Pat nods. Agreeing. Pran only silently positions himself in front of them. Ignoring the pointed stare he's getting from Pat.
"How should I pose?" Pran asks the professor. Ignoring the smile treading on Pat's lips.
"Like this if you excuse me..." Pat tunes out the Professor. Instead focusing on Pran. The way the man continues to ignore him. The sun setting on his frame. Making his brown eyes seem lighter. As if they're honey. The green scenery of soft tall grass and muted daisies outside are nothing compared to Pran. Pat ignores the way his smile turns soft. The hint of teasing long gone. Instead, taking in the man before him like he's something more. To Pat he is. He ignores the part of his heart that twitches at that thought. He's doing that a lot lately.
"...Right sir?" Pat startles a bit. Feeling two pairs of eyes now staring at him. Pat ignores his professor. Instead focusing all his attention on the man's gaze that refused him all day. How annoying.
"Right of course." Pat mumbles out. Smiling politely like he didn't ignore everything the other said. Its fine. No one notices. And its not like Pran would say anything.
The easel and canvas in front of him is too intimidating. The white off cream canvas is too plain. It has Pat staring at the blankness of it all, afraid of drawing the servant man. Not knowing where or what to begin with really. He feels a pair of arms come behind him and guide him. Instructing him on where to lay the sketch. Where to frame the lightening so the composition is nice. Pat smiles at the sketch. Its coming along.
Pran's glare only deepens as time passes. Quick glances towards the two other men making it seem as if his eyebrows twitch together everytime he does so. Pat feels a grin threatening to take his own expression. Its hard really, to let Pran roam freely.
The sun setting is when they finally pack up. Pat only nods dismissively as a sign of acknowledgement once the Professor excuses himself. His sole focus is on the man in front of him.
Pran is different and the same in a way that intrigues Pat. And Pat, who's been stuck inside the mansion he's forced to call home, marvels in mischief at the mere thought of dissecting the other. Pran is not polite. He's rash. He smiles when he's suppose to. He ignores Pat in everything that is not his job. And he likes to glare at the other when he thinks Pat is not looking. It makes Pat grin. Its different in the sense that he's alone with a man that would rather let him die and yet he has to stay. Pat wants to sink his teeth in and destroy him.
"Today was quite a wonderful day. You made an amazing model... Pran." Its not everyday Pat gives a direct compliment to the other. Words are mere words Pat thinks. And yet the sight in front of him has him racking his brain to think of more random words to throw out.
Pran sits in the chair he posed in. Shoulders hunched together. Hands gripping tightly at the edges of the seat. Pale skin quickly being overtaken by the color red and pink. Its fascinating. Pat wants to drop to his knees and stare up at the other's expression forever. Oh how poetic that would be. It has Pat's hands twitching at his passing thoughts. Clearing his throat to break the silence that has overtaken them.
"Right well, prepare my bath for me. And tell the kitchen staff that I will skip dinner today." Pat pauses, ignoring the way his whole body is screaming at him. He's awfully weak for someone who won't even acknowledge him. "Please." And with that he turns away quickly. Ignoring the part of his brain that's screaming at him to see the other's expression one last time.
How insane. Pat thinks. How deeply and disgustingly insane. That expression will haunt his dreams until he wakes up and sees it again. How insanely infatuated.
♡
Pran is not dense. And he's not slow in any way shape or form. Which is why he notices everything, as if it's being laid out in front of him for him to take. And because it's Pat at the other end of the dilemma, Pran doesn't doubt that it is. His boss's son is quite eccentric. Annoying. And spoiled. Pran rolls his eyes just thinking about it.
He's that and practiced smiles that twist and turn warm if he's amused enough. He's soft eyes at twilight because Pran is the one waking him up. He's fitted suits on smooth washed skin.
Pat's is everything one would want. Which is why Pran can not have him. Not like that. Never like that.
However its not like he can just turn his mind off to it. Especially not at night as he lays down in his own bed, after finishing his chores, the nook of a room swarming his vision. He's trapped in a Pat shaped box, physically and metaphorically.
It's indecent if he's caught. Pran ignores the whisper in the back of his mind that states how he wishes that were true. To be caught that is.
Trembling hands do a lot in the pale moonlight. Pran feels it as he shuts his eyes and pictures golden skin and strong shoulders he gets to touch as he dresses the other man. He feels the imagination of strong arms guiding his own as he reaches and searches and squeezes. There's the imprint of sweat on the skin of his forehead, and Pran rubs it onto his sheets as he squeezes and pulls his legs together tight. The image of a strong back and a memory of a pointed stare leaves Pran in agony.
Mouth open in silent screams. Oh how secretive.
Pran lays there, belated breaths catching up on him, his heartbeat as well. His hand not covered in stickiness is the one he uses to brush his hair out of his face. How wonderful, Pran bitterly thinks. How wonderful indeed.
Pat's a name he never gets to say.
"Pat..." A pause, and sharp intake of breath. "I wish to haunt you as well." Pran whispers to himself. The lasting bitterness overtaking him.